A/N: Hello again! I apologize for not updating recently, I had major writer's block. Plus, I apologize for royally screwing up the ranks. However, I am in no mood to go back and change them, so please, bear with it. As always, I bow to reviewers and I hope you like the new chapter! (The Royai will finally be showing through!)
6-To Play With Fire
We left the med outpost as soon as our newly acquired transport trucks had had all of the sand coaxed out of the engines. After months of never hearing an engine, the sound came as a surprise to me. The deep rumble of the trucks' motors contrasting with the characteristic background chatter of outpost camps. It was a surreal reminder of why I had come out into this hellhole. I had wanted to protect my country from the 'savage Ishbalites'. To my utter disgust, that meant everyone. From the average artisans to the priests to the leaders of the country. Everyone. Men, women, children, I killed them all in cold blood. It makes you wonder who are the real savages when you see soldiers beating a helpless child with the butt of his rifle.
I managed to deal with it by thinking that they weren't human. I had to think that they were just more of the animals back home that I had to kill in order to survive. They weren't someone's mother or father, someone's brother or sister, someone's daughter or son. They were livestock that had to be killed to keep us alive. It is because of this barrier soldiers like us put up that we are hated my so many. Because of that barrier we are called dogs of the military. That, in part, is true. We herded the sheep into a pen where they were stripped of their wool and their hope. Many, if not all of which died in the process.
It took us three days out of the outpost to reach the city. It was only Major Mustang, Lieutenant Havoc, myself and two other soldiers whom I was only just acquainted with. A First Lieutenant Charles Haywood, field medic and a rookie that had less experience in the field than the Führer's secretary. He was a mousy little man of twenty-nine who was obviously not suited for a gun. His shoulders were raised up next to his ears in a permanent display of fright and his eyes were wide and scared-looking. His sandy hair had flecks of grey in it, displaying his obvious constant fear. He tended to stutter when he spoke and he walked around slowly, constantly looking over his shoulder as if the enemy would leap out of the bushes at any given time.
Then, there was Second Lieutenant Gregory Finch, a man of twenty-three and a totally different person in comparison to Lieutenant Haywood. He was a good six foot four with a head of chestnut brown hair and a glint in his brown eyes that told us that he was addicted to his power. He carried himself with the air of a man who was confident about his abilities and he handled his weapon as if he was born with it in his hands. It was a pity that he was an utter fool.
Havoc was the same as ever. His blue eyes still scanned things with a lazy sort of attentiveness and his blond hair was still messy and seemingly out of place. He was the sort of person that gave off an air of laziness while keeping a watchful eye on the others. His cigarette still clutched between his teeth (unlit, might I add) he trudged along beside us same as ever.
And then there was the Major Roy Mustang. He was as troublesome as ever, if not more so than usual. He had recently tried to turn some of the water into alcohol to keep his mind off of the new mission. It was a complete failure. He only ended up with an ash-smeared face and his raven hair messier than usual. He still carried himself with that cocky air and he still had that oh so annoying smirk, but he'd lost some of the bounce in his step and the smirk seemed authentic only to those who didn't know him as Havoc and I had come to. To us, it was just a way of him masking his inner workings.
We arrived at the city under the cover of darkness. The velvet sky harboured a powdering of aloof stars and the globe of a cold full moon above. The silver light on the sands provided us with enough sight to get a firm footing along the dunes. We were all completely silent. We knew that if we made too much noise, we were dead.
I drew out my pistol and clicked off the safety. I glanced over my shoulder at Lt. Haywood, who was –no surprises- shaking like a leaf. Mustang had put his blank expression back on to hide any sort of anxiousness or pre-emptive guilt. Havoc and Finch sort of stood back and watched from behind. I kept my index finger on the trigger as my eyes scanned the area.
I felt a heaviness weigh down my heart as Mustang's expression remained stony. I knew he hated what he was doing; I knew that he felt so incredibly guilty about all of the lives he had taken. For a moment, all I wanted was to take him in my arms and tell him that he didn't have to kill, to tell him he could cry. I kicked myself inwardly afterward, though and wondered where the thought had come from.
The city was totally unaware of our presence. We got within twenty metres of the first buildings before the troops held back a few steps while Mustang shakily stretched out his hand and slipped on the red ring. Brushing his fingers together, he created the spark that expanded into a mushroom of fire. The city block was instantly in flames, hundreds of people awoken from their sleep to the pain of their flesh roasting off their bones. City block after city block, he incinerated the whole city in a manner of minutes
Roy looked on in awe as the night sky was tinted orange. Gluttonous flames feasted on the wooden structure of buildings and their occupants. The tongues of flame seemed to reach for the sky, wanting to touch it, just to prove that it could. The screams of burning men, women and children almost seem to be fuel for the fire as the flames climbed higher and higher, taking the sky in its deadly embrace.
Roy seemed to be in his own world; seeing, but not seeing the flame-lit city before him, hearing, but not hearing the fading shrieks on the breeze blowing around him. His face bore a stupefied look, his eyes wide and unfocused and his face pale even in the orange glow of the flames.
Haywood, Finch and Havoc all bore expressions of complete and utter awe. To them, it was as if a fire god had stepped down from the heavens and possessed the body of the young man in front of them. No mortal man should have power that great and that absolute. What was the saying? Absolute power corrupts absolutely? Mustang was a mortal man with the power of a god. That power was corrupting his soul with waves of guilt that were wearing down his spirit like the crashing waves on a cliff. If he was left alone, he would crumble.
For all that the four of us were supposed to offer protection, we were powerless to do anything except watch. With military precision, Roy turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. He cringed as Finch placed a hand on his shoulder as he passed, the Lieutenant beaming at him.
"Nice job there, Flame. Really taught those Ishbalite bastards a lesson, eh?" he said with a grin.
Mustang stopped and looked Finch in the eye, a cold stare silencing the Lieutenant. He brushed the man's hand aside and spoke in a deadpan tone, increasing his menacing aura.
"Don't touch me, Lieutenant. And never speak to me like that again, or I'll put you in for speaking out of line," Roy growled, a murderous look in his straight, cold stare. Finch blinked and raised his hand in a salute, saying a curt "Yes, sir" before falling back in line with the rest of us.
The moon wasn't nearly so friendly as we left. It was a foreboding orange globe hanging in the sky, stained with blood and fire. It was just like the moon of my nightmares.
Throughout the long walk back, I stared at Mustang's cloaked back. It was rigid, ramrod straight; betraying the internal war that was threatening to forever tie his soul to the land where he had killed so many. I winced when I thought of my own torment, countless nightmares that deprived me of sleep.
We finally returned to where we had camped, where we retreated into our tents. I held back, though and sat on a dune, looking over the five tents below me. I sighed and just leaned back into the sand, covering my face with my navy-clad arms. The weight of the pistol was still in my hand, though I let it slip so that it hung from the metal surrounding the trigger (A/N: I couldn't find out what it was called, so if anyone knows, please tell me!). The screams had long since died along with their owners, but we all still heard them.
I sighed. If I knew Mustang, he'd be beating himself up about it. I took a deep breath and sat up again, holstering my pistol. Standing up, I shimmied down the sand dune towards the tents. The light was on inside, so I stood outside the entrance and cleared my throat.
"Sir?" I asked through the tent flap, "May I come in?" I heard rustling from the inside and Mustang's voice met my ears.
"Sure, Lieutenant," his deadpan voice drifted through the flap to me. I pushed the canvas flap to one side carefully and stepped inside. Mustang sat on his cot, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes, but a determined and stubborn look on his face. A candle burning on the floor in the middle of the tent cast flickering shadows on the walls and casting part of his face in shadow. Beyond the dark shadow, though, still lurked that ever-present feeling of despair. I felt my insides work in a knot because I had a feeling I couldn't help him. However worked up my insides were, though, I let none of it show past my mask.
"Yes?" he asked, wondering why the hell I was in his tent. I wondered how to phrase my next question.
"Are you alright, sir? You seemed a little…" I trailed off, looking for the right word.
"A little what?"
"A little out of it, sir," I concluded. He looked sharply at me and tried to busy himself by absently drawing transmutation circles on his open palm.
"Is that so?" he mused, a wry smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. I nodded stiffly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Hawkeye, I feel I can suitably trust you," he sighed. I cocked my head slightly to try to understand where that fit in the conversation, if it be a conversation at all yet. He took a deep breath as if trying to suppress something. Most likely any emotions that threatened to gush out, "Sometimes I doubt whether I have the integrity to make it to the top," he confessed.
"Don't think like that, sir."
"But it's true."
"Major Mustang," I sighed, once again proving myself as 'the voice of reason', "We need someone in power who understands war. Someone who understands the amount of blood and pain that is involved with it. Who better than a soldier that lived through Ishbal? Since you have that experience, you will be able to make wiser decisions for the good of the country and its inhabitants."
Mustang put his head in his hands and spoke through his palms, "You call this living?"
I slowly walked over to him and sat down on my legs so that I could be on the same level, "No, I call it surviving. Major, you would make an excellent Führer because you understand the ferocity of war. Where one doesn't live, one survives from day to day. Don't leave that task for someone less apt then yourself. Otherwise there could be more wars in the future, more Ishbals. Don't let that happen, sir," I paused, staring at his bowed head. I saw his shoulders start to shake and his breathing was more laboured, as if he was trying to control his sobs. Which was exactly what he was trying to do. He looked up at me with a look of despair so great that I felt my heart melt at the sight.
"Hawkeye?" he leaned in closer to me, making my face flush slightly.
"Sir?"
He leaned into my shoulder and wept silently. Where he had learned to cry without making a sound I would never know, but maternal instinct won me over and I disregarded that detail. I pulled him into an embrace and held him close, hoping to offer some comfort to a tormented soul.
"I'm sorry," was all he managed in choked, halting words barely above a whisper. My mind was screaming This is wrong! but my body acted upon its own accord. I leaned my head against his and closed my eyes, wishing that this situation could have been under better circumstances.
This is ironic, I thought, Perfect little soldier that I am, I'm disobeying one of the principal rules: no fraternization. I blinked as I felt his own arms wrap around me. He had composed himself by now and whispered in my ear in a voice deeper than his usual tone.
"We're surviving from day to day, so let's try to live like today is our last."
I could only nod numbly in response. My heart was racing and my mind went blank. Roy's face was dangerously close, and I shivered slightly, although my mind was still screaming at me to stop. He paused for a moment before pressing his lips against mine in a not-quite-innocent kiss. I felt my face grow hot in a definite blush and it felt as if the bottom of my stomach had dropped out.
It was only then that my mind took charge again. I gently pushed him away, breaking that kiss. I shook my head at him and stood up, backing away slowly.
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that, it's not allowed. You can't afford to have your reputation shot by something like that. I-I'm sorry," I apologized and with that turned on my heel and marchedto the top of a dunewith what little was left of my dignity, leaving him alone again.
My heart hurt so much that I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I just sat on a dune on sentry duty and let myself hurt. This is what you get for playing with fire, I thought bitterly, Get too close and you'll only get burned.