A/N - An angst Roy. A flailing touch of fluff... If you concerntrate really hard. This one's rather Roy-centric. My wonderful beta had previously gone over this and given me the green light to go ahead and publish. Unfortunately, I wasn't particularly happy with the original and so sat down and re-did the whole thing. (Sorry,su-chan!) Thus, technically, this hasn't really been beta'ed, so if you spot anything dodgy, do be so kind as to let me know. Thanks!
Disclaimer - You know I don't own it.
Thanks to - Su-chan and Aznsnowflake for all their help, and to az4ever, Tsunade-chan, saffiremoon21, Maylin-Chan, C.A.M.E.O.1 and Only, ElasticBobaTurtle, K.A. Maples and Haruka-Clone for your reviews. You guys make me so happy.
Sinners
Five: Greed
You're never happy with what you've got.
For Roy Mustang, this is particularly true. He recalls his entire childhood being greedy for attention, dissatisfied with second-best, unhappy when over-looked and oh, how he despised not getting his way.
And somewhere in the lingering aftermath of fluking it, bluffing his way through, scheming, dreaming and working his ass off, it's taken him this long to realise that he's never quite been content with the final result.
Ishbal should have never happened.
It had been something he'd signed up for on a whim, wanting to prove that he was capable of doing things right for once. How very wrong he was. He'd been young then, young and foolish, and with a rash patriotism for the State that had made him utterly delusional, he allowed himself to be used as a weapon responsible for the cold-blooded slaughter of hundreds of innocent lives.
Maes had warned him against it.
Roy still curses himself every day for not listening.
He'd been terrified of his first victim. Two humans, neither one the predator nor prey, shaking as they read the fear in the other's eyes, afraid to die, afraid to kill: Two cornered animals.
He should have backed down and run. Run far away from the carnage and devastation, but he hadn't wanted to risk being shot in the back when he turned. Such a coward.
The rifle was raised and raw instinct swallowed Roy whole. He hadn't even realised he'd snapped his fingers until he found the building burning down around him. Only then did he run. And when the truth of the incident finally registered amongst the confused disorder of his mind, he'd collapsed on the battlefield - an empty street where only hours ago children had played games, for God's sake! - and been violently sick.
If he'd stopped there, perhaps he might have found it easier to forgive himself. But he hadn't. Then came Marco, the Crystal Alchemist and his Philosopher's Stones: Those blasphemous creations.
Blood red and brilliant, the ring on his middle finger mocked him as he raised his hand over the city - and snapped. The inferno that followed burnt away every last shred of innocence he still possessed, branded his crimes into his soul and seared his nightmares with unforgiving guilt.
Was it any wonder he was almost destroyed by depression afterwards?
He'd wanted a lot then, too: Redemption - Hours locked up in a room that stunk of sin and sorrow, drawing transmutation circles, one after the other in an endless cycle of regret, round and round until he could no longer tell night from day, sleep from consciousness, right from wrong. Escape - A pistol in one hand, a bottle of brandy in the other. If only it were that easy.
Maes had saved him.
Roy's still paying off the debt.
Much has changed, thought much has remained as it was. His desires have been altered: To become Fuhrer, to finally wield enough power to make a plausible difference in the world, perhaps for the better of mankind. His will has not: As much as "changing the world" sounds like an unrealistic, romantic ideal, he means to see this dream through, and he will not let anything stand in his way. See, Greed isn't always such a bad thing.
His ambition unsettles most who know him, though not so much as his unbreakable resolve.
As far as he's concerned, failure is not only a discarded opinion, it's non-existent.
His unwavering determination has been mistaken for arrogance and coldness, and resulted in many who oppose, perhaps even hate him, but he tells himself that it can't be done any other way, and when he achieves this ambition, he'll set things right; Nothing is gained without making sacrifices.
Sometimes Roy forgets this, though.
Depression is his ultimate demon, and when it's quiet and dark, and no one's there to point and stare, he finds himself in his office, lost in the depths of another glass bottle, a gun just within his reach if he stretched, his heart cut by the edge of a shattered mind.
It's empty, and he's alone.
This is how Riza finds him, drunk and barely conscious, coughing up his grief, wandering his void of remorse. She can't call him back because he's gone too far, she can't guide him because she doesn't know the way and she can't erase the pain because she runs the risk of damaging him further, but she can suffer with him, if need be. So she takes hand and whispers his name, wipes away his tears and promises to never let go. She shoulders his burden with him, and they walk the darkness together.
One day, they will find their way.
They say Roy Mustang's ambition is great, perhaps too great. He possesses the makings of the next Fuhrer, the potential to be a celebrated leader, and the flaws necessary to bring it all crashing down.
What they don't realise is that behind every great man is a great woman.
Greed will be his downfall.
And Riza Hawkeye will be there to catch him and mend his wings.