Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu, various publishers including but not limited to Square Enix Co., Ltd. and Viz Media, LLC.
A/N – It's weird isn't? I like reading a lot of things. And there are countless pairings that I absolutely love reading. But every so often there are pairings that I LOVE writing. My fingers twitch, and before I know it I'm typing away furiously on my PC. I think Royai is going to be one of them for me. So, forgive me, it's been awhile. If anyone wants to beta read for me, I'd be sooo grateful. Also, this is a working title, I might change it later if I think of a better one. Suggestions welcome! I suck at titles.
Oh yeah, Riza might seem a little OOC at first. Bear with me, there's a reason for it. Her past should explain it, if I don't flub it.
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Not Too
Early, Not Too Late
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Roy Mustang met the woman he knew he would love for the rest of his life two days before he was sent to the Ishbalian battle front.
She was facing slightly away from him her face tilted towards the sun as she emerged from the arriving Central train. One pale, sandaled foot was poised to step off the platform, drawing his eyes up the intoxicating length of her bare leg. She wore an airy white sundress and short white gloves. In her hands was a frivolous confection of a parasol, its scalloped lace edges perfectly matching her outfit. Bending slightly, she unfurled it, achingly graceful, her sunlit blonde hair tangling in the warm breeze.
The image of her that day remained fixed in his mind throughout the bloody, endless Ishbalian war.
He only spoke of this once to his friend Maes Hughes; the first time he'd ever gotten ragingly drunk. It was three years into the Ishbalian war. Central had decided that the war was dragging on too long and the command had come down from above to take the war to the cities. It was the first time the Alchemists had been sent to kill civilians. It would not be the last.
"I saw her, ya'know," Roy slurred morosely. "I saw her an' I thought, 'I'd give my life to protect her.'"
Maes patted him on the back comfortingly. He barely even noticed. "No, was more n' that. I didn't just know I'd d-die for her. I knew I'd kill for her." A fierce light flared in his eyes, making him look almost sober. "In that moment, I really thought 'I can do this', I could fight this war. I could kill people whose only crime is having a government that wanted to start a war, if I could save her from seeing this ugliness."
Maes laughed. "As if you libido is ever that coherent."
"No! I mean it!" Roy glared at him, serious as only someone thoroughly intoxicated could be.
"So what happened then?" Maes was puzzled, Roy was never like this over a woman. He wasn't known as a heartbreaker for nothing. But here he was, staring into the sludge that passed for local beer as if his favorite pet had just drowned in it. There was a distant look in his eyes.
. . . . . . . . .
He'd walked up to her, he remembered. Strikingly good looking; with black hair and eyes and an easy, outgoing charm; Major Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, had no false modesty about his appeal to the opposite sex or how good he looked in a uniform.
She'd smiled warmly at him, before crushing his heart beneath her delicately shod heel.
"Are you with the military? My fiancé was supposed to meet me at 4 o'clock and I'm afraid my train was running late."
He glanced down at her gloved left hand. Sure enough, an obscenely expensive engagement ring was winking back at him mockingly.
Her eyes followed his own gaze, and she gave a rueful laugh. "Hideous isn't it? My future mother-in-law insisted on using the family set when we announced our engagement."
Suddenly she blushed. "Oh! How rude of me, here I am nattering away at you without even introducing myself properly." Shifting her parasol, she bobbed an impish little curtsey. "Riza Hawkeye; so pleased to meet you."
He couldn't help smiling. Placing his gloved hand over his heart he bowed precisely. "Major Roy Mustang; the pleasure is, of course, all mine."
"I'm sure you say that to all the ladies!"
"Guilty as charged, but this time I mean it." He smiled rakishly, putting the full force of all his well-practiced charm behind it. If he couldn't have her, at least he'd have her remember him, he thought selfishly.
Laughing delightedly, she said, "Now I remember your name. My grandfather speaks highly of you, Sir Flame Alchemist. He said if I ever came to Central, I'd recognize you by the way you charm the birds out of the trees."
"I have yet to charm any of the male birds, but I think I can live with that."
"Oh I don't know, the general seems to like you well enough," she winked. "If he were 50 years younger, and female, I would start fearing for your bachelorhood."
His laughter was startled out of him. He'd always had a rule to never flirt seriously with a woman who was already taken, but God, she tempted him.
About to speak, his Academy trained senses alerted him that someone was coming. In the periphery of his vision, he could see Colonel McClintock running towards them, waving his hand. Roy recognized him immediately.
The scion of a prominent military family, he'd been bragging about how he'd bagged himself old man Grumman's granddaughter. To those who mattered, he was all charm and helpfulness, but there was an oiliness about him that Roy couldn't help disliking. Though McClintock was always punctilious in the execution of his duties; in his off-time, he had a tendency to be careless with the truth when it came to the women he dated. And these women always seemed to leave crying when he broke up with them. Women that he hadn't stopped seeing once he'd gotten engaged, though he was clever enough to be more discreet with his dalliances.
He felt a mad urge to distract her from her approaching fiancé. His muscles tensed unconsciously. It was foolish and insane and unstoppable, but all he knew was that he wanted to take her hand and pull her away from her life and into his own.
As if sensing his thoughts, she fell silent. Her eyes met his briefly, questioningly. Breathless, the moment hung between them. His overactive imagination told him she was just waiting for a single word.
"Riza, Riza!" The colonel panted, "I apologize for my tardiness. The duties of command I'm afraid. Have you been waiting long?"
The unnamed tension between them disappeared. Except for the slight tremor in Riza's voice when she replied to her fiancé, Roy could almost have believed that it had all been in his head.
After reassuring himself that Riza wasn't upset, the colonel turned his gaze on Roy. All the contempt he had for State Alchemists, who weren't after all 'proper' military men, was in it. If Riza hadn't been watching, McClintock surely would've flexed his muscles and started a pissing contest.
"I trust this whelp hasn't been importuning you," he said, never taking his eyes off Roy. He practically quivered, waiting for the signal that he was free to mark his territory.
Her gloved hand settled lightly on the colonel's tense arm. "Oh, no," she said brightly. "He was just chatting with me while we waited for you."
McClintock gripped her hand possessively; tilting it a bit to make sure Roy could see the sparkle of her engagement ring. "I see. Perhaps I can speak with the general about inviting him to our wedding."
Roy gritted his teeth.
Riza pulled her hand away, ostensibly to smooth her skirt. "We should go, grandpapa is waiting."
In any other circumstance, the expression on the Colonel's face would have been comical, like dog who'd been slapped on the nose with a newspaper. He quickly busied himself with finding a porter to carry Riza's luggage.
Extending her right hand, she said solemnly, "A pleasure, Major. I would have come to Central sooner if I had known there was such charming company." A tiny smile quirked ruefully at the corners of her full lips.
Roy glanced at the Colonel, who hadn't even noticed the tiny verbal jab. What a waste.
Waiting till the Colonel turned away to instruct the porters, he took her hand. Roy bowed gallantly and pressed a kiss on her palm. Straightening, he saluted the Colonel, who had turned back by now.
Her lips forming an "O" of astonishment, she instinctively closed her fingers. The imprint of his kiss seemed to burn through the thin cotton of her glove.
"The Flame Alchemist indeed," she murmured to herself.
"What was that dear?"
"Nothing, it was nothing at all," she said firmly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.
. . . . . . . . .
"You almost had me there, ya'know?" Maes laughed. "If you hadn't said it was Riza 'Shoots-to-Kill' Hawkeye, or was it, Riza 'Ice-Blood-Would-Be-Warmer' Hawkeye? Man, you had me going."
He slapped Roy on the back, sublimely unconscious of how close he was to losing that hand.
"I mean it Maes," he gritted out. "She was different then."
He'd barely recognized her when she came to the front. Cold-eyed and slim, her blond hair twisted back ruthlessly and her guns held with an ease that spoke of great familiarity with their use, she'd snapped off a salute so sharp it should've cut.
The gears in Maes head slowly clicked away. "Wait a minute—," he said slowly, "Colonel McClintock, wasn't he the one who was court martialed? The one you found out was selling information on the Philosopher's Stone to one of the Ishbalian factions?"
Roy's hand clenched around his glass. "If you mean the one who committed suicide after the verdict was passed down, then yes, that would be him."
Maes digested the information in silence.
"Oh," was all he could say.
"Yeah," Roy said glumly, "'Oh', is right."
.:to be continued:.