A/N- More Royai fluff with a touch of angst! There is a little bit of masochism here, but it is mostly fluff. This was originally written for LJ's fma_fic_contest prompt "Set in the Future." I am still not the creator of Fullmetal Alchemist even though it was my birthday wish.

~fmafmafmafma~

Roy Mustang could hardly believe that he was actually doing this. Standing here, in full dress uniform, in a building rebuilt from one that he had destroyed years ago, he wanted to reassure himself that it was real. In books, a person pinched himself to prove that he was not having a dream. When he'd been in Ishval -that other time- he used to snap and singe a small area on his wrist, right under his cuff, hoping to wake up from a nightmare. He couldn't do either of those things here in front of this group of people, at least not without embarrassing himself. He looked over at his aunt. Madam was blinking back tears, but she saw his glance. She smiled and gave him a "thumbs up." Havoc seemed to sense something, too, and nudged him with a shoulder.

He had never expected to be doing this. One of the ways that he was able to punish himself was to deny himself certain personal pleasures. Not drink. Not sex. He allowed himself those. But love. Being Riza's commanding officer was almost comfortable in its familiar agony. He had thought that he was righteous and selfless in his self-denial. Apparently not!

The Ishvalan cleric had asked for permission to remain and speak privately after one of the endless (both in number and duration) meetings. Roy liked the man quite a bit. He was religious but rational. Thoughtful and pragmatic. Perceptive. Kind. Over cups of pungent tea brewed from the hardy succulent plants that had repopulated areas of the once desolate desert, the cleric had explained to Roy that his masochistic self-indulgence was hurting Captain Hawkeye more than himself.

Roy had never thought of it that way, idiot that he was. He knew how much she loved him, which was the dumbest thing that she ever did in her entire life. He figured that everyone else knew it, too. What set the cleric apart from the rest was that he saw that Roy felt the same way. It was common knowledge that he cared about her even more than his other subordinates, but not many knew that he loved her that way. Her uniform, practical hair, and serious demeanor made her seem the polar opposite of the women that he had been seen with before the Promised Day. Afterwards, he no longer needed the playboy façade, and playing around with Ishvalan women would be horribly unseemly, anyway. His information network worked differently, here in the desert.

The priest had told Roy how selfish he was being. The Ishvalan understood self-inflicted pain. Religion was full of hair shirts and floggings and isolations. Roy would never understand how this virtual stranger could know what only their closest allies, their friends, should know, but he did. He said, "If you would allow yourself to be with this woman, it would lessen the burden of guilt that she has taken upon herself. She cannot begin to forgive herself until you allow yourself a normal life.

"I do not know exactly why," the priest continued, "but she feels great responsibility for your actions, and she has magnified her own actions in her mind. The ultimate cure for her would be for you to forgive yourself."

"That will never happen!"

"No. And perhaps it should not. But, if you allow yourself happiness with her, it will allow her to forgive herself and heal."

It had been a lot to consider. He had trouble believing that his own personal happiness could be a positive thing. He had long lived with the weight of the lives of others on his shoulders and had borne their troubles with his own. His surprising new mentor had told him that it was time to share their joys, too, and that they wanted to share his. Of course, he still had his doubts, but here was a man who seemed to be evaluating the situation objectively. Objectivity was something he, Roy, was incapable of in this case.

And, he'd do anything for Hawkeye. For Riza. Even if it made him happy.

It seemed like he'd been standing there forever. It wouldn't surprise him if she backed out. Oh, who was he kidding? He'd be shocked. Still, he took nothing for granted.

But, finally, the exotic strains of an ancient Ishvalan love song engulfed them, and there was Catalina, looking almost pretty in a dress and not eying him critically for once. And then there she was, on Grumman's arm. For a few seconds, he couldn't breathe, but then a feeling of warmth washed over him. He felt a smile spread across his face. She had kept him guessing about whether she'd wear her uniform or not, and much to his great pleasure, she had not. In the simple ivory gown, she looked like herself, only more so. Like a dream Riza.

Without thinking, he moved forward, taking her away from her grandfather a bit prematurely but pleasing the rapt attendees. The Fuhrer grinned and went to his reserved seat. Riza slipped her arm though Roy's and squeezed his bicep as they approached the priest.

The Ishvalan cleric began, "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…"

~fmafmafmafma~

A/N- Thanks so much for reading. I also wished for reviews on my birthday. Maybe that part will come true. XD Take care.