AN- foreverlight- yay, thanks for the help with the epauletts (did i spell that right?;;)! i was drawing a complete and total blank there

flOofymikO- hmh, a Greed fan, eh? personally i dont like any of 'em, but i CAN stomach him the most (as long as it aint sloth, pride, or envy, i'm ok...) i'll be xplaining exactly what happened to Greed later on; it was a kinda last-minute decision so i have to work it in somewhere. i can gurantee you wont like sloth for it, tho! XD

GREETINGS once again! a shorter (6 ms pages) chapter, but an emotional one. in case you can't tell by the title, there's plenty of angst involved. not much else to say, other then that...

Guilt

Night had settled over Central Headquarters. The building, in stark contrast with the daily hectic bustle, was empty and quiet, almost eerily so. There were very few lights on, and those that were on gave illumination only to the night guards and the janitors.

And Roy Mustang. His office light was one of the only ones still glowing, its thin gaze reflected in the window and shinning down into the street outside. Inside, he was still flipping through files, though his mind was fuzzy and he could barely focus on the words. He yawned and put his head down for a few minutes, but then shoved himself back up and reached for the by-now-half-empty beer bottle sitting near him. He guzzled a few sips greedily, the sharp taste burning against his throat and jarring him back awake.

"Coffee works a lot better then booze, ya know."

Roy glanced over at his door. Ah, yes, it was Hughes, of course--what other crazy idiot would be here this late?

Hughes settled himself in his usual chair by Mustang's desk, complaining about how it wasn't fair that only Roy got to have a 'spinney chair'. Roy aimed and tossed the empty beer bottle at the garbage can. He missed.

Hughes eyed him, carefully. When Roy was in one of his moods, like the one he'd been in without any sign of respite for over a week now, saying the wrong thing could have some dangerous results.

"And you're still here why? You know none of these files will get you anywhere, go home and get some shut-eye already."

"Shame on you, Maes. A good soldier always works as hard as he can, right?"

"Save it, wise guy. Right now, the only thing you're good for is sleep. You look like you've been up for days."

"That's probably because I have." (Roy didn't go into details, and Hughes decided he really didn't want to know.) "Besides, you're still here, aren't you? You're the one who's got the family, after all."

"Eh, I called Gracia before and told her I had to stay late and do some babysitting." Roy rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. "Seriously, though, why not get some rest? There isn't much point in going home by now, but at least take a nap or something. That couch over there's really comfortable!"

"Hughes, I really don't want to—"

"Oh, don't be silly, what's the big deal?"

The 'big deal' is that I've been trying to stay awake all night for the past week! Whenever I close my eyes, I have nightmares, and they're always the same, but each one's still worse then the last…don't ask me how that's fricken possible! When I wake up in the morning, I'm just as tired….I'd rather be in hell then have those fucking dreams anymore! But, hey, can you blame me? You'd do the same damn thing if the girl you loved kept dying right in front of you every goddamn night!

"It's nothing, I'd just…rather be handling this issue with the homunculi then…"

"Then what, sleep?!" Hughes shook his head. "You are losing your mind, my friend."

"Gee, thanks, Hughes, you're really one to talk." He squirmed a bit in his chair, stiff from sitting down for so long.

"Come on, Roy, you're gonna wind up working yourself to death. Take a break, ok? All this crud will still be here tomorrow for you."

I know, but that doesn't matter. I can't stop. I have to find the answer hidden in all of this shit. I have to do this. I can't put it off...

"Yeah, I know…"

Hughes picked up a file and started flipping through it. "Good gosh, Roy, this has absolutely nothing to do with anything."

Dammit, I know! There's nothing, no information, no shortcuts, no clues. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't go in blindly but I can't wait forever, either…so what the hell am I supposed to do?!

"You never know when you're gonna find something. 'Follow through with every lead', that's what the military drilled into our heads, right?"

"Yeah," Hughes snorted, "along with a lot of other useless advice."

Roy glanced wearily at the clock, wondering if he could manage to make it through another sleepless few hours. He was sure as hell gonna try, of course…anything to try and cheat the devil out of another tortured night…

"So," he started, trying to keep himself awake, "we're really the only ones still here?"

"Nah, Havoc and Breida are still around somewhere. Same thing with Armstrong, but you know how he can be; good luck convincing him to go home when he's busy. Fury and Falman left a while ago, but considering the military dorms are right next door, that doesn't exactly mean much."

"What?" Roy gave the other man an annoyed glare. "So, if pretty much everyone's still here, why are you yelling at me to go home!?"

"Because you're the only one who looks like he's about to pass out," Hughes informed him. Roy mumbled something in reply, unsuccessfully trying to hide a yawn. Maes, watching his friend straining to keep his eyes open, couldn't help but sigh. He really did feel sorry for the guy, even though he knew Roy'd strangle him if he ever admitted as much. And hey, who could blame him? What man liked to be pitied? But, the truth was, Hughes couldn't help but feel like Mustang had gotten the short end of the stick. After all, he already had his demons from Ishbal to contend with….and now all this trouble with Riza. Of course, Hughes mused, he wouldn't be having all this trouble with Riza if he wasn't such an idiot sometimes, but still…if there was a god up there watching them, then he really did not like Roy Mustang.

Either that, or he had a pretty sick sense of humor.

"Well, anyway," Roy was saying tiredly, "tomorrow, see if you can scrounge up any more info on that—"

"Colonel!!" Havoc burst in, his face pale under the glaring lights overhead. "Roy!!"

Roy looked up, startled. "H-Havoc? Havoc, what's—"

"It's…it's Hawkeye! She's been attacked!

It's amazing, what power simple words can have. Separately, they have no urgency, no alarm. They could be used for anything, in any sort of context. They can be benign, tame, benevolent…or they can cause fierce and unrelenting anguish, slicing deep within. In most cases, they can cause more fear, more shock, more pain, then a fist to the stomach ever could.

Such was the situation rapidly unfolding in Roy Mustang's office.

Roy had not been made a colonel for nothing. He was no stranger to terror or grief, or the doubt that comes with a job commanding others. His record, militarily speaking, was flawless—he'd never lost a battle, never failed to snap his fingers and burn the enemy. Even in Ishbal, even in that hellhole, where more often then not his opponent had been a child too young to know the true power of the gun he clutched in his hands…

Roy was a good dog. At least on the outside, he bit on command.

His battles with his personal demons were deadly, and, it seemed, never-ending, but he hid them well, as a good leader must. Only a select few knew of his struggles at all. To most, he was smooth, relaxed, and always able to keep that smirk on his face, no matter what. There was very little that could make him lose his cocky composer in front of others: threaten him with violence and he wouldn't even blink. But the power of three short words, meaningless in any other form, was enough to scare him on a level he 'd never realized existed. It was strange, the way it all worked out…

'It's Riza…she's been attacked!'

Over and over again…the sentence repeated itself over and over again in his mind. Roy found himself on his feet, but couldn't remember ever standing up. Beside him, he could see Hughes leap up as well, could hear him demanding Havoc for more information…but it was all very faint, very hard to focus on.

Riza's….been attacked…

He looked down at his hands--they were shaking. The edges of the room were blurring around him; he could almost feel the air wrapping itself around his throat, strangling him. He opened his mouth, chest heaving and lungs burning, but it wasn't any help. His throat was closing up…he couldn't breathe…the world around him was blanketed by a thick, confusing fog...

Riza's been attacked…

"She's downstairs, in the lobby…"

Oh fuck…

And then he was running, tearing out of the room and down the hall in a blind panic. Behind him, Hughes yelled for him to wait up…but his voice was muffled, distant, like it was coming from miles and miles away. And anyway, Roy couldn't have stopped had he wanted to; his body refused to slow down.

Turning a corner, he dashed frantically for the stairs, tripped, and nearly fell, but grabbed frantically for the banister and managed to keep himself upright. His thoughts twisted, bended in on themselves, imploded.

Fuck!

I hope her right arm's ok, he thought stupidly, otherwise she won't be able to use a gun…

Dumb things like that kept flowing through his mind, moronic little worries that had nothing to do with anything. After all, whether or not her arm was ok should have been the least of his concerns--who knew if she even had an arm at this point!

His entire body was shaking now, the air clammy and dead against his skin. One minute he was freezing, the next, burning hot…

Oh, my God…

The scene was far too familiar to him; in some perverse way, he felt as if he had done this, as if he had raced down this empty hallway stretching out forever in front of him many times before. Why was it that this sensation of panicked fright did not feel at all unusual or strange…?

The realization as it hit him left him dazed and gasping. This scene was familiar, because he had done this many times before…every night, in his dreams, as a matter of fact. And the ending in those dreams, those nightmares, was always the same…

No! he almost screamed. No!! I won't let that happen, not here, not for real…I won't! I won't let that happen!

But black and slimy dread was still climbing through his heart…deep within he knew that in every single one of those dreams, he had sworn the exact same thing…

Roy was on the first floor now, and there were a lot more people milling around then there should have been this time of night; apparently, a meeting had run over extremely late. The small part of Roy's brain that was still functioning normally--or at least trying to function normally--warned him that making a big scene in the midst of all these higher-ups wouldn't be smart…but the larger part of his mind was currently on auto-pilot, and he barged through the crowds, pushing people out of his way with reckless abandon. People glared at him, and a large, mustached general turned to yell at the rude colonel who had stepped on his foot, but Roy didn't stop to listen. His head was beginning to pound again, Lord…this was worse then any hangover…

What was I doing when she was being attacked? Complaining about paperwork?

He shoved the lobby doors open, his heart racing so fast he felt light-headed. He looked frantically around the room, wild-eyed, but it only took him a minute to find what he was looking for.

In the corner over at the far end, the impossible-to-miss Alex Louis Armstrong, easily the tallest, largest, and loudest man in the whole military, was working on crowd control, making sure the leaving brass didn't linger in curiosity for too long. Next to him, Breida stood with an open first aid kit in his hands, and next to him stood…

"R-Riza…" Roy's mouth dropped open, and the breath he'd been holding for what felt like a lifetime exploded out of him in a half-strangled gasp. He made his way over to her on rubbery legs. "Riz….Hawkeye…"

She looked over and saw him; her eyes widened as she took in his haggard, stunned appearance.

He looked her up and down, in disbelief. She looked…

Well, honestly, the first lieutenant looked perfectly fine.

Oh, sure, there was a nasty-looking gash by her hairline that she was holding an ice pack to, a few bumps and bruises, and one or two rips in her uniform, but, really, she looked ok. (Roy'd gotten worse injuries then that in bed.)

Hughes finally puffed up with Havoc, complaining. "Jeeze, Roy, what the heck was up with all the running?! Havoc said it wasn't anything serious, but you went off acting like you were racing in a darn marathon!"

"Shut up, Hughes," he mumbled, looking very intently down at the floor. Well…this was embarrassing.

He'd been so busy freaking out, that he'd obviously missed the part where Havoc had said her injuries weren't major. Cheeks flaring, he looked back up at Riza, who was staring at him as if he was insane. Actually, everyone was staring at him as if he was insane, and that included Armstrong, who was borderline mental himself, and Hughes, who was way-over-the-line mental. (Roy worked with some weird people.)

"Hawkeye," he said hastily, hoping everyone would just kinda forget that whole incident, "What happened?"

As she paused, he felt worry creeping up in him again; she might not have been hurt too badly, but the fact that someone jumped her at all was not one Roy liked.

"Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this somewhere else, sir?" she finally asked. Roy once again felt like a big idiot: of course, he should have suggested that from the start. No doubt this had something to do with their mission, so talking about it out in the open, with high-ranking officials everywhere, wouldn't have been too smart.

"Yeah, sure," he muttered, "we can go back to my office. Armstrong, go wake up Fury and Falman, would you?"

As the big man saluted and turned to go, Riza lowered the ice pack for a second, and Roy caught a glimpse of the wound beneath it…an ugly, purplish-brown slash that was still oozing bright red. He gritted his teeth, stomach tightening with anger. Whoever the hell had attacked her…they'd just made a very big mistake.

Riza settled into her desk chair, with the rest of them crowding around her. Fury was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, but everyone else was wide awake and alert. Roy was the only one not looking at her; he was staring out the window again, his handsome features molded into a preoccupied frown.

"I was on my way home," she began, "and I noticed I wasn't alone in the alleyway…"

Roy listened in growing horror as she described the night's events. He didn't want to believe some of the things she was saying…a homunculus that bullets just bounced right off of? Someone strong enough to crush a gun bare-handedly? And, from the sound of things, this one had only been a pawn being used by others. Did that mean King Bradley and whoever Sloth was were even more powerful?

"But why," Fury asked, "did Greed come after you?"

"Yeah really, you'd think he'd go after the colonel if anyone," Breida commented.

Silence…

Roy turned around to look at the first lieutenant, confused. He'd noticed that she had left that part out, and now it seemed like she didn't want to answer Fury's question…but why?

"Lieutenant…?" He stared hard at her, wondering what it was she was trying to hide. "He did give you a reason, didn't he?"

"Yes sir," Hawkeye answered, almost inaudibly. She hesitated again, obviously unwilling to keep going. "He said…he had been told to kill me because…the homunculi want to…to hurt you…"

"To hurt me?" Roy echoed, not understanding.

"Yes sir…" Her voice dropped down low again, and she refused to meet his incredulous eyes. "Because…Greed said that since you and I are…since I am your subordinate, since you and I are close in that regard…it would cause you pain if I was the one destroyed…"

A rushing of air, a swirling of color--Roy grabbed at his desk and tried not to cry out. The others in the room sat in shocked silence, except for Hughes, who had the good sense to look concernedly over at his best friend.

Roy felt dizzy again, and he didn't think his legs could support his weight much longer. In a daze, he stumbled to the door, his fingers grasping clumsily for the knob.

"Colonel? ...Sir, where are you going?"

"Hey, Chief, are you ok?"

"Roy, hold on a sec."

Roy turned around, forced himself to sound nonchalant as he brushed off his subordinates' questions.

"Just…the bathroom…just going to the bathroom…"

He turned and staggered out, closing the door behind him. Somehow, he made it to the bathroom…somehow, he found his way over to the mirror…somehow, his legs kept him upright. A naked bulb swung slowly back and forth overhead, casting eerie shadows over everything below.

Roy stared into the mirror, and took in his appearance. His spiky black hair was disheveled, his uniform was wrinkled and dirty, and his onyx eyes were bloodshot, haggard, and--to put it quite frankly--scared. Roy Mustang was a wreck.

Because of me…she was attacked because of me…!

He leaned against the wall and cried out against this added injustice. He was trying, damn it, he was trying to move past her! He knew that to still harbor the feelings he had for Hawkeye was wrong, but what else could he do? Must he still be punished for something he was fighting against?

Dammit, he half-sobbed, why did they have to drag her into this? Why did they have to go after Riza? If they wanted to hurt me, then why didn't they just kill me?

He couldn't understand…hadn't he suffered enough for his crimes already? Had he, with his nightmares and guilt-ridden existence, still not paid the price set down by the devil? And even if he hadn't, even if he would be forced to pay from here to the end of eternity for his sins, why did Riza have to suffer with him? What had she ever done but follow his shadow, ever-loyal?

It's all my fault…

'Since you and I are close…'

Don't say that.

'If I was killed…'

Please. Please don't say that.

'Since you and I are close…'

I can't be close with you! I can't! I don't want to hurt you!

'It would cause you pain if I was killed.'

I'm sorry!

'She loves you, Roy. You know that as well as I do.'

I don't want to hurt you…Riza, it's too dangerous, I can't love you. I can't love you…

'Since you and I are close…'

Don't say that!

Roy suddenly felt extremely nauseous. He lunged for a stall, and only barely reached it in time. Dropping to his knees, he bent over the toilet bowl and puked his guts out. He vomited until his body screeched in pain, until bright lights flashed in front of his eyes and he felt woozy. Then he collapsed against the toilet, gasping.

"Roy? Hey, Roy, you in here?"

Roy sat quietly, praying Hughes wouldn't walk in and find him. After a second, the bathroom door banged shut, and Roy slowly got back to his feet and left the stall. He went back over to the mirror and began to mechanically adjust his uniform and straighten his hair. He splashed water on his face and checked to make sure he didn't look as guilty as he felt. He checked to make sure that he looked a-ok…because a good soldier didn't show emotion, didn't allow personal feelings to come between him and his work.

And Roy Mustang needed to be a good soldier—it was all he had left…

EDIT 10/14/07-- After many long months of pretending this fic didn't exist, chapter ten has been fiddled with. Also, if this thing hits 200 reviews I'll faint.