AN--HI. another chapter for ya. this wasn't originally in the storyline, but i was bitten really badly by the idea bug, and here's the result. basically, it answers this one question of mine- why did riza pledge to support and protect roy in the first place?

as i've mentioned, i'm not much of an angst writer usually. i dont mind READING it, but sappy has never been my thing. i'm finding, however, that there's a line, however thin, between good angst and sappyness...so if i ever cross that line, lemme know!

The Unbroken Promise

Riza sat, alone now, in the colonel's office. Everyone else had gone off who knew where looking for Roy.

She was the only one who hadn't moved.

The expression on Roy's face refused to leave her mind. Even when she closed her eyes, she could still see him, shocked and upset. She wasn't sure who it was that he was upset with, though…himself for being the cause of the attack, or her, for causing even more chaos. Either way, she felt horrible. Horrible, because he shouldn'thave to protect her…Greed had been right about that, at least. Wasn't she the one who once swore to protect him?

'If you weren't so close to him, he wouldn't have to suffer.'

He wouldn't have to suffer…she knew, or at least liked to think she knew, that Roy would never begrudge her protection or blame her for any of this, but still…she was the instrument being used to hurt the colonel…she was the one hurting him, even if she didn't mean to…

'The two of you aren't much more then a state alchemist and his pet anyway.'

His pet? Was that really how it looked from the outside? Because it wasn't like that, Riza swore; she wasn't his lapdog. No, she was his subordinate and his friend—wasn't she? She always looked out for him, tried to keep the oftentimes absent-minded colonel safe…she put his protection above hers, always and forever. But…did that mean she was a good friend…or a good guard dog?

'You're the guilty one…'

No…it wasn't like that…it couldn't be like that…but what if it was? Could she go back to the way things used to be, during the early stages of Ishbal, when she considered Roy to be a nothing more than a typical, snooty officer with a typical, snooty god complex? Back to the days when she neither loved nor hated him…when she didn't care about him one way or the other…

But…had she ever really seen the colonel that way to begin with? She could only recall respecting him; the only life she knew was spent right by his side…

Shifting her duffel bag to her other shoulder, Riza Hawkeye looks around at the strange, unfamiliar landscape. It is nothing but desert, nothing but unending waves of sand broken only by a small group of buildings a few miles away, and, closer to where she stands, row after row of grit-smeared tents. Upon closer inspection, she comes to the conclusion that the tents might have been green, once. She blinks, her eyes tearing up from the low wind that has not stopped once since she got here.

Everywhere she looks, there is sand.

She wonders which tent she is supposed to find to check in. The soldier who dropped her off left no instructions, and none of the small shelters have any distinguishing features that would hint at being a center of command. Sighing, she sets her bag down and resigns herself to wait. She is in no big hurry anyway, seeing as how the only thing she has to look forward to is war.

Eyeing the alien world around her, Riza decides that it is indeed an ugly place, and wonders why the Ishbalans would be so attached to such a dismal land. Personally, she has no quarrels with them; in truth, she actually finds herself sympathizing more and more with those strange people. In any case, she does not think her fellow soldiers belong here…but it's not a decision for a sergeant such as herself to make. The higher-ups who started this war are determined to finish it.

A small piece of paper attached to her bag catches her eye. It has been there since she departed from Central, but she never really looked at it until now.

'Sergeant Major Riza Hawkeye, sharpshooter, advanced.'

That's all it says—only six words to sum up a person. Five for those not as skilled as she was. 'Sergeant Major Riza Hawkeye, sharpshooter, advanced.'

'Advanced'...she mulls over the word. She is considered something of a prodigy back home, she knows; she has been hitting bulls-eyes with her eyes closed since she was a little girl. The many military figures she has worked under all brag over her and her amazing skills with a rifle. They say that she is unshakeable, disciplined, a perfect subordinate through and through.

The compliments mean nothing to her. She was never close enough to any of those officers to care.

When the orders came, directly from the top, that she was to be transferred to Ishbal, she felt no sadness upon leaving her former post. The only thing she remembers wondering is why she was so important to the war effort…her commanding officer at the time assured her it was because her skills could best be put to use there.

Riza sits idly--something she hates having to do--and muses on what this war will be like. She knows very little about her post here. Sent to Central for special training, she was then hurried off to Ishbal to serve under an up-and-coming young major they say could even make colonel if he plays his cards right. That is all she has been told about her assignment under this man, this Roy Mustang.

(Except for that other tidbit Hawkeye has picked up: the ladies love him. There was even a rumor back home that he was first sent to the front by a general annoyed with the 'friendliness' between said playboy major and the general's wife.

Of course, there is also a rumor that says the major started that story, to get himself noticed and add to his legend. Riza isn't quite sure what to believe.)

Another hot blast of air, and her duffel bag is covered with fine pale grains. She brushes them away, irritated, but in a minute more come to take their place. Of the few soldiers she has seen here so far, all of them are draped with the same pale tinge. Hawkeye knows she must really stand out in such clean fatigues.

All in all, she thinks she prefers the grime of the city to the grime of the desert.

Her eyes are still watering, and the sun beats down mercilessly on her head. She begins to feel impatient, sitting out here sweating to death.

'Heh…the military moves pretty slowly around here. You get used to it.'

The voice from behind makes her jump. Riza whirls around to see a man with the four stripes of a major watching her. His black hair is wind-blown and his uniform covered with layers of dirt. She can't see his eyes, but his voice sounds cynical and tired.

She jumps to her feet and salutes. 'Major, sir.'

The man gives her a shadow of a grin. 'You're new here, huh. I haven't been treated so politely since I got my promotion.' The words are said with a laugh, and yet are noticeably humorless.

She hesitates, unsure. 'Sir, I was assigned to…'

'Eh?' He looks at her assignment papers and shrugs a bit. 'Head over there, first tent on your right once you get past the second row.' He notices her annoyed blinking and half-smiles again. 'Don't worry...you'll get used to the sand soon, too.' He steps closer, and his eyes come into view for the first time.

The amount of self-hatred in them shocks her.

There is something in his manner to suggest a carefree attitude, as if the guilt is a recent addition; nevertheless, she finds it hard to meet his stark, angry stare for more then a few seconds. Hawkeye can't remember a time when she wasn't able to hold someone's gaze, but she is soon looking away all the same. The death in his eyes is far too recent.

She glances at the papers again, for want of somewhere else to look. 'Sir, it says here I'm supposed to join the ranks of a Major Roy Mustang…?"

Mild surprise enters his eyes. 'Yeah?' He turns to go. 'Then I guess you're in my section. If I were you, I'd transfer out.'

He walks off, leaving Riza slightly puzzled as to why life under Major Mustang, whoever he is, is so unbearable. Riza watches him go, wondering about this strange figure in the dust, about the haunted look in his eyes, about what kind of life she is going to have here, in Ishbal.

(She finds out later--that man was Roy Mustang, and a few hours after he spoke with her, he tried to commit suicide for shooting in cold blood two doctors from Resembool.)

'Hurry! We need more ammo over here! This building checks out, search that one! Hey, I found one! An Ishbalan, over there! Medic!'

Riza is in the midst of her first battle, and to her it seems as if it is the most violent clash in the history of mankind—no fight in any of man's many wars could have surpassed this one's brutality!

(Of course, it takes her only a few days, a few battles, to realize that there was absolutely nothing special about her first—it was no worse then any of the others. Perhaps the idea that humans could cause such carnage not once, but hundreds of times over again, is what shocks her the most.)

Bodies from both sides are falling in bleeding heaps all over the place. A shot and a shriek, and the man next to her collapses, his left eye a red, gaping hole. A few feet away, another man begins screaming, blood pouring through his fingers as he clutches at his stomach. When he finally drops, his hand falls away, and Riza can see his entrails glistening in the sun.

The entire world is red and dripping. Dark red, violent red, vicious red. Red, the color of death.

(The major was right…you do get used to the sand after a while. A few days is all it takes to get used to sand crunching between your teeth when you eat—if you can eat—spilling onto your cot when you sleep—if you can sleep—itching your scalp when you comb your hair--if you even bother any more. But no matter how long you are here, Riza believes, it is impossible to get used to the blood.)

A short burst of flames, and Major Mustang steps over a torched body. It is only her first battle, and already she has learned to keep an eye on him as he fights. There is something about this man--his desperate eyes, maybe, or the fact that he alone out of all the officers she has served under shows human emotion--that warns her to watch him carefully. It is not her place, perhaps, but he doesn't seem to care too much about proper protocol.

Besides, there is something about Roy Mustang that she likes. She doesn't know this man, really, but, then again, she doubts she could ever understand him completely. Either way, she wants to help him…it bothers her, because she can't figure out why

Another scream, and the major curses as a mother and her child get in the way of his flames, which were meant for the building only.

'Dammit, Kimbly!' he roars to the man next to him. 'These buildings were supposed to be empty!'

Kimbly, a skinny, sallow-faced alchemist with long, greasy black hair tied back in a pony-tail, shrugs. He looks at the bodies disinterestedly, not seeing human lives so much as a burning heap of useless flesh.

'Guess I missed a few,' he grins. The major looks furious. 'Jeeze, Mustang, chill out. They're just Ishbalans.'

Riza watches this, her gun cocked and ready. Her finger itches to pull the trigger and splatter Kimbly's skull open, but she controls herself. The humanity in the major's eyes is still there, still burning, and she remembers an old saying about how men who remain men in war do not last long…

Riza doesn't actually speak to her commander again until close to two weeks later. She is heading from the front lines to the medical tent a little ways back; a small cut on her face needs to be treated before infection sets in. It is not a very serious wound, just a line on her cheek that will probably require one or two stitches. Nothing important.

As she is entering the tent, Major Mustang is leaving it. She instantly stops and greets him with an, 'Hello, Major.' Her hand longs to spring up into a salute out of force of habit, but he has already told her not to bother. Such stupid measures of protocol belong in an office building, he often says, not a battlefield.

'Sergeant…Hawkeye, right?' The Major rubs his eyes, his right hand wrapped loosely in bandages. 'The famous sharpshooter.'

She nods. 'Yes sir.'

Mustang shakes his head, wearily. 'Sorry I haven't really had a chance to talk with you yet.'

She shakes her head, mildly surprised; apologizing is not something an officer usually does. 'It's been a busy few days, sir.'

He snorts, 'That's putting it lightly. Well, see you.'

He turns, starts to leave, but then stops, looks back at her. There's a strange light in his eyes that she does not remember having seen in them before.

'Sergeant,' he says slowly, 'you're gonna think I'm nuts, but I gotta ask you something.'

She raises an eyebrow. 'Sir, if you're trying to arrange a date for when we return home, I'm afraid I'll have to give you the same answer I gave the other three—'

He laughs easily, and she is relived to see that he takes his reputation lightly. Personally, she is amazed at herself for speaking that way to her commanding officer. Usually, she wouldn't dare, and yet…with this officer, it is surprisingly easy.

'God, no,' he grins, 'although I gotta admit I'm tempted.' His smile fades away, and she is taken aback by the intensity that fills his eyes. His gaze is commanding, but gentle at the same time, and she finds herself staring back into his dark orbs, unable or perhaps simply unwilling to look away.

(Deep within her, something awakens.)

'No,' he continues, 'what I was gonna ask was...how do you reason away all…all this?'

Riza blinks. 'I-I'm sorry, sir, I don't…'

The major's gaze doesn't lessen. 'You know…all this slaughter…you're not like a lot of the other soldiers around here, I can tell you don't like this any more then I do…but you're still so…calm about it all. How do you do that?'

She eyes him suspiciously, unsure if he is serious or just poking fun. After all, Roy Mustang is supposed to be an extremely flippant person, though she has seen little of that since she arrived. (It really is true, she sometimes muses, when they say that all men walk away from combat a different person then when they arrived).

Still, she finds it hard to believe a person could wear that expression and not mean what he said…

'Well…' Hawkeye begins at last, slowly. 'I suppose it's because I have no other options.'

'You could desert,' Mustang points out. 'It's not impossible, and you wouldn't have any more blood on your hands. It's the smart thing to do, if you think about it.'

Riza gets the sense he is no longer talking about her.

'Yes, sir, but…' She pauses, not sure how she could make him understand. 'It's just…' Finally, she decides on a way to put it that makes sense, at least to her ears.

'It's just that there's a smart thing to do and a right thing to do…and they're not always the same thing.'

The Major closes his eyes briefly; when he opens them again, he is smiling faintly. ''Nice way to explain it, Sergeant.' He looks for the first time at the cut on her face and frowns.

'Be careful out there, Sergeant Hawkeye…I don't want you getting hurt, understand?' A small smile plays at his lips for a second time. 'In fact, I order you not to get hurt here again.' He snickers good-naturedly, waves once, and is gone.

She is startled at the time, but in looking back, she doesn't find the conversation to be so strange. Nor is it surprising to her, in retrospect, when Mustang seeks her out in the mess hall the next day. From then on, he spends much of his free time by her side.

Another day, another pointless, bloody game of chess in which the pieces follow no rules and there are no winners. Riza is on the rooftop of a partially burned building, lying on her stomach, peering into the scope of her rifle. A pull of the trigger, and another man falls, and another, and another…

She is the veteran of many battles now—so many that they all blend into themselves. Looking back, she is never quite sure which incident went with which attack.

She has learned much of this chaos men call war; she has also learned that she was wrong when she thought it was impossible to get used to blood. Nowadays, she shoots and kills without even noticing the spurts of red, fountains of gore both repulsive and amazing.

She spends most of her time these days working as a sniper. Well-hidden, her bullets seem to come out of nowhere, and they almost always hit their target. In the beginning, she aimed for arms and legs, not hearts or heads. By now, however, she is starting to wonder how much good that actually does. By now, Riza understands that instant death would be better for these poor souls then being forever crippled or maimed.

She understands a lot more now, but sometimes it feels as if she knows nothing at all.

For instance, she often thinks about her purpose here. It seems as though every other soldier has some grand pretext to reason all the violence away, but Hawkeye cannot seem to find one for herself, no matter how hard she looks. She does not believe in the 'great cause' of her country, but without that she has nothing, no excuse, no way to push the blame off of her and onto someone else. And there is so much blame to avoid, she knows…she has done so many things…

(There is a rumor going around that she is going to be promoted soon. It was the major who told her, actually…it was supposed to be a great honor, being promoted after only a few months of service. Coming from him, however, from this grim, ragged man…coming from him, she felt only shame.)

Riza would do anything to protect Roy Mustang. She would die for him without thinking twice.

She doesn't remember when exactly she first realized this, but she knows for sure after today: an ordinary two-man patrol turned quickly into a muddled mess, as so often happens in combat. Her quick eyes, used to seeking out other snipers who blend in perfectly with their surroundings, see the attacker before the major does. Her gun roars, and the man falls limply to the ground. A sharp, bloodstained dagger rolls out of his hand.

The major simply stares. He looks shocked.

'…Sir?' she tries, tentatively. 'Are you ok?'

'He would have killed me,' Major Mustang says in wonder.

'Yes sir. If he'd gotten close enough, he certainly would have tried.'

Roy looks away from the corpse lying at his feet. 'Too bad you stopped him,' he sighs. His lips twist upwards as if to suggest he is joking, but Riza is not fooled.

(She wants to scream. There is too much happening here, and it's happening way too fast.)

'You're wrong, sir. With all due respect, it is important that you survive.'

'Oh yeah?' A cold smirk coils against his face. 'Why?'

'Because, sir…' She hesitates, wondering if what she is about to say does not cross some hidden line in their strange friendship…a friendship that sprouted up before either of them really knew it was there. 'Because, out of all the people here, you…are the most human.'

'Me?' he asks, incredulous. 'Me?' He gestures at the body lying close by. 'After…that? You still think that? After all the things I've done, all the people I've killed?'

'Yes sir.'

He shakes his head, amazed. 'Me…' He laughs, and Riza relaxes. It's a bitter laugh, to be sure…but it's a laugh. 'Me. Well, that's the funniest thing I've heard all day.'

'It's the truth,' she insists. 'You are the only officer who still mourns for these people. You are the only officer who hates what he is doing here. You…'

Mustang rubs his eyes, which are red from the ever-blowing sand. 'That's real pretty to hear, Hawkeye. When I die out here, I want you to give the eulogy speech, ok?'

'No sir,' she says, quietly, and he turns to her in surprise. Her training begins to yell at her, warning that she is forgetting her place, that she cannot question her commanding officer. But she ignores this, because she is not in a normal place, and this is not a normal situation…and because she knows the words need to be said. If the major punishes her for them, then so be it.

'No, sir. I cannot agree to that.'

Major Mustang clenches his fists.

'Dammit, Hawkeye…' he whispers. 'Why can't you give up on me? Why don't you just leave me alone?'

'Because you are my commanding officer, and I—'

'Fuck that!' he yells. 'Some commanding officer! Why the hell do you keep showing me all this goddamn respect? I don't deserve it! Why the hell can't you just—just give up on me already!? I can't be whatever it is you think I am!'

His outburst drains away; he stands with his back to her, ashamed. 'I can't do this,' he mumbles.

'No, sir,' she says firmly. 'You can. I have faith in you. I will never give up on you, sir, no matter what you say. You don't need to worry, Major. I'll always protect you. I promise.'

The words spill out of her before she realizes what she is saying, but in looking back, she does not regret saying them. Why should she? They are, after all, true.

'You…promise?' He finally smiles, weakly. 'You're unbelievable, Second Lieutenant, you know that? Unbelievable.'

And then, as they turn to head back, she hears him whisper, very faintly. He doesn't think she's heard him, and she doesn't let on that she has. But the words he spoke echo in her head for months afterwards…and even longer, even after the war…

'…Thank you.'

After that, Riza has no more doubt; she no longer feels the need to question her purpose out here. Because she has a purpose now, one that is very real, very solid.

She will protect her commander. She will not let anything get in the way of that. She will not let anyone hurt him.

True to her word, she does not get injured again in Ishbal. What small scratches she does get, she hides, because she does not want the major to worry. And she still isn't sure why she is so willing to keep him safe, but she figures that she'll ask the why later. Right now, she only asks the how. It is her mission, and it is her promise, and it is something she would die for.

Resigned, she prepares herself for another day.

EDIT 1/?/08--Not sure what the date is...I'm currently on winter break and it has been one and a half months of glorious nothing. This is about the only productive thing I've bothered to look at so far...heh. Well, anyway, hopefully this chapter is a bit better then it was.