A.C.: Exam time and I'm... procrastinating... –shakes head-
Summary: Upon finding the diary of the legendary Phoenix Alchemist, Edward is thrown into a plot long since launched into motion by the fabled war hero...
Timeline: Sometime before Hughes is dead.
Warnings: oocness, grammar/structure/spelling mistakes, spoilers?
Fire and gunpowder make up their dangerous world.
They who were now trapped in between the army of Drachma and Amestris…
An unlit cigarette was jammed into the corner of his mouth.
Blonde fringes falls over his eyes as he scans the map, hands itching for the nonexistent lighter.
"They have struck us here, here and here. We are defending here…" a thick finger points to a horribly conspicuous red 'x' against the non-descriptive blue and green tinted background.
A graying head shakes gravely.
"We are being pushed back far too quickly. Remember, Drachma is pushing from the other side as well."
"We just need more time…"
Havoc rubs his face wearily.
He bets Roy never got stubbles.
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Roy sneezes into his best friend's face just as a nurse hands him a passing note.
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They were children without a mother
She was a mother without a child,
In a way, it was this fatal combination that brought them close together.
The same bond that broke them beyond recognition at the sight of wild blue eyes framed by a mop of black...
The sin of wrath...
The 'Ultimate Merger'
Izumi closes her eyes.
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"You're not my mother! I don't give a shit about you!"
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"Shit, do you know how hard it is to sneak in hear without being seen?"
Riza makes an annoyed noise, Hughes raises a brow.
"She's jealous..."
Roy tries to explain, before the click of safety being turned off alerts him to higher powers behind him.
"Ah ha..."
Roy holds a hand out; pushing, perhaps the two of the only people he dared to call friends behind him and using himself as a human shield.
"Maes... I thought it was the Fuhrer's son's birthday today?"
A ruffle of papers as Hughes furiously flips through his pocket notebook and adjusts his glasses.
"What the hell was the definition for pineapples and tofu again? ...It is...!"
Dread fills his being and his shoulders sag at the sudden realization.
"Hawkeye, Hughes, get out."
"What!"
"General!"
"We've been had! Get out!"
"No! We can't leave you behind."
The coal black eyes are furious as they bear down on Riza Hawkeye.
"If you don't go now, this plan would have been all for nothing."
"Roy."
The Fuhrer's eyes were cold; he wouldn't wait for some tearful goodbyes.
'There won't be any, not if I can help it.'
"My men are out there dying; our friends are out there risking their necks because we're here. Now go, I'll catch up later."
Riza's umber eyes were watering but she stands firm with resolve.
Mustang watches sadly as she speeds down the hall and down the stairs.
'None of you ever knew did you?'
"Roy..."
Maes looked as if he would have liked to say more but instead he presses a silver knife to Roy's limp hands.
The touch is brief but electric,
It gives him the rush to go on.
"Good luck... Phoenix."
And as the former Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes races past him Roy holds out a hand at the approaching figure of the Fuhrer in all his might. Steely swords drawn, aiming for his throat.
There is a shrill screaming,
Roy snaps his fingers.
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"Excuse me! I have to borrow this ca..."
Surprised faces,
Lieutenant Hawkeye and former Lt. Colonel Hughes.
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"Get in."
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"Here chief, it's a good luck charm."
Havoc still walks awkwardly, the gangly limbs going astray like a newborn colt's as he tries to hug the wall.
"I think you need it more than I do Jean."
Mustang gives a haughty, dry look at the lighter on the blonde's palm. The silver lighter blinks back innocently, benign and smooth against the flesh palm of his Second Lieutenant. The said man gives a sheepish grin,
"Well who knows, we never know when it might rain right?"
The edges of Havoc's grin is strained, Roy takes the lighter into his hands and replies quietly,
"Right,"
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Riza is driving,
Even with the heavy disguise, the pale gold fringes were a dead give away.
Ex-Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes looks grim.
Roy Mustang was strangely absent.
The pieces fall together as the hospital behind them erupts into flames
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It was an abandoned church at the edge of the city where he was left off.
Irony fills him just as much as the light from the startlingly beautiful stained-glass windows gleam down on him.
They had come so far... but for what?
They had the solution at hand, but they didn't.
Ed claps his hands, a signature of the one who's seen beyond the gate.
The signature of the ones who were too proud to see the whole picture
Before the alter, a door slides open.
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"I must say, I've always wanted to know what would happen to my body if it was to be put through combustion."
Bradley peels the flint woven glove away from Roy's hand, taking care to carve it off from the flesh, the patented skill evident in the fact no marks were left behind aside from bruising from the darker fingers.
Before the Xingese could raise a hand, a sword is stabbed clean through the left wrist.
"I have the 'ultimate eye'... I see all possibilities."
The dark skinned sin's face was dangerously close, the mark of the ouroboros magnified and in place of where the turquoise iris should be on the left eye.
Roy spits into the homunculus's face,
He doesn't look surprised.
Instead, he pulls the renegade soldier to his feet and kicks him forward... in the direction of the headquarters.
Corpses lie all around at their feet,
Roy can't help but think of Ishival.
He can't help but transmute the surprised sin's body and blow it up into pieces.
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They salute each other,
"He'll make it, I know he will."
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"Why do you kill people?"
"The same reason we all do, to survive."
"But you don't... it's... it's not right."
A shrug
"Do you eat meat?"
"Huh?"
The question is repeated slowly, softly.
"Do you eat meat?"
"Yeah..."
"See, you kill to eat."
A protest,
"I... I didn't kill..."
A smug smile
"Ahh but that's where you're wrong... it's your fault that some poor poultry, beef, or pork is dead, just because you couldn't keep your bloodied hands away from meat..."
His hands are shaking,
The mouth nibbles the earlobe,
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"It's all... your fault..."
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"Get away from me."
The array on the hands flash at his eyes, waving lazily in the air, at dinner, he does not touch the overcooked meat presented to him and instead buries it in the dust when no one else is looking.