Living on Borrowed Time
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: Watch carefully as I torture you by using too many pronouns! Mwhahaha! Hopefully I haven't lost too many reader's b/c of Hawkeye's death. Don't worry…there's more to her death than meets the eye ;)
By the by, has anyone that's read several of my stories notice I tend to have two writing styles? One style is based more on the people's words and the other based more on actions, feelings and description? …well I noticed… :P
Chapter 4 – Fiery Fury
Roy Mustang walked home in the rain. The droplets trickled down his handsome face, covering the few tears that had negotiated their way out of his eyes. Few people were on the street, most were inside working. A beautiful blonde woman walked by underneath an umbrella. Usually Roy would have noticed her right away, but he didn't even realize she was there until she let out a whimpering gasp. He looked up at her and saw she was staring at his hands. He diverted his eyes from her as she let out a raspy scream and dashed inside a nearby shop. He realized that he probably looked like a murderer walking down the street covered in blood…his heart felt heavy and he admitted to himself he felt like a murderer. He felt responsible…there had to have been more he could have done. He went over the scene over and over in his mind trying to find something anything he could have done differently…there wasn't anything, and it only made his heart sink further. It had been bad when Maes had died…but this was different. She'd died in his arms…his name on her lips. He tried not to think of her final words…so many things had been left unsaid.
He was surprised to find himself in front of his apartment already. He leaned against the door, thankful for its support. Without looking he unlocked the door and stumbled his way into the room, closing the door with his foot. A few steps away was his couch and he flopped onto its overstuffed cushions. The pillows tried to comfort his aching heart, but he felt undeserving of the solace and he rolled himself roughly onto the floor. Staring up at his ceiling he tried to hold back the tears. Her voice in his ears had resumed saying his name and it was starting to get to him. "Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy…" it continued. Broken tears slid down his face, and strolled down his neck, seeping into the fabric of his already drenched uniform. He tried to calm himself and took a deep breath through his nose. It startled him…he could smell the blood on his clothes. The room felt thick with her and he struggled with the buttons of his uniform jacket. He leaned up and took the jacket off completely, flinging the wretched thing across the room. He stood up and made his way into his room, but unfortunately he had a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hands and forearms were caked with her blood. A few flecks of the red stain had appeared on his face like grotesque freckles. They'd most likely found their way there when she'd coughed up the blood. What bothered him the most was the blood that stained his shirt. It'd seeped all the way through his jacket. It seemed to have puddle a bit near his heart where she'd grasped his shirt to keep him with her. With the same detest he had for his jacket he ripped off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. Rage consumed him when he once again saw his reflection in the mirror. The blood had stained all the way through to his skin. His heart was marked with her blood. Enraged at the sight, his hand involuntarily clasped into a fist; he reared back and lunged at the mirror. His fist broke the glass easily and he couldn't control the pain anymore. He wanted to take his anger out on something…anything. He turned to see his blood covered shirt on the floor and had an idea. Hastily he picked up his shirt and when into the other room to collect his jacket. He threw them both into the fireplace and pulled out his ignition gloves. He only pulled one on and looked at his clothes with disdain. Angrily he snapped his fingers and the clothes immediately caught fire. He snapped his fingers again and the clothes burned brighter, again and again he snapped his fingers until the fabric was merely a pile of ashes. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes, small tears making their way down his face to drop off his chin. He threw the gloves across the room and went back to his bedroom and into his bathroom. The little firework display a moment ago had calmed him a bit, but the pain still burned within him. She'd marked him with her blood…with her life. He may have been unable to save her from death…but nothing would keep him from making her murders pay. She'd marked him as her avenger, and it was a role he was more than happy to play.
It might be a little while before my next chapter...I've got to make a few decisions about my timeline for the story