Living on Borrowed Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing

EDIT was reuploaded b/c I found out Hawkeye's real Grandfather's last name, its Grumman

Author's note: Ah, I love reusing things from my former stories…it gives me a feeling of continuity and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. For those of you that read my other Royai fics you may remember some of Riza's background info and you might also recognize The Red Herring tavern in this chapter. Seriously, if I owned a bar I would so call it The Red Herring…yeah I'm weird. Here's a happy thought, next chapter you get to find out some stuff about Riza's death! Do the happy dance ppl!

Who needs a good laugh before I make you guys sad again? I know I do! You want to know something funny? I wrote the title of this fic on a whim, and then I actually thought about it today, and I was like "Holy crap! That actually has serious significance! OMG! I'm such a weirdo!" I did the same thing in "The Wants of the Few" (only in that story it wasn't the title, I accidentally foreshadowed something in an early chapter and I didn't even know I was going to write that until like chapter 11!) Lol I'm a very peculiar person :P

Chapter 5 – Optimistic Bastard

The hot shower hadn't done much for Roy's disposition, or his skin. As he stood in front of his mirror, he forced himself to look at his still stained hands. The blood stains had faded into a dull red, but scrubbing hadn't done anything to remove them…her blood seemed to have sunk into his every pore. "Roy…" her voice whispered in his ear, it pained him to hear her voice and he closed his eyes against the pain, upon opening them again, he thought for just a moment he saw her smiling face in the mirror. He blinked a few times to be sure, but there seemed to be nothing there. Desperate to escape the image he turned and slumped on his bed. He studied the ceiling, shadows danced around the room as the fan slowly turned. He reached out with his right hand toward the ceiling. 'She was my right hand…' he thought as he looked at his rust colored fingers. 'How could she have…but she-she just doesn't feel gone…'

'Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy…' her voice rang in his ears. It was the last word she ever said. The thought brought his mind forcefully back to her last words. No…those words…they couldn't be true. He tried forced himself to think about something else…anything else. Before he had time to think of anything else a knock on the door echoed through the house. He started to answer the door, but he noticed his blood stained hand as it reached for the knob. The memory of woman from the street screamed in his mind and he went back to his room and grabbed a jacket and some gloves. With himself sufficiently covered, he answered the door.

A young red headed man in a military uniform was there. Roy wasn't familiar with the boy, but his name pin said J. Mason. The boy saluted "Are you Colonel Mustang, Flame Alchemist?" the young man asked in a high pitched voice…it sounded like he hadn't quite made it through puberty yet.

"Yes." Roy responded.

"Then this is for you." Mason said as he thrust a brown package into Roy's arms. Confused Roy threw him a look. "What's this?" Mason merely shrugged. "I just deliver the stuff, I don't know what it is." He replied, but then remembering he was talking to a higher ranking officer added, "Sir."

Mustang turned back inside and closed the door; completely puzzled by the package. The only thing written on the brown paper was his name and initials R.H on the back. He gently tore the package open and promptly stopped breathing.

Havoc opened the door to a local bar called The Red Herring. It was a strange name for a bar he'd often thought. A red herring was something that drew your attention away from a central issue…Havoc's only explanation for its peculiar name was because alcohol was the only thing that could pull some people's attention away from their problems. Roy was definitely one of those people. Jean had dropped by his commanding officer's house, but there was no one there, he could only assume that Roy was here. His hypothesis was correct. In the corner of the bar hunched over a glass of whiskey was Roy Mustang.

"Colonel?" said a voice behind Roy, as a familiar hand landed on his shoulder. "What are you doing here?" Havoc asked. Mustang slowly turned to face his lieutenant. It was strange…he almost had expected Hawkeye to be there…she was the only one he'd ever thought would come see him like this. Havoc seemed to be taking her place quite well...trying to stand up for him in the interrogation, standing outside the door, making him go home, and now making sure he was okay. Something about this situation made Roy's anger bubble in the pit of his stomach…no one could take her place, and it certainly wasn't Havoc's place to try.

"I'm trying to drink myself into a coma" Roy replied to his question.

"You should go home…you've had a traumatic experience. Drinking can't be good for you."

"Since when has drinking ever been good for anyone?" Mustang replied spitefully. Part of him wanted Havoc to leave him alone…but part of him didn't want to be left alone with her memory. "Sit down." He said. When Havoc didn't immediately comply, he barked the order again. "Sit down!" Havoc obeyed and when the bartender came by he motioned for a glass of water.

"Her funeral has been scheduled for next Monday." Havoc said, trying not to look his superior in the eye. Roy bit the inside of his mouth, trying not to think about her death. He nodded quietly to Havoc's statement and stared at his glass. Gazing deep into his whiskey Roy was taken back to another place…he found himself speaking his thoughts without really meaning to. "Havoc, what did you know about Hawkeye?"

The lieutenant shook his head, "Not much…we didn't really talk about that sort of thing."

"I suppose you wouldn't…" he replied. "Let me tell you a little about her…She was born just a little west of Central. Her mother was a ballet dancer…a really good one. And her father made and sold guns to the military for a living. You know that little clip on the back of your gun that keeps it from firing while it's in your holster?" Havoc nodded, not really sure where this was going. "That thing is called an Axel clip. It was named after the man that invented it, Axel Hawkeye." The realization hit Havoc like a blow to the head, but he was too stunned to say anything 'Well that explains her amazing talent with guns…' he thought.

While Havoc was silent, Mustang continued, hardly even noticing his companion. "Did you know what she wanted to be when she was little? Of course you don't…she wanted to be a ballet dancer like her mother…I thought it always seemed a bit girlie for Hawkeye, but I heard she was really good…when she was 8 her father died in a shooting accident. Ironically enough she took up arms, hung up her toe shoes and learned to shoot…I suppose it made her feel close to her father somehow…her mother died when she was 15, I think she died from that breakout of Tyropa we had around then. Hawkeye didn't really have anywhere to go after that other than the military. Her grandfather was a Major General at the time…you may know him, General Grumman?"

Havoc's eyes widened…there had been so much he'd never known about his comrade…it seemed a crime now that he'd never really known her. Mustang downed the rest of his whiskey and motioned the bartender to fill it up once more. The Colonel continued his story as he stared at the pouring stream of fiery alcohol filling his glass. "She got into the military just as the war in Ishbal began. …would you believe she was going to try and quit after the first day? She'd been ordered to shoot any Ishbalan on sight and she followed her orders. The first person she ever shot was an Ishbalan boy, just a little younger than she was at the time…after that she was ready to hang up her rifle and quit."

Havoc was amazed. Hawkeye had never struck him as tender hearted, much less the quitting type. "What made her stay?" he asked, becoming pulled deep into Hawkeye's history.

"Maes made her stay. He told her that she was working under the wrong people, told her that she needed to be under a commanding officer that had some honor…someone that would take care of her…" Mustang laughed strangely at the comment as if it was ridiculous, "I'm still not completely sure how he convinced her…but he did. Maes always was rather persuasive…You know he brought her to me the next day. I put her to work and before Maes left he winked at me and said 'I made sure to get you a pretty one…' I don't know what possessed her, but I suppose something I said or did made her think I was worth protecting…From that day forward she followed me. She's the only soldier that I've ever let talk back to me without consequences and she's the only woman I've ever met that I can honestly say I respect." Roy finished as he downed another shot. He finally turned to Havoc, his eyes bloodshot, possibly from crying but Havoc tried not to notice. "She's been my right hand for almost 10 years…how am I supposed to go on with my life?" Havoc started to open his mouth, but he couldn't find the words. Mustang continued. "She is part of my day…walking into the office every morning and seeing her there—it's like breathing. She was my back up plan, Havoc. No matter what I did, or how bad I screwed up and rushed into things, I could always count on her to come in and save my ass at the last minute…and do you know, I never once thanked her? Why is it you never know what you've got until it's gone? I swear, I would give ten years of my life to get her back." Roy's voice had become soft and Havoc felt he sensed something different in the way the Colonel spoke of his subordinate.

"Colonel…I know it might not be my place to ask, but is—was there anything…between you two?"

Roy smiled a half sober smile at his subordinate. "You want to know if I was intimate with her?" Havoc looked uncomfortable, but forced himself to stiffly nod. Roy shook his head. "I never touched her. We were soldiers and she always made sure that being soldiers came first. …I don't think it ever occurred to me that the feelings might have been there. It's amazing the emotions that surface you realize when someone's gone…" Roy took another shot of whiskey and didn't speak again. Havoc wasn't quite sure what his superior's words meant…did they mean that he loved her, but didn't realize it until now…or did they just mean that he never thought he'd be this upset about her death? Havoc wanted to ask, but the words got caught in his throat. Maybe it was for the best. He had a feeling even if he did ask, Mustang wouldn't tell him.

"I can't get her out of my head." Mustang said as he stared at his empty glass. "I keep hearing her voice…"he said, closing his eyes in pain, "every time I close my eyes, she's there…"

"Sir…it was traumatic. You just need a little time…things will get better…" Havoc said, trying to help.

"Since when did you become such an optimistic bastard?" Mustang replied, his spite rising to the surface. "It won't get better."

"It will…you just need-"

"What the hell do you know about my needs? She died in my arms! Someone I cared about died for me…again... Her blood is still on my hands." He said, ripping off his glove, revealing his tainted hands.

Havoc gasped, and Roy continued. "I'm quitting the military."

Havoc's eyes grew wider, "You can't!"

Mustang looked his subordinate straight in the eye, "I can and I will. No one else should have to die for me."

"But what about making it to the top! You promised—"

"I promised that I'd keep her safe! And I couldn't even manage that!" Mustang shouted back to him. "Did you know that General Grumman is out of the country currently?" Havoc was confused at this sudden change of subject and just shook his head. Roy continued, "He's out of the country…he was her only living relative. So do you know what they did with the uniform she died in?" Havoc shook his head again, beginning to be a little frightened at Roy's behavior. "They sent it to me." Mustang stated, his voice cracking a bit.

The entire bar seemed to have stopped moving…hush seemed to fill the building, but it was all in Havoc's head. He couldn't imagine having someone he cared for murdered in his arms…and then being sent the very clothes that they died in. It was a blow to his nerves and he fought to keep himself from shaking. Mustang spoke again, "I'm quitting…and there's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind." He stood up and pulled out some money and placed it on the bar.

Havoc thought for a moment and he found himself blurting out a thought, "She wouldn't want you to quit." Roy stopped, the mention of Hawkeye had a paralyzing effect on him. "She wouldn't want you to quit…" Havoc repeated, "If you quit, her sacrifice would have been in vain…"

Mustang let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. Havoc was right…her sacrifice…her life would have been in vain. Quitting now seemed like it would desecrate her memory. He turned slightly to face Havoc, a mix of hatred and appreciation playing in his chest. "You're right. I just, I don't feel like she's gone. There's something…I'm not sure what it is, I just can't feel like she's gone…" Mustang's eyes wandered down to glance at something strange on the shoulder of Havoc's uniform. There was another star there…it marked him as a 1st lieutenant…Hawkeye's rank. "You've been promoted?" Mustang said a mix of a statement and a question.

Havoc only averted his eyes. He hadn't wanted to tell Mustang yet…it already felt wrong to him, he didn't want to have to push it on Roy too. "Don't get too comfortable in that position." Mustang said as he started toward the door, "She's not gone."

I know this whole thing seems strange. Most of you are probably thinking, "Does he believe she's gone or not? He keeps saying that he wants to quit 'cause she's dead, but he keeps saying that she doesn't feel gone." The reason is that Mustang is fighting a war between his head and his heart. His head is saying that she's gone and she's not coming back, but his heart just can't let her go. …wow, that sounds profound