Okay, this is how it breaks down: the detectives, the victim, plot, and all the obscure references to the people you've never heard of-mine; regular characters, the city, and all that other crap-not mine. All that crap belongs to the company...or something like that. So, let's get going.
They
stood together in front of her grave. He had sat in the back row of
the church during her ceremony, she had kept him company and shared
in his pain. Roy and Riza stood now together in front of her grave.
It was time for a more personal form of grieving now. It was a time
for apologies and a time for a deep shared depression. Looking back,
he had heard some beautiful things said about her. Maes had spoken at
the ceremony, and Foust and Lt. Esch had made appearances. Neither of
them exactly appriciated the looks Foust had given Riza, and it
occurred to him that Esch didn't know who killed her. That wasn't
important now, though. It was just the three of them, and the only
thing that mattered was that Arika knew what happened.
Riza looked
at him for a moment. "That's a nice tune, Roy. What is it?"
He
smiled. "It's my favorite requiem."
"How appropriate,"
she said ironically. She took a step back. "I'll let you say your
goodbyes in private, sir."
She was suddenly so formal. Well,
alright then. "Thank you, lieutenant." She walked away and he sat
down in the grass. At first, he just sat there, looking at the sky,
the hills, the trees, anything but the crushing reality of the
headstone. He knew she would have him come to grips with oppresive
weight of her absence, so he turned to look at her grave. In his
mind, she sat with him there, on a grassy hill just outside Central.
He began to speak. He told her of the ceremony, the beautiful things
Maes had said for her. He had recited a prayer for her. Foust had
read a poem she had written at some point or other, truly moving.
Lieutenant Esch had gone on about what a wonderful person she had
been. He was a small, jittery man, too young for his uniform, for the
duties put upon him. He shook his head. "No, far too young, Arika.
You work with him, you must know what I mean." He knew it was a
little crazy, talking to her like this, but he didn't care. It
comforted him to see her there, and that was all he needed right now.
Finally, he told her how she died. He told her because she deserved
to know, because she would want to know, because she would have done
the same for him. He sat and cried quietly for a few minutes, then
rose and stepped over to Riza. "Lieutenant?"
"Yes,
sir?"
"Unless you would like to say a few words…?"
"No
sir, I feel it would be inappropriate." She paused for a moment,
thoughtful. She walked over to the grave. "I am…very sorry,
General." She looked back at Roy, who was respectfully averting his
eyes. "I'm sorry…Arika." She walked back to
Roy.
"Done?"
"Yes, I believe so, sir."
He gave Arika
a parting glance, then turned his back on her. "I've been
thinking, Hawkeye."
She rolled her eyes. "Really, sir?"
He
glared. "Yes, I've been thinking about how you said the Fuhrer
sent you to kill me. Why would he do that unless he knew what I was
planning?"
"I've been thinking of that too, sir."
He
stopped, took a breath, and prepared himself for the pain of what he
was about to say.
But Riza beat him to it. "I think we have a
mole,
sir."
Bum bum bum! I think I lost control of this story. Oh, well. Wait, screw this! I'm making a new story, so hah! If by some freak of capture I've kept your interest, you can find it under The Mole. I know, I know, anti-climactic, but still….
