Disclaimer: I'll own FMA one day… (When hell freezes over)
I apologise for those of you who have been waiting for this…the plot bunnies have not been kind (neither has my life, for that matter). Enjoy.
Ironically enough, it is said that ones who appear strong in heart are in reality, the weakest. Roy Mustang is no exception.
Wallowing in his own self-hatred, he contemplated suicide with a disturbing clarity, recalling that he had holstered Riza's bloodstained pistol and it now resided in his military-issue jacket. Heck, he would do anything…absolutely anything to rid himself of the pain that dwelled in deep inside his chest.
"Sir?"
Mustang's head whipped up immediately, naïvely hoping that the recent series of events had never happened, that the whole thing was merely a dream. Yes, it's just another day at work…and I've just had a horrible nightmare. Now, Riza's going to tell me off for dozing… and everything will be okay. Right…?
"The patient is now conscious," the doctor paused to chuckle slightly, "She's also demanding to be released from hospital and insists that she's fine."
Roy stood suddenly, his dwindling hope renewed.
"Thank you…may I see her?" She's…fine…just fine…
The doctor nodded and gestured towards the white door, giving his full consent.
Roy stepped gingerly inside the sterilized space, his eyes fixated on his first lieutenant. Despite teetering on the brink of death, she still looked radiant, no matter how her facial expressions betrayed her.
Honest auburn orbs met worn sable. "Have you come to take me back to Central, sir?"
Riza began to shakily push herself up, fighting against the constraints of her injured body. She had almost accomplished her goal but snarled bitterly as another wave of agonising pain overwhelmed her, forcing her to slump onto the headboard.
The blonde gritted her teeth in determination. "My back…" she seethed, "hurts like…hell."
Mustang rushed over and examined the assumed origin of the pain. A long ugly scar stretched from her left shoulder to her right hip, accompanied by many other, smaller scars, but no less painful. He traced the disfiguring mark with his finger, feeling her slight shiver as well as the jagged stitches that only reminded him of the unbearable pain he had caused her.
He sat next to her on the bed, taking care as not to jolt her and kissed her gently, feeling her lips soften into a smile at his close presence. He drew away and looked at her, genuinely sorry.
"Riza…I was so stupid…so careless…I'm really, really sorry…I really am…if I hadn't used alchemy, you wouldn't have been hurt…I'm such an idiot…I'm so sorry…" Roy's profuse apologies were silenced as Riza placed a finger on his lips, hushing him.
She smiled. Smiled as though nothing had ever happened and all was good in the world. As though poverty, disease and world hunger never existed. As though it was her very last day on Earth.
"I forgive you." She whispered, wincing.
"What's wrong?" Roy questioned anxiously, noticing that she had begun to twitch.
"Roy…" she breathed, her eyes sliding in and out of focus, "…doctor…" She fell back onto the pillow, her eyes glazing over.
"Stay with me, Riza…and that's an order." Roy murmured and sprinted out of the room, into the corridor.
"Doctor!" he yelled hoarsely, "Something's wrong!"
Several doctors ran past Roy, all rushing to check Riza's condition.
"Stay out, you're just an interference." A particularly kind one muttered to him.
Roy glanced up and down the lonely corridor to check whether anyone was there. He balled his fists in frustration and pounded the wall, letting out a strangled yelp that echoed the resentments of a military dog, chained and imprisoned to the indifferent State.
He slumped to the ground, utterly defeated. Leaning his head against the unforgiving wall, he stared up at the ceiling, longing to see the grinning face of Maes and the playful yet rare gleam in Riza's auburn eyes. His conscience tried to make sense of the whole dilemma but only succeeded in drenching his heart in another vortex of guilt and sorrow.
Yeah, that's right, Mustang, look at you. You're a spineless wimp.
My best friend is dead. My love is dying. And it's all my fault. I have every right to be a spineless wimp.
That may be true, but this is public. You are a military officer. You have responsibilities. You have to set an example.
You know what? I don't bloody care anymore. The military can go to hell. My job can go to hell. My life can go to hell. As long as Riza survives.
Oh my, so now you're a SOPPY spineless wimp.
Shut the fuck up.
Touchy, touchy.
You're my conscience. Aren't you supposed to be helping me?
I don't do that sort of thing.
Bull.
Alright, fine. Why don't you pick yourself up, march back into that room and demand to see Riza?
Somehow, I thought my conscience had common sense.
Oh shut it. At least I'm trying to help. Okay…why don't you just wait it out? I mean there's nothing else you can do.
That's it. I can't do anything. I feel so…useless.
That's because you are.
Thanks.
No problem.
So…what should I do now?
Hmm…sleeping on something always helps.
I can't go to sleep now. What happens if she dies and I'm not there for her?
Deal with it, lover boy.
But…
Or else you can face the wrath of my incessant babbling.
Big deal.
The other alternative is leaving you dangling above the bottomless pit of anguish, despair and chronic depression.
Alright, who are you and what have you done with my conscience?
Very funny.
I know I am.
Conceited, much?
It comes with the packa…hey…why, do I feel so…sleepy…
Oh, I've just been pulling a couple of strings down at the neurological centre. Seems the ladies down there are more than happy to help, if you know what I mean.
I…hate…you…
Love ya too, sweetums.
Sorry guys, just one more chapter…my sense of direction for this fic has temporarily gone AWOL. I suppose this chapter was a (romantic-ish) filler, hence the rambling between Roy and his conscience…I still haven't quite figured out where this story is going yet. (To kill or not to kill...that is the question…)
