Disjointed Portrayal II

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all.

Warning: I do not mean to offend anyone who is transsexual. This story is a plot that just sort of made itself and I wondered about writing it. If you get offended, do it for the relatively tame sequel, okay? This story is primarily about dealing with a bad situation until the end, then it has more romance.

Pairings: Ed and Roy eventually, and Roy and Riza if you squint.

Mustang pulled the key out, opening the old door to the comfortable and sparsely furnished apartment. Pulling his gloves off his hands, he looked knelt down to give Black Hayate a scratch behind the ears and was slobbered on in return.

Straightening his back, Roy looked down at his hands, thinking about what he was doing there.

It was a weekly ritual that Roy and Riza would meet, have dinner and practice. It was an act- there was no romantic feeling there, but a reminder of who they were. They would talk about anything and everything, dressed up and elegant, and think about old times even if they were never mentioned. It was an act they kept up for each other, but it was something that had helped them still.

Then Edward had found that picture… and suddenly the familiar act wasn't able to soothe him.

His hands were long boned, elegant and smaller than most men's. There were calluses on the palms from where he ran the obstacle course with the rest of the men, from wearing rough gloves most of the time- but the nails were well kept, filed, clear and even. One of the few vanities he allowed himself was a pristine exterior…

Hayate grumbled, and Mustang smiled and patted him in apology. Riza wasn't there yet. Apparently she had a few errands to run before she came back to the apartment, and Mustang looked around.

It was tidy, of course. Hawkeye was rarely anything but. She was organized to the point of anal retentive and he didn't think he could cope without her there. There were almost no personal effects, except for a picture of a younger Riza, Roy and Hughes together in uniform in Ishbal.

Roy, as far as he knew, was the only person with a picture of Renee, Richard and Maes. Somehow that made things even more ironic.

There was a bed, a dresser, a small vanity with a collection of cosmetics and combs, and no personality at all.

Richard had liked dogs, hunting, guns and history. His father had bought him an antique pistol in a glass case when Renee was ten and it had stayed there for a week before it was taken out and used for shooting practice.

It had been Richard's, and then Riza's, most prized possession. It was nowhere in sight.

He had been to this apartment dozens, hundreds of times. He had stopped looking through the eyes of anyone but Roy Mustang, pushing the girl out of his mind.

"Damn Ed," he muttered, absently running his fingers through his hair. He'd been content to forget the past in light of the other things in his life. He'd forced the memories of who he had been away, and immersed himself in Roy Mustang, Colonel, playboy and Flame alchemist. It had been a life, a good life, even if it was plagued by guilt and ambition and babysitting a snot nosed brat who shed light over the darkest corners of a person's soul and made them see…

Roy caught sight of Riza's mirror again, narrowing his eyes and touching his face. The jaw wasn't heavy, it wasn't narrow either… His nose was still his nose, not large or small, and his eyebrows were still dark and arched over his eyes. He'd just shaved, and he rarely had to anyways, so he could imagine…

Sitting down in front of his reflection, he examined his face this way and that, and had picked up Riza's face powder brush and whisked it over his cheeks. He blinked when he realized what he was doing… and took a deep breath, picking up the eye shadow and smearing it over his lids. It didn't matter that the color- green- looked garish against his skin, or that his fingers were sloppy as they applied the stuff. He had no idea what he was doing as he picked up the mascara and tried to get the black fluid on to his lashes.

As he picked up the rouge, Roy paused to get a look at his reflection. On the whole, the makeup was amateur and crude, as if applied by a child. Yet it hinted, gave him an idea of what Renee might have looked like had she grown to adulthood, and… She'd been a kid. A stupid kid, and she would never exist again. She was Roy Mustang now.

He was Roy Mustang, a sinner… and Renee wasn't.

He covered his face with his hands, and sat there for a long time, not moving until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Roy?"

The voice was soft, familiar, and Riza.

"Yes?"

"What happened?"

Without removing his hands, he told her about Ed coming into his office and finding the old picture. That he had been so surprised he hadn't bothered to deny it… and that maybe, just maybe, the reason why he hadn't lied had been that he wanted Edward to understand. The kid was able to shake the world with his steps, and had been through so much. He had wanted someone else to understand, and to know. He knew Ed would never tell, and…

Gently Riza turned him around to face her, pulling down his hands. She didn't flinch, but her lips did tighten when she saw his clumsy attempts at applying makeup, before her gaze softened. She reached for a box of tissues.

"It's not a crime, Roy, to remember what happened. You were as much a victim as I was." Her tone was forgiving. "It's not a crime to regret. We both have them, and while I can't say I have the same guilt you do, I do have plenty of regrets." She signed, dabbing at his face, before reaching for the rouge he had dropped. She pulled out a blush and flicked it over his cheekbones. "I stayed true to myself, tried to live my life despite my gender, but you embraced being Roy Mustang. You wanted to forget." She smiled faintly. "Not that you aren't Roy, but you wanted to kill Renee off. But she's still alive in there."

Roy closed his eyes when Riza spread the lipstick over his mouth, dabbing carefully to fix a smudge.

"Look."

Mustang took the small hand mirror that Riza gave him, staring hard at the person in the mirror. A stranger peered back; she had pale skin and dark eyes and strong features. She was pretty.

She was an illusion.

Roy put the mirror face down on the vanity, refusing to look at the larger one to his back.

"Are we going out tonight?" he finally asked, and Riza ignored that his voice was more than a few octaves higher or that he had to clear his throat several times.

"I thought we might eat in."

Roy didn't look at her, as she offered him an out. He took it, standing stiffly and heading to the bathroom. The door closed with a note of finality and Riza wished she hadn't seen the tired, lost expression on Mustang's face.

When he stayed in there for over half an hour, water running, she never said a word.

To be continued.