Originally Published: March 4, 2021

Last Edited: Oct 27, 2022

A/N: Trigger Warning, Sexual Assault. This is rated M for a reason.

Chapter 8

The Price of Flames, Part II

Thursday, December 10, 1908

A night breeze came in through the empty window, sandstone brick weathered by wind and the War. Riza curled herself into a tighter ball, her hood up and head down as she stared at the rubble strewn ground.

Ishval had been a series of never ending days and sleepless nights. She knew she'd only been deployed for 41 days, but it felt more like 41 years.

Today had seemed even longer.

Closing her eyes she could see the man who had threatened Roy and his friend, Captain Hughes. Her bullet to the head had crumpled the Ishvalan to the ground and saved the man she trusted most. The first kill on this battlefield she hadn't regretted.

That scared her. Was she becoming so desensitized to death that she felt nothing anymore? She hadn't killed anyone since, so she had no further information to come to a conclusion. Still, the words of that Alchemist over lunch sent chills down her spine, her skin crawling with horror.

"When you drop an enemy, can you tell me, in all honesty, that you don't, for a moment, indulge in the satisfaction and pride of a job well done?"

It was horrible... but what had shocked her most was the fact she had felt that, if only for an instant, when saving Roy's life.

What had this War done to her?

In the dim light of the moon filtering in through the window, Riza looked at her palms. Calluses from her gun marked her skin. She should be in her tent trying to sleep. She had a sixteen hour shift the next day. It was bound to be long and grueling like every other day she'd been here.

She knew she wouldn't be able to get any sleep.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention to the door. She instantly reached for her pistol, shifting to a crouch and hugging the wall with her back. A silhouette entered the doorframe, the outline of a man peering into the darkness of her hiding place. She was familiar with the cut of his uniform, clearly Amestrian, but she didn't relax. There was no room to let her guard down here. Not in Ishval.

He stepped further in, Riza rising to her full height. "Who goes there?" she demanded, leveling her gun at him.

He paused, silence stretching between them for a long moment. "Ah, I know that voice," a chill ran through her bones as she, too, recognized his. He stepped forward, moonlight giving sight to the Alchemist from earlier that day. His long, black ponytail hung over his shoulder, a soft smirk on his lips. "Little Miss Sharpshooter. You should be in camp."

Riza gripped her gun tighter, not pointing away from the man. "I could say the same to you, Sir."

He pulled his hands from his sand coat, shrugging disarmingly. "I wanted a moonlit walk, that's all. I would suggest putting that gun down, though. You could hurt someone." In the dim light, Riza could make out the inked transmutation circle on one of his palms, her back crawling at the sight.

"That would be rather foolish of me, Sir. You didn't exactly leave a good impression earlier today," she informed darkly, stepping sideways, hoping to draw closer to the door.

He smirked, mirroring her step. "Forgive me, I didn't properly introduce myself," his voice was suave, a hand resting on his torso. "Major Solf J. Kimblee, the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. Might I know your name, Miss Sharpshooter?"

She grimaced, angling her pistol towards the ground, but not lowering it entirely. "Hawkeye," she growled.

"Hawkeye. Fitting. Did your moniker come from your name, or just your talent?" He took a step closer, Riza unable to back up. She tensed, feeling like she was cornered by a ferocious beast. Perhaps a tiger or a panther: a wildcat playing with its prey before the kill.

"That's like the Chicken and the Egg question, Sir. I don't know, and I don't think anyone does."

He hummed, lifting a hand to his chin as he examined her. "Clearly. Tell me, why did you put on that uniform? A little girl like you should be at home, not on a battlefield."

"I'm still a Cadet, Sir. I was deployed because of my skills."

"Not the question I asked. You, like so many others, seem horrified by being here. I want to know what foolish notion brought you here, Cadet."

Riza gulped, her gun lowering further, arm relaxing at her side, "I- I wanted to learn how to protect myself."

Kimblee gave a single chuckle, a moonlit, sinister grin on his pale face. His long legs were suddenly carrying him to her, Riza tensing as she tried to duck further to the left. He moved smoothly, blocking her escape until she was literally cornered, her back firmly against the wall as she resisted the urge to shrink before him. He stood a few feet away, his piercing blue gaze examining her as her pistol shook in her hand, her breath shallow and quick.

"Protect yourself? You would have been better off at home, Cadet." He darted forward, Riza lifting her weapon just to have her hand swatted roughly against the sandstone bricks. He gripped her wrist, twisting until her fingers released the gun. She gasped in pain, her knuckles bleeding from the collision with the wall. He shoved her wrist against the corner, her hand folding awkwardly into the crevice as his right elbow pinned her shoulder against brick, his hand pushing back her bangs.

Her throat tightened, her body jerking as she tried to squirm free. One of his knees perched between her legs as he leaned over her, giving her no wiggle room. Her eyes widened, a familiar fear paralyzing her as she met his shadowed blue eyes.

"No screaming? You've been treated like this before." He gave her a sickening grin, "I wonder how far I could go. A whip? A collar? Your neck would be perfect for that..." His hand caressed the edge of her face to trail a finger down her throat.

She trembled, heart thundering as her knees locked. His hand unfastened her uniform jacket, pushing it back as he gripped her breast roughly. A whimper escaped her as she tried to pull further back into the corner. Her father had hit her, twisted her arms, left plenty of bruises, but it had never been sexual.

Kimblee's knee pressed up against her crotch, his face twitching as he roughly rubbed her with his thigh. Tears welled in her eyes, her breath coming faster as her mind grew blank. He released her breast, caressing her cheek again. "You are a beautiful weapon. Almost as beautiful as combustion. I wonder what sounds you'll make."

He pulled his hand back, Riza's eyes darting towards it. There, on his palm, were the clear alchemic symbols of fire and the sun. She flinched against the slap before it hit her face, a rough sob escaping her throat as the tears spilled onto her cheeks.

It had been six years since her father had beaten her... six years since he'd tattooed her back.

"F-fire," she gasped, her mind latching onto the connection. "Fire," she repeated dumbly, looking back at his hand with wide eyes, her gaze darting back to his face.

Curiosity crossed his complexion, a pleased curl crossing his lips. "So you know a bit about alchemy, do you?" He displayed his palm for her, his other hand twisting her wrist more. "It's not pure Flame Alchemy, but you can have a look. I'm rather fond of it." Riza dry heaved at the sight, her stomach coiled into so many knots that nothing came out.

His eyes narrowed at her reaction, his palm shoving into her forehead, knocking the back of her head against stone. Stunned, she was hardly aware of him forcing his mouth over hers until his slimy, lukewarm tongue tried forcing it's way into her mouth. Tensing, she gave a muffled sound of protest, her skin writhing in horror as his grip on her hindered any attempts to twist her mouth away.

A sudden snap filled the air, accompanied by a wave of heat and bright, orange light. Suddenly the pressure of Kimblee pinning her was gone, her body crumpling to the floor in the corner.

"Get the fuck away from her," a familiar voice growled.

"Sexual harassment is grounds for a court martial, Kimblee," another voice informed coldly.

Riza blinked, lifting her head as her vision steadied. Captain Hughes held a pistol pointed at Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist's sand coat discarded and burning on the stone floor. Her eyes fastened on the most familiar figure, though.

Roy.

His face was shadowed, his expression livid as he held his hand out, fingers poised to snap again.

"Sexual harassment?" Kimblee lilted, brushing his ponytail behind his shoulder flippantly. "I don't know what you're talking about. The Cadet and I were just continuing our conversation from lunch."

"Conversation?" Roy snarled, advancing on Kimblee, who strategically backed towards the window, hands wide in a threat to transmute himself. "A conversation doesn't leave young women senseless on the floor!"

Captain Hughes moved behind Roy, joining Riza in the corner as she sat up. Hastily wiping his saliva from her face, she wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing them to her chest protectively. Hughes crouched beside her, picking up her pistol as he returned his own to its holster. "Come on, Cadet. Let's get you out of here," he whispered, offering his hand.

"Roy," she whimpered, watching his back as he blocked Kimblee off from both her and the exit.

"She told me why she joined the Academy. I was just testing to see if she really had learned how to protect herself," Kimblee shrugged, eyes flicking towards Hughes darkly. "She didn't pass."

Transmutation energy crackled down Roy's arm, "That is not your place. I should turn you in to General Grand."

"Like that would do much good, Flame," Kimblee smirked.

"Shit," Hughes hissed, pulling away his hand when Riza didn't respond. "Roy, he's right. Grand won't give a rats ass about this. He might just transfer both of us for bothering him."

"Where's General Grumman stationed? He'd care," Roy demanded.

"Hmm? That's a specific choice," Kimblee mused. "How about this, I leave her alone for the rest of the War, and you leave me alone."

"And give you the opportunity to do this to others? I think not."

"Roy, I'd rather make it out of this alive. I don't need you supernatural freaks blowing up this building. She's safe. Let's go," Hughes insisted, his hand gently resting on Riza's shoulder. She flinched with the touch, curling further into herself.

Roy glanced at them, his lips turning into a deep frown. Looking back at Kimblee, he hissed, "Get out of here, or I'll char you beyond recognition."

Lowering his hands to his lapels, Kimblee shrugged casually, pulling his uniform straight with the motion. As if he wasn't being threatened, he strolled towards the doorway, acting as if it was more of his own volition than Roy's. His eyes touched Riza once more before he disappeared from sight through the doorway.

"Bastard," Hughes growled.

Roy turned back to them, worry flooding his face as he rushed over. "Riza, what did he do to you? Are you hurt?"

She stiffened, half of her wanting to crumple into his arms, the other half insisting she stay strong. This was a warzone, not his apartment. She was a Cadet, he was a Major.

His black eyes glistened in the dark, desperate to hear her.

Hughes finally pulled back, still holding her gun. "I'm going to watch the door," he stood, moving to the doorway, still in sight.

"How did you find me?" she finally croaked, eyes latching onto Roy again.

Roy gently fisted the fabric of her jacket in both gloved hands, pulling her against him. Her face pressed against his chest as his arms wrapped around her. Settling into his warmth, she inhaled his scent, seeking its comfort.

It was different than when they were growing up. Smoky like a fire, but lacking the bitterness of cigarettes.

She'd heard a lot of stories about the Flame Alchemist's skills and combat priority to keep allied soldiers safe. Whispers of 'hero' were often connected with his title. Despite knowing how many people he'd killed, she found herself coiling her own arms around his waist, tears burning her eyes as she shook in his embrace.

"Hughes noticed you leaving camp an hour ago. When Kimblee headed the same direction, he got me and we started looking. Ri, did he hurt you?"

She flinched with the question, Kimblee's fire transmutation circle burning against her retinas. She felt beaten like she had when her father had slapped her. No, she felt violated. The memory of his odious tongue made her shiver. His grope still seared the flesh of her assaulted breast and crotch. Her right hand throbbed painfully and her cheek stung from his slap, a headache echoing through her skull from her collision with the wall.

She couldn't lie. He had hurt her and she'd frozen up when she'd had the chance to stop him. That stung more than the rest.

She'd failed in her entire reason for being there.

"I thought- I thought he was going to rape me! Roy... Roy, my tattoo." He could have seen it. He could have taken Flame Alchemy from her. The thought of that monster with her father's research chilled her to the bones.

"You're more important than that," Roy suddenly spat, pushing her up and meeting her eyes. "Riza Hawkeye, you are more important than Flame Alchemy. Is this a bruise?" he demanded, cupping her chin with his coarse gloves and tilting her cheek, looking at the place Kimblee had hit her. His hand swiftly released her, grabbing her right arm and examining her scraped up hand. "This should be tended. Hughes, do you have a kit?"

"Yeah," Hughes pulled off his pack, returning to them, pulling out a tin box with a red cross on the lid.

Roy took it, digging through it as he pulled out some ointment, gauze and a wrap. "You're worried about your tattoo," he grumbled, taking off his gloves. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he began treating her hand, rinsing it with his water canteen. "He kissed you, what else did he do?"

"Roy," Maes warned, his eyes glancing at Riza. "She probably doesn't want to talk about it."

Roy snarled before continuing, "If he touched you, I'm going to light his fucking balls on fire. Castration by fire. Sounds like a just punishment."

Hand dried, he began dabbing ointment on her scrapes, Riza unable to look his way. "He groped me," she whispered, "My left breast and- and my crotch. He seemed to know that I- that my father used to beat me. He hit me. I- I can't believe I let him. Roy. It's been six years since anyone has tried to do those sorts of things to me and I- I'm just as scared as when my father..." she couldn't form the words correctly. She lifted her eyes, meeting Roy's sorrowful gaze, Hughes looking sickened and shocked behind him.

"Riza," Roy began slowly, "I know about the- the beatings, but did Berthold ever- rape you?"

"No! Never," she shook her head emphatically. "The closest he did to that was the array, and I don't think he touched me while I was drugged."

"Array?" Hughes voiced, brow furrowed in confusion.

Riza blanched, looking at him. She was so unhinged she was practically announcing she held the key to Flame Alchemy on her back.

"I trust him," Roy broke in, his voice warm. "And he doesn't know the first thing about Alchemy, I doubt he'd try to steal it."

"Yeah, you alchemists are freaks," Hughes chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Riza warily glanced between them, Roy padding the back of her hand with gauze before beginning to secure it in place with the wrap.

"I really will burn Kimblee to a cinder. Just say the word, Ri. He's a psychopath. I have no idea how he passed the State Alchemist exams."

"He's smart, that's how. He knows how to play the field, and won't do anything that could get him into trouble. He knew Grand wouldn't give a shit if he was caught here, so he did it anyway."

"I-If he stays away, I'll be fine," Riza was pleased to hear how steady her voice was, "If he breaks his promise, though, I expect you to..." she couldn't quite say it. Though in that moment she could desire his charred corpse, she knew she'd soon be blaming herself for what happened. It had happened too many times before.

"Of course," Roy tied off her wrap, returning items back into the med kit. "Ri, can you stay at camp? Or stick with one of us? I..." he sighed, shoulders sagging. "I can't really expect you to do that, can I."

"She'll be expected to follow orders," Hughes nodded, frowning again.

"I'll do my best- when I can," Riza promised, looking at the smoldering remains of Kimblee's coat. "I just- needed space to think. That's why I'm here."

"We should head back. This place gives me the creeps," Hughes grumbled, returning his med kit to his pack, slinging it back over his shoulders.

"Captain," Riza broached, looking up at Hughes. He paused, looking back at her as Roy pushed himself to his feet, offering Riza a hand.

"Yeah?" he replied as she stood, allowing Roy to pull her close, her shoulder against his chest.

"Thank you- for watching my back. If you hadn't, I don't want to think what might have happened."

His olive green eyes flicked between them, his face expressionless. "Yeah. No problem. I'd hate to see something like this happen to Gracia."

"Who?" Riza's voice broke.

"Don't ask," Roy filled in blankly, an arm wrapping around her shoulder and urging her to walk as they left the building.

Hughes, on the other hand, brightened significantly, his mouth grinning and the edges of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "Oh, Gracia is my girlfriend! She's waiting for me in Central and sends me letters at least twice a week. She's also drop dead gorgeous! Do you want to see? I have some pictures!" He pushed her pistol back into her hands before pulling out his wallet, thumbing for some as he passed them over.

Her proximity to Roy let her feel his silent sigh as he continued to lead them down the street, Riza squinting in the dark at the photo Hughes had given her. "I can't really see it, it's too dark," she admitted, passing the photo back.

"Oh, well I'll describe her to you, then! She has short, beige blonde hair, a little longer than yours, the sweetest heart shaped face, and a gloriously long neck! Her green eyes are so clear, I could lose myself in them forever!"

Riza smiled as he continued, seemingly unaware of anything but his mental image of this woman worlds away from where they were. She looked up at Roy, his expression troubled as he still kept his arm protectively around her shoulder.

"Roy?" she breathed, resisting the urge to reach up and touch his jaw. She wondered what his stubble would feel like against her fingers. Her cheek. Her lips.

Her face heated with the thought as his onyx gaze shifted to her. "Hmm?"

"Thank you," she supplied. She'd be haunted by this night, but at least some of her memories would be pleasant. The warmth of his arm, the tenderness of his touch, the worry and care in his eyes. "Thank you for coming for me."

He squeezed her shoulders slightly, his eyes flicking to her lips before he pulled away regretfully. His hands slipped into his pockets, hiding the transmutation circles embroidered on his gloves. The larger one on her back prickled like the night she'd woken to find it engraved on her skin.

Hughes suddenly silenced as they stopped at the edge of the buildings, looking over the camp ahead of them.

Back to work.

Back to war.

Thursday, February 11, 1909

Riza was grateful the cheering and celebrating had died down, but it might have just been her distance from the war camp. She stepped across the gravel, sand, dirt, and debris, her boots crunching with each step, her eyes scanning her surroundings.

Between the destroyed walls of an old building, she found the body. The little girl's thawb was dyed a dried brown from her own blood, the bullet hole clear in her left chest. Her silver braids held her hair back from her face, empty, red eyes staring lifelessly up at the blue sky.

Riza stared for a long moment, questioning what this girl's life had been like. Did she once dream of ponies and honeycomb? Strawberries and dolls? She could have been no older than six.

An old fence post leaned against the crumbled wall, her attention shifting to its sturdy appearance. Crossing over, she picked it up, satisfied with it for her intended purpose.

Returning to the child, she carefully placed her wrapped rifle to the side. If a surviving Ishvalan found her and decided to end her life, so be it. She would not leave this desert without burying the last person she'd killed.

She didn't try to dig- she knew the earth was too cracked and hard to hope for any progress without a shovel. She moved to the body, her gentle fingers testing for rigor mortis. The girl's limbs were stiff, her skin cold. It was too late for her to change the way the girl lay now, so she settled for brushing stray hair from her face and pulling her thawb flat.

And she began to work. Stones and dirt and sand to rest the poor child to sleep. A final blanket so the carrions couldn't pick her bones clean. The wooden post as her grave marker.

As she neared the end of her work, the sound of feet crunching dirt reached her ears. The thought of an Ishvalan coming to take her life was not unwelcome. She didn't turn, didn't reach for her rifle or pistol, she just kept patting the burial mound, silently praying the end would come quickly.

"Aren't you going back?"

Her body continued to pat the sand and dirt, her limbs feeling numb as she realized death was not so kind today.

"You'll be left behind." She didn't acknowledge him, shifting a small stone, knowing she was delaying her inevitable return. "Who's that? A war buddy?"

"No, it's- it's an Ishvalan child," she found her voice weak and quiet, her head ducking and shoulders hunching as grief suddenly reached her. "One left dead with nowhere to call home."

He met her words with a moment of silence. "Let's go," he managed to sound firm and gentle at the same time. The same Roy who had watched out for her after her father's death. "The War is over now."

She shifted her hands to her knees, bitterness tangling in her chest. "The fighting, maybe. But the nightmares of what we did in this place are far from over. They'll stay with me for as long as I live."

He gave no response, his silence fueling her frustration and anger. "I believed in you. I trusted you with my father's research. And I applied to the Military Academy because I hoped to help other people.

"The way things turned out- it's not what I wanted. But there's no escaping the truth. I can never atone for the suffering I've caused."

He remained silent, her fingers digging into her thighs as she braced herself to ask for what she'd wanted since Kimblee's assault. He wouldn't like it, but in a way, he owed her. Owed her for betraying her trust. For all the lives he took with what she'd given him.

"I have a favor to ask- Mustang. Please, burn this off. Deface my back."

He gasped, anger meeting her words, "How could I ever do something..."

"At least..." she inhaled swiftly, swimming for the right words. "I may not ever be able to atone, but at least I can destroy the secrets on my back. There can be no more Flame Alchemists.

"Can you do this?" She slowly rose from the ground, looking at the grave one last time. "If so, please release me." She turned, looking back at the man who triggered so many conflicting emotions. Love and anger. Trust and resentment. Hope and despair. "I want you to set me free from my father's burden. Please. Set me free from his alchemy. I'm begging you."

She watched his shock fade into a determined understanding, then frustration and struggle as he gritted his teeth, looking at the ground to avoid her gaze. She could see his fists tighten, his frame tremble, his words ripping from him reluctantly. "A-alright. I'll leave as little trace as I can."

Closing her eyes, she found a soft smile, relief flooding her limbs and heart with his consent. "Thank you so much," she breathed, lifting her hands to doff her sand coat. "Thank you."

She let the rough fabric fall to the ground, moving to undo the buttons of her jerkin. He lifted his head, face tormented as he glanced over what she was doing. "Not here." She froze, meeting his eyes, her hands halfway done unbuttoning her jerkin. "Not here. Please- let me study how to heal burns. Give me a chance to make this as- painless as possible. A few weeks. We'll- we'll do it back in East City. In my apartment."

She hesitated, reluctant to delay further. What if he backed out? What if he couldn't follow through? Kimblee's promise to stay away expired with the War. What if he came for her?

"How long do you need?"

"Two- no three weeks. I'll have to find the right Medical Alchemy source material."

She considered for a moment, weighing her fear and reason for a long moment before siding with reason. "I can get away from the Academy on Friday nights. Three weeks from now. If you swear you won't back out."

He nodded swiftly, relief crossing his face. "I promise."

Friday, March 5, 1909

Roy sat on the couch in his bare living room, whiskey in one hand, a smoldering cigarette in the other. He'd taken to smoking after returning from the front. Growing up, he hadn't understood the appeal as his aunt had smoked constantly. It smelled and it hadn't helped her age that gracefully- but right now he needed it. He was desperate for any extra edge off of the haunting memories.

The kitchen light was the only illumination in the apartment. It dimly lit the chalk drawn circle on the floorboards, a Medical Alchemy book laying open next to it on the floor. Since returning from his day at the office, he'd spent his time studying how to heal burns. In fact, the study had preoccupied all of his time since he'd arrived back in East City from the front.

He'd been informed earlier that day that he was getting a promotion. After his discussion with Maes about becoming Fuhrer, he should be thrilled about it.

He wasn't.

He took a drag on his cigarette, holding it for a moment before exhaling the cloud of smoke. A knock came at the door, Roy not reacting immediately. He knew who it was. He knew why she was here. He sat up, knocking back the whiskey and snuffing the cigarette in the ashtray before standing.

Silently pleading she would change her mind, he moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.

Riza Hawkeye stood there, dark circles under her brown eyes. The sparkle he'd grown to love in their youth was gone now. She wore a loose, pink button-up blouse and flowy knee length skirt. It was nice to see her in civvies again, though she now wore the War on her face, expression almost ragged.

Silently he held the door open for her, Riza making her way in. There was no way she hadn't noticed the smoke, but she made no comment. She hugged herself as she stepped into the living room, looking at the transmutation circle on the ground.

Roy closed and locked the door, moving to the kitchen and pulling out a second shot glass. He placed his own glass on the counter as well, grabbing the whiskey bottle and filling them both.

"Roy, I don't drink," she protested, having followed him.

"This is going to hurt. I won't do it until you've had two shots," his voice was steely as he picked up the glasses, holding one out to her. She still hesitated, "Besides, I don't believe a veteran of that hell hole can live without drinking."

Her expression grew grim, but she finally took the glass. She lifted it to her lips, taking a breath before knocking it back. She immediately began to cough and splutter, grabbing onto the counter as she tried to get past the burn. Watching her, he swiftly knocked back his own.

"People- drink that- for fun?" she demanded between coughs.

"Tastes like shit, doesn't it?" He took her glass from her, filling it again.

"I feel woozy," she murmured, her head jutted forward as she looked at the ground.

"Give it a few minutes," he murmured, taking his own glass to the sink. He wanted more, but he didn't want to impair his aim. It was bad enough that he'd promised to burn her. To miss, or hurt her more than he had to was unacceptable. He corked the bottle, taking it to his recently restocked liquor cabinet. "I plan on destroying the equations and thermodynamic laws. I won't destroy your whole back."

He turned to find her with a dejected frown, fingers holding her glass without picking it up. "I want it all gone."

"The shock from a burn like that could kill you. There's nothing wrong with some poetry and a transmutation circle. I'll even interrupt the line so no one can even try to use it." She didn't respond, lifting her glass and trying to sip it. She shuddered. He exhaled as he leaned against the counter. "I just- I understand why you want it gone. That's why I agreed to this. But I can't agree to do more than is necessary."

"Alright," her voice was hoarse as she looked at the liquor regretfully.

"It's better to drink it fast," he suggested, pulling out an ignition glove from his pocket, rubbing the coarse material between his fingers.

She braced herself before doing so, shuddering heavily. "God, that's awful!" He may have laughed at that once, but now he just watched her soberly. She placed the glass on the counter with a click. "Are you ready?"

"I'll never be ready for this," he answered, pulling on his right hand glove. He only needed one. "I have a healing transmutation circle in the living room, but where would you be most comfortable doing this? Anywhere is free game."

"Could we- do it in the bedroom?" she asked. The way she said it almost sounded shy, but her eyes gave no evidence that was what she felt. He nodded before he led the way, stepping past her and moving to his room, turning the light on. He grabbed his only two pillows from the bed, passing them to her. She took them, wetting her lips nervously. "Get comfortable," he offered, snapping once from the growing tension in his body, slight sparks coming from the friction.

She climbed onto the bed, shifting to her knees. That loose skirt of hers fanned out as she sat on her heels. Roy moved behind her, looking at the floor evasively. He could hear her shifting, then the soft sound of fabric rustling. A knot of dread grew in his stomach before rising up to the back of his throat.

"Alright," she whispered, the sound clear to him in the near silence. He looked up at her beautiful, unmarred skin. The tattoo he'd studied three years ago was still just as enchanting as it had been before. The memorized equations in the upper left quadrant. The poems. The sun of the Red King. The serpents of the White Queen.

"It'll be two separate burns," he warned thickly. She nodded, clutching the pillows tighter to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

Lifting a steady hand, Roy decided to burn the lower right quadrant first. He'd done this before. He could do it again. He wasn't going to kill her. He had enough control to prevent that. He had a plan to heal her. It would be fine.

Inhaling, he snapped. Accuracy pinpoint. Throttle perfected. The flames licked the section of skin for a mere second. The skin bubbled, charred black and white. The ancient Ishvalan text gone, the red ink marred beyond recovery. The familiar stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils. It was clearly a third degree burn. He'd determined it had to be to ensure scarring.

He wished he hadn't.

He looked at the skin in abject horror. Riza gasped, her body shuddering as she struggled to breathe, sounding almost strangled. She bit her knuckles to stop any involuntary sounds of shock and pain, steadying herself within seconds despite the agony she must be in.

His mind panicked. The smooth calm he'd managed before burning her vanished at the sight of his handiwork. He had to do it again? He hadn't burned the most dangerous part: the equations. His entire being protested the thought. This woman. He loved her. It had never been more clear to him before.

He loved her and he had to do it again.

"Fuck, no! I can't," he staggered, taking a step back.

She turned back to look at him. There were tears in her eyes. "You promised! We agreed!" His breath caught, throat tight. "Roy Mustang, you must. I can't trust anyone else with my back. If someone like Kimblee were to see it..."

He shuddered. He didn't have a choice. He'd hate himself for eternity because of this. She turned back, facing away from him. "Do it," she commanded.

His hand shook. His knees locked. Sweat ran down his back.

"Do it!"

He'd be damned. If there was a God, He wasn't here.

"DO IT!"

Eye's welling up with tears, he snapped, the crackle in the air tangible.

And she screamed.

His blood curdled, heart stopping. The burn was larger than it needed to be. He hadn't had as much control, allowing himself to be pressured into the transmutation. He watched as she rocked back and forth in agony. His knees gave way as he fell to them with a thud in shock, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sobbing, Riza lowered herself to the bed. Clawing at the sheets, she lay on top of the pillows, burying her face into the blanket. All he could manage was watching her. How her skin smoked. How her torso shuddered with each sob. How her beautiful face turned red from the effort of her tears. He watched her, too limp to move.

It felt like an eternity, but slowly her cries calmed to weak mewls. His mind seemed to work slowly, finally coming to the realization he had to go to her. Had to help. He struggled to his feet, legs weak as he rounded the bed, hands softly resting on her shoulders. She tensed with his touch, though it didn't last longer than a second. She lifted her face, still red from crying, her eyes bloodshot.

"Ri," he whispered, softly brushing her hair from her face. "Riza Hawkeye, I will never burn you again."

"You can't promise that," her voice quavered, undeniably stubborn. "There will always be chances you might, even if it's only by accident. You're only human."

"If you won't accept my vow, then I promise it to myself," he snapped before softening his tone, tenderly caressing her cheek. "Never again, Riza."

She pushed herself up, clutching a pillow to her chest. She sniffed slightly, holding his gaze. "You're so stubborn."

"If I learned it from anyone, I learned it from you. Let's get you to that transmutation circle in the living room, I want to seal up those wounds." As he turned away, her hand caught his gloved wrist, pulling him to a halt.

"Thank you, Roy. Thank you for keeping your promise. I'm glad- I could trust you with my back."

"Don't thank me for this. It's horrible," he growled, turning back to face her.

"I'm thanking you because now no one can learn my father's secrets. Not even me. Roy, you're the only one. I didn't understand the equations. Please. You have to keep your promise about keeping it secret. If you don't- I couldn't live with myself. Not after Ishval."

She had that desperation in her eyes, like when she'd begged him to burn her back a few weeks before. "I swear, I won't tell a soul," he vowed for a second time. He'd do it again if he had to. As many times as she needed.

Her gaze softened with his words, her body crumpling slightly onto the pillow in her arms. She looked so soft, almost like she had before he'd left for the Academy. Had it really been six years?

He felt old. So much had changed. So much had happened. "Let's get you healed," he murmured, shifting his hand to take hers, gently pulling her from the bed. She followed, holding the pillow to shield her torso.

"This won't undo everything, will it?" she asked, a slight hiccup to her voice as he guided her out.

"I'm not that good at healing, Ri. Besides, I don't think anything can bring the ink back." Contrary to the feelings a moment before, around her he couldn't help but feel like a gangly and awkward teenager again, especially with her hand entwined with his.

She stepped to the middle of the transmutation circle, looking down at it with a dead expression. "This is what alchemy should be used for," she whispered as he released her hand and moved behind her. Wincing at the sight of her back, he knelt down, pulling his ignition glove off and tucking it back into his pocket.

"You're right. But the powers that be over the State Alchemists don't see that. They see weapons and tools for their own gain," he couldn't keep the disdain from his voice.

"Are you talking about the Fuhrer?" she snapped, looking back at him.

He touched the edge of the circle. He wasn't ready to discuss with her what he'd decided with Hughes. She was still in the Academy. Perhaps when she graduated. Perhaps she'd choose to leave the Military once that happened. He hoped she would. "Him- and people like him. I probably shouldn't say more."

She frowned, not pushing him further as he recalled the biological qualities of burned flesh. Energy rushed through him in a crackle of miniature lightning as he decomposed and recomposed her damaged skin. The burns sealed and sensitive, dark pink flesh puckered where the burn had been moments before.

"How does that feel?" he asked, standing back up.

"It feels- strange. It doesn't hurt, but after the initial shock it didn't hurt either," she answered. He looked at the larger burn, erratically splayed across her left shoulder blade. Without thinking, he brushed his fingers across the reformed flesh, instantly realizing his mistake.

"Sorry," he rushed, pulling his hand back.

"For what?" she turned towards him, eyes wide and curious.

"For... touching you. I shouldn't have. Excuse me," he rushed, captured by her large brown irises.

He became very aware of her nakedness. A pillow covering her breasts. A loose skirt covering her thighs. Those were nothing. His pants began to feel tight around his cock as he stared at her, keeping his eyes trained on her face.

"You touched me? I didn't feel it..." she sounded disappointed. Of course. Third degree burns killed nerve endings. He wasn't sure even the most skilled Healing Alchemist could have healed those. He noticed her eyes flicking over him, her cheeks turning pink as she surely noticed the bulge in his pants. "Roy?" she whispered, meeting his eyes.

"I... Ri... I should..." he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. She seemed so calm, if a bit hesitant.

She stepped towards him, his legs growing leadened. "I should get dressed..." she whispered.

"Yeah, maybe."

She stepped closer, inches away from him. She lowered the pillow slowly, dropping it to the ground. Heat washed through him as his body seemed drawn by a magnetic force. Lips parted, he closed the last of the distance, hands falling to her hips and pulling her against him. Her hazel eyes widened, flicking to his mouth as she inhaled shallowly. Ducking in, he caught her mouth with his.

He'd never kissed anyone before. Every other woman he'd met had fallen short of the one he held now. She was soft. And warm. Her lavender scent was mixed with gunpowder, like she'd tried to cover the scent with perfume. She tasted sweet like honey, her tongue hesitantly meeting his as she leaned into him, her hands curling into the front of his shirt. His body tingled with thrill as he processed she was actually kissing him back.

Their mouths slowly broke apart, her heavily lidded eyes meeting his gaze, a warm glow to her cheeks.

He wanted more.

Digging a hand into her short, blonde locks, he pulled her in again. His mouth clashed against hers, fumbling with the kiss. She inhaled sharply, her arms wrapping behind his neck, her bare breasts pressing against his shirt, sending an electric buzz through his veins.

He pushed her back, her feet crossing with his until she hit the couch. Roy followed her down, a knee between her legs as he guided her arms from around him, pinning her wrists against the armrest with one hand, the other moving to her waist. He bit her lower lip, causing her to gasp. Quickly releasing it, he licked the swollen flesh soothingly.

She moaned, the sound driving him to push her legs apart. He met her hips, his erection pressing against his pants as he began rutting against the space between her legs, shuddering at the pleasure coursing through him. She groaned and he broke the kiss, moving his mouth to her neck as he thrust against her harder. He nipped at her skin, tongue running across her throat carnally.

He slid his hand at her waist up her smooth skin, coming up under the mound of her breast, cupping it gently. He massaged the soft flesh, rolling her nipple between his thumb and palm. She suddenly gasped, thrusting her hips up against him as she moaned senselessly beneath him. Confused, he looked up to see the absolute bliss on her face. She was gorgeous. The sight made his balls tighten and in a rush he was releasing.

His eyes widened as he felt his pants soak, pushing off of her hastily. "Shit," he hissed, eyes flicking over her body, splayed across the couch, her legs wide, but covered by the fabric of her skirt.

She pushed herself up to her elbows, confusion and worry in her eyes. "Roy?"

"I'm drunk," he lied, staggering to his feet. "I- I'm sorry," his voice cracked.

God, she was beautiful... and tempting. He turned, fleeing through his room to his bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, locking it so she couldn't pursue. He began stripping, his pants and boxers soiled from his release. He stepped into the shower, keeping the water cold as he cleaned himself off.

What the hell had just happened? He'd lost control so quickly. The whole incident on the couch had surely only been a minute or three.

He'd taken advantage of her vulnerability. His only real solace was that it hadn't gone the whole way. It wasn't much different, he knew. The only thing about the situation that didn't scream sex was the lack of nudity and penetration. He clung to it tightly, trying not to dwell on the memory of friction against his cock, or the warmth of her lips, or the softness of her breasts.

He shuddered, turning the faucet off. He was in deep, and he'd taken the plunge without a single thought. Frustrated, he dried off, taking care to wrap the towel around his waist before cautiously opening the door to his bedroom. The light was still on, but the bed had been made, pillows back where they belonged and her shirt and bra gone. His bedroom door was closed, leaving Roy unsure if she had left or not.

He quickly dressed into his sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt as he abandoned the towel on his bed and stepped out of the room. Riza was in the kitchen, her blouse and skirt laying as neatly as they had when she first arrived. She had his tea kettle on the stove. He wasn't upset that she was making tea, in fact, it sounded rather nice. What he was upset about was that she was still there.

"You shouldn't be here," his voice came out stern, bringing her eyes up to him.

"We have to talk," she sounded so firm, so sure of herself as she held his gaze. It was a new side of her since they'd found each other at the front.

He panicked, his mouth speaking without calculation or caution, "Talk? You want to talk? Alright Riza, here's what I have to say: This didn't happen. I'm sorry for violating you. My only excuse is I was inebriated and I'm going to believe that's the same reason you didn't stop me. There's nothing else to it."

"Roy," she protested, stepping towards him.

"Cadet," his voice was harsh, her eyes widening in shock. "I can't allow this. You are worth someone better than me. If 'we' were to happen, it would only be sneaking around. It would have us in constant risk of being caught, and I have too much on the line to allow that. Am I understood, Cadet?"

Her cheeks heated, eyes aflame, body quivering with anger. "Yes, Sir," she spat before pushing past him to the front door. She unlocked it, and slammed it closed behind her.

He stood there, realization crashing down on him, horror at what he'd just said and done bubbling up in his chest. His dream of marrying her seemed to be dissipating in a puff of smoke. He'd handled it poorly. He should have been more gentle. After how the War had affected her, he'd been much too rough.

And for what? His grandiose dream of becoming Fuhrer and changing Amestris? He wanted to change it for her!

He bolted for the door, shoving it open and wildly looking down the hall both ways. "Riza!" he cried, but she wasn't anywhere to be seen. If she'd gone to the elevator, it would take longer for it to come back up and take him down, so he bolted for the stairs. His heart thundered in time with his pounding feet as he recklessly skipped steps and cut corners, slamming into more than one wall with his quick descent down the eight flights.

He had to fix this. He had to apologize.

Bursting into the lobby on the main floor, he hurdled through the front door, slowing to a stop on the sidewalk. Riza was nowhere in sight. A woman was halfway through climbing out of a taxi, her eyes falling on him, and checking out his exposed chest, sweat beginning to percolate on his skin as the cold night air hit him.

He moved towards her, her face reddening as her eyes snapped back up to his face. "Have you- seen a woman? Short- blonde hair. Black skirt and- pink button-up. About this- tall," he panted, indicating Riza's height.

She seemed a little stunned, the taxi driver eyeing him cautiously through the window. Her eyes flickered down to his chest again, her surprise fading. "No, but if she left you, I'm available." Her sultry tone and the lust in her eyes left him in no question as to what she meant by that.

Affronted, he stepped back. Turning from her, he looked around wildly, desperate for her to appear from the shadows of the streetlamps.

She was gone.

He'd lost her.