A/N: So this is my first EVER publication of fanfic. It's kinda wild to be honest. I mostly did this at the recommendation and encouragement of my college roommate and best friend PrinRue (her stuff is really cute and angsty and floof all at the same time wink wink).
One evening after we had finished FMAB and her and I were skipping around through old episodes when we got to the one with the war flashbacks and I said something like "UGHHHHHH Arakawaaaaa I really wanted to see the scene where he did ittttt!" and my roommate looked at me and said "Then write it!" So from there I got to work.
This happened in about January by the way (I think lol). College is a busy life and a lot to grapple, so here I am 6 months later finally having finished a one shot shhhhhhhh it didn't happen. Anyways please enjoy my first ever fanfic!
Hawkeye is as sure as the sky is blue that this needs to happen. She's always had a certain steel to her decisions and once she makes up her mind, there's no convincing her otherwise. However, as she sits at her dining table anticipating Mustang's eventual arrival, her resolve slowly begins to dissipate.
How is she to know if this is really the right decision? Logically speaking it makes sense; a world with people that have the power to destroy anything with a snap of a finger is… unsettling. So destroying all remnants of this knowledge would be best. Then again there's nothing stopping another from finding this branch, studying it like her father had and learning the mastery of flame alchemy? What if they become an enemy to the state, and since she removed the only fire alchemy research available to the military, there would be no way for the state to fight back with equal force? Then again, who's to say that is a bad thing? Maybe learning to fight fire with water will be better for the country than fighting fire with fire. Hatred only leads to more hatred. Once again, her mind changes course and she strengthens herself against her lingering doubts.
Hawkeye knows this has to happen, but it is only human nature to doubt one's decisions. To question if maybe this isn't the right thing to do, even if she knows it is. Despite this being a normal process, she knows better than to harbor doubts like this because if her determination is not at its highest for this, then Mustang might not even do it. No, he will do it, for her, because she needs it. However, because she can still feel his pain and anxiety at her strange request all those days ago, she knows that her resolve must be rock solid for him. She hadn't needed to look at him to know his hands were trembling and his heart was shaking. In all honesty her heart was, is, shaking too. Alas, no one could see that side of her because if he were to see her pain and fear to the extent she felt it he might also begin to fear– because if she couldn't be strong for them then who would?
She sits in silence for a few more moments, her hands clenched in her lap, legs crossed, everything tight and rigid. As she stares down at her lap she gets lost in thought, relaying the memories of the war and the child's death that sparked this all. The conversation with Mustang was something she wouldn't and couldn't forget. "It's not what I wanted and I can't run from the truth." This statement is as true for her now as it was all those days ago, and she reminds herself of the misery and guilt she felt; she won't let herself back out now. She sits up straighter and holds her head high, watching the clock in anticipation.
A knock resounds at the door. She takes one final shaky breath and walks over to open it. Upon seeing the colonel her insides flip. She can see the tension written across Mustang's face. He usually has the highest resolve when it comes to his emotions and expressions, but sometimes he just can't hide them. She knows better than to comment on it. She makes brief eye contact with him, which nearly breaks her resolve despite knowing better than to let that happen.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," Mustang says quietly, his tone rising in anxiety at the end.
"Good evening, Colonel," Hawkeye replies. "Please…come in."
Mustang just nods in response and Hawkeye steps aside for him to enter. He walks in slowly, his steps very deliberate and intentional. She shuts the door and watches his back as he walks away from her, his posture straight and shoulders tenser than normal. She follows him in and they stand awkwardly for a moment.
"Would you like some tea?" Hawkeye asks Mustang. He nods and seats himself, and she gets to work right away, pulling out her kettle and tea bags. She knows the moment is fast approaching and hopes that Mustang doesn't notice the slight shaking in her hands or the way that she keeps avoiding his gaze. She feels it boring into her back, as tangible as the cursed ink on her skin. She knows he's asking a million questions in his head right now. Why is she going through with this? Why does she want it so bad? Why is she so stubborn? Then again, he is stubborn too and has to know that, which is why he says nothing and sits in silence. Because as much as he is worried for her, he would honestly do the same. He has no right to look down on another soldier's decisions or actions simply for following their moral compass. They all left that war with more scars and demons than most bear to think about, and this is what Hawkeye decided to do with hers. Frankly, Mustang admired her for making such a tough decision as emotionally and physically painful as it is, or soon to be.
The kettle starts to whistle and Hawkeye snaps back to the present moment, rushing to take it off the stove. She pours them both a cup of steaming water, and sets the mugs and tea options on the table. Mustang begins picking through them, Hawkeye staring at her own cup captivated with the steaming clear water– both of them trying to avoid the conversation, even if it will eventually happen. Mustang chooses a bag of basic earl grey and sets it in his cup, the color immediately bleeding into the liquid.
"So Hawkeye, when do you want to do this?" Mustang asks, still refusing to meet her eyes. Hawkeye takes her time picking out her own tea bag before replying.
"When we finish the tea. Might as well start and end with a little bit of heat." Riza says in a dry tone. It almost makes a bitter laugh escape Mustang, but the severity of the situation prevents even the slightest sign of humor from reaching his mouth. They finish drinking in silence, Mustang eyeing Hawkeye subtly, or at least he thinks– she notices every move he makes. He, on the other hand, sees the aversion of her eyes as though she is zoned out and scared of what is going to happen…well he is half right. After a few moments, Hawkeye looks up again at him and asks, "Are you ready?"
"If you are." Mustang nods at her and she nods back, both of them slowly standing and stepping away from the table
"So, I was thinking that the bathroom would be the best place since I may need immediate care and water. Plus, you're useless in the water– maybe that will come in handy after." Again, her joke feels cold and the moment too serious for humor. Mustang just looks at her with a sad, concerned expression. "Don't look at me like that. You know as well as I that we all left that war with wounds, internal and external. All I know is this needs to happen Mustang, so please don't give me that look. Please…It makes my confidence waver…I-I'm scared."
There were few occasions under which he heard real fear come out of Hawkeye. One of which was when she found out her father died. The father and daughter may have had some estrangement due to the tattooing and his obsession over alchemy, but there was no denying she had an attachment to him, and with him gone– the catalyst to a lot in her life, even the man before her now– she was fearful of the days to come and the ones that still haunted her.
But this… the pure fear and real helplessness in her voice made Mustang falter for a moment, which required him using every single ounce of self control he had to contain himself and not reach out to her. He figured the space was better for her… and him. Besides he was just a student who happened to see the notes on flame alchemy as well as her commanding officer, not much else.
She walks to the bathroom, limbs heavy with dread. So similar to all those days ago when she first showed her father's studies to him. She turns her back to Mustang and unbuttons her shirt. Mustang averts his eyes awkwardly and studies the tiles and every little speckle of dirt and grout on them. Just in case. Hawkeye glances over her shoulder, curious, and sees him staring down in an obvious effort to prevent seeing something. She's touched and a little surprised. Touched because he respects her, and a little surprised because he's blushing– which means he sees her a little bit as a woman. Snap out of it, Riza, now is not the time. "You can look." She holds her shirt close to her chest, mostly to have something to keep her anxiety from getting worse. Mustang walks a little closer. He looks at the tattoo that both helped him become who he was now and that brought pain and joy to his life.
He looked over the array on her back and then asked her, "Are you sure?"
Hawkeye, without any hesitation, replied, "As much as I'll ever be." And with that, Mustang took a few steps back.
He had contemplated how he would do this quite a bit ever since she first mentioned it. He thought about whether or not to do a slow burn; it would allow more control but last longer for Hawkeye. A fast burn is instant but it requires immense concentration to be able to keep the flame isolated.
He came to the conclusion that the latter was worth it because seeing her in any sort of lasting pain would be too much to bear, especially by his own hands.
He slipped on the glove he brought with him, its red stitched transmutation circle glowing eerily in the light. He looks on and focuses on her back. It is hard for him to concentrate on her tattoo when there's a few distractions, but he steels his focus and takes a deep breath.
"Okay Riza, I'm about to do it, okay?" She only gives a quick nod, head held high, yet shoulders tense and slightly trembling.
He takes another deep breath. And then another. And finally raises his hand and aims at the tattoo. He takes one final deep breath, putting all his energy and focus into this one task. He snaps, igniting the oxygen in the air and combusting it with carbon dioxide and nitrogen which creates a spark.
The radiation of the fire is so strong. He slightly underestimated how hot his fire would be, especially in a tiny bathroom with no window or ventilation. He dials it down a little but the limited space between them makes this effort miniscule. His brow knits in concentration as he puts all his energy into preventing the fire from burning too hot or beyond the tattoo.
After a couple seconds pass he can bear it no longer and stops. He immediately rushes to her side and checks on the burn. He curses. Only the top left corner of the tattoo got burned since his fear and worry for her well being prevented him from spreading his fire too much. Hawkeye can tell something is off from the mere fact that her back is only burning in one area. She turns around and looks Mustang dead in the eyes, tears of pain pooling in her own, in a way that yanks Mustang's heartstrings. She composes herself after a few moments and asks him, "Did you do it?"
He hesitates just long enough for her to notice. "Yes."
She narrows her eyes and asks again. "Did you do it ALL?"
Mustang pauses a moment and, brows furrowed, he looks behind her at the wall so he doesn't have to meet her eyes. "Riza, you know I can't actually burn your entire back. The pain and scars that would deface it… I don't want to put you through all that, not to mention the amount of time it would take to heal."
"Mustang, I brought you here to do a job, and I damn well expect you to follow it." Her voice is shaking, hands curled into trembling fists.
Mustang sighs and gives in. He takes a few moments and then steps away from her side, back to the same corner as earlier. He breathes out, focusing his attention back onto her tattoo. He snaps and it all goes to flames, literally. This time, the fire lasts longer, since he has to do her whole back, he still does the extra-fire-but-quicker method, so Mustang must keep his concentration at an all time high.
He gets to about halfway down her back, avoiding the first spot, when the exhaustion hits and his stamina begins to waver, but for Hawkeye's safety he pushes through his malaise and endures. His brow knits in concentration and his teeth clench in discomfort. But still, he suffers through it, reminding himself of the internal and external pain Hawkeye must be going through. He occasionally hears noise escape from her mouth and knows that it must really hurt. Seeing someone he knows personally and cares for deeply suffer at his own hand is almost too much to bear. But he made a promise to her and he is a m. Once he has guided the flame over nearly her whole tattoo and given it enough time to later create scar tissue and render the tattoo illegible, he finally gives in. The heat radiating off the walls is a lot; he can only imagine how Hawkeye must feel.
He slowly approaches her, his stomach turning upon seeing her back, not because he can't handle seeing the burns (he'd seen much worse) but rather because of how much pain those burns probably inflicted. He grimaces and walks in front of her. She is clenching her shirt tightly in front of her and tries her best to hide the pain behind her eyes, but as she looks up at him and breathes the words, "Thank you", her eyes roll back and she passes out in front of him. Her shirt falls out of her limp hands, but Mustang hardly notices, the only thing on his mind being Hawkeye's well-being and taking care of her. Luckily there is little distance to close between them and he barely has to step forward to catch her, being careful to not put his hands on her back.
He stands there for a moment, supporting her unconscious form, contemplating the next course of action. He decides to take her to her bed before getting to work on her wounds. He maneuvers slowly so as not to hurt her and turns around grabbing her arms. He puts them over his shoulders, crouches down and pulls her forward so when he stands he can give her somewhat of a piggyback ride. He makes it a few steps when she groans in pain and murmurs something unintelligible. He assumes she is still dizzy and out-of-it so he doesn't bother saying anything, just lets her talk. He gets to her room and lays her gently face-down on the mattress, the burns already swelling and the skin raising up. He hurries around her house, collecting items to help her heal. He returns to her bedside and gets to work quickly, placing a bowl of cool water and washcloth next to her, along with some bandage and cloth. After tending to her entire back he contemplates bandaging her since the burns aren't done swelling, he doesn't want to irritate the skin more than needed, but at the same time her discomfort might be too much at being uncovered. He decides to bandage her just in case. It takes some maneuvering but he gets her wrapped up, lays her down, and gently tucks a blanket around her. Now, it is just a waiting game.
He sits there, incredibly focused on her face and her breathing. Some of her hair slipped over her eyes when he was laying her down and he leans forward and tenderly brushes it to the side. His legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, chin on his hands; he just watches her. He is unaware of just how much time has passed when he finally hears her stir and she opens her eyes a tad. She blinks a couple times slowly and once her eyes fully open and she seems alert he gently asks her, "How are you feeling?"
Her voice comes out raspy. "I think I'm okay. My back is definitely in pain and everything hurts, but I expected that."
"Yeah." A few moments pass and Mustang tries to think of something else to say but finds himself at a loss of words. Some more time passes and Hawkeye eventually tries to pull herself upright. Mustang immediately helps her, hands reaching out for support. As she sits up, the thin blanket over her slips from her shoulders. She looks down at her bandaged chest and midsection, a blush rising to her cheeks. She pulls her hand away from his rather quickly, touching the bandages. Mustang follows her gaze, the connection clicking in his mind, and tries to fight the heat rising in his own face. Before she can even ask a question or blurt her worries, he silences her thoughts and says, "I may have seen things, but, trust me, your wellbeing was a much higher priority than your body. I haven't thought about it since, either. All I was focused on was getting you the care you needed and making sure you were okay."
She seems a little relieved at that but still anxious, although she does believe him even if she was worried. She nods after a few moments of thinking and inquires to Mustang, "Can you help me up?"
"What for?"
"I want to look at it."
"Absolutely not. Not in your current state, plus seeing the source of your pain might make you sick and we need you to heal as soon as possible not throwing up from shock."
"But–" Mustang puts out a hand to silence her. This time he is the stubborn, unwavering one.
"We aren't arguing about this, Riza. My decision is final. You can see it when your wounds are mostly healed. When that time comes, if you need help or want it I can be there, but at the current moment you absolutely will not."
Hawkeye clenches her jaw, clearly unhappy with his answer but accepts it nonetheless. After her anger subsides and Mustang feels she is in a better mental state, he tells her he will be right back and fetches a bowl of soup that was warming on the stove. During his search for treatment for her wounds he stumbled across a few, very few, ingredients and made a light soup for her– nothing heavy, but with some nutrients.
"Where did you get this?"
"I made it. Your kitchen is entirely too desolate, Lieutenant. It is worrisome. However, even with your desert of a kitchen, I was able to make something for you." Hawkeye's brows raise and she takes the bowl, her shoulders and upper back stinging with the movement. She hisses in pain, causing his brows to knit together in concern. She takes a moment and gets back to resting the bowl in a comfortable position.
"You know, Colonel, I haven't ever seen you so worried before."
Mustang clears his throat and retorts, "I have no idea what you are implying, Lieutenant." Hawkeye just smirks and eats a spoonful of soup. After she finishes, he takes the bowl out of her hand and tells her to lay back down and rest. Hawkeye's pain prevents her from arguing too much and she lays down, only this time it hurts her more than the other movements since the bandage scratches her skin and rubs against the burn which already hurts. She makes a pained noise and Mustang reaches over, telling her to lay on her stomach. She only nods, face still pinched in pain, and he helps support her so she can do so. Flipping herself over also proves painful and daunting but she knows it will be worth it.
After she is turned over she asks him if he can take the bandage off because it feels like it is scratching her skin. He does so and in the process checks the wounds, they have swollen some and since none of them have leaked any pus yet and there was no ointment to be applied to them, he could see how the bandages would be irritating. Once they are taken off, he tells her he would be at her table resting. He figured with her adrenaline wearing off she wouldn't try to go look at them since even sitting up is painful for her, he also didn't want his presence to prevent her from getting comfortable in any way now that her bandages were gone.
"If you need anything just call out, okay? I'm not going anywhere." And with that, he leaves.
She stays on her stomach for quite a bit of time, but eventually her neck begins aching from always being turned so she maneuvers on her side, pondering everything that's happened today. It is all so surreal. Of course, she has been planning this for a while now and was mentally prepared. She imagined all the ways in which this could go, but unfortunately nothing could really prepare her for what actually happened nor what it would feel like to have flesh burned in a direct and extensive way–in that the most she's ever felt before was a hot shell landing on her skin while practicing in the firing range; it stings but rarely leaves more than temporarily red and throbbing fingers. She drifts into a deep sleep from exhaustion and many hours pass.
She wakes suddenly from a loud noise "Ow!" She hears a shout come from the kitchen. What is going on in there?
"Are you okay?" Hawkeye questions. No answer, so she raises her voice and repeats, "ARE YOU OKAY?" Once again, there is no reply, and she's just about to get up when Mustang comes walking in, looking a tad uncomfortable and awkward with a plate of food in his left hand. He is about to offer it to her, but his awkwardness intensifies upon seeing her. He averts his eyes and looks back at her for a moment and clears his throat.
"Ahem, Riza…your…" he gestures to her chest and she looks down to realize some of the blanket slipped; nothing really was visible but perhaps the outline was enough to startle him. The severity of the moments after took away any amount of thoughts or desire that he could have but with that severity gone…
"Oh, yes." She adjusts the blanket to cover better and he sets the food on the nightstand.
"Here. Uh. You— I made— Uhhh…Ahem. It's food."
"Ah, Mustang, always the articulate man you are." She smirks and despite herself Hawkeye finds some pleasure in seeing Mustang all frazzled. She laughs a little as he begins leaving with no sassy retorts and instead, rosy cheeks. She has never seen this side of him and since this evening started it seemed as though that is all that she has seen– nervous and flustered contrary to the usually calm and composed Mustang.
As she eats her food she smiles to herself, pondering the reasons for his being frazzled. Perhaps it's her womanly charm that he's never really been able to see in somewhat of a full effect. That thought makes her a little haughty. Perhaps it's actually staying for a long time in a woman's place– she knew, being his right hand and all that, he really wasn't a playboy and had hardly any real ability when it came to wooing (or even being comfortable with) the opposite sex in any context except when commanding and fighting. She sets her spoon down, suddenly feeling solemn.
More than anything she wonders if perhaps all that she has asked him to do is a bit too much. Maybe having him– her commanding officer– come into her personal area and see personal things and do something personal was a bad idea. Maybe it was just too much for him and he didn't know how to respond. Losing one's parents tends to harden their shell and fend off deep emotional connections— defense mechanism, it makes sense. But that is just the problem; this last one, to Hawkeye, makes the most sense. He's actually uncomfortable and only being so nice because she is in pain and she made him do it so he feels bad, but deep down he must just want to go and leave her.
She begins to feel guilty and she sets the plate on her nightstand. Her anxiety increases with these thoughts and her hands begin to shake and her vision becomes fuzzy. She looks around the room to distract herself, but that movement makes her realize she's lightheaded, the room starts spinning around her. How could she be so stupid? She takes sudden and very deep breaths, her chest feeling restricted and like no oxygen is entering, even though she knows it has to be.
She fists up some of her blanket, clenching it in her lap and tucks her head down, looking at her hands. Her eyes begin watering and now she's even more frustrated with herself for crying. She doesn't hear the door open, but she does hear the rush of Mustang's footsteps as he approaches her bedside.
He crouches down next to her so she can see him despite her face being tucked. He is about to tell her that he came to pick up the food but noticed she was in pain– well, she is, just not the physical kind– but then sees she is crying and his own panic sets in. He wonders just how bad the wounds are hurting.
"Riza. Riza. Are you okay?" His face is etched with worry as he stands up and leans over to examine her back making sure nothing seems significantly worse. When he sees nothing more serious than what is expected he begins to move back to be in front of Hawkeye again. When she still has yet to look up or show any sign she's even aware of his presence, Mustang pulls the chair a little closer and sits down.
He looks at her, unsure what exactly he should do. Perhaps offer a hand to her. No, that seems too personal and he doesn't want to invade her space in case she feels uncomfortable with him doing so many things for her today. He contemplates asking her what's wrong because he wants to know, but doesn't want to push her into saying anything. He cares a lot– more than she'll ever know– but doesn't want Hawkeye to be thrown off by his sudden show of concern. So he opts for silence and just watches her face and her breathing as she sits in front of him, hands clenching the blanket and face red from crying.
Every time that Hawkeye sniffles it kills Mustang a little bit. He desires nothing more than to reach out and wipe her tears away. He isn't really sure where this desire came from, but either way it is entirely new to him– though he doesn't reject nor hate it either. After a few minutes pass, Hawkeye pulls herself together a little and then, getting frustrated, she looks over at Mustang.
"Damn it Mustang! Why do you keep staring at me?!" Her words come out harsh and her voice raspy with lingering tears. Mustang has handled worse; he is not phased by her tone and instead is just concerned for her. She recalls the way he'd been looking at her, his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes focused intently on her. Him just looking concerned for her and not bothered by her rude tone or biting facial expressions. It makes her want to break down again. She tries desperately to keep eye contact, holding her head higher and higher and biting her lip, but the tears prevail and she begins crying again. This time, she brings her knees up to tuck her face in. This time, Mustang actually moves forward to brush her hair out of her face. This time, Hawkeye actually admits to why she's crying. This time goes like last time and Mustang pulls away to listen.
"Mustang…I feel like— I feel like I put too…too much on you today…I— I mean— I had you come here and do this. I really— I don't know what I was thinking. And— and now you have to take care of me… I'm all weak and helpless…and a— a burden. I'm so sorry. You should just—" Mustang reaches out and sets his hand over hers, instantly silencing her hysterical ramblings.
"Riza. Yes, that request was strange and startled me. I never wanted to do it, even while I was doing it. Not because you are a burden, but because I don't want to hurt or burden you. You didn't put too much on me. I can handle it, but even if I couldn't, I knew what to expect coming here. I still came because I wanted to. Finally, Hawkeye… you are anything but weak and helpless. In fact, this act you've done shows how strong and courageous you truly are, both in body and mind and even spirit. So don't tell me I should just go because I won't. I can and will take care of you." At this Hawkeye almost burst into tears again. At some point in his talk she had stopped crying, but these last few words were so gentle and reassuring it makes her want to let out everything she's been holding in for the past few years. She finally raises her head to look at him.
Mustang just squeezes her hand a little harder and smiles a little at her. Hesitantly, she smiles back. He doesn't say the words out loud but she can feel them; It'll be okay. With that, both the physical and mental pain from crying catch up to her; she is exhausted and lays back down. She flinches at the pain but once she settles in she finally relaxes. All the while, she never once let go of his hand and he didn't try to pull away.
It was nice finally having someone there.
