Gordon Grumman flipped through the pages of his newspaper and did his best to ignore the voices of the television in the next room. A bit stuck in his ways, he preferred to have current events delivered to him via black and white print rather than talking heads. Over the past several weeks, the news cycle had been aflutter with the death of the sitting Fuhrer and his replacement. Opposing political parties gnashed their teeth and shouted one another down, but the people had spoken. The new Fuhrer was considerably younger than his predecessor, and quite a few shades more liberal. In the last four days since the pomp and circumstance of an Amerstian state funeral, he'd turned several heads.

His first order of business had been to repair the diplomatic disarray with Ishval. The clerics across the eastern border were willing to sign trade agreements and allow Amestris the use of their railway infrastructure in exchange for assurances that State Alchemists would not practice in their holy lands. Waters were further calmed when the ban on privatized alchemy was lifted. In an inspiring speech Gordon consented to watch on television, the freshly sworn-in Fuhrer proclaimed bright horizons and new advances for all of Amestris. Even if the man seemed a little too shiny for Grumman's liking, he felt confident the changes were for the best.

Of course, he was a smidge biased. He'd have supported private alchemy regardless of the dangers military personnel railed about simply because it would mean his granddaughter could be with the young man she loved. Gordon hadn't wanted Roy Mustang to ever be exposed to the horrors of war he'd seen in his own youth. Some shadows couldn't be chased away, even with every light in the house switched on. Now, thanks to the new leadership, none of Amestris's young soldiers would be sent off to smear a landscape with the blood of enemies and brothers alike.

His wife, Mathilda, had been quite vocal in her distaste for the Fuhrer. Gordon thought this had more to do with Riza and less with any actual politics. Riza's steadfast refusal to allow her grandmother's opinions to hold sway still raised hackles. The return of That Boy was something she blamed on the nation's new leader and could not forgive. Nevermind that their granddaughter's independence had nothing to do with the presence of Roy Mustang and everything to do with her breeding stock; Mathilda needed someone to indict.

Only once had his wife ever dared to utter a word of grievance against Roy in front of Riza, and Gordon wouldn't forget the terrifyingly placid outrage on her face. The evening had gone smoothly up until the moment when Riza mentioned her recent move into the master bedroom at the Hawkeye house. Mathilda responded that though Riza was an adult, she had no need for the large suite. Why not save such a lavish space for when you've finally brought a proper husband home? He'd noticed Riza's eye twitch at the term proper husband, but it wasn't until the older woman's unchecked reaction at the knowledge that Mustang would be moving in that she smiled icily. It seemed only Gordon saw the curve of her lips for what it was. Danger.

For reasons he still couldn't quite grasp, Riza had allowed her grandmother to positively flay That Boy with her words before interjecting. He isn't That Boy, Grandmother; he is an accomplished student and scientist. Roy has been by my side since just after my mother died, which is not something I could say for you, who are an actual blood relative. Mathilda had gasped like an affronted royal in a novel. He will be moving into my house, and it will be our home. If you care to be welcome here at all in the future, you'll keep your opinions about him to yourself. I will thank you, though, for the implication that it is for me to bring a husband home and not the other way around. That's if I choose to take a husband at all. It was the last comment snubbing marriage that finally shut his wife's mouth for the remainder of the evening. Riza managed to keep her cool until they'd left, but he could tell her feathers had been ruffled.

For himself, Gordon didn't care if his granddaughter ever married Roy Mustang so long as he got to bounce at least one sweet-smelling great-grandbaby on his lap before he died.

Roy's certification exam was exactly as arduous as he expected. More than once, he considered not reserving a slot at all, but Riza insisted that even if he declined his commission, the unused certification would look very prestigious on a resume. He wouldn't be allowed to keep the sparkling pocket watch for too long, as he wouldn't be staying in military service beyond his graduation, so he enjoyed looking at it while it was still in his possession. Riza teased him about the way it hung from his dress uniform, saying he looked a little like Headmaster Bradley. After that comment, he felt less bad about returning it later.

Both his aunt and Riza attended his official certification, where they dubbed him Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. He welcomed the press of Chris's painted lips to his cheek and suspected it would be the last time she'd insist on doing it. Riza clung to his side and whispered in his ear that her father would've been proud. Kimblee's unnerving grins deflated him somewhat, but Roy didn't dwell on it. He was used to the man's oddness.

The graduation ceremony was considerably longer than his certification, and he noted that his dress uniform had gotten more wear in the last few days than in the previous four years. Roy wasn't complaining, though the wool was stiff and uncomfortably hot, even in the milder heat of the morning. Summer in East City was much harsher than in his hometown of Central.

"Well, kid, you've made us all proud." Chris squeezed his arm and smiled. "I know your parents would've loved to see you today." Roy's eyebrows inched heavenward. She rarely brought them up. "Wrap up your business here, and come home soon."

Riza waited until Chris had boarded the train to embrace him. "She's right, you know."

"About what?" Roy sighed into her hair. Even though he'd see them again before the end of the week, saying so many goodbyes made his heart heavy.

"Your parents and how proud we are of you. I know it's been hard going back and forth for so long, but it's over now. Just a few more days, and we'll be in charge of our lives again."

"I can't just stow away home with you now?"

"Sadly, no. I think your commanding officer would notice that."

"I don't ever want another commanding officer," Roy pouted.

"Now's probably your last chance to change your mind."

He pulled her to a bench a few steps back from the platform. "Do you think I'm making a mistake? I know alchemy is legal for civilians now, but everything is so new, and there's no guarantee I can make a living off of it."

"Roy, you need to make this decision for yourself. I don't ever want to be responsible for your misery. The threat of war is all but gone, and if you want to stay and feel out the lifestyle of a State Alchemist, you absolutely should."

"Would you think me a waste if I said I wanted something less grandiose than all that? I thought I wanted to learn all there was to learn, and EUMA was the only place I could do it," he sighed and touched her hand, "Now the new Fuhrer says I can be an alchemist anywhere, and it feels strange. Everything they've taught me here has been with a military-minded agenda. What if I can't figure it out on my own?"

Riza smiled. "Oh, Roy. How can you be so confident about something like training Hayate to shred unwanted suitors and still manage to look at me this way about a subject you're a certified expert in?" She slid closer to him and leaned into his shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you it's a great idea to teach kids how to be little fire-starters, but I think you're smart enough to beat your own path. And if all else fails, I suppose I could beg Bradley to give you a job. I still have those crotchless panties, you know. Maybe he's into that."

Despite himself, Roy laughed. "I'd hate to put you in that position."

She stood and pulled him to his feet when the last warning whistle blew. "There's a sex joke in there somewhere; I just know it." Riza wrapped her arms around his middle and sighed. "I don't think you're making a mistake declining the commission. I think the mistake would be to doubt yourself. Come back to me, okay?" She kissed him then left him on the platform feeling just as alone as he'd felt when his train pulled away from Central City four years prior. Roy spent the remainder of his evening unable to sit still; his bags were as packed as they could be, given he still had a few days left before leaving, and his boxes of materials were well on their way back home. He needed to get out and breathe.

His boots thumped on the pavement as he made his way through the expertly manicured grounds of the university. The courtyards and expanses of grass were largely deserted after sunset, and Roy preferred them that way. His favorite park held a solarium that contained a variety of exotic lilies and other blooms donated as a show of diplomatic peace from neighboring countries. He enjoyed the way the moonlight made the stargazer petals glow and often reflected that Riza's skin had a similar pull for him. Perhaps when he returned home to her, he'd acquire some lilies for the garden behind the Hawkeye house.

"Good evening, Cadet Mustang," an unfamiliar voice spoke to him from the shadows behind a planter of large-leafed flora. "Enjoying the evening following your success?" A man he'd never seen before stepped from behind the plants. "It's a shame your pretty girlfriend couldn't stay any longer."

Roy stood and glared, but the stranger only laughed. "Why are you following me?"

"Excellent question. It's about time I introduced myself. Frank Archer, and it is a pleasure to meet you, cadet. I wish I could say I'm surprised you completed your specialty despite the loss of your research material, but how could I have expected any less of an apprentice of Hawkeye's?"

"You did that? You blew up my room and stole my boxes? Why? Do I know you?"

Archer sat on a bench and crossed his legs. "We haven't ever met, no, but I've heard plenty about you from an associate of mine. A charming young man that I think you do know. You even went to grade school together. Lieutenant Kimblee, is it? He didn't decline his commission, as you have, so I suppose he has an actual rank now. I also knew your teacher, Berthold Hawkeye. An insufferable man. Always so secretive and selfish."

Roy's eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"It took me longer than expected to master the basics of the materials in my possession, and I now wonder how much more you are capable of to earn a certification in the field. The notes I stole were quite sparse to one with knowledge such as mine. Care to partake in some equivalent exchange?"

"I'm not telling you a goddamn thing. I suggest you get the fuck out of here before I have you arrested for what you stole from me and destroying government property."

A dramatic sigh escaped the man's lips, and he grinned. His teeth shone in the dim light of the solarium, and Roy took several steps back. Archer seemed on the brink of madness. "A pity. I'd hoped you and I could be friends. Kimblee is quite intelligent and skilled in his art, but nothing compares to the simple beauty of raw flames."

Roy's hands felt around the pockets of his dress uniform for his ignition gloves. Of course, he didn't have them. In his mind, they sat very clearly in a locked case in his dorm room. He hadn't thought he'd need them on a ceremonious day.

Archer carefully removed his coat and tossed it aside. His arms were bared, and Roy saw a complicated cluster of arrays tattooed into his skin. At a glance, they appeared to be an odd combination of the symbols he used himself and some he'd caught a glimpse of in Kimblee's theories.

"I've waited a long time to return this favor. The military brought this on themselves, and severing Hawkeye's legacy is a sweet, sweet cherry."

Roy didn't have much time to react. He could only stumble backwards into a spare glass ceiling tile that had been removed for cleaning. The panel fell onto him as Frank Archer's hands drew together, and the last thing Roy remembered was the blast of flame that stole his sight.

His hospital room was dark, the only sound being the steady beep of a heart rate monitor. When he tried to sit up, a gentle hand pressed him back down onto the bed.

"Hold on there, kid; don't try to move too much." The voice of his aunt calmed his racing pulse. "I've just alerted the nurses' station, okay? No need to get all worked up."

"Aunt Chris," Roy croaked out, "why is it so dark in here?"

He heard her sigh. "It's not dark, kid. Do you remember what happened?"

Roy flexed his fingers, and it seemed that his skin stung. "I can recall graduation and you and Riza. Everything after the train is kind of a blur."

Her hand rested on his shoulder again. "That's okay. It'll come to you."

Roy heard a door click closed and tried to turn and face the noise. "Welcome back, Cadet Mustang. I'm glad to see you've come around at last," an unfamiliar voice said. The sound of wheels on linoleum and the hiss of a depressed cushion drew his attention to the left. There was a shuffling of papers as the voice spoke again. "I'm Doctor Marcoh, and you'll be under my care while you're here."

"I'm not a cadet anymore." Roy could think of nothing else to say.

The doctor's hands removed the monitors pulled the oxygen tube from his face. "True enough. I understand you've declined the commission. Tell me, Roy, what is the last thing you remember?"

Roy frowned, but his face felt tight, and he now believed it to be bandaged. This explained the darkness. "I remember the graduation ceremony and seeing my aunt and girlfriend off at the train station. After that it's-" He paused, and his jaw tightened as memories slowly trickled in. "The solarium. I was in the solarium, and there was a man there. He said a lot of crazy stuff before-"

"I'm glad you didn't need to be prompted. It's always better when the patients remember on their own. Save your account for the official statement. I expect, now that you're awake and talking, the military police will want to interview you. My job is to patch you up."

He finally reached up to touch the gauze over his eyes. The tips of his fingers felt raw. "What happened? Everything feels strange, and I can't see."

Doctor Marcoh sighed, and Roy flinched a little when he felt a hand fumble with the bandages. "Your eyes were damaged in the blast. There was some light scarring and enough inflammation to prevent a proper inspection. You are damn lucky that ceiling panel they found on top of you was a type of plexiglass. It spared your vital organs from damage and the majority of your skin from burns; your face and hands took most of the heat." Roy sat in a daze as the doctor unwound the gauze slowly. "The overhead sprinklers doused the flames before the MP's actually arrived. It seemed the explosion had more bark than bite in the end. I understand the perpetrator didn't have the skill he assumed."

Roy could feel the air on his face and blinked. He could see nothing. "I can't see a goddamn thing."

"I wish I could give you some better news on that front. It does appear the surrounding areas are healing nicely, though, so I expect the ophthalmologist will be in to see you soon. She'll want to have a close look."

"Am I going to be blind forever?"

"That's a question you'll want to save for her." Roy heard the rolling chair scrape the floor again, and the doctor's voice came from above him now. "Physically, your prognosis is good. The burns will continue to heal, and it's very likely the scarring will be minimal. New skin is already stitching up and looks good. I'd say your period of unconsciousness was a blessing because now you'll want to itch it less."

Roy was startled. "How long have I been out?"

There was a pause, and in the silence, his anxiety peaked. Chris spoke up, "Roy the graduation was almost two weeks ago."

"What?"

Doctor Marcoh cut in. "We had to sedate you at first. Burns create a special kind of pain, and the damage to your eyes was still unknown. The inflammation needed to be brought down swiftly. You were taken off the sedatives two days ago."

He fidgeted with the blanket draped over him, but the fabric only irritated his fingertips. Despite all the information thrown at him in the last few minutes, his mind focused solely on Riza.

"Well, I've got some rounds to make, Roy. I'll send the ophthalmologist your chart, and she'll probably be by later today. I know she's been anxious to get under those bandages. I'll also make sure they bring you a lunch today; take it easy, though, and don't shock your stomach." The door clicked shut, and Roy was left alone with his aunt.

"How is she? Does she know what happened?"

"Well," Chris began, "she's not here, in case you were wondering. And yes, she knows about the explosion. This is a military hospital, and I'm the only legal family you've got. It took a hell of a lot of convincing to keep her from living in a hotel until you woke."

"How am I going to tell Riza that I'm blind?"

"Roy-"

"I have nothing to offer her now. Everything I've worked for isn't even an option."

Chris sighed loudly, and he heard her chair creak. "You always were a dramatic boy, but don't start being an idiot. The surgeon hasn't even looked to see what's going on inside since they bandaged your face. Don't conjure up a rain storm just so you can pout beneath the clouds."

"I guess."

"You guess? Honestly, Roy, you're lucky to be alive. Even if you are blinded permanently, wouldn't you rather have that than death?" Roy sighed and blinked furiously. As if the motion would magically restore his vision. It didn't.