Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
003. Battlefield
The Hawk's Eye holds a gun in her hands and kills.
It is natural and easy and everything it shouldn't be and she turns her head away and pretends that the man that had once been standing in her cross hairs is not dead.
She knows that he will appear in her nightmares anyways.
There is blood on her hands and blood on her back and she sees him in deep Amestrian blue and it is only that which saves him.
He is still young and still him, but he is tired. She can see it in his slumped shoulders and limp arms and cold eyes.
She adjusts her aim and tightens her finger – if only, if only – but pulls away because this is the beloved Flame, and if she killed him, she would be next.
But she is a sniper. Is it not her duty to kill all those opposing Amestris?
Her lips curl down in a sneer because she knows as well as him what the answer to that question is, knows as well as him that her mortality isn't the only reason she refuses to pull the trigger.
She hates him, and yet she doesn't, and she refuses to acknowledge that there might be anything else to it.
She sighs, coughs out plumes of dust from her lungs. Her shift is over, and when she breathes in the relatively clear air of the desert, she wonders at how the putrid stench of death doesn't bother her anymore.
"It's been awhile, Mr. Mustang," she says. "Do you remember me?"
He glances back, a fire lighting his eyes for but a second, and smiles a sad, sad smile.
"How could I forget?"
AN:
I wrote this one weeks ago, so it doesn't count as part of my writing streak.
For some reason, I like it better than 002 anyways.
As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome.
etione