Whoever this guy was, he was either egotistical enough to think that he'd never be caught or stupid enough to use a barely there code to hide his work. In fact, Ed wasn't sure he should even refer to the use of initials and a date as a code, it was insulting to any five year old who tried to write secret notes by reversing the alphabet because at least that tried to hide the meaning. It hadn't taken them long to find anything relating to Hawkeye, her initials were followed by the date of the Promised Day, anything else would've been more subtle than that. Anything.
Both he and Al had arrived at Eastern HQ early that morning, with the intention of helping with the investigation into Hawkeye's disappearance, and her subsequent reappearance. General Idiot hadn't arrived yet, and Havok wasn't due in until the afternoon because of his night shifts. This left him, Breda and Fuery sorting through the boxes of evidence that had been brought in the night before. It hadn't taken any of them long to figure out the 'code' and they were now stacking up piles of paper according to whether or not they referenced Hawkeye, any other 'test subject' (their words, not Ed's. He prefered to think of them as unwilling participants, and that's only because the thought of Hawkeye as a victim made him want to vomit), or was unidentifiable.
There were photos too.
Initially they hadn't bothered him. He'd seen worse things happen right in front of him, so a few photos of people strapped to a medical examination table, while disgusting, didn't even cause him to blink. He didn't know who these people were, and they were put into a pile to sort through later, to cross reference with missing people reports, or those who were classed as MIA at some point.
Then there was Hawkeye. Captured in black and white. Leather cuffs kept her wrists and ankles tied down to the metal examination table, to stop her from fighting back, although judging from the glazed look in her eyes, Ed didn't think she'd have been able to do much even if she had been able to. There were bruises on her arms and face, dark against her pale skin. Ed wanted to tear the picture up into tiny little pieces to preserve her dignity, he wanted to find the person responsible and beat them within an inch of their life, and he wanted to make sure something like this never happened to anyone ever again.
Instead, Ed handed the picture to Breda, facedown to hide it from Al. There were some things his younger brother shouldn't need to see. Hell, no one should have to see Hawkeye like that. "Make sure General Useless doesn't see this." He said. "Or if he does, make sure he's not wearing his gloves."
Breda turned the photo over, and didn't offer any comment. His silence, and the way his jaw clenched, said everything it needed to.
After that, Ed let Breda sort through the photos, and he went back to papers. After the picture Ed took the job on himself. He'd seen what they'd done to her, maybe not the full extent but he could paint a picture well enough in his mind to know that they'd hurt her. Drugged her. The sooner they put this piece of shits notes together, the sooner they could find him and Ed could beat the crap out of him. He might even be nice and let Mustang have a go. Maybe.
The pages they'd recovered from the site read more like a diary than anything else, and it reminded Ed of some of the alchemist diaries he'd managed to get his hands on over the years. Personal notes and opinions, observations that weren't just about the experiment. It was self indulgent drivel, that made Ed want to bash his head against the nearest hard surface.
It was frustrating work. There were massive sections missing, and it was difficult to tell what order the pages went in to begin with. Still, Ed and Al had pieced together Marcoh's research about the Philosopher's stones when they were nothing more than kids, he could pull this together now he was - arguably - an adult. Hours passed as he messed up the piles of papers and switched pages around to try and find an order that made sense. There were some dates, references to things that happened, that helped Ed put it into order, until something would contradict it and he'd have to start again.
Havok arrived in the early afternoon, but Ed ignored him.
Al brought him food, and rolled his eyes as Ed ate it while reading, and laughed when Ed missed his mouth and managed to put the sandwich more up his nose than anywhere else, leaving a smear across his face.
The skies were a dark blue, almost inky black, when Ed finally stopped furiously and obsessively working. He'd read every page, and had pieced together every sordid detail that they had managed to pick up off the floor of the unsanctioned lab. He'd been hit by a wave of nausea every time he'd seen Hawkeye's identifying code, but it had been replaced by an all encompassing feeling of dread.
"Hey, Al, read this." He passed it to his brother. "I think I got it right, but I really wish I hadn't."
Al read it quickly, the pair of them had always been too smart for their own good, and too quick to think they were right. Now Ed thought he knew better, or at least tried to be better, tried not to jump to conclusions as much as he had as a kid when he thought he was the smartest person in the room. Well. He tried. So he got Al to read it, and then passed it to Breda and Havok, and Fuery.
The five of them sat in silence afterwards, they let the weight of the words rest in their minds and tried to sort through the possibilities of what it could all mean.
"At least the experiment failed." Al said, the first to break the silence.
"Yeah, but we still have no idea what they were trying to do to her in the first place." Breda pointed out. "Doesn't really matter if it failed, if we have no idea what it was."
"It talked about brainwashing regarding 'MS42'," Fuery pointed out. "Maybe it's the same sort of thing?"
"Do we know anyone who knows anything about brainwashing?" Al asked.
"Not really our area." Havok said.
"And it didn't work," Fuery pointed out. "At least not with Hawkeye."
"So why let her go?" Ed asked, and instantly hated himself for voicing the question.
"What?" Al asked.
"Ed's got a point." Breda said thoughtfully. "If it didn't take, why keep her around? Killing her would be simpler than somehow wiping her memory. Even if they never meant to let her go, why do all of that?"
"Unless the amnesia is another experiment?" Ed asked, voicing his hypothesis outloud. "And if it is then she's probably still being observed."
"Well. Shit." Havok said. "Fuery, call the boss. Breda, let's go annoy them in person. I want to check the security on his fancy townhouse."
This was a mistake.
Two years ago (two years, three months, two weeks, and three days, to be exact) he would have been overjoyed at having her so close. Living together in the same house had never been on the cards for them, it had been nothing more than an idle daydream he'd used to torture himself. They had more important things to do with their lives, responsibilities to their country that they had decided were more important than their own happiness. Roy would have been lying if he said it wasn't also a sort of penance, the denial of the thing that would have made them happy to try to make up for even a small portion of what they'd done. What he'd done, that she felt responsible for.
Now, having her close, so close that he could hear her rummaging through boxes and talking to Hayate, so close that their bedrooms shared a wall. So close, that if this had been before, they both would have been hauled up on charges of fraternisation.
Yet, it was a mistake. And a torture of a new, different kind, that Roy had barely had time to contemplate after he'd made the impulsive gesture to ask her to live here, with him.
Riza didn't remember him. She remembered the dog, and even Alphonse, but not him. Whatever had cruelly taken away her memories had left enough of her behind that he could see his Riza in her movements, in the way she calmly ordered him to stop doing things, in the way she smiled indulgently at Hayate and let him get away with sitting on the furniture, and yet there was no recognition when she looked at him, not even the smallest hint that she knew who he really was to her. What, in reality, she really was to him.
It hurt more than any unfulfilled wishful daydream ever could. It almost hurt more than losing her, if only because every confused look felt like he'd never get her back. Not really. Not back to the way things were. It was what he deserved though, after abandoning her to her fate, and the guilt of knowing she'd been alive while he mourned her would eat away at his soul forever, he was sure of it.
So he gave her some money, and a key to the house, and then left her alone in his townhouse to go through her things and try to remember, while he found any excuse to be elsewhere. He got the paperwork to bring her back to life on paper, talked to Veteran Affairs about her pension, Roy busied himself so he didn't need to look at her eyes and see nothing but confusion staring back at him.
It was early evening by the time he returned home, unable to find another excuse to keep him away from her. He was surprised to hear her and Catalina chatting animatedly, Catalina had turned into Riza's constant shadow, and Roy didn't know how she could stand it. Didn't she feel the guilt and grief that he felt? Didn't she hate the way Riza didn't remember them? Didn't she feel the pain deep within her chest every time she looked at her, the way he did?
"Hi Roy." Riza said. She'd had her haircut, inches cut off and her fringe cut back in. She looked like she always had; like the most beautiful thing in the world. A beautiful thing he'd let wilt in the darkness and would destroy by being near, he was sure.
"Your hair looks nice." Roy complimented her, and tried to make it sound easy.
"You think so?" She asked, tugging on it awkwardly.
He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that she had always been beautiful, but instead he nodded, "Of course."
He left them alone, and headed to the kitchen, it was too early for alcohol, but he couldn't stand to look at her for longer than he had to. He wasn't even halfway through making a cup of coffee when the door clicked closed.
"You're a fucking asshole." Catalina accused, and when he turned to look at her, she was five foot whatever of pure fury, hands on hips and anger all over her face.
"Nice to see you too, Lieutenant Catalina." He said, emphasising her rank to try and stop her from whatever ridiculous rant she was about to embark on. He didn't want to hear it.
"You know, way back, I used to think you at least cared about her." She said. "But now I think you're either an idiot, or you never gave a shit but can't abandon her completely in case it looks bad."
Roy felt like he'd been slapped. In fact, he would have prefered it if she had just slapped him. "That's… what are you going on about?"
"You. Not talking to her. Not even looking at her." Rebecca said. "Don't think she hasn't noticed, because she has. Yeah, you're 'so kind' to let her stay here, but you're leaving her to go through this shit alone. You're not helping her, you've just abandoned her."
"I…" Roy started to speak, but he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. "I left her there, she was alive, and suffering, and I left her there. How can I help her now, when I couldn't help her then?"
"You just do." She said. "It's not about you, or me, or our guilt. It's about her. It's time you realised that."
Roy had a retort, he swore he did, but he was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone, and he used it as an excuse to leave Catalina alone in the kitchen.
Fear kept Riza awake.
It was the early hours of the morning, and Roy's team had left hours ago after making sure the house was relatively secure. Rebecca had given her a gun, and told her to shoot anyone that tried to hurt her. Both Jean and Breda (not Heymans - he'd been clear about that) had offered to stay, but Roy had assured them that she'd be fine.
He'd assured her that she'd be fine. Even if she didn't feel like it.
Unable to sleep, Riza slipped out of bed and left her bedroom. The light from Roy's room was still on, and shined underneath the door and into the hallway. She hesitated before she knocked.
Roy rarely talked to her, he could barely look at her when they were in the same room together, and he found excuses to be anywhere else other than where she was. It would have been infuriating, considering he knew so much about her that she couldn't recall, but last night he'd held her, he'd wrapped an arm around her shoulders after she'd lead them to the lab, and he'd offered her a place to stay and given her money. Whatever was going through his head, Riza knew that he cared.
He cared enough to keep her here when she was being watched, and cared enough that he couldn't sleep either.
Roy opened his bedroom door, and stood aside to let her in. They stood in silence, and then both began to talk at once, stumbling over words and unable to understand each other, and Riza snorted. Of course they wouldn't be able to have even one conversation.
"Are you okay?" Roy asked, and went back to sit on his bed. She hovered somewhere near the door, unsure if she should sit next to him or stay where she was.
"Can't sleep." She admitted. "I just keep feeling like I'm being watched from the shadows. Like something's just going to jump out of them at me. I know it's ridiculous, but just knowing they're out there and might still have an interest…"
Roy's eyes narrowed, and he shifted over to the far side of the bed and tapped the space next to him. "It's not ridiculous." He said. "Pride could do that, although that's probably not the best bedtime story."
Riza raised an eyebrow as if to ask if he was sure he wanted her to sit next to him on his bed, and for whatever reason (she didn't have enough information to guess) he looked pleased as he nodded. "What?" She asked, as she sat on the bed next to him, it still felt warm from where he'd been lying.
"You did the silent communication thing."
"Silent communication thing?" Riza asked.
"It's just something we did." Roy said. "Talking without talking."
"Is that why you don't talk to me now?" Riza asked, she hadn't meant to confront him about it. She'd mentioned it to Rebecca who had cursed angrily, but she'd never thought about talking to Roy about it. Was it being tired, or was it the fear that had caused her to slip?
"No. That's because I'm an asshole." Roy admitted.
"You're not an asshole."
"No, this is one thing Catalina was right about," Roy said. "I've been a complete asshole since you came back."
"You're letting me stay in your house." Riza pointed out. "Even though I'm possibly being followed by who knows what."
"We've had maybe half a dozen awkward conversations since you came back. Before you left we'd have dozens of genuine conversations a day. You were my most precious subordinate, I trusted you with everything. My life, my plans, my whole world was wrapped up in you." Roy admitted quietly. "And I couldn't even look at you."
Riza didn't know what to say, it sounded like a declaration of love just as much as it sounded like an explanation. Love for a girl that had died, and then came back without a memory. Yeah, maybe he had been a bit of an asshole, but Riza had the feeling she knew why. That it had been wrapped up in guilt and pain, and not for any other reason. She took his hand, and squeezed it, silently communicating that it was okay. That he was forgiven.
"Nothing's going to happen to you, Riza. I won't let it." Roy promised. "In the morning, I'll help you remember. We'll go through those boxes together, and we'll talk about your past."
"Thank you," Riza said. "I'm going to hold you to that."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." Roy said.