Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.
Theme: 093. Shackles
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.
Angles
093. Shackles
Riza is proud even as she stands before a firing squad.
The revolution has failed; and she has become like all the women that powerful men had loved before her. What had they been but mail order brides from further East, speaking a different language, shunned for their beauty and killed for choosing the wrong man to love? If only she had loved him. But no, she does not regret it; she has done it for the people and been condemned by them. For an aristocratic woman who joined the army, it seemed fitting.
"I am only a figurehead. I do not control the revolution."
She whispers to the wind, defiant in the face of death. Riza does not stand before them as a queen, with her heart racing in panic and no way to escape; but as the woman Roy has always known, unafraid of the pain because she has felt it all before. Even with her hands bound, she is still the commander of this situation; and she will not fear her demise for anyone. She knows a gun better than all of these men before them, and she does not pity herself for dying by what she has used to defend herself since she can remember. It is a funny irony.
"I regret nothing."
She shouts, as arrogant as the day is long because she refuses to go quietly, and as they raise their guns they hit the ground. Just in time. She gasps, unaware that she had been holding her breath; and begins to laugh. She has not even got a gun, and yet there are bullet holes in the neck of every one of them. Looking up to the walls surrounding the area, she sees why. Mustang stands just as defiant as her, clearly uncomfortable with the shackles on her wrists, surrounded by marksmen and women who have been with them for a while. He ducks under the metal bar and slides down the small dip towards her, and runs over to grab her in a firm embrace. This, she thinks, made it all worth while. Not knowing he would come back.
"You did not honestly think I would leave you in shackles to die, did you?"
He uses his fire to sear the chain between the cuffs in two, leaving her with awkward bracelets. He is nervous, later she finds this is because they only have twenty minutes to get out of there before reinforcements reach the outpost where she was supposed to die; they had not expected him to go back for her. And finally, she cannot hold it anymore. From a mixture of shock and thanks, she kisses him. The others turn away, and he returns it. She has come to realise that for her, death is not a question but a certainty in this war. She cannot fight alchemists with guns and a dog, hope as she might.
"Thank you."
The only way to end a revolution is with him.
I know a lot of people would probably do something more lemon-ey for this theme, but I would like to stick to a T rating; and I had already begun to think of 'what if' in terms of a failed revolution. I apologise to those expecting otherwise.
Reviews & criticism appreciated.