Chapter Note: Interestingly, as many readers probably know already, the manga and Brotherhood wrap up the fate of Mustang's team differently. I found it easier to write the version shown in the manga. It left a bit more to the imagination, because it was less specific. However, I tried to blend the two by adding in some of the details shown in Brotherhood, especially Havoc's fate. I hope it reads well, as I tried to keep it accurate but may have lost some details in trying to toe the line between the two. Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Edward is the first to come to his senses.

"C'mon," he says. "Let's keep moving." He and the others move down the corridor, and then it's just Roy and Riza.

"I'm sorry," Roy says again. He can't take in the immensity of what has passed between them, may never be able to express what he feels at that moment. Shame, hot and liquid pumps through his body like blood. "I lost my head."

Riza takes in a deep breath.

"There will be time," she says slowly, "to talk about it. After the battle." She meets his eyes, and he feels his whole body shudder. He nods.

"After the battle," he repeats, slowly rising to his feet. The others aren't far ahead, and she takes a moment to reload her weapons. Her fingers shake as she tries to slide the bullets into place, and Roy reaches out to steady her trembling hands, helping with the task.

What he's put her through, the last quarter of an hour, could change the rest of their lives. How can she ever forgive him for this? Now, at the very moment she most needed him to be steady, to maintain control.

"Roy," she says his name so quietly, and it's a caressing, a soothing balm. But he can't bear to look at her. "You were on the edge, but you didn't leap. Don't forget that you didn't leap."

He breathes in deep again, and it comes out shaky. "No," he acknowledges. "But if it weren't for you…." He sees her neck move as she swallows hard. "Your shoulder, how badly are you injured?"

She winces as she moves it gingerly.

"It's superficial, sir."

She's lying, he can see that from the amount of blood, but he lets it pass. She can move her arm, and the blood loss has slowed, that's enough for now.

"Right. Let's move forward." He turns, and an unpleasant thrill runs down his spine.

"Colonel," she says quietly. "I've got your back, sir."

He nods, once, and they push forwards.

—-

"I've already told you," the doctor growls, "we're running out of time."

Roy follows the man's gaze, just in time to see the gleam of the sword as it slices Hawkeye's neck.

"LEIUTENANT!"

It seems to take her a long time to fall, as though the laws of time are distorted. Roy doesn't know what he's saying, his throat is raw from screaming.

They want me to open the portal. I can't, I can't.

"Have you made up your mind yet, Mustang?"

He struggles harder, but it's useless as the king-candidates hold him fast.

"...Or you can hold out until this woman is dead and resurrect her. That would be fine, too."

No. You can't…

"I," her voice is faint. He can barely hear it over the pounding of his own heart, "I won't die. I've been given orders…not to die."

The doctor pulls out the bottle, light glinting off the red semi-liquid, and Roy wants it, more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. He sees the transmutation circle in his head. He could save her.

"...Dead already?"

They knew his one weakness. She will always be his greatest strength and his only weakness, both at the same time, equally. Equivalent…exchange….

"Colonel," her voice is weaker now. "Don't attempt human transmutation….It's not worth it."

But that's wrong, because she is worth everything. She is everything. They maneuvered him so he can see her face now. Her eyes are so fierce, so determined. He can hear the raggedness of her slowing breaths, can see her blood spreading out on the floor before him.

She'll never forgive him. He can't, he can't. Her eyes are pleading with him.

Even from the moment the blade touched her skin, he had known he had no choice.

"All right." He's never felt so defeated. "All right, Lieutenant. I won't do human transmutation!"

The next moments pass in a blur, and the chimeras attack. Mustang barely knows what's happened, moving and acting on instinct. He has to get to Hawkeye, nothing else matters. Then Mei is beside him, her alkehestry working like magic over Riza's wounds, and Riza is in his arms.

"She still needs to see a doctor," the girl warns.

"Thanks….Thank you. Thank you."

"Colonel? I'm sorry."

"Don't try to speak, just rest!"

"I'm glad that you noticed..,my eye signals."

He huffs a chuckle.

"For as long as we've been a team, how could I not?"

He knows her better than he knows himself, and she knows him. Where he ends, she begins. She's his partner in everything, always. He came so close, so very close to betraying her in those tunnels just a short time ago. He could almost feel the press of her pistol against his scalp. He couldn't betray her now, not after they'd come so far.

"Plus the look on your face said, 'I'll shoot you if you mess with human transmutation.'"

She smiles weakly.

—-

The darkness is all consuming. He can hear all the sounds, feel the energy sparking the air, but he cannot see it, and he's never felt so disoriented. He's out of place, out of time, trying to follow the rapid exchange of words, to figure out what's happening.

It's not over he realizes, as Scar explains the culmination of his brother's research. He hears the shouts of the Elrics, realizing they're still fighting, but he, himself, can barely stand.

He feels someone nearby, and he flinches, expecting an attack, but Ms. Curtis' voice is gentle.

"We have to get you to safety, too." Her grip on his arm is firm, guiding him, and the sense of shame he feels curls around his gut.

"Sorry." Somehow keeping a hand over his face makes him feel less untethered. "It's this country's greatest crisis, and I'm useless."

"Come on, it happens to the best of us." She pulls him to his feet and he stumbles along with her. The ground seems to move beneath him, and he doesn't know if it's from the battle or if he's just disoriented. His hands hurt so badly. He doesn't think he could snap his fingers if he tried, perhaps never again. Despair closes in.

Then he hears her voice.

"Colonel!" It's like a magical elixir working upon him.

She's still alive. He draws strength and energy from the thought, and he tries to stand, but he stumbles again. Someone's hands steadies him.

"Are you injured, Colonel?!" She sounds frightened.

"They took my eyesight!" He covers his face with a hand again. How can he not even see his own hand in front of his face? It feels better to close his eyes, but his adrenaline is running so high, he can't keep them closed, instinct forcing him to try to see. It's no use.

The presence beside him now is Hawkeye's. Somehow he just knows.

"How are your wounds, Lieutenant?"

"There you go again, sir! You should be worried about yourself! Your eyes," she can't finish the sentence, and he thinks he hears a catch in her voice.

But her very presence is like a light in all the darkness, and a new resolve fills his spirit.

"Lieutenant!" he barks. "Can you still fight?"

—-

She's thinking only of how she's going to get him out of this hell-hole. Are the medical facilities up and running? Will they even be able to do anything for him there? How could he have lost his eyesight? She wasn't there, she was injured and couldn't protect him, and he's lost so much so quickly. There's no time for questions or explanations.

"Can you still fight?" The words act on her like a bucket of icy water, clearing her head. His eyes aren't focused on her face, and they're oddly hazy, but the steel has returned to his dark gaze. She stiffens her spine, presses her fears down deep.

"Yes, sir!" She moves to his side, holding his arm to support him. "What do you need me to do, sir?"

"Just…guide me, I don't know. Damnit, I can't see anything."

They shuffle along with Armstrong's group, an awkward four-legged creature. She's trying to support him without making him feel helpless. She can practically hear his mind whirring.

They encounter Ling, then, and as he explains the situation, she's still thinking of how she might convince Mustang to stay behind, with Major General Armstrong, who it seems is also injured.

Can we do anything to help at the Central Command Center? How does he expect to fight without eyesight?!

But the Colonel angles his body towards Ling's voice.

"Let's go then," he says firmly.

"Hey, I said no gimps," the prince grumbles, staring them down.

"You need my help to burn through this guy's store of philosopher's stones, right?" His arm travels up, reaching until she can feel his hand on her shoulder. "Then I need the Lieutenant here to be my eyes."

Ah, so that's it then. A swell of pride surges through her. This, she can do, and his trust in her is so absolute, it gives her strength. They can still do this, together.

They hurry after the others, dodging through battle debris, and she's careful to make sure he never stumbles.

"It's a good thing I've got the Hawk's Eye to see for me," he says.

"I hate that name," she grumbles, and she thinks he laughs a little.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She nods.

"I've got your back, sir."

"I know."

It's then she realizes that the hand she's using to support him is slick with blood.

"Sir! Your hands!" They're still bleeding.

"I know. They hurt like hell. It's fine."

"But-but your gloves!"

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't need them now." He grits his teeth. "I've seen the Truth."

She realizes then. His eyesight was the Toll.

"Come on, sir. The Briggs soldiers are hitting him with heavy artillery, but it's only causing minimal damage. You were right, sir, you're needed."

She finds a piece of ground for them to stand on and positions him so she can protect him as well as possible, on hand gripping his shoulder. Her own shoulder aches, and weakness pulls at her. She's still losing blood from the wound on her shoulder, though those at her neck are mostly closed. He doesn't seem injured other than his hands.

"Now sir, go." He claps his hands together, then snaps, and the flames that burst from his fingertips ignite the world before them.

"Did I hit him?" His eyes are shut tight, and she can see the strain on his face. With the amount of blood she sees on his hands, she can only assume that snapping is causing excruciating pain. She knows she has to direct him as accurately as possible, to get this battle over and done with so she can get him the medical attention he needs.

"You were off by just a few feet, sir! Adjust your aim by five degrees to the right."

He hesitates.

"It's hard to modulate my fire power when I can't see anything," he growls. She knows he's concerned about hitting an unintended target. The trust he's placing in her now is absolutely staggering.

"No need to modulate, sir!" she assures him. "Distance fifty," she squints, "No, fifty-three feet."

"I'm still not used to putting my hands together to transmute," he grunts as he claps and fires. His flames are marvelous and terrible, but then she can see the ball of fire reverse direction, heading straight for them, and there's no cover. How, how can she defend him?

"Incoming frontal attack!"

"Defense! How's this?" He bends to the ground, and a wall of concrete springs up in front of them just in time. It's a maneuver she's seen Edward use before, and she's proud of her Colonel's quick thinking, his incredible adaptability to function in this moment.

"Nicely done, sir!"

"You know," his voice is grim, but a trace of his old smug humor colors the words, "this style of transmuting isn't so bad after all." He tries to give her a wan smile, but he's only vaguely looking in her direction.

"Now, sir," she says, directing him again and again, working in concert with the others. She makes sure his attacks won't hit their comrades, ensures he fires only when the others are clear, and helps adjust his aim as needed.

She watches the scenes unfold on the battlefield with an uncertain helplessness clinging to the edges of her mind, but she can't help them. She can only focus on her Colonel, and they two, with the target before them are all that exist for her.

"Now, he's toast!" Roy snarls, snapping again.

She hears Hohenheim's encouragement and directs Mustang to attack, again and again in quick succession. The moment comes, and the fight comes down to Edward and Father.

"Edward!" She and the others cheer him on. This is it.

"What?" The Colonel shouts, and he stills, afraid to strike. "What's happening?" She fills him in as best she can.

"He, I don't know. Edward's automail broke, and Alphonse did…something. Edward's arm, he has his real arm! He's fighting it, hold your fire, sir!"

"FullMetal!"

The action unfolding before them is too quick for her to narrate, and then suddenly there's silence. It's over. All she can hear is the reassurance of Mustang's quick breaths beside her, all she can feel is his weight, though it seems heavier against her by the moment.

"Wha-what happened?" He asks again. "Is it over? Did we win?"

"Yes, sir."

—-

"We need to get you to a hospital, sir," She leads them away from the brothers' joyful reunion. Her job is to take care of the Colonel. She steps away from him when she sees a soldier with a red cross on his uniform.

"Damnit, what's happening now, Lieutenant?" When she doesn't answer, his heart stops beating.

"Medic!" He hears her voice, not far away and turns towards the sound. "I need a medic for Colonel Mustang. Now."

He can hear the sound of boots on the ground rushing toward him, and he tenses, resisting the urge to prepare to attack, again, because he has no way of knowing if the approaching sound is that of friend or foe.

"Colonel Mustang, sir," a new voice says, "Corporal Lewis, medical battalion D. Where are you injured, sir?"

"The Lieutenant," he grunts. "Where's Lieutenant Hawkeye? She's wounded!" Though the pain in his hands is intense, even though he's never been so utterly weary, even though he cannot see, he knows the severity of her wounds was terrible. She lost so much blood. He could still feel it, seeping into his uniform as she stood by his side, supporting him in battle.

"She's being taken care of, sir."

"No," he barks. "Bring me to her, right now."

"I'm here," her voice sounds off, somehow. "Sir, please, let them examine you." Then he hears an odd thump.

"Lieutenant!" The young Corporal's voice, he thinks.

"What's happening? Hawkeye? Hawkeye!" Her name burns on his tongue. Riza.

"This way." The calm, feminine voice is familiar, but he doesn't know. "It's Izumi. They've got her on a stretcher, they're taking her to an ambulance. Come on."

She puts a hand under his arm, leading him, and he goes. He can't do anything but trust those around him in the blackness.

"Colonel Mustang is riding with you, he's her commanding officer."

"We've got orders, we're transporting the wounded only."

He doesn't want to leave her, but he takes a step back, even as Curtis protests.

"He is wounded!"

"I'm fine," Roy mutters. "Please, take care of the Lieutenant, I'm fine. Is she okay?"

"She needs a transfusion, we have to go, right now. They're establishing a triage area in the northern sector, you can bring him there."

"We've got her, sir."

He follows the pressure of Izumi's guiding touch, barely listening to her faint reassurances. Eventually, they stop, and she directs him to some kind of surface.

"Sir here," she says. "I'm going to assist."

Assist with what?

The city must be a mess he realizes, and there's nothing he can do without his eyesight. He can't see what needs to be done. He can't help Riza.

Now what? How can a blind man lead a country?

He remains lost in his thoughts and self-recriminations. His mind is racing, and he wants nothing more than to speak with Hawkeye, to run down the scenarios, to figure out what the hell he's going to do next.

Someone comes to bandage his hands, and he cringes through the process as they ask him to flex his fingers, turn his hands this way and that.

"They'll heal, sir," says the medic. Her voice is kind. "It will take some physical therapy, you may not regain full range of motion, but they will heal."

"Thank you," he says quietly. He can't seem to help continuing to touch his own face, resting his hand over his eyes.

"Sir, may I?" He feels a touch and pressure on his hand, and he jerks back. "There's no need. There's nothing you can do for my eyesight. There's nothing anyone can do."

Thoughts continue to swirl through his head. He's so, so tired, the adrenaline of battle receding. He could transmute, surely, alchemy must offer a solution. It did for Edward and Alphonse. If he could just think…But, no. Human transmutation is too much of a risk, and there's still a future here for him to build. Isn't there?

Grumman, Hawkeye…Amestris….Armstrong….President Fuhrer King…I've worked so hard for this, and yet I've failed.

But, no. They won the battle. They defeated the Homunculi and their puppet master, this "Father" that he never even saw with his own eyes. He'll be discharged with his disability, of course. There has to be another move, something else he can do…Has he finally lost the long game of chess? Checkmate….

"Colonel Mustang?" He knows that voice.

"Dr. Knox?"

"Uh-huh. Things sure are crazy right now. Are you hurt, too?"

"I've lost my eyesight." He still cradles his head in one hand, protective of this wounded part of himself, this wound that he knows can never heal.

"What?" Knox's voice sounds…alarmed? He's going to have to work at reading people's voices without seeing facial expressions.

"Truth's toll from the person who had a vision for this country." He can't keep the tone of bitterness from his own voice. "Funny…" Even as he speaks, he can feel some of the puzzle pieces start to click together in his mind, and his hands finally fall away from his face. "I would give up my own portal as the toll to undo the damage, but if I do that then I won't have any way to get back. My eyes are trapped on the other side, and now there's nothing I can do about it."

He raises his head, making his decision.

"I'm going to let Grumman have the presidency. He's a good choice." He thinks this might be the one choice that might appease even Hawkeye's disappointment. "There's plenty I can do for this country even without my eyesight." He doesn't know what, yet, but he's a skilled alchemist with a newfound ability to transmute without using a circle. Maybe I can finally be the kind of alchemist, the kind of man I once believed I could be. Maybe I can finally do good in this fucked up world.

"I bumped into an interesting fellow on my way here," Knox says. "Come in here, Marcoh!"

"Marcoh?" Roy can't see the new arrival. "You mean Dr. Marcoh?!"

"I overheard your conversation," the new voice says, and it's definitely a familiar one. "Here is a Philosopher's Stone."

Even as he accepts, Roy knows he won't use the Stone for himself. Hawkeye may still need its power, Havoc….He'll do all he can to honor Marcoh's request, but he feels only a little guilty at making a bargain he may not be able to fulfill. Grumman's politics are close enough in-line with his own, though. Through his subordinates and supporters he'll maintain an element of influence, even from outside the ranks of the military. He doesn't foresee a problem.

And maybe he's getting better at being blind already, because he thinks he recognizes a scent of cologne and sweat on the air.

"Major!" The startled acknowledgement lets him know he's guessed correctly. It's Armstrong. "I need you to deliver a message. 'It's going to get busy again. Follow my lead.' Tell that to my subordinates."