Roy Mustang is in love.

I am such an idiot. How could I have ever let this girl, this woman out of my sight?

He can't stop kissing her, groaning at her taste. He's wanted to touch her every damn minute of every hour he's spent staring down at the array on her back.

How could I not have seen it? She's felt the same way, this whole time? I'll never be so fucking blind again.

He never wants to stop kissing her.

They sleep together, and Riza knows that as long as she lives she will never forget this moment.

There's pure and utter adoration in Roy's endless gaze. He reaches up to caress her cheek with his thumb and touches his forehead to hers.

"I love you, Riza Hawkeye. I love you so much, sweetheart."

It's too much. Tears blur her vision. She feels tangled up in strings in all the wrong places, holding her down.

It's too good, too wonderful… too painful to love him and have to let him go.

He rolls them both onto their sides and pulls her into his chest. Riza tucks her head under his chin and presses her whole body up against him, feeling him everywhere.

"I love you," he tells her again.

She can't say it back. She'll be bound to him forever if she lets herself love him—if she lets herself admit it.

Another tight squeeze, then a brush of his lips against the top of her head as he pulls away, standing. She frowns, reaching out for him. He catches her hand and kisses her fingers.

"I'll be right back," he promises. He pulls her quilt from the bottom of her bed and lays it over her.

Riza's shaking, shivering as cold seeps over her limbs despite the blanket. The place between her thighs that burned brightly with his touch feels sticky and cool and empty.

She tries to let her thoughts turn to mist in the air, to float away, but they hover like fog.

You have to let him go. He isn't yours. He never will be.

Roy grins down at her as he swaggers back into her bedroom. She lies on her side facing away from him. Her hair is wet with sweat, and he notes with pride he's left a little pink mark at the side of her neck.

Mine.

"Room over there for me?" he asks.

Riza nods and shifts to make space for him on her bed. He lets her have the quilt to herself and pulls her into his arms with a kiss to the nape of her neck.

"Are you happy?" he asks, as his heart swells up within his chest.

Then she turns over to look at him, and his heart shrivels. Her eyes are dull and muddy. Her mouth is flat, her cheeks pale.

"What is it? Ria, did I hurt you?" he asks. He brushes his hands over the crown and back of her head, down the sides of her neck—trying to soothe the hurt without knowing its source.

"No," she says. Her voice is flat but firm. "You didn't hurt me. I'm fine, Roy."

"You're not fine." He cups her face in his hands. "What's the matter?"

Even as she shakes her head and tries to smile, her eyes fill with tears, and he could fucking shoot himself for making her cry.

"Damnit," she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm not doing this. I'm sorry. I'm fine."

Roy doesn't understand. He truly thought he'd been gentle with her. He'd held back so much, tried sohardto be gentle.

"It's okay. It will be better. I'll be better the next time. I promise. I'm sorry." He presses kisses to her face, wherever he can reach. "I love you."

The strong mask she's always worn slips and shatters, and it's his shriveled heart refuses to beat.

"Stop! Stop saying that! I can't—!" She gives a wordless shout of rage, her fists pounding at his chest, and Roy scrambles off the bed, raising his hands in surrender. "You can'tsay that!"

"What did I say?" he asks. Panic blares sirens through his brain as he backtracks the past two minutes since he returned to her.

What the hell did Ido?

She sits up and bites at her knuckle, looping her arms around her bent knees.

A tear slides slowly down her cheek, and he'd rather she go back to hitting him than have to stand here and watch her cry. He sinks to his knees beside her bed, reaching out to brush the tear away.

"You cannot love me," she says, pushing at his hand.

He shrugs, scoffing.

"But I do."

"No. You are not going to stay here in this place and love me. You are not going to be saddled with me to depend on you. You're going to go and become a State Alchemist and help people and have a wonderful life."

Relief washes over him, easing his breath and reviving his heart. If she's afraid he'll leave her behind again, she has nothing to worry about.

"You're coming with me." He smiles as earnestly as he can and reaches for her hand.

"No, I'm not." She snatches herself away.

"Of course you are, Ria."

"I'mnot," she insists.

Roy wants to roll his eyes at her stubbornness.

"I'm not going to let you stay here by yourself," he says simply. "End of discussion."

"That's not how this works." She squares her jaw. "I'm not following you to Central. You don't have to like my decisions, but you damn well will respect them."

"That's—that's not—I never meant—," he stammers. He never intended to sleep with her and thenleaveher here. He scrubs a hand over his face.

"You're not myFatherand you don't get to control me now just because youfucked me."

Roy reels. He feels the words like a physical blow to his center of mass, staggering.

He's falling.

"I didn'tfuck you."

Somehow that's the only point his mind can fix on, the only argument he can refute.

She raises her eyebrows in a challenge, her arms still crossed over her chest, her jaw still square. Her eyes are cold like an angel carved from ice as she glares at him.

"I thought—" Roy breaks off, wincing. "I said I loved you, Ria."

Some of the ice around her eyes seems to melt.

"I know," she says. "I know you feel that way right now, but I don't think you will." She looks down. "Not forever anyway."

He wants to argue, but she shakes her head.

"No, let me finish."

He takes in a shaking breath and nods.

"I don't want to go to Central with you and be a military wife. I don't want you to take care of me, and I don't need you to. I want to figure out my own life here at Hawkeye Estates. I love this place and this land. I want to make it into a real home."

She looks back at him again, resting her head on her arms and grants him a small smile.

"I lived my whole life under my Father's thumb, and now I just want to be free, to follow my own path. Can you understand that?"

And he does understand. He wants to make a life for himself in the military. He wants to be a State Alchemist, to have a good career and make a name for himself. He'd just thought she wanted to do that with him.

If he'd known she wasn't ready for that, he wouldn't have…But that's why she didn't tell him.

"Damnit, Riza," he mutters, shaking his head then resting it in his hands. "I don't even know what to say."

"I'm not going to apologize."

He looks up and frowns.

"I'm not asking you to."

"Good."

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence, absorbing the enormity of what has passed between them.

"When I left here," Roy says finally, "I never thought I was saying goodbye to you for good. I still don't want to."

Riza closes her eyes and rests her forehead on her knees.

"Don't do that, please," she says. "Don't leave the door open. The day you left was one of the scariest days of my life, Roy—"

She breaks off mid-sentence, looking up at him, her wide eyes fluttering.

"Roy," she says slowly. "The gloves."

"Gloves?"

Roy's tired mind tries to latch on to this sudden change of direction in the conversation, trying to remember.

"Father wore gloves that day. When—"

"When he used flame alchemy against me. White gloves. That's it. That has to be it."

Roy's thoughts race.

Flame is created from three parts: oxygen, fuel, and heat. I know how to manipulate the oxygen, and I understand how to fuel it using alchemy. It's all there in his notes. But the heat…

If something about the gloves…perhaps a chemical reaction causes heat…

"Where are they?" he asks, more sharply than he intended.

Riza shrugs.

"I'd assume they were in his study somewhere."

Roy shakes his head, frustrated. He's so close now.

"I've torn that study apart looking for more information. There's nothing else there."

"Well," she says, "then I can only think of one other place. If they're gloves, maybe they're in his bureau."

Roy blinks at her twice, absorbing this.

The implications of the past five minutes all settle onto his shoulders at once. Flame alchemy is nearly at his fingertips. He can feel it. But Riza's not coming away with him. She wants him to leave her behind. He wants to keep arguing until he can convince her, but…

Stupid bastard.

For the first time, he chooses alchemy over Riza.

"Shit, let me get dressed. Can we look for them?"

—-

Five minutes later, they stand—both fully clothed—together outside Father's bedroom. Riza hasn't been inside since her Father died.

"Here goes nothing," she murmurs, turning the handle. They enter together, and Riza goes straight for the large bureau at the back of the room. She doesn't even want to look at his belongings, just to get through this as quickly as possible. "If they're anywhere I think they would be here," she says.

Roy peers over her shoulder as she reaches it, standing so close she can hardly get the top drawer open. She turns her face to suggest he back up, and he kisses her cheek. She stiffens her spine and pulls away. She has to start withdrawing herself from the comfort of his touches. She pulls open the drawer, and, sure enough, there's a pair of white gloves sitting at the very top.

She pulls them out and hands them over to Roy.

He scowls, running his fingers over them.

She can't identify the cloth they're made of, but it's stiff. Each has a transmutation circle stitched into it with bright red thread. Riza can see a marking that looks like a flame, a salamander, and several hour-glass shaped triangular patterns.

"Is that the same?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's essentially the circle that's on your back, just without all the notations."

"What are they made of?"

"I'm not sure."

He continues to study them for a long moment, but the anticipation starts to prickle at her nerves.

"Are you going to try them on, then?" she asks.

His eyes snap back to hers, and he gives a dry laugh.

"I suppose I should."

They decide it's best to head outside to test the gloves. Roy keeps muttering under his breath, clearly thinking hard. She can't help but think of her Father.

They stand together on the front porch in the early evening light. Slowly, Roy puts the gloves onto his hands, still frowning deeply. He stares at one hand, holding it in front of his face. Riza stares, too.

It occurs to her how ridiculous they must look, and she grins at him.

"Are they doing anything yet?"

He glares back at her, and she stifles a laugh.

"Sorry."

"No, you're not," he accuses, but she sees a shadow of a grin cross his face. His look of concentration returns, and he breathes in deeply. "Okay," he says. He meets her eyes, and his have taken on a determined sheen, like steel. "Stand back."

Riza moves behind him.

Roy lifts his arm over his head, then lets it fly outward with a flourish.

Nothing happens.

"Fuck."

Riza can't help herself. The entire absurd affair crashes over her, and she doubles over with laughter.

She's just had sex. For the first time. With Roy Mustang. In her childhood bedroom. And now they're standing in her front yard while she watches him wear a pair of gloves and hope that alchemy happens.

"Stop," he groans. "I can't concentrate!"

"I'm sorry!" Riza can't stop, her stomach aching. She can't remember ever laughing this way. Maybe there's a tinge of hysteria to it, a build up of too many emotions impossible to process. "You look ridiculous!"

He turns to glare at her again over his shoulder, but a half smile breaks out over his face instead. Then a chuckle. Then his own deep, booming laugh that makes her heart thud. She snorts, gleeful. All the tension between them eases, and she grasps his shoulder to stay upright.

"Okay." He laughs a final time, regaining control. "Okay, seriously, stand back though, because I am not at all sure how these things work."

Still giggling, she takes a few steps backwards.

Roy takes another deep breath and holds his hand up again, extending it out in front of him. He rubs together the fingers of the glove, then he stiffens.

"Of course," he murmurs. "Friction."

Riza watches his fingers as he keeps rubbing them together in little , a small spark of flame breaks loose from his hand. It hovers in the air for a moment, bright, orange, blazing, then dissipates before her eyes.

Riza gasps.

Roy turns his head and grins at her.

"I get it. It's the cloth, it's a chemical reaction, some sort of ignition sequence that happens with friction. It all makes sense." He surveys the yard before them. "I need a target," he says. "I need something I can aim at and light on fire."

"That sounds ominous," Riza replies. She's in awe of his intelligence and passion. His face is lit with the joy of finally understanding something he's studied for so long. He's unbearably handsome and really nothing like her Father. Father never found joy like this in alchemy. He never made her feel a part of his world the way Roy does. "The woodpile?" she suggests, pointing to the side of the house.

Roy carefully removes the gloves and hands them to her.

"Hold these," he says. His grin is wide, and his eyes are dancing. He jogs around the side of the house and comes back with three decently sized logs. He sets them up, about twenty feet away from the front porch, each a few feet from the next. Then, he returns to her side. "Watch this," he says.

This time, he holds both hands out in front of him and puts his palms together, almost like he's praying. He takes another deep breath, and slides one palm quickly over the other.

A massivewhooshof flame roars to life before them like a wall, stretching out past the pieces of wood to the field beyond.

"Shit!" Roy cries. "Too much friction!" He rushes forward, pulling his notebook and pen from his back pocket. Riza sees the blue flash of an alchemical reaction, and water pours from the air, dousing the fire.

"How did you do that?" she calls.

Roy shakes his head, stomping back to the porch.

"I just used the natural humidity–brought the atoms in the molecule together to form liquid water instead of water vapor," he says. "We're lucky it's muggy tonight. Damn, that was stupid."

He starts pacing back and forth.

"Should you take those off?" Riza asks, when he rakes a hand through his hair, still wearing the gloves.

"It's not like they can just create flames spontaneously," he says. "I still have to put alchemic energy into the reaction."

Riza smiles, remembering the first time he performed alchemy in front of her. She'd asked what the circle would do.

"Nothing. It's me that'll do the alchemy."

"I'm going to go make us something to eat," she calls. He barely glances at her, waving a hand in acknowledgement.

Okay, maybe he is somewhat like Father.

She wanders back inside and falls into the familiar patterns of cooking.

She's not lying to Roy, she reasons. Not exactly, anyway. She does want to make something of her life, for herself.

But comparing him to her Father by accusing him of trying to control her had been cruel.

It's not that she regrets sleeping with him, but his declarations of love had surprised and unsettled her.

She does love him, too much to let herself become a burden.

She leans against the kitchen counter and presses the heels of her palms against her eyes to stop a fresh fall of tears.

She won't be able to support herself here for long. She needs money, she needs employment, and she needs to find a place that's safer than her Father's lonely house.

But she's not going to let Roy help her with any of it.

—-

"Well," Roy says, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I guess this is goodbye for now."

Riza tucks a piece of hair behind her head, nodding.

He spent his last day at Hawkeye Estates practicing with the gloves, learning to create fire and control it. He spent his last night in Riza's bed.

She can still feel a wonderful tingling rush through her body at the memory of his touch. She hopes that memory will never fade.

They stand outside Hawkeye Manor by his car. Their paths diverge from this point forward, and there's nothing else to be said.

"You really won't change your mind?"

She smiles sadly.

"It's for the best."

"Can I write to you?" Roy asks with a valiant attempt at his usual flirtatious smile. "Once I get to Ishbal. I'll show your letters off and brag to all my war buddies."

"No, please don't," Riza replies. She doesn't want to tell him that she won't be here to receive letters. And even the idea of exchanging them leaves too much open, a painful tether. She tries to tease, "You know, in movies and books it's always the ones who go on and on about their loved ones that have the higher likelihood of being killed."

Roy gives a low whistle.

"That's bleak."

He holds his arms out, and Riza steps into the circle of his embrace a final time.

"Don't die," she murmurs against his chest. "Please."

Roy rests his cheek against the top of her head, stroking his hand up and down her back.

"I'll do my very best," he promises. He squeezes her tightly, then pulls back, holding her a little away from him with his hands on her shoulders. "I've got a better chance, now, thanks to you," he says. "With flame alchemy I could really make a difference in this war."

"I hope you do."

She leans forward and tilts her face up for a final kiss. He's soft and gentle, cupping the back of her neck with one hand to hold her close.

When they pull apart, Riza feels as if has snipped off a piece of her heart and stitched it to his. She'll never retrieve it.

"Goodbye, Roy," she says as he opens the door and slides into the driver's seat of his car.

"'Bye, Ria." He holds his hand up in a wave. "And thank you."

She steps back from the car and waves back as he makes a slow turn, then heads back down the lane, away from her.

A chilly breeze flutters past, and Riza rubs her hands over her arms, looking up at the cloudy sky where rain threatens.

When she looks back out at the road, she can no longer see the black car.

She sighs and walks towards the riverbank. When she gets to the birch tree, she rests her palm against the trunk and looks out over the water.

A drop of rain lands on her bare arm, then another. Soon it becomes a downpour, which suits her fine as tears mix with the raindrops sliding steadily down her cheeks.

This, she thinks, is the lowest point in her life. It would be easy to feel defeated, to hang her head and hide away in her lonely manor house until she withers to dust.

She doesn't indulge in the tears for long.

Riza has never been the kind of person to give up so easily. If this is the low point, then surely, from here, there are ways to move up and move on. Perhaps even to live up to her namesake, to find her own wings and soar.

A plan has been forming in her mind the past few days, a plan to do something worthwhile while making a living for herself. Maybe someday she can even save enough to buy back the lands her Father sold. Maybe someday she'll find someone willing to love this place the way she does, to plant a life here and take root with her.

For now, the future stretches open before her, and she turns her sights towards the best option she can think of—after all, it's the largest employer in Amestris.

She doesn't lose any sleep that night over her decision. Her cheeks remain dry. In the morning, she walks to town to post a letter.

It's an application to the East City Military Academy.