a-woven

Fic: Legend of Korra: Family

2012-05-22T14:25:33Z

Title: Family
Author: jellyjay
Series: The Legend of Korra
Characters: Mako, Bolin, Korra and Tenzin's family
Rating: G
Summary: In which Mako and his brother are unwittingly adopted by the family of airbenders.
Notes: Please bear in mind that this was written before episode 7 came out so some details may vary.

It's definitely better than nothing.

Fic: The Legend of Korra: Falling

2012-04-06T02:13:40Z

Title: Falling
Author: jellyjay
Series: The Legend of Korra
Characters: Various Avatars and their loved ones but it's supposed to be Makorra.
Rating: G
Summary: When Avatars fall in love, they fall hard.
Notes: Wrote this at 2am last night when the amount of Makorra on my dash was starting to kill the last of my emotions, so bear with me.

For Korra, it's different.

Fic: Fullmetal Alchemist: Scars

2012-01-04T15:06:19Z

Title: Scars
Author: jellyjay
Series: Manga/Brotherhood
Characters: Winry, Ed
Rating: PG 13
Summary: The scars bother her more than they should.
Notes: This turned out angstier than I planned it to be, and it's not often that I write Ed and Winry so I really hope I did this right. I'm so sorry for the ridiculous wait, but better late than never, right?

Scars

When Ed and Al come back, everything is almost perfect.

Al has his body back, and Edward his arm, and they smile so wide so often that it’s like they’ll both burst at any moment.

Winry can’t say she’s much different – she doesn’t even remember ever feeling so happy – not since her parents died, and certainly not since Ed and Al left in the first place. It’s been a rocky few years, but here they are, all smiles and happiness with only a metal leg, a few scars and a pair of crutches to remind them of all the pain and hardship they’ve been through over the years.

This might actually be the happiest the three of them have ever been in their entire lives.

It’s perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

And after all they’ve been through, it’s nothing less than Ed and Al deserve.

It’s the scars that start to bug her after a little while.

After a week, her eyes just seem naturally drawn to the skin on Edward’s shoulder, and the jagged, discoloured lines where the port of his automail once was.

It’s not so bad, at first. They’re only scars – everything else is perfect.

But the more often she sees them, the more she realises that she doesn’t want them there. Ed has been through enough, and now, when everything’s finally better, there will always be a reminder of the Promised Day etched into his skin.

There will always be a reminder of how everything fell apart.

Always.

It unnerves her because everything is perfect – and everything should be perfect – but there is a scar on Edward’s shoulder that serves as a constant reminder that everything is not.

“Something bothering you, Win?”

Winry looks up and realises far too late that she’s staring at the scar again, and that Edward is staring at her, and, basically, she’s been caught out.

She shakes her head at him in a poor attempt to hide the odd little flush rising in her cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

Ed raises an eyebrow at her. He knows her better than anyone, so of course, she shouldn’t really be surprised that he doesn’t believe her. “Let’s try this again,” he says, sitting back and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Winry almost winces because she can see it even clearer now. “Is something bothering you, Win?”

She considers, for a moment, telling him what’s wrong; considers telling him that in spite of everything being perfect the way it is now, she wants it to be more perfect – she wants there to be no more reminders of missing limbs and days apart where all she could do was worry. She wants there to be no more visible scars to remind her – to remind them of the way things once were.

One would think that, if she was bothered about reminders, she’d be more bothered by his leg, but that’s different – his leg is automail – it’s what she does for a living. It’s seeing the actual scars on his shoulder – seeing the exact place where his arm once wasn’t – the exact places where things have hurt him and almost killed him and realising the number times she could have lost him over the years and never have known...

It frightens her.

How can she make him understand that?

“Win?”

She looks him in eye and coughs a little. “It’s nothing,” she says again, and at last. She makes a point to make her answer firmer than it was before. “Don’t worry about it, Ed. Everything’s fine.”

It’s one of those rare, quiet moments when Al’s outside and Granny’s in town when things begin to heat up.

It starts with a kiss. Winry almost can’t remember how they went from conversing over a pot of stew to kissing over it, but it feels right and long overdue. She had known she’d been in love with him since she was fifteen years old, and she and Ed are seventeen now, so she feels okay with thinking that it’s about time.

Ed tastes like the stew he’d picked out of the pot on the stove mixed with something salty and inwardly, she makes a note to add a little more salt once they’re done with this, if only because she likes how it tastes. She leans into him, standing on her toes a little to press her lips even closer to his, hands lifting to grip at his shoulders –

She stops. Feels the scars under the pads of her fingertips. Remembers the night Al brought him to her with a missing arm and leg. Remembers the blood, and the pain, and along with them, all the memories that have no place in a time as perfect as now.

“Winry?”

She shakes her head and steps away from him. “E – everything’s fine. Sorry. I - ”

“Winry.”

She forces herself to look at him and finds that she’s mildly surprised to see the understanding on his face. “The scars. That’s what’s been bothering you.”

Winry sighs and looks away again. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say?”

She says nothing. She still doesn’t quite know how to make him understand or how to tell him that she’s scared of some of the memories they bring up.

“Winry.” Ed hums thoughtfully and takes her hand. “Fine. Don’t say. I get it. They remind me of things I don’t like too.”

Winry feels like she should say something here, but she doesn’t. She wants to ask how he can bare it – all those memories – all that pain –

“The past is real, Win,” he says. “We can’t just forget it all no matter how painful things were. That’s what scars are for, you know?”

“So...” she says at last. “What do we do?”

He smiles at her and lifts her hand to the scars on his shoulder. “We live with them. That’s all.”

“How?”

Ed chuckles and steps closer again. “I can think of a couple of ways. Just trust me on this one.”

The whole kissing thing that started in the kitchen has them stumbling upstairs, and while it get’s relatively heated, they don’t do anything past kiss.

Ed’s scars turn out to be surprisingly sensitive. It’s strange to feel his skin quiver under her fingers – stranger still knowing that this is the boy who saved the world – the boy who refused to tremble in the face of the biggest threat Amestris’ has ever seen now a man shivering under her touch.

He has many scars. More than she thought - the ones she sees on his shoulder on a daily basis almost can’t compare. She’s seen his naked torso before, but not this close. Not close enough to see every detail – not close enough to count every scar.

There are little ones on his arms – the results of little cuts and burns from silly things like the cats Al used to keep in his armour or from being stupid around a campfire.

Then there are bigger ones on his torso - the large jagged scar beneath his ribs and a second almost identical one on his back that mark the entrance and exit of the metal brace that nearly killed him in the North.

His skin is like an old map – each scar a blemish with its own story. He tells her all the stories then – explains how he got each one as she traces them with her fingers, and one would think that this would bother her, but hearing him tell the tales and feeling his warm skin beneath her fingertips reminds her that he’s here and he’s whole.

And she realises: there’s nothing she can do to change any of it, but it might not necessarily be a bad thing.

This is who he is.

Most people have photo albums or journals to hold their stories and travels – but those records get lost, and people forget who they used to be in favour trying to discover who they are today.

But that isn’t the way to go about it at all. Ed has taught her that. You can’t know who you are if you forget who you were before.

So Ed keeps his stories on his skin – somewhere where he can never take what he has for granted. Somewhere where he can never forget the boy he once was.

Changes leave traces, don’t they? With Ed, those traces are just more obvious than most people.

“Do they still bother you?” he asks her later, when they hear Al moving around downstairs.

She shrugs a little. “I guess not.”

“Let me know, okay?” says Ed. “You shouldn’t keep that kind of thing to yourself. And.” He coughs awkwardly. “It bugs me. When you’re upset.”

Winry chuckles a little. “I get it. Thanks Ed.”

He clears his throat and gives her an odd sort of grin. “I should head downstairs. Al’s probably wondering where we went.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I need to finish making the stew.”

“Right.” Ed nods at her. And then he smirks. “I guess we found a pretty decent way of dealing with the scars though, huh?”

Winry snorts and resists the urge to hit him for being so frank about it. “Go find Al, Edward,” she scolds. But she smirks too.

If this is how they intend to deal with scars when they bring up old memories, then she supposes it won’t be so bad.

Fic: Fullmetal Alchemist: Warts and All (2/?)

2011-11-30T11:13:01Z

Title: Warts and All (2/?)
Author: jellyjay
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: T
Character(s): Roy, everyone else (implied Royai)
Summary: In which the plot thickens.
Notes/Warnings: Langauge

II.

The boys arrive a day later, as planned, and after a sweet, faked reunion between pretend brother and sister, they decide to have lunch in the quaint little hotel restaurant. When they are settled in the most isolated corner of the room, away from any curious eavesdroppers (not there are any), Havoc lowers his voice.

"The receptionist seemed a bit hush-y, don't you think?"

Roy nods. "She was like that with us, too. It's fairly clear to me that everyone in this town is terrified that they'll be next. She told us yesterday that the ones who know the most are the ones who go missing, so you'll need to be particularly careful when you're looking for information."

"You got it, Chief," says Breda quietly. "Although judging by the way she was acting, it doesn't look like we'll get any more information by asking directly."

"No," agreed Hawkeye. "You're definitely right about that – and I'm fairly sure none of the locals will be eager to talk about it."

"We'll find out what we can," Fuery says. "In the mean time, I'll contact General Grumman and tell him we've arrived. I can hold down the fort too, while everyone does their thing."

"All right." Roy nods at them. "Stick to the plan – Falman and Breda, keep an ear out for other rumours. Check in with Fuery every hour or so. Havoc, Hawkeye and I will have a look around. Stick to the plan, all right?"

The others nod.

"Right. Move out."

x

"A rundown barn on the outskirts of town, right?" Havoc cocks his head curiously at the battered building and puffs on his cigarette . There are holes in the windows and the paint is chipped; bits of wood are hanging at odd angles and the entire thing looks far from structurally sound. He clucks his tongue. "If this isn't it, I don't know what is."

"There's no one here," comments Hawkeye, examining the area carefully.

Roy nods, but he tugs his gloves out of his pocket and steps forward. "I'm not taking any chances. Secure the area. Hawkeye, take this door – Havoc, take the side. I'll go around the back."

"Yes sir."

Hawkeye draws her handgun and kicks the front door open first. She scans the area with sharp eyes and a raised gun, but the barn is empty. "Clear!" she calls, and Roy and Havoc do the same a moment later.

"Clear!"

"Clear." Roy frowns. "There's nothing here."

Hawkeye nods, lowering her gun just a little. "Strange," she murmurs. "Colonel, I think we should head back. This feels too e – "

She pauses abruptly and slumps to the ground.

x

"Hawkeye!" Roy calls out to her. His heart almost stops in his chest as she falls, blood staining her bright golden hair and pooling on the hay-strewn floor. He starts forward at once, but comes to a stop when a scrawny looking teenager with an iron pipe appears in the doorway where she had just been standing.

"Shit!" he hisses. "Ah, crap, I didn't – she's bleeding – " He glances at Roy and Havoc and puts his hands up immediately when he realises he's just knocked out a military officer in civilians and has come face to face with two others.

"I'm sorry!" he gasps. "I didn't mean to! I was surprised and – "

"Who are you?" demands Roy, raising his gloved fingers and poises them to snap.

The boy opens his mouth, but he is interrupted before he can speak.

"Roland? What's going on?"

Roy narrows his eyes as a tall, thin man appears behind the boy and rests a hand on his shoulder. On the other side of the barn, Havoc is raising his gun again. "Hands where we can see them!" he orders.

The taller man watches them curiously, head tilted to the side. He doesn't raise his hands. Instead he studies them carefully and then leans over to examine Hawkeye. "This is the Eye of the Hawk, isn't it?" he says. "And you are the Flame Alchemist." He laughs. "Well done, Roland! Wonderful work!"

Roland looks terrified. "Master?" he asks uneasily, but the Master isn't listening.

He turns to Roy and Havoc. "You two can go. We only need one of you and this one will do quite nicely."

Roy grinds his teeth. "Stay the hell away from her!" he snaps, voice full of venom.

The tall man smirks. "Oh, is she important?" he asks curiously. "Tell me, Flame Alchemist, you are here to investigate the disappearances, isn't that right?"

"What do you know?" barks Roy.

"You'd love to find out, wouldn't you?" The Master laughs and claps his hands delightedly. "You'll have to catch me!" And he bounds off without another word.

x

"Havoc!" orders Roy. "Call for back up and take the kid into custody. See if you can get Hawkeye to come to!"

"Chief, wait!"

But Roy is already haring after the Master.

Havoc breathes a frustrated sigh and hurries over to Hawkeye, who is still unconscious and still bleeding. The kid backs away immediately, and for a moment, Havoc thinks he's going to run. He doesn't though, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth as Havoc approaches is a squeaky "I'm sorry!"

"Relax," says the blond man, holding up his hands. "We're going to need to ask you some questions later, but for now I'm just going to go over there and check on my friend, all right?"

The kid nods mutely. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Havoc hurries over and turns Hawkeye over carefully. "Hawkeye," he hisses. "Come on, Lieutenant, wakey, wakey!"

She groans a little and slaps his hands away.

"She'll be all right," he says at last, breathing a sigh of relief. "A little pissed off, maybe, and she'll have a killer headache, definitely, but she'll be fine."

"I'm sorry!" the kid squeaks again. "I didn't mean to hurt her so bad – Master just told me to – "

Havoc holds up a hand. "Master, you say?"

The kid nods. "He teaches me alchemy. He's been doing some experiments lately and he told me once he perfects his project, he'll help me bring my dad back."

Havoc frowns. "What kind of experiments?"

"I don't know," the kid says honestly. "He doesn't tell me. He gets me to take notes down for him, but he always tells me to go home before he does anything." He swallows and glances at the blood seeping through Hawkeye's hair. "Am I gonna go to jail?"

Havoc can't help but feel for the kid. "Listen. We have reason to believe that your master is doing some really terrible things, so if you can help us out the best you can, and we can stop him from doing anything else, the chances are you won't have to."

The kid bites his lip. "But... what about my dad?"

Havoc sighs. "I don't think things work that way, buddy, but I have friends who know for sure. And whatever your master's project is, it's hurting people like my friend here. For now it's best to help us with this case, all right?"

The kid looks reluctant, but he glances at Hawkeye's hair and it looks as if the fact that people might be getting hurt hits him hard. "All right," he mumbles, turning his eyes to the ground. "I guess that means I won't be seeing my dad, huh?"

"No," says Havoc solemnly. "I'm sorry."

x

Roy is getting more and more frustrated by the second.

The Master, on the other hand, is gleeful. He bounds through the fields outside of Cameron as if this is a child's game, laughing as he leads Roy through yards and yards of wheat fields. There's almost no doubt that this is the man responsible for the nineteen disappearances – what he said in the barn may as well have been a confession – and what's worse was that he had threatened to make Hawkeye the twentieth.

Roy snarls to himself.

Hawkeye. As far as he knows, Havoc is no doctor, and she is still losing copious amounts blood from the head. He knows head injuries are supposed to bleed buckets, but to see Hawkeye being on the receiving end of one is far from comforting. She'll wake up later (he hopes she'll wake up later) with a nasty concussion, but he hopes that's all it will be. If she wakes up with some kind of brain injury, he might just lose it.

He skids to halt as the grass clears and the Master runs into a silo at the end of the field. Roy hares after him, but when he bursts in, the Master has seemingly disappeared.

"Are you sure you want to know what happened to all those people, Flame Alchemist?" taunts a voice from above.

Roy scowls and glares up at the culprit who is sitting like a child on a beam at least fifteen feet high. "Tell me what you know!" he demands.

The Master grins a silly grin and presses his hands to the beam. "Suit yourself!" he calls.

Lightning flashes from his hands, and the floor beneath Roy begins to glow. Amidst the sound of cracking light, he hears the Master cackle, and a curious sensation makes its way through his body before his mind shuts down and the world goes black.

Part I can be read here.

Fic: Fullmetal Alchemist: Warts and All (1/?)

2011-11-23T04:17:38Z

Title: Warts and All (1/?)
Author: jellyjay
Rating: T
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Warnings: Language
Summary: It's a strange case, all right. Nineteen disappearances and one unfortunate little frog.
A/N: A little while ago, a lot of people on my f-list told me it was a good idea to write a crack fic in which Roy was alchemically turned into a frog. I tried it out on fma_fic_contest and according to the people over there, this might actually work as a fic. So here it is. Thanks to ladynorbert for being an awesome beta :)

I.

It’s far colder in Cameron than one would think. It’s a little bit of a dying town now, and no one can really blame it: the little city sits in the middle of the eastern area of Amestris, isolated by miles and miles of dirt road and wheat fields. There’s a grand total of zero trains that come in and out, so really the only way in is to make the wayward two and a half day journey from East City along quiet, winding paths that stretch into the middle of nowhere.

Nothing happens out here.

At least, not often.

Under the cover of the twilight, a scrawny teenager dodges under the light of the dim street lamps to the run-down barn on the edge of town. He keeps his coat tugged shut and his head bent low, and when he arrives at his destination, he knocks twice on the barn door and slips inside.
“I have your notes, Master,” he calls into the darkness, fishing a wad of yellowing paper from his pocket.

“Nicely done, Roland,” the Master says, emerging from the darkness, thoughtful smirk on his lips. He hands the boy a little box of matches and instructs him to light the two lanterns on the barn floor. “I’m almost finished,” he says proudly. “My work is almost complete – there’s just something missing...”

Something shuffles in the darkness, but the Master pays it no heed. Taking a lantern from Roland, he starts to pace. “Record this one as trial nineteen,” he says at last. “Then you may go home and revise your notes on the human physiology. If I am successful tonight, we will begin the preparations for your project.”

Roland nods uncertainly as a muffled groan in the back catches his attention. He frowns. “Master, what is it that you’re doing? What’s going on back there?”

The Master grins. “That’s for me to know, my young pupil. Run along now. Only a few more days until you see your father again.”

It’s as if the thought instills a new hope in Roland, and he nods again, this time resolutely and unquestioning. “All right. See you in the morning, Master.”

“Sleep well, Roland,” the Master says with another odd grin, turning to face the darkness in the barn.

Just a few more days, Roland thinks as he steps back out into the cold, and something crackles in the barn while flashes of blue light the evening as the boy makes his way home.

x

“Nineteen people?” Roy frowns at Grumman and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t understand why we weren’t told about this situation earlier.”

Grumman sighs and sits back in his chair. “Neither do I, Colonel – but as we’re hearing about it so late, I want this case wrapped up as fast as possible. Your team is one of the best we have – if anyone can take care of this quickly, it’ll be you.”

“Do we have any leads?”

The General pats a small stack of files and hands him the topmost. “So far, we only have rumours. Our culprit is apparently brilliant at hiding his tracks. However, the local MPs have informed us that the townspeople have seen flashes of light from an old barn on the outskirts of town that coincide with the disappearances.”

“An alchemist, then?” asks Roy, flipping open the file and examining the photographs stapled to the inside cover.

Grumman nods. “That’s what they think,” he answers. “But if we are dealing with missing persons, and an alchemist is the prime suspect – ”

“Then we might have someone experimenting with human transmutation,” Roy finishes.

Grumman nods a second time. “You understand the severity of this case,” he says seriously. “We have a dangerous suspect on our hands. I don’t want to hear of anyone else going missing, least of all someone from your team. A mission like this requires precision – can you handle it?”

Roy snaps into a crisp salute at once. “Of course, sir. We’ll be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon at the very latest.”

“Excellent.” Grumman leans his elbows against his desk, fingers steepled seriously but with a look of approval on his features. “You’re dismissed. Report to me when you get there and daily until you come back.”

Roy nods. “Yes, sir.”

x

It’s a serious case, all right. Roy reads over the files during the day while Hawkeye organizes transport for the six of them to the isolated little town of Cameron. Eighteen missing civilians, one missing MP – no bodies, no clues – a grand total of nothing to go on. All they have is a series of rumours about an alchemist transmuting things in an old barn.

It’s a two and a half day trip, so they have more than enough time to mull it over among themselves. They try for theories or conclusions drawn from what little they have to go on, but by the time they get there, they still have nothing.

They decide, on their last stop before arriving in town, that their best bet will be to go about this undercover. It seems hardly wise for a team of military soldiers to appear in a place with a small town mentality. Cameron is already running amok with rumours – the last thing they need is to alert their culprit of their presence.

Roy and Hawkeye will play their usual roles as a recently married couple travelling around the Eastern Area. They will drive into Cameron together and check into a hotel there.

For the boys, it is a little more difficult. They will drive into town a day later and rendezvous with their superiors later. Havoc will pretend to be Hawkeye’s older brother, who hasn’t had seen her since her wedding. They will fake a delightful reunion and Havoc and the boys will decide they will spend a little longer in town in order to spend more time with the ‘couple’.

In the meantime, Roy, Hawkeye and Havoc will explore the little town while the Breda and Falman try to gather more intelligence on the situation by speaking to the civilians. Fuery will be in charge of communication with Grumman. No one is to go anywhere alone unless absolutely necessary and though undercover, no one is to go anywhere unarmed.

It’s a fairly straightforward plan: stick to the story and don’t be discovered – find the suspect and wrap up the case.

It’s simple enough for things to go exactly as planned.

Only they don’t.

x

“This is an odd place for a married couple to be staying,” comments the hotel receptionist, frowning a little as they check in.

“We’re just doing a little travelling,” says Hawkeye cheerfully. “My parents are from here – they’ve long since sold their house and all, but we thought it might be nice to drop in.”

The receptionist studies them carefully. “What did you say your names were?”

“Thompson,” answers Roy smoothly. “Stith and Kelsie Thompson.”

The receptionist purses her lips and hands them their keys uneasily. “I wouldn’t stay long,” she tells them quietly. “It’s not the same as it used to be.”

Hawkeye cocks her head curiously. “How do you mean?”

“Listen,” says the receptionist. She glances around as if she’s checking to make sure they’re alone before she leans in and continues. “People have been going missing. I don’t know who they’re trying to fool by keeping it hushed up, but it’s not safe here anymore.”

Roy frowns. “Not safe?”

The receptionist nods. “The people who know the most about it are the ones that go missing.” She leans away hurriedly and picks their keys off a little hook on the wall. “No one likes talking about it because they’re afraid they’ll be next,” she whispers.

“Hm.” Roy accepts their keys thoughtfully. “We’ll be careful. Thank you.”

The receptionist swallows and says nothing else.

x

“Interesting little town, this place,” Roy comments, dropping the facade almost immediately when they enter the room.

“Interesting town indeed,” agrees Hawkeye, peering into the street through the window. “We’ve spoken to all of one person and it’s obvious that the entire place is terrified.”

Roy shrugs and flops onto the arm chair in the corner. “With nineteen people having gone missing, it’s not all that surprising. It’s almost a shame she didn’t tell us more.”

“She did tell us one thing, though,” Hawkeye says. “’The people that know the most are the ones that go missing’.”

“The suspect keeping things quiet, perhaps?” Roy hums thoughtfully. “We’ll have to tell the boys to be extra carefully when they’re talking to the townspeople.”

Hawkeye scoffs and takes a seat on the window sill. “If they find anyone willing to talk, that is.”

Part II can be read here.

Fic: Fullmetal Alchemist: Usually Insulting

2011-10-02T00:44:00Z

Title: Usually Insulting
Author: jellyjay
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Word Count: 1 058
Warnings: Mild language
Characters/Pairings: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye
Summary: She calls him a lot of things.
A/N: Written for girlsavesboyfic. Thanks to ladynorbert for beta reading, and to likeadeuce for letting me use her comment as a prompt ("I would promote Roy and Riza for this challenge, except for them, "she pulls his ass out of the fire" is called, like, Tuesday.")

Usually Insulting

She calls him a lot of things.

Lazy.

He probably deserves that one – he is lazy – who can blame him though? Paperwork is boring, and stupid and a waste of precious resources (like time and trees and energy) – and you know? Who needs paperwork? It’s just written proof that stuff happened, and who reads that stuff really?

“Sir.”

Roy winces. She’s giving him that look again. It’s that same look his foster-mother used to give him when he was a child – that firm, level glare that made him feel like a misbehaving juvenile, caught red handed with his fingers in the cookie jar. Honestly, he’s not sure what he’d rather face right now – the look or his paperwork.

He takes his chances with the paperwork.

“You’re a bully, Lieutenant,” he mumbles childishly, refusing to look her in the eye.

“Your point, sir?”

“I’m your commanding officer.”

She scoffs. “And I’m simply rescuing you from overtime, sir. I still fail to see your point.”

She’s still giving him that look.

(When he had drunkenly confessed to Maes the other night about wishing his First Lieutenant had eyes only for him, this wasn’t what he meant).

Absent-minded

He supposes he can give her that one too. At this point in his life, it’s literally just a thing he does now. He practically just gives the universe excuses to jab at his dignity.

It’s early on a Wednesday morning and right now, he just lacks the capacity to do anything, let alone care that his coffee is teetering on the edge of his desk.

“Sir.”

What? Is he in trouble already? Seriously? He peers at her over the top of the first of today’s many, many files and attempts to make it look like he was actually concentrating. (Who is he kidding? She knows him better than anyone – and she knows bull when she sees it – especially if he’s the one trying to pull it off).

“Lieutenant,” he says levelly.

(At least she’s not giving him that look).

“Your coffee,” she says shortly.

Roy pauses and closes the file momentarily to find his mug of steaming coffee is one nudge away from being knocked over and spilling hot, recently-boiled liquid all over his crotch. His eyes widen a fraction and he moves it away hastily.

Well, what can he say? She’s been looking out for him for so long, he can’t really help that he’s gotten complacent.

Useless

It was one time. So his ego had gotten the better of him once, so what? It’s not like that kind of thing happens all the time.

(Even though it kind of does, but he’ll never admit that out loud. She has more than enough ammunition to use against him already).

It was raining that day, okay? The serial killer, Scar, had literally been inches away from ending the life of Edward Elric – what was he supposed to do? The situation had called for action and he wasn’t about to let a little rain get in the way of stopping a murder. The man had just challenged him – backing down was just not on option at the time.

(Even though yes, yes it was. He doesn’t like admitting that either).

“So you know who I am and you still want to fight me?” He’d almost laughed. “You fool!”

“Sir!”

This part is blurry (probably because this is his sixth bottle of beer), but he remembers the sequence of events like this: his fingers snapped but something hit the back of his knees and suddenly the world was horizontal. Dimly, he recalls Scar’s hand sailing over the top of his nose as he fell backward in slow motion and it wasn’t until his ass hit the ground that the world sped up again.

Hawkeye was crouched in front of him, pistols aimed and firing at the assailant and when, finally, his mouth had regained the ability to work, he’d yelled: “Hey, Hawkeye, what the hell did you do that for?!”

Her response had been, “You’re useless in wet weather, sir, please stay back!”

Roy groans and downs another drink.

Beside him, Maes is roaring with laughter and making terrible puns about ‘falling’ in love.

Idiotic

Now that one is going a little too far.

Yes, he’s lazy, and absent-minded, and yes, he can be useless on the occasion, but he is, by no means, an idiot, and he’ll stand by that one no matter what. He’ll even stake an entire day’s pay on it.

Roy Mustang is not, nor has he ever been, an idiot.

“Sir.”

He blinks, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the overly bright sunlight (is sunlight usually this bright? He wonders). “Hawkeye?” he manages, squirming a little in a poor attempt to sit up. “What happened?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and even in his nearly, almost-dead state of mind, he can tell she’s amused.

Well, great. Just great.

“You decided to have a couple of drinks with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, sir,” she deadpans, shoving a mug of coffee into one hand a plate of burnt toast into his other.

“What day is it?”

She snorts. “Saturday, sir. Drink up. It’ll help that hangover.”

He does as he’s told and nearly chokes on the exceedingly bitter coffee. “How long have you been here?”

Hawkeye rolls her eyes at him. “The barkeeper called me at around three this morning. I’ve been here since.”

Roy grimaces, placing the toast and coffee on the nightstand so he can untangle his legs from his blankets. “You’re a miracle, Hawkeye,” he mumbles. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Only every time you’re hungover, sir,” she says dryly, moving to help him.

“No, like, an actual miracle.” He coughs. “This is the fourth time you’ve saved my idiot ass this week.”

She chuckles. “I’m glad you’re coming to terms with being an idiot, sir,” she tells him, slinging his arm around her shoulders and helping him hobble his way to the bathroom. “But you’re welcome.”

Inwardly, he scowls. An entire day’s pay isn’t worth it. Perhaps he’ll just ask her to dinner.

(And maybe this week, she’ll only have to save his idiot ass once or twice).

I was fine, just a guy, livin’ on my own
Waitin’ for the sky to fall,
Then you came and changed it all.

Fic: Fullmetal Alchemist: we are our own heroes

2011-06-11T01:47:52Z

Title: we are our own heroes
Author: jellyjay
Series: Brotherhood
Rating: T
Character(s): Roy, Riza
Summary: Five times Roy and Riza have saved each other's lives
Notes/Warnings: Language and implications. Happy Royai Day, everyone!

we are our own heroes

Five Times Roy and Riza Have Saved Each Others’ Lives

v.

Riza Hawkeye starts off as a shy little creature – twelve years old and all alone; unliked and bullied by everyone at school and unloved and neglected by her own father. She doesn’t even remember her mother. All her life, it’s been nothing but a world of light and shadows, where everyone else but her stands in the light and she’s been left alone and afraid in the dark with no one to turn to.

She hates this life. Hates her school, her town, her father (to an extent – he’s still her father and no matter how hard she tries to really hate him for putting her through this, she can’t bring herself to) – but she’s not bitter about it. She’s just sad.

She wanders off on her own whenever she can. At least – when she wanders off, she’s alone but she can have some semblance of peace. Sometimes she wonders if anyone would notice if she went missing. She lies back on the rarely ever used train tracks and wonders if anyone would miss her if a train appeared out of nowhere shattered her body here and now.

Would any one even care?

She shrugs to herself. Probably not. She’s just that odd little girl – the daughter of that one crazy old man who lives out of town. They probably don’t even know her name.

Perhaps, when she goes home today and gets into bed, some kind merciful being up there will save her from having to get up tomorrow morning and endure the monotony another long day.
No one will notice. No one cares about her.

Until one day somebody does.

“So you’re Riza, huh?”

Riza blinks. There’s a strange man – no – he’s not quite that old – there’s a strange boy watching her from the kitchen counter with untidy dark hair and kind, even darker eyes.

“Hello,” she greets awkwardly.

He smiles at her, hopping off the counter stool to offer her a hand. Odd she thinks. She can’t even remember the last time someone shook her hand – let alone the last time someone gave her a smile.

“I’m Roy,” he says. “Roy Mustang. I’m here to study under your dad. It’s nice to meet you.”
Riza hesitates.

“I won’t bite,” says Roy, grinning. “Really – it’s a pleasure to meet you. Here’s hoping we’ll be good friends.”

“I – um – ” she starts. Then she shakes her head and takes his offered hand shyly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mister Mustang,” she mumbles, turning her eyes to the ground. He’s far too nice, she thinks, but he’s sincere, she knows it – she can see it in his eyes. And she thinks that maybe, this boy is a saviour – his hand offering her a chance to step into the light too.

He is. And months later, she realises that Roy Mustang might have just saved her life the moment he walked through their front door.

iv.

The first time Roy Mustang ever kills another man, he’s forced to use his alchemy to do it.

He’d known that he’d have to learn how to kill some time. He is a soldier, and while soldiers maintain that it is their duty to protect, sometimes – most of the time – protecting something means having to kill to someone else.

But this? This is not for the sake of protecting the people. They call this an extermination, but for what? Roy doesn’t know. There are people dying – Amestrians and Ishbalans alike - and for what purpose? None?

This is not why he became an alchemist. This is not why joined the army.

Everything he is doing here is so against everything he’s ever believed in that he can’t bring himself to even think he ever really believed in them at all.

He’s numb, now. He doesn’t feel human. He could die – heaven knows, after what he’s done, he deserves to die – he could be shot from behind or blown to bits by a stray grenade and he could die and not even feel it. He doesn’t feel anything anymore.

But one day, a sniper approaches them, hood up and shielding their features from the desert sun.

“Hello, Major Mustang,” she says, familiar burgundy eyes warped with the death they’ve caused and seen. “Long time no see. Do you still remember me?”

For the first time in months, the feelings return, and Roy realises how horrible it feels to be alive after all he’s done.

She saves him that night.

It’s late. Everyone else is asleep – or at least trying to – soldiers don’t get to rest often out here and they’ll take what few hours of respite they can. He and she, on the other hand, against their better judgement, are wandering through the ruined buildings in the dim moonlight, savouring the rare peace and quiet of a late night free of screams and gunshots and explosions.

“I know why you’re here,” he mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “Your father’s alchemy... it wasn’t supposed to be used for this.”

Riza sighs. “I trusted you,” she mutters. “I showed you my father’s secrets because I trusted you, because I thought – ”

“I know.” He looks up at her, eyes riddled with guilt. “Believe me, I know. Hundreds of people are dead because of me – hell, this very building – I didn’t mean for it to be like this...” He pauses and stares back at the ground again, fists clenching by his sides. “I considered offing myself,” he mumbles. “A lot more people will survive this Goddamn war if I don’t make it out alive.”

“No,” she whispers.

They step into the shadows and Roy finds that she has stopped walking and that they are standing much too close to each other than they should be.

“I want to say I blame you for all of this, but I don’t.” Riza peers at him tiredly through the darkness. “I still believe in you.”

Roy watches her, studies her beautiful, weary features in the pale moonlight, and all of a sudden, he’s kissing her. He doesn’t know why – he knows they probably shouldn’t do this, and not out here of all places, but he’s glad to see her – furious that she has to be here, that she’s had to learn how to kill too – but glad to see at least one other familiar face. He’s tired of death – tired of feeling numb and inhuman – he’s just tired and what he wants more than anything right now is for someone to lie to him and tell him that he’s not a monster; for someone to prove to him that he’s still human.

Their hands fly everywhere: hers rake urgently through his hair and grip at his shoulders while his press her back against a crumbling wall and move to her waist, her hips and then to the waistband of her military issue slacks. They don’t bother with non-essentials – they want to be quick about this – it doesn’t mean anything: just a quick fuck between two desperate soldiers who want nothing more than to remind themselves of how it feels to be alive (or so they tell themselves).

It’s not much, but she still believes in him, and that’s enough to convince him to live on for now.

iii.

Maes Hughes dies young.

Riza has never seen her Colonel so lost and defeated, and it kills her because she understands that his death is just another reminder of how he can’t protect everyone. It hits especially hard, she knows, because Maes is his closest friend, and if he can’t even protect his closest friend, how can he protect everyone else?

Maes had always promised to push him up from below; had always been his closest brother in arms and the only other person, save her, to have known him since Ishbal.

It is another blow to his already broken mindset – another death he should have done more to stop, even though
he knows there was nothing he could have done. He has been through more than enough already, but this – this is might push him over the edge.

Because the worst part about it is that Maes isn’t just dead. It’s that Maes is dead for knowing something he shouldn’t have known. It’s that, according the report, Maes tried to make a phone call to Colonel Mustang’s office in the dead of the night, had told the operator it was urgent, and by the time the call had been patched through, he was gone.

And now Riza is at a loss.

She has always done what she can for her Colonel, but she can only do so much – and she certainly can’t take
Maes Hughes’ place. She feels guilty because she has been with him long enough to know how to fix most things except this, and she feels devastated because Maes was her friend too.

Mostly she’s afraid that he’ll do something stupid tonight. She’ll never tell him, but Colonel Mustang is all she has left.

She can’t let him suffer through this alone.

She knocks twice on his apartment door the eve of Maes’ funeral and waits to see if he answers the door before she reaches up over the doorframe for the extra key. It’s just as she puts the key into the lock that the doorknob turns and the door is pulled back to reveal her tired, red-eyed Colonel with a glass of scotch in hand.

He blinks at her. “Hawkeye,” he greets. “What brings you here this evening?”

She considers lying to him for a moment because she knows that he hates it when they concern themselves too much with his wellbeing, but she has never lied to him before and she’s hardly about to start now. “We’re worried about you, sir,” she tells him shortly. She says ‘we’ because it’s true: the men are worried too, but mostly she means just her. The boys don’t know him as well as she does – only she knows what he might do.

Roy studies her for a moment, but understanding lights his eyes and he nods, offering her a grim smile. “Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, pulling the door back and inviting her in. “I hope you’ll excuse the mess, Lieutenant. Can I get you anything to drink? I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer other than that.”

“I’m fine, thank you, sir.” She stands awkwardly in his hallway, quite unsure of what to do with herself now that she’s here. There’s a bit of an awkward pause before Roy realises her discomfort.

“You can take a seat,” he says, stepping back into the kitchen and draining the last of his scotch. “And if it eases your mind, I have every intention of being at my desk tomorrow morning before – before the funeral.”

She spots the handgun on the table and somehow, Riza thinks he isn’t being quite as honest with her as she would like, but she says nothing as she picks her way through the mess and seats herself on the far end of his couch.

“I appreciate your coming, Lieutenant,” mumbles Roy at last, taking a seat as well. “Really. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, sir,” she says quietly. “I thought... you might need someone else around tonight.”

He scoffs. “I’m not keen on admitting it but you’re probably right. You usually are.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s plenty true.”

They pause. They must look like a truly awkward pair, thinks Riza – she is sitting on one side of his couch, her back ramrod straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, while he sits on the other, body slouched over, face in his hands.

“Lieutenant,” he says at last.

“Sir?”

“Don’t – ” he takes a breath. “Don’t you leave me too. You’re all I have left now.”

Despite herself, she almost smiles. “Of course, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

ii.

For the fifteen years he has known her, he has never heard Riza Hawkeye scream.

He’s limping around in underground Central – he has no idea where these tunnels lead and the pain in his side is making it ridiculously difficult to think, but his First Lieutenant is screaming, and that can only mean very, very bad things.

That woman – a homunculus, she had called herself – she is the reason Havoc may very well be dying at this very moment. She is the reason he has third degree burns in his side, and if that woman is the reason his Lieutenant is screaming right now, heaven help him, things will burn.

He has already lost Maes to this group of sons-of-bitches, he will not lose Hawkeye too. They have been together for too long – she is the only one he has left – if he loses her too, there’s no telling what he will do afterwards.

The burn in his side is agonising but he can’t stop. Not yet. Not until he knows that woman can’t harm anyone else he loves. Grunting, he leans against the wall to keep himself upright, but he soldiers on, right hand sliding against the wall, stinging pain in his left where he had carved the array into his skin, and God, it hurts, it hurts, ithurts.

And then the screaming stops.

Roy snarls. If Hawkeye is dead...

He doesn’t want to think about it. She had better not be dead.

He will never forgive himself if she is.

She’s fine (thank heavens, she’s fine). The homunculus is dead – he’d made sure of that – and by the time Alphonse volunteers to lead the medics to their location, Roy is only half conscious and only kind of aware of how his Lieutenant is on her knees, vigilantly watching over him as she has always done.

In this lighting, and in his only-somewhat-awake state of mind, she looks like an angel – always watching out for him and always swooping in at the last minute to save his sorry ass from making stupid mistakes and getting himself killed.

He’s glad he got to return the favour this time – although if she knew he was thinking that, he’s not sure she’d appreciate it. She likes to think that protecting him is a one way job.

“Have you been crying?” he asks her weakly.

Riza sniffs and shakes her head. “Only a little, sir,” she mutters.

“Don’t lie...”

She scoffs.

“Why’ve you been crying?”

Riza swallows and stares down at her knuckles. “I thought – I thought she’d killed you,” she murmurs. “She told me she’d killed you. I thought I’d failed.” She shakes her head again. “I apologise, sir. I shouldn’t have let her get to me.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Roy reprimands tiredly. “It’ll take a lot more than her to kill me.”

They lapse into silence as the clunking of heavy boots sound from the hall. The medics must have found them – Roy wonders if they managed to find Jean all right. He’d instructed Alphonse to make sure they found him first.

“Sir?” says Riza quietly as the boots get louder.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. That’s twice today you’ve saved my life.”

He waves her off. “It’s the least I can do,” he manages. He doesn’t elaborate, but he hopes she understands what he means.

i.

He thinks, after the Promised Day, Riza has to have figured it out by now. He will be sorely disappointed if she hasn’t realised that his life depends on hers, and even though he’s been trying to pretend it doesn’t for the sake of professionalism for the last decade or so, there is no possible way he can deny it now.

When Marcoh restores Jean’s legs and his sight and he is dismissed from the hospital, he comes to visit her everyday. They keep her there for longer one, because she’d lost so much blood that day that it’s miraculous she even survived at all and two, because they don’t recognise Mei Chang’s alkaehestry and they don’t know if they’ve fixed everything properly.

Riza is impatient about this, of course. Her commanding officer has been released and she’s still in hospital waiting for those doctors to decide that she really is all right, which is stupid, she thinks, because clearly she is. She appreciates that he visits her everyday though. She likes to think that he’s humouring her and letting her watch over him, but really, who is she kidding? She likes his company, and they both know there’s much more to it than that.

It’s only a matter of time before it comes up in conversation, really. They can only ignore the topic for so long.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Riza asks one day. She’s scheduled to be released tomorrow, and for some reason, the advent of being able to get out of the hospital only makes her more impatient.

Roy chuckles. “Why do you even ask that? You’re off duty for one and you’ve always been allowed to speak freely.”

“Old habits,” says Riza shrugging. “It’s just that I notice you’ve been around here often – “

“Just a few times,” he interrupts lightly. “A couple of times a week. Everyday. Go on.”

Riza gives him a look. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company, sir, but don’t you have other, more important things to attend to? The paperwork for the transfer to Ishbal, perhaps?”

“And leave you here bored out of your mind and all by your lonesome?” He laughs. “I think not, Lieutenant.”

“You know what I mean, sir.”

“I don’t,” says Roy lightly. He offers her a toothy grin. “Why don’t you elaborate?”

There’s a pause. He’s being awfully playful about this – which isn’t all that out of the ordinary in itself, only that she knows he’s provoking her. It’s as if he sees the things between them in a different light now, and it’s strange and wonderful, and he can’t help but go and it with a stick. It’s as if he wants to say something to her that he can’t quite say unless he has a sufficient enough excuse for it and it’s stupid, really, but it’s endearing if anything else.

“Why are you here, sir?” she asks him finally.

“I’m visiting you, of course,” he answers.

“I’ve been here two weeks, sir,” she retorts, “and since you’ve been released, you’ve been back every day for the entirety of visiting hours. Surely you have more important things to be doing?”

“Like paperwork and that’s just oh so riveting.” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at her. “Let me ask you something: You’ve been taking care of me for the last fifteen years, on or off duty, Lieutenant – why don’t you like it when I return the favour?”

She stares at him, quite unable to process what it is he’s asking her. “It’s my job to protect you, sir?” she answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s your job to protect me even when you’re off duty?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good bodyguard otherwise, sir.” She shifts uncomfortably under her skin – this is getting into territory they just don’t discuss. Of course, having known her for so long, Roy doesn’t miss it.

He does nothing to ease it though. He just grins, as if this is exactly what he wants them to discuss.

“Can I ask you why you followed me into the army in the first place?”

“You know why, sir,” she tells him. “You told me so, that night in Ishbal. I followed you because I wanted to make sure you were using my father’s secrets for their intended use.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Riza stares at him. She can’t say yes because it would be the most obvious lie she has ever told in the history of the few lies she’s ever told him. It will almost be an insult to his intelligence if she lies to him now because, really, there’s no one else who knows her better. But she can’t say no, either, because that would mean she has to elaborate and this is the only topic they just don’t elaborate on for various reasons including ‘it’s against protocol’ and ‘it’s inappropriate’.

“The day you walked into my father’s house was the day you first saved my life,” she murmurs finally, opting for somewhere in the middle. “I wanted to return the favour.”

Roy chuckles. “You’ve certainly repaid that favour. Why haven’t you left yet?”

Riza hesitates but she shakes her head. “I can’t repay the favour if you keep adding to my debt,” she mutters cryptically.

He laughs. “I see.” He leans back in his chair and grins at her. “I understand. You’ve more than repaid the favour, Lieutenant. You save mine every damn day – and not just in the literal sense.”

They pause. And then they laugh because this conversation seems so odd for them that they can’t help it, and it takes her a minute, but in the end she understands and it brings a smile to her face.

They save each other’s lives everyday just by breathing. That’s all there is to know.

Happy Royai Day, everyone. This year's theme is 'my favourite thing about Royai is..'

SO MY FAVOURITE THING ABOUT ROYAI IS: the way they save each other's lives by existing every single day <3

Fanfiction: FMA_Fic_Contest Entries

2011-04-30T06:33:22Z

Title: Nice Work If You Can Get It
Author: jellyjay
Series: Brotherhood
Word Count: 934
Rating: G
Character(s): Roy, Riza
Summary: It’s quiet in her apartment, and the first thing Roy spots is the little radio sitting on the coffee table.
Notes/Warnings: Takes place after the manga but there aren't any huge spoilers unless you count Roy's rank as one. I'm under the assumption they were both promoted. Also, I like the idea of an awkward-ish adjustment period between them in which they try to sort out what kind of relationship they have. ~~And can't you just see Roy and Riza dancing to~~ ~~this song~~ ~~in Riza's living room?~~ Writeen for Prompt 97: Midnight.

Nice Work if You Can Get It

She lets General Mustang walk her home now, on the nights when work keeps them in the office later than they like to admit. His excuse is always something along the lines of “The streets are dangerous at this time of night,” and she always gives him a look for it because he knows full well that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Still, though, he doesn’t let that stop him – he can be particularly stubborn sometimes and other times she has a feeling that he does it mostly because it’s an excuse to spend more time with her.

She doesn’t complain. She’ll never admit it, but she likes it – she likes having his company on the long walk home, and now that it’s allowed, she’s hardly about to reject the idea. They’ve spent too long in positions where they can want but never have and wonder but never know – and the chance is there now, and she’s not about to waste it.

So this is how the evenings find them: walking together – side by side now, instead of two steps apart – with their hands in their coat pockets under the glow of streetlamps and the silver of the moonlight against the deep blue sky. They don’t touch, except for the occasional bump of their elbows and the rare brush of their fingertips – still accustomed to formalities and a little bit clueless on how to act otherwise.

They walk slowly and they talk quietly, wearing gentle smiles that mean more than they let on, and he walks with her all the way up to her apartment door before they bid each other good night and part ways.

Sometimes, Roy hesitates, and he looks as if he wants to say something else. Usually he doesn’t and he shakes his head and he turns to leave.

Sometimes, Riza pauses, and she opens her mouth to invite him in but changes her mind at the last minute and, instead, thanks him for going through the trouble of walking her home and shuts the door.

She wonders which one of them will break the pattern first.

“I guess this is the part where we usually part ways, eh, Captain?”

Riza offers him a small smile. “That it is, sir,” she says.

Then there’s a pause, and she knows that this is also the part where he almost says something else and where she almost invites him in. Then, when she decides she doesn’t know how to do it and opens her mouth to wish him good night instead, he coughs a little and looks away.

“It’s nice,” he says awkwardly. “Being able to walk you home, I mean. I like doing it.”

Riza snorts a little, and this is where she stops thinking and she steps back a little. She nods at him – he has broken the pattern so that she doesn’t have to, and now she feels as if she should at least do her part. “It’s late,” she tells him quietly. She’s still smiling at him, and opens the door wider.

“Nearly midnight, in fact,” says the General. He doesn’t move and his smile looks a little hopeful.

Her smile widens just a little. “Why don’t you come in, General? A little tea won’t hurt.”

He laughs softly. “That would be nice... Riza... thank you.”

It’s quiet in her apartment, and the first thing Roy spots is the little radio sitting on the coffee table. He spares a glance at her while she’s rummaging for mugs in the kitchen, and makes his way over to the couch.

“May I?” he asks her.

Riza turns her head a little and raises an eyebrow at him curiously when she spots how he’s gesturing at the radio.

Roy shrugs. “You know how I like music, Captain.”

She laughs at him and straightens to put the kettle on. “No, sir,” she tells him with an amused grin, “I don’t think you ever shared your musical interests with me.”

Roy snorts and twiddles the dial on the front of the little machine. The radio buzzes and the silence in Riza’s living room is broken by the sound of a piano and a woman’s voice. “Allow me to share them with you now then,” he says, holding out a hand to her. “Would you care to dance, Cap – Riza?”

She stares at him. “...Sir?”

Roy grins at her. “Just one before midnight?” he asks, putting on his best imitation of Black Hayate’s puppy dog face.

Riza’s still staring at him as if she’s trying to regain control over her slightly gaping mouth. “Sir – I –”

She doesn’t really get a chance to answer because a second later, Roy takes her hand and leads her to the space in her living room in between the couch and the kitchen counter. Then his hand is on her waist, and her hand is on his shoulder, and their other hands are clasped and they’re dancing before she’s even realised that she’s no longer in the kitchen.

“General Mustang – we – ”

She stops. We what? She asks herself. There’s nothing stopping them any more. There are no real reasons for this not to happen. They have waited so long and finally, finally, the chance is here. We what?

“Yes, Riza?” he murmurs.

She hesitates. “We... ‘We’ sounds good,” she manages at last.

Roy laughs, and he’s pulled her in so close now that she can feel his breath against her ear. “That it does,” he whispers, pressing his lips against her temple. “That it does.”

Title: The Waiting Room
Author: jellyjay
Series: Any
Word Count: 500
Rating: G
Characters: Urey and Sara Rockbell, mentions of Trisha and Pinako
Summary: Urey is friends with a girl called Sara.
Author's Notes: Urey/Sara needs more love. Written for Prompt 100: Canon Pairings

The Waiting Room

Urey is friends with a girl called Sara.

Well. He likes to think he is. Mostly he just watches her from across the waiting room in his mom’s clinic. In reality, he’s never actually said a word to her and she usually sits quietly in the waiting room looking curiously over at the medical textbooks his mom keeps on the shelf.

Alright, so it’s a work in progress, but it’s a decent start at friendship, anyway.

One day, she gets up and tries to reach for the book on the nervous system on the top shelf.

Urey watches her. “Do you want me to get that for you?”

She looks his way and cracks a smile. “Okay.”

Sara comes in every now and then with her dad for maintenance on his automail and one day, Urey feels particularly brave and takes a seat beside her. “You really like those old books, huh?” he asks her.

“Mm,” says Sara, looking up. “I wanna be an automail surgeon eventually, but there’s nowhere in this town I can learn so these books are the best I can do, for now.”

A pause. And then –

“I’m Urey,” says Urey stupidly.

Sara smiles at him. “Sara,” she says.

“You wanna be friends?”

Sara laughs. “Okay.”

One day, Sara arrives at the clinic in hysterics with her friend Trisha limping along beside her.

“What the – ?”

“Urey!” she cries. “Where’s your mom? Trisha fell and – ”

“Whoa,” says Urey, holding up his hands. “Calm down, okay?” he tells her as his mother appears from the clinic door.

“What on earth?” Pinako starts, wiping her hands on her apron. She motions for Trisha to limp over. “What happened?”

Trisha looks dazed. “I’m... not sure...”

“Oh dear,” mumbles Pinako. “Urey, stay with Sara, will you? Come on Trisha...”

They disappear through the clinic doors and Urey takes his customary seat beside Sara and lifts a hand nervously to her shoulder.

He coughs. “She’ll be okay,” he says. “I promise.”

Sara looks anxious, but she nods. “...Okay.”

When Sara visits again, Urey realises that he kind of really, really likes this girl. She’s smart, and kind, and pretty – no – beautiful – and lately, he’s been finding it ridiculously hard to have a normal conversation with her.

One day, in an absent kind of word vomit, he asks, “You wanna go out with me?”

A beat.

“I – I mean – It’s not like – Sara – are you laughing at me?”

She’s sniggering, actually, and with every passing millisecond that she doesn’t answer, his stomach plummets further through the floor.

Finally she claps his arm and gives a small, shy smile.

“Okay.”

Years and years later, they’re both doctors, and, just because, they’re sitting in the waiting room for lack of better things to do. Out of nowhere, Urey pulls a small, velvet box from his pocket.

“You wanna get married?”

Sara blinks at him and cracks a smile.

Urey’s grinning too, because has a feeling he knows what the answer will be.

“Okay.”

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T07:40:04Z

Title: The Pianist
Author: jellyjay
Genre: Melancholy/Suspense with a dash of Romance
Rating: PG-13 
Word Count: 15,000+
Pairing/Characters: Roy, Riza, Grumman, Maes, the rest of Team Mustang
Warnings: Mild language, violence
Summary: On a visit to the old Hawkeye estate, Roy realises that he doesn't quite know his Lieutenant as well as he thinks he does. Meanwhile, a thief who knows far more than he should tries his hand at stealing the secrets of Flame Alchemy

Part IVA

Grumman was pacing.

Maes stared after him, frown on his features and mouth half open in confusion. “General – what?”

It seemed that Grumman hadn’t heard him, because he was still pacing and muttering under his breath. Hughes heard something like, “That’s impossible – how could anyone else have possibly known...”

“Ahem. General.” Maes waved his arms a little in a feeble attempt to catch the old man’s attention. “Sir. Sir!”

Grumman paused and looked up at Hughes, who was still sitting in the office chair looking on with a creased brow. “Sir – I don’t understand,” said the Lieutenant Colonel. “Hawkeye has Mustang’s secrets? Why? And even if she did, I don’t see her carrying them on her person at all times.”

The old man hesitated and then moved to close the door. “Mustang’s secrets aren’t on paper,” he said quietly. “You have to warn them.”

“With all due respect, sir,” started Maes, “I need to know what I’m warning them about.”

Grumman studied him for a moment. Then, finally, he blew a soft sigh and turned away. “It’s really not for me to tell you,” he muttered softly. “It’s bad enough that she has to carry that burden – heh – it’s even worse now, if anything...”

“General – ” Hughes started, getting to his feet. “What’s going on?”

The General gave a small shrug and twiddled the lock on his office door. When he spoke again, he spoke quietly – and Maes had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he would hear. “She won’t be pleased if she knows you know,” said Grumman at last. He tutted. “Hell, Mustang won’t be pleased if he knows you know – and you two are best friends, so you know that’s saying something.” He took a breath and clasped his hands behind his back. “You know, of course, that Colonel Mustang learnt everything he knows about alchemy from Riza’s father, then?”

Maes nodded. “Well yeah,” he answered, “But what does that have to do with Riza having his secrets? She hates alchemy.”

“The reason she hates it,” muttered Grumman, so quietly that Maes almost didn’t hear him, “is because her father tattooed those secrets onto her back.”

A pause echoed in the office. It took a moment for Maes to process the information.

“Wha - You mean – ” he choked finally. “She has - ?”

Grumman nodded at him. “She was fourteen,” he said shortly. “She didn’t want it. You understand the implications of that, don’t you? What a burden like that could do to a fourteen year old girl who had no one else to turn to?”

Maes gaped. Understand? What was there to understand? Hawkeye had been branded by a secret she never wanted for the sake of preserving her father’s research. Her own father. She’d been carrying the secret to the most dangerous form of alchemy in history on her back for years. Had her father just not understood the danger he was putting his daughter in? Maes himself was no alchemist, but he’d seen what Roy was capable of in Ishbal. All of that destruction – every snap; every explosion; all those deaths – all of that power was right there, carved into the back of Berthold Hawkeye’s child – and if anyone knew –

He scoffed mirthlessly and pushed his glasses further up his nose. Oh, someone knew, all right.

“Where was Roy back then, General?” he asked quietly. “And - you’ll have to excuse me if I sound disrespectful, but where were you?”

Grumman looked away, ashamed. “Roy was at the Academy with you,” he said. “And Riza and I hadn’t realised the other existed until after she joined the military. Pathetic, eh?” He breathed a weary sigh and looked sadly up at Maes. “It is Gooding, isn’t it?” he asked, looking betrayed. “The alchemy thief.”

Maes huffed. “He’s the only suspect we have. We’ll have to run a background check on him to be sure. The irritating part is where we have no proof just yet.”

The old man looked uneasy, but he moved to the door again and opened it for Maes. “You have to warn them,” he said. “Or get a message to them – it doesn’t matter how. Just contact them as soon as you can and let them know of the developments. I want you doing everything you can to bring them both back to East City as soon as you can – and preferably in one piece. I want you to get the MPs in Samson to put the investigations on the railroad aside to keep a sharper eye on the townsfolk and on Gooding. You’re dismissed.”

Maes stood from his seat and offered Grumman a sharp salute. “Sir.”

The silence that Colonel Mustang and his Lieutenant had lapsed into rang unbroken for a long time. They were at a loss. It had reached the point where there was almost nothing they could do. Their cover had been blown and whoever it was who wanted Mustang’s secrets knew exactly where they were and had cut them off from all manner of communication with the military. And surely if their mystery alchemy thief knew where they were, there was no way they weren’t already being watched.

“So... “ Riza breathed finally, pulling her knees to her chest and swilling the last of her whiskey around her glass. She huffed and placed the glass down to rest her chin on her knees. “What now?”

Roy gave her a quiet sigh and leant his head back against the wall. “There’s not much we can do, unfortunately,” he resigned. “I guess... we’ll have to sit tight and hope they don’t realise where my secrets really are.” He paused, casting her a meaningful glance, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It’s probably why we’re not dead, actually. They need me to decipher notes and – ” He cut himself short, but Riza seemed to know where he was going.

“They need me to make sure you do, isn’t that right, sir?” she asked quietly.

“It won’t come to that,” said Roy firmly. “I won’t let it.” His tone was almost possessive as he said it, but then, that’s how it had always been between them since Ishbal. Sometimes Riza had to wonder whether or not he knew he was doing it, and it had crossed her mind once or twice to remind him that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, seeing as she’d been taking care of him on top of it for most of her military career. When he spoke again, his voice was softer – almost hesitant.

“You ever wonder why... people come to that conclusion?”

Riza snorted. No. Of course she didn’t wonder. There were things she and her superior officer just didn’t talk about and this was one of them. There had always been... something between them, but at times it just felt like it would be better if they pretended that something wasn’t there. There were other things to do – other reasons they would never talk about it. It seemed that no matter how hard they tried to keep those feelings at bay, other people could still see them.

“No,” she murmured finally. “I don’t.”

Roy sighed. “Why they haven’t made their move yet...?”

Riza blinked at him. “You call being followed around town not a move?”

“That man was killed,” said Roy, “so he doesn’t count. I think – from what he told me before he was silenced via a bullet to the head, it seemed he was only being paid to follow. I think... whoever it is... is waiting for something.”

“Waiting for something?” repeated Riza. “For what?”

Roy shrugged. “Heck if I know,” he murmured. “We’ll just have to sit tight and be ready for them when they make their move.” He turned his head a little and looked at her in an odd mix of amusement and gravity. “They think you have next to nothing to do with this, save being a... persuasion technique, let’s say. Is there any point asking you to leave when they advance?”

Riza raised an eyebrow at him. “You know the answer to that, sir.”

All things considered, Roy chuckled lightly. “I’m quite pleased that you’re talking to me again,” he murmured. “Are you going to play for me at all today or not?” he asked finally, jerking his head at the miniature grand that stood waiting in the centre of the room.

“You’re treating this lightly again, sir,” scolded Riza, watching him sternly. “This situation calls for being on guard, not performances.”

“I know,” said Roy. “Believe me – ” he lifted a hand and traced the lines on her back. “I know. But there’s not much else we can do but wait anyway, Riza,” said Roy. “Please? Go on, just a couple of pieces.”

Riza tensed. Then she swatted his hand away from her and shuffled forwards. “I’d rather you didn’t, sir,” she mumbled. “Please don’t.”

Her voice was so tiny when she asked that he stopped in alarm rather than at her request. In that single moment of frailty, the little girl he’d known to watch him from behind doors and from the top window of the estate made herself apparent in the woman he’d known to hate showing weakness.

“...Riza?”

She shook her head. “I apologise,” she said quickly, snapping back into the military woman. “Although, with all due respect, sir, I’ll ask that you please refrain from inappropriate actions. Was there – ” she took a breath – “Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear me play?”

“Riza,” said Roy. He wasn’t stupid. And he almost felt disappointed that she kept throwing this facade on every single time she came close to letting her guard down. She had already taken her seat at the piano and was staring adamantly down at the keys by the time he’d managed to get his act together.

“Riza,” he tried again.

She looked up at him, the grimace she fought so hard to keep from her features all too evident in her eyes.

Roy blew a sigh. “Can I sit?” he asked at last.

She shuffled over and said nothing else as she put her fingers to the black and white keys and began to play.

The difficult part about trying to get a message to the Hawkeye estate was trying to come up with a message obvious enough for Mustang to understand but not for anyone else. And Maes figured a simple “they know” just wouldn’t cut it. He had already settled on sending Havoc and a small team of officers to Samson to get them – hell, he’d even considered accompanying them to make sure the job was done right – but there was no guarantee that nothing terrible would happen in the two days before the team arrived in town.

Mind still reeling from the revelation about Hawkeye’s back, Maes picked at the telephone cord and twiddled the pen in his other hand. Her own father, he mused. Hawkeye was a friend, and perhaps, he thought, the reason he was so concerned was because he was a father himself, and the thought of branding his own daughter was just too unthinkable for him.

A door clicked lightly to his left and someone coughed. “Lieutenant Colonel.”

Maes turned his head a little. Havoc stood, arm raised in a slightly-less-lazy-than-usual salute, ever-present cigarette tucked between his lips. “We’ll be ready to leave by this evening, sir,” he said. “We’re taking some of Sergeant Major Fuery’s communications equipment so we’ll be in touch with any changes to plans and any developments.”

“Right,” said Maes. “Move quickly. The sooner you can get to them, the sooner this will all be over.”

“Roger that,” Havoc said, nodding as he stepped backwards and out of the room.

“Havoc,” called Maes.

The blonde man stopped short and shot a curious glance at the Lieutenant Colonel. “Sir?”

Maes held his silence for a moment, thoughtful and hesitant. At last, after a good minute of not speaking, he cleared his throat. “Did you know?” he asked finally.

Havoc blinked. “Know what?”

There was a pause. Then Maes shook his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” He cleared his throat and picked at the receiver. “You’re dismissed, Havoc.”

The Second Lieutenant frowned and chewed thoughtfully on his cigarette. Maes watched him from the corner of his eye and for a moment, it looked as if Jean was about to press the matter, but the blonde man shook his head. “You think Mustang’s made a move on her yet?”

All things considered Maes snorted, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had this conversation already with Grumman, you know. He’s not going to.”

Jean shrugged. “You never know,” he mused. “The two of them all alone in Hawkeye’s old house with nothing better to do than sit tight? You could probably cut through that kind of tension with a butter knife.”

Maes shook his head. “You’ll stop speculating about your superior officers’ lives, Second Lieutenant,” he said sharply, “or I will tell Mustang and let him fry on the spot.”

“Whoa there,” said Jean, holding up his hands. He raised an eyebrow at Hughes and stepped backwards towards the office door. “Come on – I was just kidding – and it’s not like you don’t do it all the time too, Lieutenant Colonel, sir.”

“Things are getting serious, Havoc,” muttered Maes tiredly. “I’ll start appreciating the jokes again when I know they’re back in one piece. “

Jean opened his mouth and closed it twice, not quite knowing how else to react at the change in mood. “Right,” he said at last. “I’ll uh. Do a last check. On everything.”

Maes nodded. “Right,” he repeated. “I need to make a phone call.”

Part IVB Coming Soon

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T07:36:06Z

“Come with us, Riza.”

There was a tall, moustached man standing beside her father who looked almost as gaunt and terrifying as he did on a good day. Berthold stared down at her, an odd expression of triumph across his features, while the man behind looked down at her through sad, tired eyes. Riza looked up at her father and frowned. “Father – why? I don’t –”

Berthold grunted. “You’ll do as you’re told,” he grumbled, seizing her forearm roughly. Riza had hardly any time to react before she was being dragged across the hall and into her father study.

“Mr. Hawkeye,” the other man said, “Is this really necessary? I’m sure there are plenty of other solutions – plenty of other people who – ”

“No,” said Berthold firmly, as he filled a small glass with water and added a couple of drops of another solution that Riza couldn’t quite identify. He handed it to he and ordered her to drink. “It must be her,” he told the man in a tone of finality. “No other can be trusted with something like this.”

“Mr. Ha – Berthold, she’s only fourteen years old! You can’t do this to her!”

Riza watched the exchange anxiously. The glass remained full in her hand.

“Drink,” Berthold ordered again.

“But father, I – ”

Hawkeye cast her a glare, and Riza felt the words die in her throat. She gave her father an unsure glance and brought the glass to her lips. The effect was almost immediate: her eyelids grew heavier by the second and her knees felt unsteady and weak.

“Father...” her voice failed her, and her world grew dark.

“The secret is hers,” she heard her father say distantly. “It always has been.”

Riza’s eyes squeezed shut as she slammed her fingers down on the piano. “Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, lifting her hands to rub at her eyes. The flashbacks were getting sharper and clearer, and it was difficult enough as a child – it was hardly any better reliving it in her mind as an adult. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, and Riza shook her head blew a soft sigh. She stared down at the keys. “You’re stronger than this,” she murmured to herself. She was a military woman, for God’s sakes - this was all sorts of pathetic. “Get it together.”

It was as if the problems came from all over and even her old sanctuary couldn’t give her some form of respite. This room – this piano – they had given her a chance keep out of her father’s way once upon a time – a chance to pretend that things weren’t as complicated as they had been. No matter how she sliced it, even with Mustang’s appearance in their household in those later years, her childhood wasn’t exactly stellar.

The Colonel’s tendency to make stupid, illogical decisions didn’t help either. And now their every move was being watched by someone who wasn’t afraid to draw blood – if the blood on the Colonel’s clothing was anything to take note of. Riza heaved a sigh. She didn’t want to deal with this. Any of this. And she would give anything now to be back in East City in her own apartment where this headache of a situation would leave her be.

There was a soft knock on the music room door. “Riza?”

Riza’s gaze hardened. She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry,” came Mustang’s voice. “I am. I should have known better, and I should have listened to you, and you know I’m not just talking about what happened today – ” she heard him scoff – “God, Hawkeye, how have you ever managed to put up with me?”

A pause.

“I just – “ said Roy. “I wish you would talk to me. And you don’t have to – but I wish you would. I mean, you’d think that having lived in this house with you and your dad for three years, I’d know a little more about you, but I don’t, and there’s something about this house that bothers you. And... I want to make it stop bothering you. Like I made other things stop bothering you when we were kids, remember?”

Another pause. Riza blew a small sigh and tore her eyes from the keys. The Colonel, she knew, was a particular brand of stubborn – who was she kidding? Did she honestly believe he would leave the matter be after she repeatedly told him to do so? She snorted mirthlessly. It took a lot more than just ‘repeatedly´ from dissuading him.

Resignedly, she stood from the piano stool stepped towards the door. She found Roy sitting against the wall across from her when she opened it.

“Hey,” he said, looking up at her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s just... a little difficult, Colonel. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Roy gave her a meaningful stare. They’d become accustomed to communicating without speaking but this was the one look he could give her that she couldn’t quite see through. “I’m worried about you,” he said bluntly.

Riza felt her lips twitch. “I’m not the one an alchemy thief is after.”

“A good thing too,” said Roy. He flashed her a tiny, hopeful smile.

Despite herself, she gave him one back and offered a hand to him. “You still have blood on your shirt, sir.”

He shrugged as she helped him up. “Can’t exactly go back into town and get another one, though, huh?” Roy coughed lightly and cast a glance down his front. “I only have one other,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to make do. After today though, I could do with a drink – you think your dad’s old whiskey bottle is still in cupboard in his study?”

Riza grimaced a little. “I’ve only been in that study once, sir,” she said quietly, “I wouldn’t know.”

Roy hummed. “Guess I’ll go have a look.” As he turned to leave, he paused. “If I do find it – or if I don’t – can I join you in here?” He gestured at the music room. “It’s rather lonely hanging around by myself in a house like this.”

She hesitated a little, but she huffed and gave him a soft smile. “Of course, sir,” she answered, quiet but inviting. (And truth be told, she wouldn’t mind some company too).

x

Roy came back half an hour later with a dusty bottle of alcohol in one hand and two glasses in the other to find that Riza had closed the piano lid and seated herself against the wall beside the door. He raised an eyebrow at her and handed her a glass.

“I’m taking a break,” she said bluntly, answering his unasked question.

Roy scoffed. “Well that’s convenient,” he snorted, sliding down the wall to sit next to her. “Right when I came back. I’ll bet you just don’t want to perform.”

Riza cracked a small smile and looked away. In total honesty, Roy kind of wished she didn’t. He rather liked seeing her smile seeing as she didn’t do it all that often, and when she did it was always very small and very shy. She’d been like that as a child too. They didn’t spend a huge amount of time together, but he made her feel better when she was feeling down, and she made him mugs of tea and coffee to ward off sleep as he studied into the late hours of the night.

“Here you go,” he offered, holding out the bottle.

She hesitated a bit, but she shook it off a moment later and held out her glass.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as he poured whiskey into her glass.

Riza shrugged. “Fine, sir,” she answered quietly, bringing the alcohol to her lips. Roy watched her grimace as she swallowed before taking a sip himself. “And before you ask,” he heard her add, “if you must insist on badgering me with this, then I must insist on being stubborn.”

Roy chuckled into his glass and set it back on the hardwood floor. “Of course,” he scoffed. He breathed a sigh. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

“What happened in town, sir?”

All things considered, Roy mentally congratulated himself seeing it coming. He stared into the remnants of the whiskey and his glass and sighed a second time. “There wasn’t much of a problem getting to a phone,” he began. And he told her, about his conversation with Hughes, the phone lines, the poor soul who tailed him until whoever had paid him to do so silenced him with a bullet to the head. He mentioned the death of whoever had attacked the rail road, and of the news Gooding had brought with him, and Riza listened, saying nothing to interrupt his explanation and frowning thoughtfully into the whiskey in her glass.

“Sir,” she said quietly when he finished. “I don’t think the attack on the railroad was an attempt at your life.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow at her, but the answers came to him almost as soon as he opened his mouth to ask her to elaborate. “They’re cutting us off,” he said instead.

Riza nodded. “From everything.”

x

“How many people in Samson could have figured out that where Mustang and Hawkeye would go into hiding?”

Grumman looked up and found Maes Hughes looking haggard and weary outside his office door. “I take it you have a lead?” he asked, gesturing for him to come in and take a seat. “Has something happened?”

Hughes scowled and sat in the office chair across from the General. “Whoever wants Mustang’s alchemy already knows where they are. They’re probably watching them as we speak.”

“What?”

“The phone lines to the Hawkeye estate were cut directly,” said Hughes. He bent over, leaning his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers in front of his head. “Whoever’s doing this,” he said slowly, “They need to have known Colonel Mustang – or Hawkeye, seeing as she grew up there – and have known them well enough to figure out they would stay there to lie low. How many people in Samson know them that well, General?”

Grumman thought for a moment. “So far as I know,” he said slowly, “not many people knew Roy when he stayed with the Hawkeyes to learn alchemy. Riza was homeschooled, so the people who would have known her best were her tutors.”

“And they are?” asked Hughes.

“One’s dead,” said Grumman. “The other is her piano teacher – an old friend of mine. He’s the one buying the house.” The old man paused and frowned at Hughes, who narrowed his eyes and moved to stand. “Now that you mention it though, he was quite adamant on buying it. You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

“I’m just considering all the possibilities, General,” said Hughes, folding his arms across his chest and frowning thoughtfully at the carpet. He said nothing for a while, and Grumman watched him, caught half way in between believing him and denying outright that a trusted friend was capable of such crimes.

“There’s just one thing that’s getting me,” muttered Hughes at last. “Let’s assume for a second, it is him. He’s after Mustang’s secrets but he buys Hawkeye’s house. Obviously he was expecting her to pay it one last visit, but there was no guarantee that Mustang would have been with her. What’s with that?”

The wheels in Grumman’s mind turned, and he brought a hand to his chin and stared thoughtfully at the polished wood of his desk. And something clicked. His eyes widened, and he bolted to his feet. “That’s because Roy doesn’t have the secrets.” He shot Hughes a panicked glance. “Riza does.”

Part IVA

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T07:33:09Z

“Hawkeye!”

The silence in the estate unnerved him. Whoever was after him – the shooter from town – they couldn’t have gotten to her, could they? No – it was his secrets that they wanted – and he, Hawkeye and Grumman were the only ones alive who knew that those secrets were on her back. They couldn’t know – they couldn’t possibly know. They were after him, not her.

Still, the shooter had no qualms silencing comrades. Roy glared around the empty room.

“Lieutenant!”

A door opened down the hall, and Roy nearly sagged with relief when Riza herself peered at him from the music room door. She frowned at him. “Sir?”

“Riza!” He stepped quickly over the carpeted floor towards her. “We need to go.”

She frowned at him. “I – Colonel – is that blood?”

Roy shook his head at her and seized her elbow. “Never mind that now. We have to go.”

“Sir – ” Riza wrenched her arm out of his grip and gaped at him, eyes darting from the blood on his shirt to his face and back again. “Sir – what’s going on?”

Roy huffed and turned his eyes away from her. Inwardly, he wondered how to say this without making himself sound like the biggest idiot in all of history. He’d known that being stuck in town was hardly ideal, but in total honesty, he’d never really taken the threat seriously until just now. Riza now had the right to give him the biggest ‘I told you so’ speech of his life, and she looked more than ready and annoyed enough to give it. “I think,” he managed finally, “they’ve been watching us.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “For how long, sir?” she asked levelly.

He took a breath. “Long enough... to know that we’re hiding out here.”

All things considered, this latest development was possibly the worst thing he could have told her at the moment. She was frustrated enough as it was, holed up in an old house that held nothing but bad memories for her, and now this too – after she had warned him before he ventured into town of the very thing that had just transpired. Riza looked livid, and Roy could do little but cringe under her sharp, amber glare.

She raised a hand to massage the bridge of her nose and gave him a very slow, patronising sigh. “Are you hurt, sir?” she asked finally.

“Wha – Riza?”

“Are you hurt?” she asked again icily. The glare she fixed on him was unnerving. “Because it seems that you just walk right into these situations, rashly and illogically and it’s as if you’re not taking this situation seriously at all, sir.”

“Lieutenant – I –”

Riza snarled at him. “You treat this as if we’re on some sort of vacation, sir, one would think you, of all people, would have taken the threat to your life seriously.”

Roy gaped at her. “But I have – ”

She gave him a look. “You haven’t, sir,” she snapped. “You’ve been careless, and rash, and you have someone’s blood all over you while someone else out there wants yours.”

“Which is why we have to – ”

“We can’t,” she interrupted glaring at him, “because if they are watching this God-forsaken house, then they are watching us, and therefore, all of our movements, hence leaving this God-forsaken house would be completely redundant. We’re stuck here, thanks to you, because none of this would have happened if you hadn’t insisted on returning to Samson in the first place.”

Roy stared at her. Riza had always been particularly good at hiding behind stoicism, and for as long as she’d been his aide and subordinate, she had never once lost her temper. She was the image of a perfect soldier – always respectful; always calm. He’d never seen her like this – and truth be told, it scared him. Nothing good could come out of something that had driven Riza Hawkeye, of all people, to this point.

Perhaps she was just frustrated, he tried. She’d been on edge since they’d arrived in town and...

The Colonel paused and retrieved his jaw from the floor. “I know it’s my fault, Riza,” he said finally, “but this... isn’t entirely about whoever’s after my alchemy. Is it? It’s... the house, right?”

Panic flashed through her eyes and the glare dissipated as she turned her gaze elsewhere. She said nothing for a moment. And then –

“I apologise for my outburst, sir,” she mumbled. “It was out of line.”

“I don’t want an apology, Riza,” he told her, exasperated. “I just want to know what’s going on. I want to help.”

“We have bigger problems,” said Riza quietly. “If you’ll excuse me, sir... I’d like some time to myself.”

His hands reacted before his mind did, and he seized her forearm before she could get any further. “I don’t think – ” But he cut himself off. He saw it happen: Riza paled, her breath hitched and her body stiffened, and something that looked suspiciously like fear flashed across her features before her expression hardened again and she wrenched her arm out of his grasp.

“If they wanted us dead, they’d have blown up the house by now,” she muttered. Then she disappeared down the hall and back into the music room before he had the chance to say something else.

Roy gaped after her, his mind unable to process the entirety of what had just transpired. So she didn’t want to be here – he knew that – and she obviously was blaming him for all of this – he knew that too – but she was never one to let it get to her like this. She was Riza Hawkeye, things didn’t just get to her.

Knock, knock.

Jolted out of his thoughts by the sound, the Colonel blinked and turned his eyes to the front door. He tensed. For all the rest of town knew, the Hawkeye estate was empty, and the only ones who knew they were here were the team in East City and, from the looks of what had happened in town, the suspect who wanted his head on a platter. And Roy really doubted any of his team had made it into town so fast.

He pulled his gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on as he made his way towards the front door. He peered through the glass.

“Riza? Are you there?”

Roy blinked and pulled the door open a little. “Mr Gooding?” he asked through the gap.

The man on the other side of the door stared back, fist half-raised to knock again. “Ah,” he said, “Colonel... Mustang, was it?”

Roy nodded dumbly.

Gooding offered him a small smile. “I checked through all the other inns too, but I had a feeling the two of you might be staying here with all the commotion at the station. May I come in?”

“Uh...” began Roy hesitantly. “I’m not sure it’s entirely the best time – ”

“Come off it,” said Gooding, waving a hand dismissively. “I just wanted to say hello to Riza. Where is she, anyway?”

Again, Roy hesitated. “She’s – uh – ” he paused. “...Not feeling so good.”

Gooding raised an eyebrow at him. “So the music room, then? You don’t really think I taught her music for seven years and not know that she treats that music room like a sanctuary, do you?” he added, spotting the look of incredulity on Roy’s face.

“I – uh- ” the Colonel sputtered. He huffed. “Mr. Gooding – look, it’s just not entirely safe for civilians to be around here at the moment.”

The older man frowned. “Is there an investigation going on here, Colonel?” He glanced up and down Roy’s figure. “Colonel – is that blood? What’s happened? It’s about whoever attacked the railway, isn’t it?”

The panic was clear in the man’s voice – Roy could hear it and he pressed his lips together and breathed a quiet sigh through his nose. “Sort of,” he answered. “You need to head back into town – ”

“Wait!” interrupted Gooding. “Maybe I can help –”

Roy held back a scowl and ground his teeth together. Really, the man seemed like an okay guy, but now was hardly the time to question the warnings of a military officer and press on the subject. He coughed. “You can help by going back into town and keeping this under wraps,” he said finally. “The less people who know, the better.”

Gooding paused. “The town’s not under attack, is it, Colonel?” he asked. “People are talking about murders and then on my way up here - ”

The Colonel frowned. “Murders?” he questioned.

“Well,” said Gooding. “They’re only rumours but there’s talk that a man called Marcus... Laver, I think his last name is – was – whatever – there’s talk that a woman found his remains in an alley. The local police think some kind of alchemy was involved. And then just now, apparently someone was shot.”

Roy’s frown deepened. “How do you know all this?”

The older man shrugged. “It’s a small town, Colonel, rumours travel fast. The local police are doing all they can but with the railway busted, they can’t get any one from the military to do some official investigations. You’re military personnel, you could do it, couldn’t you?”

Roy shook his head. “No,” he answered wearily. He fought the urge to rub a tired, semi-irritated palm across his face. “It doesn’t work like that, Mr. Gooding. We’re not even supposed to be on duty. Just go back into town, okay? You’ll be safe there, there’s no need to worry.”

“Is – is Riza alright?”

“Of course,” said Roy firmly. “I’ll tell her you dropped by. Hopefully this will all be over soon.”

“I hope so,” resigned Gooding. “I’d like to be able to catch up with my favourite ex-student before she leaves.”

Part IIIB

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T07:28:34Z

The guilt washed over her as she barricaded herself in the music room later that day. It was true, of course – Roy had no business in the matter, even if he had lived here for part of his life and had seen her father’s work and the secrets carved into her back. The memory in question, however, was before his time, and she wasn’t about to trouble him with it when there was evidence that someone was after his life and alchemy.

But of course he’d like to know. She knew how he was; how he cared too much for the physical and mental wellbeing of his subordinates and how his sanity depended on the knowledge that they were okay. Still, as much as she hated this house and being cooped up in it and the memories of being trapped and owned, she’d decided that she preferred to keep her distance from him. At least here, in the music room, she still felt at least a little safe – from the memories and from having to deal with Roy.

She’d rejected the offer to go into town with him that day under the ruse that they were lying low; more than enough people had recognised her yesterday – they didn’t need any more. He’d told her he would get her a change of clothes on his way back. With the lack of things to do, she’d retreated here – her old escape and sanctuary – and shut the door behind her with more force than she’d intended.

Sighing, Riza leant back on the door and stared tiredly at the hardwood.

Bidding a house farewell shouldn’t be worth this much trouble. Grimacing a little, she pushed herself off the wall and moved to seat herself on the cushioned piano stool. The fingerprints she’d left in the coating of dust on the lid revealed its once polished and gleaming surface as she lifted the lid from the black and white keys. The sight of them was still a comfort – still a reminder of the talent she’d chosen to leave behind in favour of firearms – still a reminder that she was more than just a scrap of parchment for her father’s secrets.

She’d spent hours in here as a child – away from the gloom of her father and his tired but smouldering glare. She could spend hours in here now, playing her frustrations away in her feeble attempts to find some semblance of peace of mind.

Maes felt far more irritated than should have been legal.

He was an Investigations Officer, for heavens’ sakes and he couldn’t solve the one case that involved the lives of two of his best friends? Really? It didn’t help that he was still in East City either while his beautiful Gracia was still in Central. Maes snarled and fought the urge to throw his pen at the wall.

He had nothing. Twenty-four hours of work and he had nothing more than the information he had retrieved yesterday from the stack of suspect files. He grumbled and tossed down his pen. This really was all Roy’s fault. No one would be in this situation if Roy hadn’t felt the need to order his Lieutenant into having a vacation. Riza could damn well take a break if she wanted to, and clearly, she didn’t want to but Roy just had to be an idiot who –

“Major Hughes?”

“What?” he snapped.

Havoc stood at the doorway of Mustang’s office with a stack of reports in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Jean looked downright exhausted, and from what Maes could see, all of Mustang’s men looked like they could use some good news from their superior officers. “The Colonel’s on the phone for you, sir,” said Jean wearily.

“Oh,” said Maes. “Go have a smoke break or something, Havoc – leave those files with me.”

Havoc tutted. “You don’t have to tell me twice. The call’s being put through to the Colonel’s office now.”

“Right,” grumbled Maes, heaving himself off the chair. Thanking Havoc, he raked a hand wearily through his hair and stumbled into Mustang’s office. He lifted the receiver. “How’s it?”

“Lying low was a brilliant idea, Hughes.”

Ah. Sarcasm. Just what he needed. “What’s the problem now, Roy?”

He heard Roy grumble. “She lived here her entire childhood, Hughes! At least five different people have recognised her!”

“But have they recognised you?”

“Not yet,” came the irritated reply.

Maes narrowed his eyes. “Yet?”

There was an irritated huff from the other end of the line. “I lived here too, Hughes – if they recognise Hawkeye, it’s only a matter of time before they recognise me as well.” A beat. “Just – when can you get us out of here? Being cooped up in this town is driving us crazy. Riza and I, both.”

Maes raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Another beat. “Alright, fine. It’s driving Riza crazy so it’s driving me crazy.”

Despite himself, Maes sniggered mirthlessly into the receiver. “She thinks all of this is your fault, doesn’t she?”

“What would you know about what she thinks?”

Maes rolled his eyes. “All of us are thinking it, buddy,” he deadpanned. “It is all your fault because if you hadn’t dragged her out there, you wouldn’t be stuck in the first place and none of us would have to deal with all this paperwork.”

“Son of a – “ there was a snarl and what sounded like Roy fighting the urge to punch the telephone. “Whatever. I get it. It’s all my fault. When can you get us out of here?”

“We don’t have anything new,” said Maes shortly.

“Really.” It didn’t sound like a question. Perhaps Roy thought he was joking.

“Really,” repeated Maes. “Whoever it is trying to get to you and your alchemy, they’re good at covering their tracks because we have next to nothing.”

Pauses were starting to seem common in this conversation. Maes took the moment of silence to examine the state of Roy’s office – immaculately tidy, he noted, but somehow, he had a feeling that the neatly organized study was Hawkeye’s handiwork.

Finally, Roy sighed. “Alright,” came an answer that sounded as if it was being spoken through gritted teeth. “When will the phone line at Riza’s be okay?”

Maes blinked. “Are you not using it now?”

“Riza told me this morning that it’s still not working.”

“That’s impossible,” snapped Maes. “Grumman fixed that line yesterday – it should be working perfectly fine.”

“Well it’s not,” said Roy shortly.

Maes frowned. “That can’t be right – the only way it wouldn’t be working is if the line’s... been cut... directly...” And that couldn’t be the case unless... whoever it was knew...

“...Hughes?”

“Go back to Hawkeye’s, Roy,” said Maes seriously. “Take a longer route so you can keep an eye on who is or isn’t following you and watching your movements. Watch out for people hanging around the house.”

“You think they’re watching us?”

Maes paused. “I think I have a lead.”

It took Roy a trip through the busier part of Samson to figure out that Hughes was right.

He had a tail. It had been difficult to pick him out at first, amidst everyone else in town who filed passed him as he strode through the streets, but he could see him now: the man in the black long coat who stood leaning against a lamp post had been on his tail since he’d left the phone booth. The question now was this: for how long before that had he been there?

Roy had been mulling it over for a little while: if the phone lines to the Hawkeye estate had been cut directly, then whoever it was who wanted his secrets knew where he and Riza were hiding out. But then, he thought, why not get the job over quickly? Why hadn’t they been ambushed already? If they already knew, why was he being followed in the first place?

Roy stepped around a corner and waited, fishing a glove out of his pocket. If they wanted to follow him, so be it – they would suffer the consequences.

The tail stepped past the alley frowning, and Roy seized him by the lapels and shoved him against damp bricks.

“What the – ”

“Who are you?” snarled Roy, digging his arm into the man’s throat.

The man coughed and clawed at Roy’s sleeve. “The hell - ?”

“I don’t think you know who you realise who you’re dealing with,” hissed Mustang dangerously. “Why were you following me?”

“I don’t – geroff me – son of a – ”

Roy pressed his arm into the man’s throat a little harder and glared. “Try again,” he snarled. “Are you the one who tried to attack the train?”

The man sputtered. “No – ” he choked. “The one who did – he’s dead!”

“What?”

“I was just – being paid to – follow you – ”

Roy frowned. “Who’s paying you?” he demanded.

“I – ” The bricks cracked, and Roy barely registered what happened: warm liquid spattered across his face and chest; the man’s head lolled forward, lifeless and Roy blinked as the man slumped heavily to the snowy ground.

Roy stumbled backwards and wiped at his forehead, the back of his hand covered in blood as he brought it down from his face. He threw a glance at his surroundings. The people on the street hadn’t noticed the exchange and there was no one – nobody at all - at a vantage point who could have pulled the trigger.

But... the man was dead. Not Roy.

Roy stared down at the figure bloodying the snow. With shots that precise, there was no way the shooter could have just missed him. He frowned and stepped backward.

Either he was wanted alive, or the shooter was silencing the man.

And as Roy wiped the blood from his face and pulled his coat tighter around his body to hide the blood on his shirt, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been both.

Part IIIA

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T07:25:06Z

It began to snow as the dim winter sun sunk low beyond the horizon. Darkness fell quickly, lamps lined along the emptying streets flickering weakly to life as the cool of the evening settled over the town.

Samson was a quiet place – a quaint little town where everyone knew each other, situated near the border between the East and North areas of Amestris and separated from the rest of the world by miles of undisturbed hills, dirt roads and a single train track that ran from the end of town to East City. Nothing much ever happened here - the town both too far and too isolated to bother with for most people.

So when something did happen, Samson burst into whispers and rumours and speculation that spread through the town like wildfire like a town-sized game of Xingese Whispers.

“Riza’s back, did you hear?”

“Riza?”

“Hawkeye’s little girl, don’t you remember?”

“Berthold Hawkeye’s daughter? You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. She’s here with someone – I don’t know who – but it looks like they’re stuck here too, with the attack on the railroad and everything.”

Passers-by too busy regaling news and gossip, a shadowed figure slipped unnoticed into the dingy alleyway between the town bar and inn. Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he frowned through the darkness and wrinkled his nose lightly as the smell of tobacco reached his nostrils. He coughed. “Job well done then, Marcus,” he muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

The other man, Marcus, gave a quiet grunt. “I thought we agreed on keeping this under wraps.”

The first man shrugged. “The townsfolk here have adopted a small-town mentality. They’re going to gossip.”

“Gossip,” Marcus scoffed. “Right. Because they would have started gossiping anyway if you hadn’t started spreading rumours, is that right?”

“Yep,” said the first man shortly, pulling a piece of chalk from his pocket and holding it up to examine it under the dim light. “And you know it. Most of these people know Hawkeye and they’ll recognise Mustang too, given time.”

Marcus grunted again and stepped forward. He held out his hand. “Right then. My job’s done. My pay please.”

The first man paused and raised an eyebrow at his companion. “Pay?”

“Like you said you would,” said Marcus, hand still outstretched expectantly. “I’ve been doing parts of your dirty work – I think I should be getting something out of this one at least.”

The other man frowned and moved to lean casually against the worn bricks of the alley. “Ah Marcus – you sure you don’t want to wait until after we finish this one before you ask for payment?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “There’s not much else for me to do for this one, is there? If I recall correctly, all you needed me for was the attack on the railway, which I might remind you was a ‘job well done’. I think I’ll collect my payment now so you can take care of the rest.”

The first man sighed. “This is your last chance to get back in on this new mission.”

Marcus grunted a third time. “I’ll pass.”

Shrugging, the other man pushed himself off the wall and touched his fingers lightly against the edges of the chalk scribble. “Your loss.”

There was a soft glow, a light crackle and Marcus’ confused mutter of “What the - ?” before a slab of bricks slammed forward and a spray of blood showered the stark white snow of the alley.

Pocketing the chalk, the remaining man hummed and turned away from the mess. “You should have waited until the end of the mission,” he said lightly, stepping out of the alley and back into the now empty, silent street.

Riza heaved a weary sigh as she pushed open the door to her old room and readjusted the bag on her shoulder. She hardly remembered it being so small – or perhaps it was just because she was older now. She crossed it in three paces and dumped her bag on the dusty mattress before pulling at the old desk chair and dropping into it, head tilting back and eyes closing in both frustration and fatigue.

In all honesty, she was surprised she hadn’t emptied her hand gun into the wall yet. After Gooding had recognised her at the Station, she shouldn’t really have been surprised that the butcher, grocer and stationmaster recognised her too.

Samson hadn’t changed much. The house was the same. The people were the same - it was a wonder no one had ambushed Mustang yet – he’d lived here too, after all - and the memories the house brought back were clearer than ever.

“Hold still, Riza, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Lies. Riza fought back a whimper as the needle intended to carve lines into her back stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed, every moment a moment of agony as intricate, intersecting lines of ink marred the skin of her back.

“Riza, hold still – ”

“Riza?”

She snapped her eyes open and turned her head towards the doorway. Roy stood, watching her from the hall, concern etched into his features.

“You okay?”

She swallowed thickly without meaning to. “Yes sir,” she mumbled. “I’m fine. I’m... just tired is all.” She pursed her lips and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Roy shrugged. “It got lonely downstairs,” he told her. “Can I come in?”

Riza gave him an awkward kind of jerk of her head and motioned for him to take a seat on the old bed. He did so, pulling his hands out of his pockets and seating himself across from her. Then, dark onyx eyes never once leaving her face, he watched her, eyebrows knitted into a small, concerned frown.

He didn’t need to ask again.

“It’s nothing, Colonel,” she assured firmly. “I was... reminiscing.”

“About what?” he asked her promptly, twining his fingers together without looking away from her.

She stared back at him stonily. “Nothing important,” she muttered, looking away. They lapsed into a heavy silence, Riza refusing to meet the gaze he had so intently set on the top of her head. Perhaps it was this house and the fact that they were here again, but it had never been this awkward between them. Having known each other for almost twelve years, Roy could read her relatively easily, but she had never shut him out like this.

“Did...” Roy began, “did I do something wrong?”

His tone sounded almost hurt, and Riza’s eyes snapped up to meet his for the first time since they’d returned after the commotion at the station. “What?” she asked. “No – no, it’s nothing like that.”

He looked at her oddly and tilted his head to the side. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Riza blew a soft sigh and looked away from him again. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with, Colonel. It’s not important.”

“But it is something?”

“No, it’s not,” said Riza sharply. She should know better, really – if anyone could see right through her, it was him but that didn’t stop her from being irritated by the way he badgered her about it. He was not doing this to her – not when the matter in question was her own personal business and was something as trivial as bad memories. “Stop it, sir,” she snapped. “It’s none of your concern. Now with all due respect, I would appreciate it if you just left it at that.”

Roy took his turn to sigh and held up his hands. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “It’s your business. I apologise for prying, Lieutenant. I’m just... concerned for your state of mind, is all.” He stood from her bed, dusting his hands on his shirt for lack of anything else to distract him from the guilt of bringing her to a point where she felt the need to openly snap at him, and stepped glumly towards her bedroom door. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you as a friend and not just as your superior officer, Riza.”

She huffed and rubbed a hand tiredly across her forehead. “I know that, sir,” she said quietly. “Just – please don’t concern yourself over something so small. There are other things to be worried about.”

“Something that’s bothering you, of all people, to this point can hardly be considered small, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause, in which Riza turned her head towards him and offered him a small smile, before she stood up herself and faced her commanding officer with a hand on the doorknob. “Thank you, sir,” she said finally, “but I can handle something like this on my own. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to change out of these clothes and into something more comfortable.”

Roy considered her – Riza could feel his eyes searching her face for any clue of what she so adamantly refused to tell him – before he nodded slowly and stepped back. The door swung forward, clicking shut in front of him and he sighed and rested his forehead on the polished mahogany.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He had brought her here – ordered her here, in fact – because he thought that, of all people, she needed time to get away from work, and instead he had brought her to a house that held more bad memories for her than he had realised. Three years before he’d joined the military, he’d lived here too, but back then she hid in the corners of her father’s decrepit house or shooting targets in the backyard, making her presence known to them only when she entered a room to bring him and her father tea. Otherwise, she lived in silence, alone and – he supposed – afraid of her father.

He had no idea that some of the memories here were so bad it had reduced her to this – a reflection of her old self – the shy little girl who kept to herself, locked away from the people who wanted to care.

How hadn’t he seen it before?

How hadn’t realised it?

How could he have known her all these years and never bothered to ask?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled sadly, retreating into his own room. “I didn’t know.”

x

Roy spent that night falling in and out of a fitful sleep, dreaming of his old tutor and thinking he could hear the sounds of the piano from the other side of the house tinkling wistful tunes that carried over the still air of the dilapidated house. The morning brought with it what little warmth the winter sun had to offer and an excuse for him to climb wearily out of bed and walk off the restlessness that had accumulated overnight.

When he arrived downstairs, he found Riza already seated at the kitchen counter with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth and a novel in hand. She looked up at him and forced herself to offer him the usual twitch of her lips only he would recognise as a small smile but there was no mistaking the bags under her eyes. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who spent the night tossing and turning.

“Good morning, Colonel,” she greeted him quietly.

He padded his way down the last couple of steps and pulled up the seat next to her as she slid a plate of toast across the counter towards him. “I really wish you’d drop the formalities already, Riza,” he yawned.

“I think not, sir,” she said stiffly, rolling her shoulders a little.

Roy grimaced and brought the toast to his mouth. “Any news from East?” he asked her through a mouthful of crumbs.

She shook her head. “None so far, sir,” she answered. “Although I assume that would be because the telephone line isn’t working.”

“Hm,” said Roy, taking another bite from his toast and reaching for the pot of coffee Riza had placed in between them. “A trip into town might be appropriate then. We’re going to need more than a set of overnight clothes if we’re expected to stay here indefinitely anyway.”

Beside him, Riza scowled. “You failed to mention that yesterday, sir,” she muttered.

Roy cringed. “Sorry...” he mumbled, looking down at his toast. “Can I ask how your night was?”

It wasn’t as if he really needed an answer – he could tell from the state of her that it was hardly restful – but he wanted to avoid the awkward silences that had manifested between them yesterday. They lived on codes and on subtle gestures, communicating without speaking more than often enough to understand the other’s meaning fluently, but they were never silences like this. Never like this.

She gave him a look. “It was fine,” she muttered into her coffee.

There was a pause. He considered, for a moment, asking again about what was bothering her, but the glare she had focussed on her coffee was more than enough to keep him quiet. He had opened his mouth twice, on the verge of saying something – anything to start the conversation up again, but both times he realised that he really had nothing better to say than “So...”

Then Riza slipped from her stool and shuffled around the counter to the kitchen sink. “Did you sleep well, sir?” she asked finally, her back to him as she busied herself with the hot water running from the tap.

Roy grimaced. “No,” he grumbled. “I thought... I could hear the piano...”

Riza stiffened a little. “I apologise for keeping you awake, sir.”

“No,” said Roy. “No – don’t apologise... I was wondering, actually, if... it was you and if – if I have trouble sleeping again, you could – ” he coughed and turned his eyes to his coffee. “Could you, maybe, play me some more later?”

Riza paused in her work for a moment before she shut off the tap and reached for the dishtowel she had hung on the cupboard door from last night’s dinner.

“What’s the harm in it, right?” asked Roy after a little while. “But if you don’t want to, I - ”

“If... you would like me to, then I will,” she said finally – wearily, thought Roy. “I guess... there’s no reason why not... but later.”

Roy stared at her. He hadn’t expected her to agree but he wasn’t about to object, either. There was a pause.

“So...” began Roy awkwardly. “Would you like to join me when I head into town later?”

Riza shrugged her shoulders a little. “Perhaps I should go, sir,” she said quietly. “There is an alchemist after your secrets, after all - it may be wiser for you to stay here.”

Roy waved a hand in dismissal. “It’ll be fine,” he said to her. “The people here haven’t started pointing me out – I don’t think the town realises that I’m here with you, and the less rumours that go around the better.”

“Sir,” said Riza, turning at last. She had a glint in her eye that Roy recognised as a flash of irritation. “Your logic makes no sense – if the suspect is already here, they’ll recognise you straight away.”

“I won’t be ambushed in the middle of a busy street, Riza,” he frowned at her. “You could always come with me to make sure.”

Riza pursed her lips. “I don’t think – ”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, brushing her off. “Really, Lieutenant, I can take care of myself. Would you like to join me or not?”

She gave him an unreadble stare. "No sir," she muttered. "I'll stay."

Part IIB

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T06:57:33Z

Havoc sounded nothing less than harassed when Roy’s phone call was (finally) patched through to Eastern HQ. Pitying his subordinate less and less as he complained about the amount of paperwork they had just received regarding the railroad incident, Roy huffed impatiently and wedged the payphone between his ear and his shoulder while he worked to fish his notebook out of his coat pocket and ran his eyes over the list of contacts for anyone they could contact in the area.

“Havoc,” he hissed. “Shut up. Just tell me what the hell is going on now or patch me through to General Grumman.”

There was a frustrated sigh from the other line and Roy cast an impatient glance outside of the phone booth and at his First Lieutenant who stood with her back to him a few metres away. “Sir,” came Havoc’s voice finally, “we have reason to believe that the terrorist squad who attacked the railroad was targeting your train.”

There was a pause. “What?”

“From the reports we have, sir, all we know is that the squad is a group of alchemists. That and the fact that the attack happened just after your train passed through the area seem too closely related for it to be a coincidence. We think there was a screw-up on their end and they just missed your train. Guess we should be thankful they’re not as organised as they could be.”

Roy shifted in his stance awkwardly and took the receiver from his ear and rolled his neck. “So we’re stuck here,” he deadpanned at last.

Havoc coughed. “Looks like – Hey -!”

There was what sounded like fumbling and a mild argument, and then – “Roy – ”

Roy raised an irritated eyebrow at his reflection in the phone booth glass. “The hell are you doing in the East, Hughes?”

“Shut up for a second,” said Hughes, sounding like he had just run from one side of HQ to the other. “I just got here – took the first train from Central after I heard about the attack. Listen – it is a good thing you’re stuck for the moment. No one knows you’re there or where you’ll be staying so you can consider it as being in hiding until we’ve sorted this out. Grumman’s already filed an indefinite leave for you and Riza until we can get the both of you back to East City in one piece.”

“About how long are we going to be stranded here?” demanded Roy.

“I said your leaves are indefinite,” said Maes shortly.

Roy grumbled under his breath but as he opened his mouth to speak again, Maes cut him off.

“We’ve told you everything we know – there’s no point asking,” he said. “Look, there’s not much else you can do at the moment. Just sit tight and don’t do anything reckless. I would also advise not doing anything that would give away who you are, just in case. Grumman told me you were there visiting Riza’s old house, so I would suggest staying there for the time being. It’s best you don’t let anyone realise you’re there at all.”

Again, Roy shifted and threw a frustrated glare at the ceiling and leaning an arm against the phone. Finally, he sighed. “Right,” he said at last. “You’ll be keeping us posted, then?”

“Soon as Grumman can get the phone lines up at Riza’s,” reassured Maes. “Sorry to leave you stranded, buddy.”

Roy huffed and shoved his notebook back into his pocket. “Right,” he said again. “Telling Hawkeye is going to be a nightmare.”

He could have heard Hughes frowning on the other line. “Why’s that?”

Roy scratched at the back of his head and shot another glance at his First Lieutenant. “I don’t think she wants to be here. At all.”

“You didn’t realise that when you had to order her to go?” was the reply.

Roy snarled into the receiver. “That was different,” he snapped. “You know what she’s like – she’s the workaholic of all workaholics – I thought she just didn’t want to leave because she assumed no one would get anything done. I ordered her to go because I figured she needed a break.”

Maes gave a soft snort. “Whatever it is, sort it out, okay?” he said. “We’ll be in touch and we’ll try to get you out of there as soon as we can.”

Huffing irritably, Roy rolled his shoulders and gave a resigned sigh. “Right,” he said finally. “I guess we’ll talk soon, yeah?”

He could almost hear Hughes nodding. “Watch yourselves,” said the other man.

“Will do,” grumbled Roy. Fighting the urge to punch the glass of the phone booth, he set the receiver down and pulled the coat tighter around his body before shuffling outside. Riza saw him exit the booth and trudged through the ankle deep snow with an eyebrow raised inquisitively. Quite unsure of how to break it to her, Roy grimaced and braced himself for the onslaught of questions that would follow. He opted for the blunter route of explanation. “We’re stranded here.”

Riza stared at him. “What?”

Roy raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head and gave a short huff before he relayed everything Maes and Havoc had just told him. Riza’s left eye twitched a little at his every pause, the expression on her face going from plain disbelief to irritated disbelief as he finished his account of what he’d been told.

“You’re kidding,” she said shortly, folding her arms across her chest.

Turning his gaze away from her, Roy shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “No, I’m really not,” he muttered. “We’ll – ah – have to stay at your old house to avoid attracting attention to ourselves.”

“You’re kidding,” she said again.

“I really wish I was,” he told her, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look,” he said hurriedly, in a pitiful attempt to make the situation sound better. “At least there’s no paperwork, right? Think – think of this as vacation time. And since we’re staying at your old house, it’ll be like – like we’re kids again – I mean, it can’t all be bad...”

He faltered under her unimpressed glare, but, finally – and oh so thankfully – she gave a resigned sigh and turned the glare away.

“I know it’s not ideal, Riza,” said Roy miserably, “but it could be worse, right?”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned away. “Let’s just get back,” she grumbled. “We’ll get some supplies on the way – heaven knows I need coffee...”

Roy grimaced. It irked him that she was treating the entire situation as if it was his fault even if, indirectly, it was. He had ordered her to visit her father’s house before it was bought over Christmas, and therefore, it was his fault that they were here in the first place. Had he not insisted on it, they would still be in East City and perhaps the railroad wouldn’t even have been attacked.

As the snow began to fall, Roy glared up at the darkened sky and huffed, watching the fog of his breath unfurl into the chilly, winter air.

At the very least, he thought, he might get to hear her play him something else. And perhaps, even, find out why she hated that house so very, very much.

Poring over the stack of suspect files that had been handed to him, Maes let out a frustrated huff, falling backwards into Hawkeye’s chair as he threw down his pen onto the stack of reports and cast an aggravated glare up at the ceiling fan in the office. The rest of Roy’s subordinates looked all around exhausted but in a rare show of hard work and loyalty, kept their noses pressed to paper out of concern for their commanding officers.

“Hughes.”

Maes blinked and directed his gaze at the doorway where Lieutenant General Grumman stood, beckoning him out of the room. Hughes pushed himself up and stumbled clumsily around the desk, running a hand through his hair and saluting the General as he stepped out of the room. “Lieutenant General Grumman,” he greeted, shutting the door behind him.

Grumman nodded at him. “Have there been any developments since Colonel Mustang’s phone call?”

Maes shook his head. “None, sir. The only thing we’ve managed to conclude is that they’re a group of alchemists who specialise in alchemy theft. The suspect files that we have aren’t all that helpful as we have no accounts of the group who attacked the railroad in the first place – but at this rate, he and Lieutenant Hawkeye will be stranded out there for who knows how long.”

The General hummed thoughtfully and brought a concerned hand to his chin. “Alchemy theft, you say?” he questioned.

“Yes, sir,” answered Maes. “Most likely after the Colonel’s flame alchemy, so I guess we count ourselves lucky that they can use Lieutenant Hawkeye’s old house to go into hiding.”

Grumman nodded but folded his arms across his chest, frowning thoughtfully at the ground. “What I’m wondering is how they knew the Colonel would even be on that train. Hawkeye booked those the afternoon before they left. No one should have known anything about their trip out of East City.”

Maes shrugged his shoulders tiredly and rolled the cricks out of his neck. “There have been no station break-ins reported so that really only leaves the possibility of having a plant working at the Station, but if that’s the case, they shouldn’t have mistimed the attack.”

Grimacing, Grumman blew out a soft sigh. “That trip should have been a personal affair for Riza and now look – the military’s involved again.”

Maes shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his eyes to the carpeted hallway floor. Roy had told him the nature of their trip out of town over the phone last night. “If it’s anything to you, sir, she wouldn’t have gone if Colonel Mustang hadn’t ordered her to go and insisted on accompanying her, so really, it’s all his fault.” He paused and considered the General. “Roy said... that she seemed like she didn’t want to be there at all.”

Grumman nodded. “I didn’t expect her to want to be there, to be honest, but this is the last chance she’ll have to come to terms with everything about it – and if anything, Roy will help her do that.” Threats to his granddaughter and Colonel Mustang aside, the General chuckled a little. “Damn it all if none of that tension’s relieved by the time we can get them back to East City though,” he muttered.

Hughes took his turn to laugh. “10 000 cenz says it won’t be because it’s going to take those terrorists’ actually finding them for their stubborn attitudes to take a hit – and hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Grumman raised an eyebrow at him. “And there I thought you were the one who wanted Mustang to find himself a wife already.”

“I am,” said Maes pointedly. “Realistically though, that’s what it’s going to take.” He coughed. “All jokes aside, General, we could always send a military car to that area to bring them back sooner.”

“It’s a two day trip there by car,” said Grumman, “It’s not much better.”

Maes grimaced. “Guess they’ll just have to sit tight.”

“Looks like it,” Grumman muttered, turning away. “Keep working, Lieutenant Colonel, I want developments on the case on my desk as soon as you get them.”

“Sir,” said Maes, saluting.

“And Hughes,” the General paused and gave Maes a small smirk. “I’ll take that bet.”

Part IIA

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Pianist (FMA Big Bang entry)

2011-04-20T06:51:25Z

Of all the things Roy Mustang expected of his First Lieutenant, a pianist was not one of them.

She made an excellent one at that, and Roy would never have known this if he didn’t insist on accompanying her to her father’s old manor. Years of neglect had resulted in overgrown weeds and cracked footpaths beneath the thick layers of snow, and in rusted doorknobs and cobwebbed corners. The sheets that hung over the old furniture no one had bothered to remove still hung untouched, as they had when Riza’s father had passed away years ago.

The house in the old and lonely town of Samson was being sold this Christmas, General Grumman had told them. The buyer was, apparently, a friend of his. Perhaps, he had said, it was a good idea to visit it one last time for old time’s sake – to collect any items that she may have left behind or to bid it farewell.

At first, Hawkeye outright refused, but Roy begged to differ.

“There’re a lot of memories in that house,” he said absently after Grumman informed them of the situation. He’d lived there once too, after all.

“With all due respect, sir,” she said firmly, “I can’t just leave work to go and visit an old house.”

“Your old house,” he said to her. “You overwork yourself too often anyway, Lieutenant. I think it’s a good idea for you to take a break from everything here in East City. I’ll file our leave tonight.”

“No,” said Hawkeye firmly. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘our’ leave, sir? I believe that this whole business about that old house is my concern, not yours.”

Roy scoffed. “Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that I lived under your roof for three long years? You made a point of making it hell for me the first half year, remember? You don’t really think I’d miss the opportunity to bid it farewell, do you?”

Hawkeye stared at him. “Sir, I am not going.”

“Yes you are, I’m making it an order.”

“Colonel, that is an abuse of your authority –”

“And? Tell me, Lieutenant, other than work, is there any reason not to go to your old house?”

There was a pause, in which Roy watched smugly as she gaped at him. He could almost see the gears working at full steam behind the blonde hair that brushed her forehead.

“Sir –” she began, but Roy held up a hand.

“We’re going, Lieutenant, and that’s that.”

So here they were. Well. Here Roy was, anyway - in her father’s study where he used to slave over pages and pages of alchemical research, sometimes into the (very) late hours of the night. Riza had excused herself and gone elsewhere in the dusty old manor.

He always liked to call her Riza outside the office – in his mind at least. It made a considerably nice change, if he were honest with himself. It took him to the old days, when they were younger and things were much less serious, and considering where they were and what they were doing here, it felt somewhat appropriate.

Roy sighed and brushed a hand across the dusty white sheet that covered the old desk, when the light tinkling timbre of an old piano reached his ears from somewhere upstairs. He frowned. He had never remembered a piano being here, and curious, he turned and followed the sound.

It led him to an area of the old house he hadn’t known existed until just now. Inwardly, he grimaced. He’d spent three years here and he had never known about this part of the house. Pathetic. Here was a door. Unlike all the others, this one was open only slightly - slightly enough, however, for him to peek through the gap.

And there was his Lieutenant. Sitting at a grand piano he had never realised was there.

Roy felt his eyes widen. He had never realised she was a musician either. Her fingers danced across the keys as if she had played for years – which, Roy reminded himself, she probably had. How could he have missed something this monumental? Back in the day, he knew she couldn’t possibly have spent every waking moment cleaning or firing projectiles at the targets in the backyard. He had always wondered where she disappeared to, and now here was his answer. She’d gone to a music room where she knew she would never be interrupted.

Roy bit his lip. He knew it was rude to watch her like some sort of stalker, but he didn’t want to barge in and he didn’t want to leave. The arrangement of Carol of the Bells that sounded through the tiny gap between the door and the wall was stunning and he wasn’t about to miss listening to the first time he had ever heard his First Lieutenant play, even if it was through a gap in the door. Only… Riza knew better.

“You can come in, you know,” she called. She hadn’t looked around, nor did her fingers leave the keys. That woman didn’t miss a beat – literally.

Sheepishly, Roy pushed open the door and stepped into the rather spacious room. “I didn’t know you could play,” he said awkwardly.

She scoffed. “I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said absently, “you were always busy learning my father’s alchemy.”

“Sorry…”

Riza raised an eyebrow as he said this. “What for? Father was a demanding teacher. Not noticing means that you were a good student.”

Roy scratched at the back of his head. “Didn’t make me a very good friend...” he mumbled.

Again, Riza scoffed, bringing the piece to a soft, tinkling close.

Roy allowed the notes to fade before he applauded her. “Well played, Lieutenant,” he said. “I always liked Carol of the Bells.”

Riza looked up at him for the first time since he entered the room. “Thank you, sir,” she answered quietly, leaning over to collect the music before her. “Shall we go then?”

Roy shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I want to hear more. What do you say to playing your commanding officer another piece?”

“Surely you’ve got better things to do, sir.”

Roy took his turn to raise his eyebrow at her. “Really, Riza, I lived here for three years and I never even knew this room existed. I think you should humour me.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” she said. Her answer was clipped – he wasn’t sure if she was aware of it or not. Either way, it put him on edge.

“Don’t make me order you to do it, Lieutenant,” he teased in a feeble attempt to sound casual.

“Sir, you have abused your rights as my superior by making me come here in the first place,” she said coolly.

He grimaced inwardly – perhaps she was just annoyed that he’d caught her off guard. He shrugged it off. “Come on, please?” He gave her his best imitation of Black Hayate’s puppy dog face. She couldn’t possibly refuse that. “You consider me as your friend, right? As your friend, please play something else?”

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. “Do you have ay requests, sir?”

With the grin that spread across his face, he must have looked like a child on Christmas morning, he thought to himself. “Well, it is the festive season,” he began. “Do you have any favourite carols?”

“Not really, sir,” she answered sounding weary but – at least – a little amused. “What do you have in mind?”

Roy shrugged. “Silent Night has always been one of my favourites.”

She sighed and placed her fingers on the keys again and began to play. “You are aware that many carols are religious, right, sir?”

“Am I not allowed to simply enjoy the music?”

Riza laughed a little. “Of course, sir.”

In the two and a half minutes that Riza took to play his request, Roy looked on over her shoulder and watched her fingers skim delicately over the keys. Slim, calloused fingers, accustomed to pulling triggers and stained with the blood of innocent people. Slim, calloused fingers that once held trays of tea and biscuits, knowing only the innocence of a quiet childhood.

This house brought back so many memories.

“You’re a wonderful musician, Riza,” he told her quietly as the music faded.

“Thank you, sir,” she said again, leaning forward to close the lid of the piano. Clearly she was trying to avoid another performance.

“Can I ask you something?” Roy asked.

Riza blinked at him. “Of course you can, sir.”

“Why are you still referring to me as ‘sir’?”

There was a pause. Riza blinked at him again. “You are my commanding officer, sir,” she said plainly.

Roy shook his head. “Is that all that I am to you, Riza?”

There was another pause. Longer this time. “Sir – I –”

He held up a hand. Roy didn’t really need an explanation, if he were honest. She was the perfect soldier, he reminded himself, and perfection required a lot of formalities. Still, it would make a welcome change if she decided to abandon them for once. They’d known each other for years – long before Roy had even joined the military – so now, of all times, felt like an appropriate time to question the habit.

“You know,” he said, “Even when we were younger, you never referred to me as just ‘Roy’. It was always Mr. Mustang, you remember?”

Riza bit her lip, quite unsure on how to make herself feel less awkward. “Yes,” she said quietly avoiding the word, turning her eyes to the lid of the piano. “I apologise,” she murmured at last.

Roy snorted and raised an eyebrow at her. “I was just wondering, Riza, there’s no need to apologise. Mind you, hearing my given name would be such a pleasant change.”

There was a somewhat more comfortable pause afterwards, in which Riza fiddled with the sheet music in her hands. “We should go, sir,” she mumbled finally, standing from the cushioned piano stool and reaching for the holster and guns she’d placed atop the polished black surface. “We’ll miss the next train.”

“Riza...”

She didn’t look at him as she replaced the piano lid and pushed the stool in from behind. “After you, sir,” she murmured, jerking her head towards the door.

Roy hesitated, but the darkened expression on her downcast features told her that she’d rather not be questioned at this point in time. She was here because he had ordered her to come, after all, and this house brought back more than enough unpleasant memories for her. Sighing, he shook his head and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, turning from his First Lieutenant and heading towards the door. “We only just got here,” he said finally as he held the door open for her and beckoned her out first. “You don’t want to stay a little longer?”

“I’d rather not, sir,” she said shortly.

Roy twitched slightly at the renewed use of formalities but decided to let it slide in favour of questioning her why. “It’s your old house,” he said pointedly.

“So it is,” said Riza, stepping down the hall without waiting for him.

Roy stared after her, curiosity and concern for his aide gnawing at his insides. Stoic, polite and reserved ordinarily, she could hide her emotions from anyone under that same stoic facade, but not from him. He would be ashamed in himself if he allowed himself to fit under the same category as everyone else – and she, of all people, should have known better.

But as she stepped down the stairs and made her way to the front door in brisk but unhurried steps, Roy felt a bubble of doubt rise in the pit of his stomach – perhaps he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

There was a commotion at the station that had Roy raising a curious eyebrow at the crowd of people gathered at the ticket booth and swarming the unfortunate station master as he attempted to raise his voice over the noisy complaints.

Beside him, Riza craned her neck and frowned. “What’s going on?” she wondered.

“Track’s been attacked,” muttered someone to their left. “Doesn’t look like anyone can get in or out of town for a few days.”

Riza whipped her head around so quickly he was surprised she didn’t hurt her neck. “What?” she snapped. The speaker was a tall, scruffy haired, middle aged man, bowler hat in hand as he peered over the heads of the crowd. “How is that possible? We got here this morning and everything was just fine.”

The man turned, and winced when he realised Riza’s frightening glare directed at him. “There – there was a terrorist squad,” he stammered. “The railroad’s been damaged. It was on the radio this morn- ” he stopped for a moment and frowned at her. “Riza?”

Riza frowned back. “Do... I know you?” she questioned, looking genuinely confused.

“I’m – ” he paused and chuckled a little, turning the bowler hat in his hands. “But of course, you were so young the last time I saw you – I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me.” He coughed mildly, and placed the hat onto his head. “Let’s just say this: all the music that’s kept in the compartment under the piano seat once belonged to me.”

From his place beside her, Roy watched as a spark of recognition appeared in her eyes, irritation at the delay momentarily forgotten and hardened features softening enough to give the man a very slight smile. The first smile, he noted, that she’d worn since they’d arrived in Samson this morning. “Mr. Gooding,” she said. “How could I forget?”

The man let out a hearty laugh and held out his hand. “She remembers!” he smiled, as she shook it. “You were – how old – eleven the last I saw you?”

“Fourteen,” she corrected, looking as if she had just held off a scowl.

Gooding chuckled again and turned to Roy. “And who might this gentleman be? A fiancée?”

Roy sputtered on his own spit. Riza turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson. “My commanding officer,” she answered levelly. “Mr. Gooding, this is Colonel Roy Mustang of the Amestrian Army. Colonel, I’d like you to meet Mr. Chris Gooding. My old piano teacher.”

Roy felt his eyes widen as Gooding shook his hand too. “Ah,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” said Gooding. “I trust Riza’s played you a thing or two?”

Roy shot her a wounded glare. “I – uh – actually only found out she could play this morning. She’s brilliant, mind you – she just never told me.”

Riza shrugged. “With all due respect, sir, you never asked.” She chose to ignore the scowl that graced his features as she turned back to her tutor. “About this terrorist squad...” she began.

“Ah,” said Gooding. “Yes. Radio broadcasts earlier today were going on about how the track’s been damaged. As Samson is such an isolated town and it’s a twelve hour trip to get here from anywhere, it looks as if we’ll all be stuck here until the track’s been cleared up.”

Roy frowned and shoved his hands into his pocket. “When did this happen?”

“As far as I know, some time around nine this morning,” answered Gooding.

“That’s impossible,” said Roy, frown deepening. “We just got here this morning and we’ve only been in town a few hours. You’re saying someone managed to damage the railroad enough to be broadcasted over the radios that quickly?”

Gooding held up his hands apologetically. “I-I don’t know – I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”

Roy hummed thoughtfully and jerked his head at his subordinate. “Let’s go, Lieutenant,” he murmured. “We need to make a phone call.” He nodded his head at Gooding. “It was nice meeting you,” he bid him.

Riza nodded and shook his hand again. “See you,” she said awkwardly.

He smiled at her. “It’s been good seeing you, Riza.”

Part I(B)

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: Golden

2011-04-02T13:40:08Z

Title: Golden
Word Count: 558
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Royai
Summary: He likes her hair.
Warnings/Notes: For starseed4 who won fic off me for help_japan .

Golden

He likes her hair.

Like, really likes it. Roy’s not really one for making judgements on appearances, but Riza Hawkeye’s hair is just – well – it’s hard to explain. He just really likes it, is all. For no real reason, either. To be honest, he likes all of her – from her sharp, amber eyes to the rough calluses on her fingers – she’s rather beautiful from every angle, and he rather loves her for that and much, much more - but it’s her hair that really gets him and he doesn’t really know why.

Lots of people call it blonde, but to him, the word ‘blonde’ in the same sentence as ‘Riza Hawkeye’ just doesn’t sit right. He prefers to think of it along more poetic lines. To him, her hair is a soft kind of yellow that really shines when the sun hits it. Bright, but not overly so, and plain but still beautiful. It’s like gold, he thinks. Brilliant gold, fit for the position she holds in his eyes – fit for the queen he sees in her.

(It’s a cheesy sentiment, he knows, but it’s true).

It used to be short, he muses. Cropped just above her neck: boy-ish but practical and very like her. It’s grown quite a bit though, and it’s at a little bit of an awkward length now – too short tie back but still long enough to brush past her ears and get in her way.

When there isn’t that much work to be done – and sometimes when there is – he likes to watch her, and the way she huffs when she can’t get it to behave and stay tucked behind her ear. A lot of the time his fingers twitch, and he has to fight the urge to do it for her. Sometimes he takes the moment to wonder what she would do if he did.

(He has a feeling he knows what the answer is to that question, but there are some days, when the sun hits her hair just right, that he feels like it’d be worth the risk).

There are other times when he wonders what it would be like to play with the strands at the nape of her neck and tell her how much he loves it. Sometimes, as they’re just about to leave the office at night, he considers pressing his lips to her hair to see if it really is as soft as it looks. Other times, he wonders how much of this she already knows. She’s a sharp one, Hawkeye, and especially sharp when it comes to reading him.

(When he thinks hard about it, he figures that she probably already knows that he loves her, too. He already knows she loves him back anyway).

“Hawkeye,” he calls one day, as she gets up to fetch more coffee. It’s on an impulse. He doesn’t really have anything worth saying to her, but he wants to say something – just to see.

“Sir?”

There’s almost a split second where he hesitates before he answers her. “Your hair,” he says. “It’s nice long. You should keep it that way.”

A pause. Then understanding lights her eyes and she offers him the tiny, barely there smile she saves just for him. “Thank you, sir.” And she nods and turns to leave, threads of gold gleaming against deep blue.

Fanmix: Who Are We Fooling?

2011-03-26T12:32:00Z

Compiling this took me weeks. Honestly, in between uni, and study and my lack of a social life, I'm just glad I finally managed to get it done! Enjoy!

Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) | Florence and the Machine [here]

You made a deal, and now it seems you have to offer up
But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up)
It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)

Honestly, when I first heard this song, I thought it was the perfect song for younger!Riza, having to go from being a little girl who didn’t have the best childhood to a sniper in the middle of the Ishbal Extermination. Only, the particular set of lyrics above kind of reminds me of Roy too, having made a “deal” with the military by becoming a state alchemist, and how the both of them seem to believe that they’ll never be able to enough to atone for what they did in Ishbal.

Losing Hope | Jack Johnson [here]

Losing hope is easy
When your only friend is gone
And every time you look around
Well, it all, it all just seems to change

After Maes died and Wrath separated Team Mustang (keeping Riza to himself for leverage against Roy, no less), I imagine this is how Roy felt: helpless, lonely, kind of lost and kind of tempted to give up. He doesn’t do that, of course, but not giving up makes you realise just how hard everyone – particularly Roy – had it. I think this one is a really gorgeous song, to the point where you feel the loneliness of it just by listening to it.

Who Are We Fooling? | Brooke Fraser [here]

Better or worse but what else can we do
When better or worse I am tethered to you
If it's not either of us tell me who are we fooling

This song is the reason this fanmix exists. It’s kind of a break up song, but with lyrics like that, it could just as easily be applied to Roy and Riza being separated. They’d probably be better off if they weren’t together, but who are they kidding? They’re completely useless without each other, and even though they are almost directly responsible for every horrible thing that has ever hurt either of them over their lives, the other is the reason they keep living. That, in my opinion, is one of the strongest forms of love. I actually wrote a fic for FMA fic contest based on this song.

Time of Dying | Three Days Grace [here]

I will not die, I'll wait here for you
I feel alive, when you're beside me
I will not die, I'll wait here for you
In my time of dying

The thing I love about this song is that the chorus pretty much sums up their promise to each other. Roy promised Riza he wouldn’t, and in turn, he ordered her not to. Needless to say, they keep their promises at the end of the manga, but when you put this song in the context of what happened involving a certain Gold-Toothed Doctor, it takes on a whole new meaning.

Close Your Eyes | Basement Jaxx ft. Linda Lewis [here]

I know it seems like we're losing our minds,
and things ain't gonna get better
I know it seems like we're losing our minds,
but we can't change this, it's just the way it is

I get really weird looks every time I listen to this song because it is kind of weird. But this is Roy and Riza for two reasons: the first is that they’ve been through a lot – war, violence, homunculi – and they deserve a little bit of a break in the form of each other, but they can’t/won’t change any of it – not yet anyway. It’s too risky. The other reason is because someone on the FMA forums put up a link to a scene from the animated movie Vexille – in which Travis Willingham plays a character who is Colleen Clinkenbeard’s commanding officer and lover. The song plays in the scene that establishes their relationship at the beginning of the movie. *snerk*

Clear the Area | Imogen Heap [here]

When you find your way back down
In one piece
Then I'll just be waiting here
Right here

Riza seems to do a lot of waiting around for Roy – after he left her father’s house to join the army, after he went to confront the Top Brass about Fuhrer King Bradley – even in the first anime when he was a jerk and left twice (the second time was the hot air balloon), but in the end, he always comes back. It’s like yet another unspoken promise between them, where he promises to come back and she promises to wait for him. This song kind of reflects how close he always is to the edge, and of not coming back, but she waits for him anyway because she knows he will.

Empty | The Click Five [here]

Tried to take a picture of love
Didn't think I'd miss her that much
I wanna fill this new frame
But, it's empty

I imagine this is how they feel all the time, with all the angst they put themselves through. Of always wanting each other but never being in a position to have, of knowing they’d probably be better off without each other but knowing at the same time that they won’t last by themselves, with Ishbal burned into their memories forever and with everything they’ve lost – there have got to be times when they just feel empty.

Need You Now | Lady Antebellum [here]

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now
And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now

Once while I was reading that scene where Pride scares Riza, and she’s all alone at home, and out of nowhere, Roy calls her and offers her flowers with scary, uncanny timing, my iPod shuffled onto this one song that I didn’t even realise was on my iPod and that made the scene almost a million times more heartbreaking. And it was this one. After Wrath separated them, I think there had to be times where they just needed the other to be around, but of course, dark times and all, they couldn’t be.

In Our Bedroom After the War | Stars [here]

All the living are dead
And the dead are all living
The war is over, and we are beginning

I think, if any song could ever describe the peace, and the relief, and the kind of happy fatigue of the end of a war that you won, it would be this one. When this song is Royai-ified, it feels kind of awkward – as if they don’t quite know how to act around each other anymore, but hey, at least the war is over, right? To be honest, I’m a massive fan of Roy and Riza having a period of time where they have to learn that everything’s okay and they don’t have to pretend as much anymore and this song, while some of lyrics might be kind of sad to other people, really personifies the awkwardness between them after the war for me.

The whole thing is here on mediafire!!

Fanfiction: To Smile

2011-03-15T04:35:01Z

Title: To Smile
Word Count: 285
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Ed, Al, Winry
Summary: She smiles for them because she feels like she has to.
Warnings/Notes: For evil_little_dog (who asked for a fic about our Risembool Trio and gave me the prompt 'blanket') and the help_nz fic auction. This is also kind of but not quite a companion to Absence. So... yeah.

To Smile

She smiles for them because she feels like she has to.

She isn’t the only with parents who’ve left, after all – Ed and Al sit by their mother’s grave every afternoon as if their waiting for her to come back too – only they know that she won’t.

Winry’s parents are just out there, that’s all. She doesn’t really have any right to pine for them because they’re still alive and they will come back. But sometimes she can’t help it – she’s sad because they haven’t come back yet and she misses them and she sits by the stile at the end of the road watching for them everyday, wishing they’d never left in the first place.

Then, one day, while she’s waiting at the stile, things happen a little bit differently, and Ed and Al join her too. Ed has a blanket in his arms and Winry can’t help but eye it curiously.

“What’s up?” she asks them, offering her usual, practised smile.

“We know you’re lonely too so you can quit pretending,” says Ed bluntly, trying to look nonchalant.

Al nudges him, frowning. “What he means is we know you miss your parents so you don’t have to pretend you’re okay if you’re not.”

Winry laughs a little. “But I am okay, you guys, really.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” says Ed, dropping the blanket into her lap and whumping down beside her.

Al sits too, taking the blanket from her and throwing it over their shoulders. “We’ll wait with you too. You don’t have to be completely alone.”

Winry says nothing as she tugs the edges of the blanket around their bodies, and for the first time in weeks, she smiles because she can.

Fanfiction: In Absentia Lucis

2011-03-14T14:48:08Z

Title: In Absentia Lucas
Word Count: 1 000
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Roy, Riza
Summary: It hurts because she has always been a physical representation of what little good there is left in his life – his guide and his strength, his light and the reason he's still alive at all.
Warnings/Notes: Spoilers for the end of the manga. Written for the challenge on FFn regarding blind!Roy courtesy of Megami Ze, mebh, Thousand Sunny Lyon and Disastergirl.

In Absentia Lucis

There are flashes of gold in the distance – clear and bright against the curtain of black, but undoubtedly the exact shade of gold he's come to know and love because it's the colour of Riza Hawkeye's hair. Roy's standing alone in the darkness, but the gold is glinting at him: a tiny speck of light as if it's from a candle shining from miles and miles away.

Roy's mind is hazy. He's not entirely sure what's going on. He doesn't know where he is, or why it's all dark, or why there's a light the colour of Riza Hawkeye's hair shining at him from so far away.

"Hawkeye?" he calls tentatively. He doesn't know why he does that either because the light is a light and clearly not her. But he calls her name again because it's the only thing that makes sense in his mind. That exact shade of gold can't be anything else. "Hawkeye!"

He doesn't get an answer, and there's something in his chest that tells him that something is wrong. He takes a step. "Lieutenant!" he calls once more.

Silence.

He's still not sure what's going on, but all of a sudden he's running, and the feeling in his chest is cold and creeping and awful, and it feels as if Hawkeye is in that light somewhere and she's in danger but he doesn't know why –

The onslaught of colour comes out of nowhere, and he raises his arms to shield his eyes from the intensity of the light. The sounds are becoming sharper too and when he drops his arms again, his breath hitches.

No.

The gold he has been chasing is flecked with red. It's drenched in blood. Hawkeye is dying and he is watching as the light in her eyes begins to fade.

No.

"Oh?" There's a voice from somewhere else, and it's taunting him. "She's become quiet. I wonder if she's dead?"

"No!" he cries out. "Lieutenant! Answer me! Hawkeye, goddammit! Lieutenant!"

"Colonel?"

Roy's eyes snap open. The scene is gone. It's quiet. His breathing is shallow and uneven and there's a hand on his shoulder, fingers tight and digging into his skin through the material of his hospital gown. His eyes dart around the room looking for some semblance of light or colour but there's nothing – only the images of his Lieutenant broken and bleeding and dying –

"Riza?" he gasps, raising his arms in a desperate attempt to find her. "Where are you?"

"I'm here, sir," she whispers, catching his arms. "I'm here."

"I can't see you – where - "

He stops, breath catching in his throat. He almost forgets that he's blind.

"Lieutenant," he croaks at last. He clings to her arms, fingers wrapped tightly around her wrists, afraid that she'll move away from him and leave him to flounder by himself in the dark. In his mind's eye, there's still blood pouring from her neck. "Riza."

The bedsprings creak, and he feels the mattress dip down beside him as Riza takes a seat. "I'm here, sir," she says again.

It takes a few moments for his breathing to settle before Roy can find it in himself to sit up. "Riza," he says once more, still shaky – still afraid that she'll disappear. She doesn't, and she reaffirms her presence by gripping his wrists as tightly as he's gripping hers. "You're okay?" he asks at last.

There's a pause, and Roy suspects – and hopes with all his being – that she's nodding. "Yes sir," she whispers.

Roy only half believes it. He releases her wrists and lifts his hands towards her, finding her shoulder first and proceeding to trace along her collar bone to the bandages at her throat. He can feel her tense beneath his fingers but she doesn't stop him, so he continues. "You're okay," he whispers again.

"I am," she states, voice trembling a little. She catches his hands as he tries to lift them to her face. "Sir?"

He pulls her into his arms before she can object and holds her there as tight as he can without hurting her. He can still see her bleeding out in his mind and more than anything, he just wants that image to go away. It's this exact moment that he realises that it won't, and the image of how close he had come to losing her forever will haunt him forever – branded into the darkness that only he can see.

But she's safe, he tells himself. She's here – and he can't see her, but she's in his arms and she's breathing and she's okay.

He can feel her hesitate, but after a moment, she lifts her arms and wraps them around his neck. "You're alright... Roy..." she murmurs. "You're alright..."

Roy shakes his head into her shoulder and tightens his arms around her waist. "I'm not," he whispers, shaky and upset. He's blind, he reminds himself. He can't see her. He's hardly okay at all. Roy shudders and breathes a sigh. "But you are."

Riza shifts in his arms, and it feels like she's about to say something. She doesn't, but Roy wishes that she would because every moment she doesn't speak brings the image of her blood back into his mind.

"Riza?" he asks her timidly.

"I'm not going anywhere, sir," she mumbles at last. "And – and things –" she pauses, breath hitching, " – they'll get better – and we'll get through this. We will."

Roy says nothing and nods into her shoulder, wishing more than anything for the ability to believe it because he can tell by the sound of her voice, and from the tears that threaten to be there, that she doesn't believe it either.

It hurts because she has always been a physical representation of what little good there is left in his life – his guide and his strength, his light and the reason he's still alive at all.

But he can't see her. He can't see his light.

There's only darkness and the memory of her blood on his hands.

Fanfiction: FMA_Fic_Contest Entries

2011-02-02T10:58:10Z

Title: Asleep on a Plane
Word Count: 1 100
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Roy, Riza, ME
Summary: Finally, Hawkeye coughed. "The girl's crazy."
Notes: Won third place for Prompt 94: Realistic Self Insert.

Asleep on a Plane

“There’s a girl here in Central,” said Hawkeye as she handed Mustang a file. “She’s a civilian but they’re calling her some sort of psychic because, apparently, she seems to know a lot of things that are going to happen and a lot about the military in general.”

Mustang considered the file and brought a thoughtful hand to his lips. “How do we know about her?” he asked, frowning up at his Lieutenant.

Hawkeye gestured at the file in his hands. “Edward ran into her, sir. He said that she knows a disturbing amount about his past and she claims to know a lot of the developments that have happened lately – including the mission to escort Maria Ross out of the country.”

“What?” snapped Mustang. “How could a civilian possibly - ?”

“Edward also said she’s quite eager to see us.”

Mustang shot her a look. “Us?”

“Yes, sir,” said Hawkeye. “I think it might be in our best interests to pay her a visit.”

The hut was on the outskirts of Central. Judging by the state of it, it had been uninhabited for quite some time, and Mustang grimaced as he raised a hand to knock on the beaten down wood of the door.

“You can come in!”

Mustang glanced uneasily at his Lieutenant and jerked his head at her as he pushed open the door. Hawkeye looked as if she had rested a hand on one of the holsters she wore at her back. Taking a breath, Mustang stepped in first.

“Hello?”

“Oh. My. God.”

The second Mustang saw her, he had a feeling there was no need to have brought his gloves. He motioned for Hawkeye to stand down. There was no way the girl could have been any older than eighteen, and the fascination on her features told him that there was no way in all hell that she was a threat.

“You’re the girl Fullmetal was talking about?”

She stared at them. “Oh. My. God,” she said again. “It’s you guys! I was hoping I’d get to meet you before I woke up!”

Mustang threw a glance at his Lieutenant who looked about as equally confused. The number of questions that exploded in his head was almost headache-worthy. “...Before you wake up?” asked Mustang finally.

The girl nodded at him eagerly. “See, there’s no way in all hell any of this is real, and the last thing I remember before I landed here was getting on a seven hour flight to the Philippines – so logically this is all a dream.” She shrugged and took in the state of the hut, bringing a mug of what looked like white coffee to her lips. “It explains how this mug never runs out of coffee, anyway.”

“...What?”

She waved a hand at him dismissively and looked from Hawkeye to him and back again. “You guys should get married,” she stated plainly.

Behind him, he heard Hawkeye sputter.

“Married?” choked Mustang. “Where on earth did that come from?”

The girl shrugged and took another sip from her coffee. “Well, you should,” she told them lightly. “Or at least, Colonel, grab your chances to kiss her while you still have them – it’ll save you a lot of trouble, believe me.”

Mustang’s back stiffened involuntarily and he felt the heat rising quickly to his face. “What the - ?” He shook his head and glared down at her. “Just – who the hell are you?”

She almost laughed at him. “I’m just a frustrated fan who didn’t get the Royai closure that she wanted. What can you do, right?” She shrugged. “People call me Jelly, by the way. No one bothers with my real name anymore, so you may as well.”

Mustang frowned at her and glanced at his Lieutenant. “Is this kid for real?” he muttered.

“Sir, I think it’d just be best if we made this quick,” she mumbled, refusing to look him in the eye.

Sighing, Mustang turned back to the girl. “Alright fine, Miss... Jelly, Edward told us you know a lot about what’s going on in the military. Tell us what you know.”

She considered them for a moment, taking a seat on a nearby crate and placing her down gently. “Well, I can’t tell you everything because that’d ruin it for everyone. Here’s what I can tell you though – ” She pointed at Hawkeye. “You are going to have more run-ins with homunculi than everyone else, but for someone in your vicinity of awesome, that’s kind of a given. By being the Colonel’s love interest – ”

“Excuse me?” snapped Hawkeye.

The girl – Jelly – grinned at her. “You guys are nuts for each other and you know it. Anyway, you’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble which is going to make you – ” she pointed at the Colonel – “freak out quite a bit. Especially when you find out the deal with Bradley’s son.” She paused and thought for a moment. “You’re gonna end up going through the mill, Colonel – it was painful for us readers too, just so you know. Except when you went apeshit on the douchebag who killed Hughes because he had it coming.”

“You know who killed Hughes?” asked Mustang sharply. “Who did it?”

“Can’t tell you,” said Jelly. “It’d ruin it for everyone. Just believe me when I say that.” She turned back to Hawkeye. “Also, purely because you go everywhere he goes – for better or for worse – you’re going to end up through the mill too. Sorry guys.”

There was a pause after the girl’s prediction, and Mustang glanced from his Lieutenant to her again wondering whether it was a good idea to believe her or not. “You’re crazy,” he said finally. “You made all of that up.”

Jelly smirked. “I’m not crazy. Just over-analytical. And maybe just a little bit obsessed.”

Mustang studied her for a moment. “Is there anything you can tell us that will serve as proof that you’re telling the truth?”

Again, Jelly smirked. “You learnt alchemy by seeing Hawkeye topless.”

Mustang felt his face burn. Behind him, Hawkeye made an indistinguishable sort of noise of embarrassment.

When they left the little hut shortly afterwards, they left in an awkward sort of silence.

Finally Hawkeye coughed. “The girl’s crazy.”

Mustang made a noise of assent. “Yep,” he choked. “Definitely crazy.”

“Jelly, you gotta get up, we just landed.”

Jelly stirred and glared sleepily at her sister. “Best dream ever,” she mumbled, stretching her arms above her head and stumbling out of the plane seat.

Title: Absence
Word Count: 499
Rating: G
Characters: Pinako, the Elrics and the Rockbells
Summary: None of them come back.
Notes: Won third place for Prompt 96: Growing Up in Risembool

Absence

The Elrics lose their father first.

Pinako’s not sure about what happened – Trisha’s not exactly clear on the subject. All the information Pinako has is this: one day, Hohenheim is a happy father with a happy family and a bright, happy future – the next, he’s gone, and no one knows where he’s disappeared to and the only evidence of his existence are the photos tacked on the wall in the Rockbell house and the boys he’s left Trisha to raise on her own.

Trisha’s not wholly upset about it, for some reason. “I’m a little disappointed that he couldn’t stay longer is all,” she tells Pinako. “But he’ll be back. We made a promise.”

“What about your boys?” asks Pinako.

Trisha offers the old woman a sad smile. “They’ll understand some day.”

Pinako casts a glance at the children in the corner and can’t help but wonder if they ever will.

Trisha is the next to leave them.

She’s sick. She’s been sick for a while, and by the time Ed and Al catch on, she’s counting her days on one hand. The boys are sitting by her bedside when Pinako enters the room, trying, in their own childish way, to be strong and resolute for their mother. They must old enough to understand the expression on Pinako’s face because they excuse themselves and exit the room.

“How are you feeling?” asks Pinako, grimacing as a guilt twanged in her chest. The boys shouldn’t have had to leave, but she doubts they’ll like this conversation.

Trisha shrugs a little. “You’ll take care of Ed and Al for me, won’t you?” she asks.

“Of course,” Pinako nods. “But Hohenheim should be here. For all of you.”

Trisha smiles at her sadly. “He’ll be back,” she whispers. “But I won’t be able to keep my promise. Apologise to him for me, okay?”

“What about the boys?”

“They’ll understand,” answers Trisha.

“They never will if you leave now,” frowns the old woman.

Trisha says nothing and looks away.

Urey and his wife leave them too.

There’s fighting in Ishbal and there are a lack of doctors. The military arrives at their doorstep one day to ask for their assistance. Winry’s old enough to understand why but still young and naive enough to question why there is fighting in the first place.

“You shouldn’t have to leave Winry behind like this,” Pinako tells them, the night before they leave.

Sara shrugs sadly. “I know. But these people need us and we’d be ashamed to call ourselves doctors if we didn’t do something.”

“We’ll be back,” promises Urey. “Winry will understand.”

Pinako grimaces. She’s heard those words one too many times. She’s disappointed in her son and daughter-in-law that they’re leaving their daughter too. “Make sure you do,” she says finally with a resigned sigh. “Or she never will.”

None of them come back. And if there’s one thing Pinako’s learnt, it’s this: the children don’t understand. They never do.

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: The Road is Longer Still

2010-12-30T09:21:03Z

Title: The Road is Longer Still
Word Count: 3 771
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairings: Roy, Riza
Summary: They road is long but they are together - as they have always been and as they will always be - that is all that matters.
Warnings: Spoilers for the end of the manga.

The Road is Longer Still

iii. the end

They pick through what’s left of Central HQ together – as always – as they should be, but not quite as a Them just yet. They are both wounded, both exhausted, but they’re both alive and they’re together and that’s what matters most.

It’s kind of new to them. It shouldn’t really feel like a novelty, they think – they’ve been together a long time, after all, but not like this. Not with this kind of proximity. She has either been on a pedestal or working under him and there has never really been any place for a Them to exist. It has always been Him and Her; Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye; separated by ranks, and laws, and fears, and a distance of two steps.

Today, at the end of it all, they are together still, and they are almost a Them, with arms slung about each other, mostly for support (because he can’t see, and she’s lost too much blood to be trusted to walk on her own – at least he thinks so) but also because it’s a comfort to feel the other still living, still breathing, and still attached to their side.

It’s been a long road. They are battered. They are bruised. But they’re together – as they always have been – and as they always will be.

Mustang goes to see her the second Marcoh restores his eyesight.

The nurse stationed at the entrance of her tent shakes her head. “She’s resting,” she snaps. “You can’t just go in and – ”

“Just ten minutes,” he interrupts, almost pleading with her. He’s fidgeting nervously in his pockets: he needs to see. He needs to see for himself that she’s resting the way they say she is. He needs to see her for himself with the eyesight he’s just regained before he can allow himself to believe that she’s really okay. “Please?” he asks.

The nurse sighs heavily and looks as if she’s fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Look, I’m not the one who comes up with the rules, okay? Why can’t you just take our word for it when we say she’s okay?”

He grumbles a little and turns his eyes to the ground. “Why can’t you just let me see her?” he whines. Why can’t she understand? He thinks. How can she not see how desperate he is? “I’ll be quick – I won’t disturb her – just ten minutes!”

“I think not,” says the nurse, sounding weary. “I’m going to have to ask you to clear off now or I’ll call security, Mister...?”

“Mustang,” he seethes. “Ten minutes, okay? Please?”

The nurse pauses and considers him for a moment. “Mustang, you say?” she asks, eyes narrowed at him.

“Yes,” says Mustang, exasperated and frowning a little but daring to raise his hopes. “Colonel Mustang of the Amestris Military and the woman you’re refusing to let me see is my aide and close personal friend – so please – just let me see her.” At this point in time, he’s about ready to both order her out of the way and get on his knees and beg, because the anxiety is eating at him and he needs to see her right now or he’ll lose his mind with worry and longing and – he just – he misses her – and it’s only been a few hours since he saw her last. He wonders how he ever managed to be apart from her for longer before.

The nurse studies him from under a furrowed brow before, finally, she rolls her eyes and steps back. “Doctor Knox warned me about you,” she tells him. She doesn’t sound pleased that her patient is being disturbed, but she parts the entrance of the tent for him anyway. “Ten minutes, Colonel,” she warns.

Hawkeye’s lying on a cot on the far side of the tent; bandages at her throat and shoulder, battered and exhausted, but she’s okay – more than okay, she’s recovering, and she’ll be back on her feet in no time, he knows it – but right now, he wants nothing more than take her in his arms and hold her there and never, ever, ever let her out of his sight again.

But he doesn’t do that, of course. Years of waiting have tempered him and hold him back, and instead, he yanks at the chair next to her bed and seats himself at her bedside to watch over her.

His new vision seems clearer than before. It’s as if he’s been wearing a shade over his eyes for years and years because he looks at his Lieutenant now and realises that she’s kind of beautiful. No. Not kind of. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he feels a little ashamed for having never come to this conclusion before. And all of a sudden, he has an urge to take her hand.

If he can’t hold her and never let her out of his sight again, his mind reasons, then the least he can do to tell her what he’s never had the courage to say – and to satisfy his own need to at least touch her – is this. He can do that, can’t he? He can take her hand and tell her without speaking that he needs her to be beside him forever.

And just as he lifts his hand and covers hers, she stirs a little and opens her eyes.

“Riza!” he blurts, her name spilling from his mouth like a secret he’d been itching to tell someone for much too long. He sounds like a child, relieved and excited all at once, and hardly the grown man and Colonel he’s supposed to be. “I mean – ” he corrects himself, trying to maintain some form of dignity, “Lieutenant – uh – Hawkeye... er...”

She’s looking at him oddly and he wonders whether it’s because he’d used her name or because he’s stuttering like a nervous teenager.

It’s neither, it turns out, because her brow is furrowed and she says, “Sir... your eyes...”

He smiles at her. “Doctor Marcoh helped me restore them,” he tells her, “on the condition that I revise the policies on Ishbal and help the Ishbalans rebuild.” He pauses. Her hand is still in his. “You’ll – you’ll help me, won’t you?” he asks nervously. He hates how he sounds – it’s as if he actually thinks she would leave him at this point in time – that she’s finally had enough and wants out. (He’s not sure he can handle being alone – she’s been with him for far too long and if she leaves now – even if it’s because she wants to – he’s going to feel so very, very lost without her).

The corners of her lips twitch. Then she sniggers a little, and lies her head back on her pillow, lifting her free hand to massage the bridge of her nose.

“Ri – Lieutenant, are you laughing at me?”

“Only a little, sir,” she replies, looking back at him. She’s smiling, and it’s a moment before he realises that she’s squeezing the hand that’s still in hers reassuringly and intertwining their fingers. “There’s a little way to go yet, and I just don’t see how someone like you would manage it by yourself.”

He looks at her stupidly before he realises that she’s just given him an answer to his unspoken question. It’s in her eyes, and in her smile, and she looks a little nervous too, as if she’s not sure it’s okay for her to be the one establishing a Them before he formally asks her and as if she’s not sure there’s a place for a Them to exist at all. But she knows how his mind works, and she’s giving him the answer now so that when they are sure of it and he does ask her properly, he already has it.

Yes, Roy, I will be here, right beside you, forever. Please stop asking, for God’s sakes if not yours.

And then he grins, and squeezes her hand back, raising his other hand to brush at her fringe.

This proximity is still new to Them. It’s no longer Him and Her; Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye, separated by ranks and fears and distances.

It’s Them: Him and Her; Roy and Riza; Colonel Mustang and his Lieutenant Hawkeye, and Lieutenant Hawkeye and her Colonel Mustang; separated now by only ranks. They are together – as always – but as a Them, and as they should be.

It will take a little getting used to, this closeness between them – but the road is longer still, and they have plenty of time.

ii. the middle

They make their way back East together – as always – as it should be – as a Them. The roads have been rebuilt and the railway from Amestris to Xing is near finished. They’re busy again, and sometimes they get a little tired, but they’ve come to the middle of things and it’s turned out okay. They’re together still, anyway, and that’s what matters most.

They have been a Them for a little while now. It’s less new, but still new, and they are still adjusting, along with everything else. He still not used calling her his – to knowing that she’s his, and she’s not yet accustomed to calling him by name, but that’s okay. A Them exists and they’re getting there.

Today, they are on a train, and they’re on their way back to Ishbal to supervise the Reconstruction. They’re leaning on each other: Riza – saying her name still feels like a novelty but he likes saying it, and he feels like he should make up for the years he’d spent calling her Hawkeye instead – Riza’s asleep with her head against his shoulder, and his arm is wrapped around her like it belongs around her waist. She looks exhausted.

They are both tired but they are both pleased. They have made it this far, and they’re going to keep going along this road: they’ll fix this country, and they’ll make it to the top – and they’ll do it together; as they always have and as they always will.

They stop over in Risembool because they had promised they would visit on their way back to Ishbal.

It’s on the way and they have time – another novelty; they’ve never had so much time before – so they don’t mind. Riza’s sitting in the Elrics’ sitting room while General Mustang – Roy, she corrects herself – is discussing supposedly political matters with Edward (Ed’s yelling though and she can hear the Gener – Roy laughing at him, which can only mean they’re hardly being political at all). Winry is with her, and her daughter, Nina, is cooing happily in Riza’s lap.

“You make such a good aunt, Riza,” says Winry, smiling at her brightly. She’s ignoring the noise from the kitchen as if it happens all the time. “We’re glad you and the General stopped by.”

Riza offers the younger girl a smile and bounces Nina on her knees. “Believe me, we are too. It’s been busy, so the opportunity to rest is more than appreciated.”

“When are you going to tie the knot?”

Riza pauses and gives Winry a look. More than one person has told them that it’s “about bloody time,” (as Breda so aptly put it) and even more have started betting pools on how the Gen – Roy will go about a proposal (courtesy of her Grandfather who started the first with Havoc while out East overseeing a training exercise). “You’ve been itching to ask that question, haven’t you?” she asks finally, a little amused.

Winry shrugs, grinning. “We all know you guys are an item – we just want to know when it’ll be, you know, official.”

Riza laughs. “When we’re ready,” she tells the younger girl. Nina’s giggling a little, and Riza wraps her arms around the little girl and stands to hand her back to her mother. “The road’s longer still, and there’s a lot to do.”

“Hm,” Winry says, taking her daughter back in her arms. “You know, Ed and I have always admired you and General Mustang.”

There’s still shouting in the kitchen, and it’s starting to give Riza a mild headache. She would have thought General Mu – Roy would have a little more maturity than this. “By the sounds of it, Edward’s hardly admired – ” she almost pauses here, caught between the habit of using his title and the novelty of using his name – “Roy at all.”

Winry rolls her eyes. “Please,” she sniggers. “They’re men – and it’s Edward – I’ve always looked up to you anyway, Riza. The dedication you give the General and your work – it’s something I really admire.”

Riza smiles at her. “Thank you, Winry,” she says quieter than she means to. “That means a lot.”

“I would hope so,” says Winry earnestly, “we just want you two to get married already. After everything you’ve done, you deserve to be happy.” She pauses for a moment and looks as if she wants to say something else, before her lips quirk upwards and she stands. “I want to win my bet against Al too,” she adds finally, before disappearing into the kitchen and yelling at her husband to show a little more respect to his elders.

“Can I ask what all the yelling was about, sir?” asks Riza as they step back onto the train. Roy rests his hand on the small on her back as they move along the aisle and into an empty compartment at the end of the carriage. She’s getting better with these kinds of displays, but it still sends small, comforting shivers up her spine when he does it and she’s not expecting it.

Roy shrugs a little. “Edward thinks I haven’t proposed to you yet,” he says casually, taking a seat.

“Technically, sir,” says Riza, smirking, “you haven’t.”

“But I know the answer, so is there even any point?”

Riza laughs at him and rests her head on his shoulder again. Out of habit, she does it gingerly – as if she’s testing the limits of how much affection she can show even though she knows she should be used to it. “Probably not, but one does like to hear it.”

Roy scoffs. “Would you like to hear it then, Riza?” he asks her, smiling into her hair.

She likes it when he says her name because it still sounds like he’s savouring its taste on his tongue and she likes saying his name too – sort of. She still hasn’t broken the habit of formalities, but she’s well on the way to being able to say it without hesitating. “There’s still a long way to go, Roy,” she answers finally.

“But you’ll marry me someday, won’t you?” he asks her, unable to rid his face of the stupid grin that has manifested on his lips.

Riza laughs softly. “Someday,” she murmurs, smiling. “When everything’s as fixed as we can get it.”

“And... you’ll follow me until then... won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Sir,” she reprimands, exasperated. Ge – Roy can be particularly stupid sometimes – one would think that the answer would still be yes after all this time – after she even agreed to marry him someday. She wants to hit him for being dense and irritating on purpose, but she doesn’t because she supposes it would be unlike him to stop being both – and that would be far too strange.

Roy laughs a little and sighs.

The road is longer still, yes, and they’ve only just reached the middle, but they’re together as a Them now – as they should be – and knowing that they’ll still be together at the end of all things is enough to get them there.

i. the beginning

They make their way up the strip of carpet lining the ballroom floor together – as always – as expected – but they are no longer just a Them. He is a King now – as close as he will get to being a King anyway, but she is his Queen in every meaning of the word and they’re together and that’s what matters to them most.

They have long since adjusted to displays of affection and to addressing each other by their first names. They have fixed what they can and his goal has been reached – all that remains is for her to follow through with her promise and stand as a Queen at his side.

Today, they are in Central at their – at the Fuhrer and his wife’s wedding reception. Their arms are linked, and their smiles are wide, and they’re together – finally – as One. The rings are glistening on their fingers and neither of them is entirely sure whether they’ve ever been this happy.

They’re here now, at what feels like the end of the road – only it hardly feels like the end at the same time because this is the beginning of a new road entirely. And they are together; that’s the most important thing about it. They are together – as they always have been – and as they forever will be.

Grumman greets his new grandson-in-law with a proud smile as Riza excuses herself to use the bathroom.

“Fine choice, Fuhrer Mustang,” he beams, raising a glass to him. “I’m glad you followed through with my request. I expect you to start calling me Grandfather from now on.”

Roy beams back. “I think that was more or less Riza’s choice, sir, but I’m not about to complain that she decided to stick with me.” Even after all I’ve put her through, he wants to add, but he knows – as she’s told him many times – that it was her choice to follow him and that what she’s gone through with him is hardly his fault.

Grumman snorts into his wine. “As if she would do anything else,” he guffaws, taking a swig. “The two of you have been through a lot together – it’s only right that you’re together like this in the end.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so too,” laughs Roy, shoving his free hand into his pocket.

“I think the entire country would think so,” sniggers Grumman. “Anyone who’s been following the news and seen the photos of you and Riza in the newspaper without ever having met you would have been wondering when you’d get married. I’m just glad I lived to see it.”

Roy laughs again, and because he can think of nothing else, he takes the hand from his pocket and salutes the old man. “Thank you, sir,” he tells him warmly, “for believing in me and for entrusting me with your granddaughter.”

“I didn’t entrust her to you,” rebuts Grumman. “She did. Like you said, it was her choice – and I think she couldn’t have made a better one.” He lifts a hand to salute him in return with a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fuhrer Mustang.” And he raises his glass to him, and turns away as his granddaughter reappears at her place at Roy’s right hand.

They dance together as if they’ve done it all their lives.

Well. Technically speaking, that’s exactly what they’ve been doing: dancing around each other in circles – almost but not quite coming together and moving apart but always just within reach. It’s been the nature of their relationship since they were children, and it’s only now that they realise it and are forever thankful that they have finally come together properly.

Riza looks beautiful. She always has, thinks Roy as he spins her, but tonight, garbed in her wedding gown (which she had argued wasn’t necessary because she would have been perfectly fine getting married in uniform like he had), she is radiant, and he’s infinitely glad that he gets to call her his.

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” he asks her, pulling her close.

She smiles up at him. “Maes would be proud, sir.”

Roy pulls a face at her. “Riza,” he whines. She’s grown out of the habit of calling him ‘sir’ when she’s not on duty, so he has a feeling she’s only doing it now to annoy him. It’s their wedding night – she can’t really be referring to him as her superior tonight, of all nights.

Riza tosses her head back and laughs a little. “Roy,” she corrects. “He should be here now, though,” she says, smiling. “Maes would be proud.”

“His ghost would have a camera,” Roy smiles.

“Yes,” says Riza, leaning her head against his chest. “He would.”

They’re swaying on the spot now, and he shifts his arms so that she fits into them and rests his chin atop her head. Years of waiting, of working, and of separation have taken their toll on him because he never wants to let her go again. This is how they should be – how they’ve wanted to be for so long – and to know that it’s finally a reality sends Roy into a fits of joy and giddiness.

He thinks that after all the wrong they’ve done; all the sins they have committed and all the lives they have taken, they don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve the happiness they’ve so fortunately been granted, but perhaps the Truth, or the God he doesn’t believe in, or the universe is kinder than he’s given it – or them – credit for, and all the work, the years of waiting, the pain and the longing have been equivalent enough for this.

Just this; just the knowledge that Riza Hawkeye now bears his last name and that she’s his – his forever.

“We’re still together,” he says finally – as if he’s just realised it.

“So we are,” murmurs Riza. He can hear the smile in her voice and he’s glad – really glad – pathetically glad that it’s true.

They’ve stopped swaying now. He’s holding her to his chest and smiling into her hair, and they’re standing still in the middle of the dance floor, clinging to each other as if they’re afraid it’ll all go away. But it doesn’t, and Roy breathes in the scent of her hair and opens his mouth to speak. “The road is longer still...” he starts.

And she shifts a little and pulls away just enough so that she can press her forehead against his. “We’ll walk it together,” she tells him, confidently – firmly – in a tone of voice that’s warning him not to ask her again if she’ll stay on it with him. “Together. As we always have.”

He laughs softly and ducks his head so that his lips meet hers. “As we should,” he murmurs. “And as we always will.”

xx

I've had nothing to do all holiday but write. Lots and lots. And I've a feeling that I'm wearing myself out. Was it completely horrible?

Original Fiction: Pride

2010-12-29T11:34:00Z

Title: Pride
Word Count: 2 607
Summary: She is the best. No one will ever compare.
Warnings: None

Pride

She is the best.

She knows she sounds arrogant when she says it, but she doesn’t really care that much because knows it’s true: no one is better. No one compares. Academically, she’s brilliant – she receives top marks in every subject and her teachers adore her because she’s the hardest working. Physically, she’s beautiful – she’s fit and in shape and even though she works hard to keep it that way, she has more than one boy trying to win her heart.

Life is good for her. She is the best.

She doubts anyone will ever compare.

There’s a new girl at school one day, and she’s introduced to her by a friend.

She’s weary of her – she’s shy and a little bit quiet, but perhaps that’s just because she’s new. She looks intelligent and she’s roughly the same in build and height – she’s not sure what to make of this girl just yet, but she has a feeling they’ll get along well.

They do. Two months after they are introduced, she and the new girl are the best of friends. They are what the other isn’t: complete polar opposites and one would think they would completely detest each other – but they don’t. Where she is dominant and forward, the girl is passive and assertive only when she needs to be. Where she is aggressive and terrifying to younger students, the girl is gentle and impossible not to like.

They are both intelligent; both hard working; both pretty.

But compared to her level, the girl is nothing.

She is still better. She is the best.

She likes knowing that she holds the hearts of several boys. She likes knowing that she’s beautiful and alluring enough to rope in more than one man. She likes knowing that she will probably be the first to fall in love.

But she’s not.

The girl is.

She doesn’t quite understand how this works. The girl is neither prettier or cleverer than she is. In comparison to her, the girl should just be a shadow – a mere second to her beauty and charm. But between the two of them, the girl is the one who discovers the joys and heartaches of falling in and out of love first.

She doesn’t get it.

It should be her.

But it’s not.

It takes her a while, but in the end, she shrugs it off. No matter, she thinks. She’s still better. She’s still the best.

One lunch break, the girl hands her binder and timetable and bends over to do the laces on her shoes.

She gives it a once over and frowns at the girl. “You’re doing the Suicide Six?”

The girl looks at her oddly and straightens up, reaching for her binder again. “Suicide Six?” she asks, looking genuinely confused.

She jabs at her timetable. “Look at that – Chemistry, Physics, Bio, Calculus, English and – ” she pauses and looks for the sixth subject – “an extension subject – look there. English Literature.”

The girl scratches at her head awkwardly. “Oh. Well... yeah, I guess.”

“Can you handle that?”

The girl shrugs. “It’s not that bad, to be honest. I mean, I haven’t died yet – and I love the Sciences so... I suppose it just depends on how much you like your subjects.”

She’s scowling a little. This girl is proving to be better than she thought.

No matter. She’s still better. She knows it.

She walks in on the girl one day while she’s in the middle of a music lesson.

“Oh,” the girl greets her with a smile. “Hi.”

She doesn’t quite know what to make of this. She hadn’t known this new girl could play. “Hi,” she replies awkwardly. She doesn’t like how she sounds – she is confident because she is the best: there is no need for her to be feeling awkward. She shakes it off and peers over the girl’s shoulder. “What are you playing?”

The girl taps at the sheet music. “It’s the theme from Scheherazade,” she answers. “One of my favourites.”

She’s on the verge of saying she’s never heard of it, but she thinks better of herself. She is the best. She’s never ‘not heard’ of anything. Instead, she forces herself to smile back at the girl. “I used to play once too,” she says importantly. “On strings. I stopped though. It got boring.”

The girl chuckles. “Theory can be like that,” she says. “How long did you play for?”

She shrugs. “Three years more or less,” she says casually. “You?”

The girl pauses for a moment and glances at the ceiling, trying to remember. “About six now,” she says finally. “It’s a shame I never bothered with the exams. I could be tutoring other people now – God knows I need the money.”

She’s on the verge of saying something else, but there’s a tapping on her shoulder, and she looks around to find herself facing a woman who she supposes is the girl’s teacher. “If you don’t mind,” the woman says, “I’d like to get back one of my most talented students.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the girl blush a little “You don’t mean that, Miss.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” scoffs the woman.

She doesn’t know why, but she finds herself wanting to scowl. “I guess I’ll go,” she tells the girl. She turns on her heel before the girl has the chance to wave. She’s angry for some reason.

The girl is more talented than she had given her credit for.

But no. She’s still better than her. She’s still the best.

One day, in class, they are told that their next assignment is creative writing.

She laughs. “Oh this’ll be a piece of cake,” she chuckles loudly.

Beside her, the girl looks pleased as well. “Sure will,” she says. “I love creative writing tasks.”

She scoffs. “Personally, I think you’re no match for me,” she tells her. It’s true, she thinks, no matter how arrogant it sounds. She is the best the school’s ever seen. She’s been told so. Several times.

But the girl raises an eyebrow at her and gives her an amused smile. “You really think so?” she says, picking at her mechanical pencil and reaching for the canister of lead in her pencil case.

She nods confidently. “No offense, but I am the best.”

The girl gives her a kind of smirk. “Guess we’ll have to see if that’s true, yeah?”

She’s not sure what to make of this. The girl sounds confident in her own skill, but she knows she’s better. There’s no way she’s not – she’s been writing for too long and she knows the tricks back to front. She knows she’s better than her, but there’s something about the smirk the girl gives her that kind of unnerves her.

It’s nothing, she tells herself. She’s the best. The girl is nothing.

She takes the girl to her gym one morning to run off the frustrations of the week.

The girl’s in better shape than she had given her credit for but it’s the girl who’s the one eyeing the treadmill curiously so she thinks nothing of it.

“It’s been a while since I’ve bothered with one of these,” the girl says, glancing at her.

She smiles at her smugly at hops on the first one, setting up her speed. The girl’s busy, pushing earphones into her ears and pocketing her iPod into the front pocket of her sports vest before doing some quick stretches and finally jumping onto the second.

She peers over the girl’s shoulder as she starts to run. The speed’s at a measly seven kilometres an hour. Hers is at fifteen. She smirks.

She’s better. This is proof.

But half an hour later, she’s fighting a cramp in her leg and a stitch in her side and her speed’s gone down to a pathetic four kilometres per hour. The girl is still running, and her speed is now at ten.

She’s not pleased with herself.

She’s better than the girl. She is. But the girl isn’t the one with pain in her leg and her side.

And for the first time, she begins to doubt if she really is the best.

The girl is rising in the ranks and she doesn’t like it.

There are teachers talking about her and younger students who look up to her and peers who see her as cleverer and better than she is.

No. No. She cannot have this. She is the best. The girl is nothing.

So she does everything in her power to reinstate herself. She walks faster than the girl; walks prouder and straighter so that it appears that the girl is the one who is lagging behind, not her; she talks over her and on days when they are both asked a question, she does everything in her power to prevent the girl from speaking.

She is the better one. She is better, and cleverer, and fitter, and prettier, and more talented than the girl.

Not the other way around.

She is the best. This girl will not take that title away from her.

The girl is missing in English one morning, and their teacher is talking about their creative writing assessment.

“Top marks,” the teacher is saying. “Emma Galbraith marked all the ones from our class and she won’t stop talking about it.”

She’s puffing herself up because she knows it’s about hers, but right at that moment, the girl bursts through the classroom door, puffing and sheet music in hand.

“Sorry I’m late, Miss,” she says, panting. “Performance went over time and we had to clean up afterwards.”

The teacher smiles at her. “Don’t be sorry! I just heard about your marks.”

The girl straightens and shrugs off her backpack. “My... marks...?” she asks, frowning a little.

“Your creative writing,” clarifies the teacher. “Top of the grade. Emma – you know, Miss Galbraith? – she’s usually a really tough marker but she won’t shut up about your work. She’s really impressed.”

The girl stares for a moment. Then she bursts out laughing. “Are you serious?” she gasps, joy filling every corner of her being. “Wow! Really?”

In an effort to remind the girl and her teacher that she still exists, she coughs lightly. “Did she say anything about mine?”

The teacher frowns. “An... A minus, I think. Still an A. I wouldn’t complain.”

The girl looks thrilled at her grade.

She is furious.

It looks as if she’s no longer the best. And she’s not happy about it.

Neither of them get Dux, but she’s seething.

The girl looks pleased with the position she’s gained – second in the grade.

She’s third in the grade. Third.

She’s not happy. At all.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asks her, as she takes her seat again, certificates in hand. “You topped three subjects. I would have thought you’d be happy about that, at least.”

She snarls. “I’m not Dux,” she snaps.

The girl frowns. “You need to lighten up. So you’re not the best in the grade – all it does is give you bragging rights.”

She says nothing.

On Prom Night, she looks at herself in the mirror in her flowing red dress, the black headdress in her long, loose hair placed neatly above her right ear.

She looks stunning.

She’ll be the most beautiful tonight, she thinks. She will be. She’s more beautiful than the girl at least, if she’s not better academically, artistically or physically. She will beat her tonight. The girl will look like trash next to her.

But she arrives at their meeting place before they are picked up by the limo and finds that she’s not.

The girl is speaking to her date. Her hair has been pulled to one side and held up with a single, silver comb. She’s wearing a simple set of earrings and a thin silver chain around her neck. Her dress is modest and floor length, but she’s more beautiful than she has ever seen her.

She’s not sure what to say.

“You look good,” she says in the end, rather stiffly and unsmiling.

“You look gorgeous,” the girl tells her warmly with the brightest smile she’s ever seen.

I’m better, she tells herself. I am. I am the best.

But there’s a stronger, clearer voice in her head that sounds horribly like the girl’s – firm and confident and assertive – like her on the days she needs to be. No, it says. You’re not.

She yells at her later that night at a friend’s after party in an alcohol induced rage. “Why? Why do you get to be so happy when you barely even try? I’m better than you! I am! But you don’t give a damn and you’re smarter, fitter, and just – better than everything that I am! Why is that?”

She’s making a scene, but she really doesn’t care. The other guests have stopped in mid-conversation, drinks half raised but forgotten.

The girl looks at her, features pulled into half of a frown. Then, calmly, gently, she takes the bottle of alcohol from her hand and places it on the counter.

“You’ve had a bit much to drink,” she murmurs. Then she takes her hand and begins to pull her outside. “Come on.”

But she wrenches her wrist from her grip and glares at her, fingers jabbing accusingly into her chest. “No! Answer the damn question!”

The girl breathes a soft sigh and glances at the other party guests. “I was never trying to be better than you,” she says barely louder than a whisper. “I never cared about competition. I just wanted to do the best I could do – not beat you at every game.”

“Bull!” she shouts. “How can you not care about competition? How can you not care about who you’re better than?”

The girl’s frowning at her and jerks her head at a friend behind her. She hands him her cell phone and murmurs something she can’t quite hear, and he nods, stepping outside to make a call. “Is that how you look at everything?” she asks finally. “A competition? Something you can prove yourself in?” She scoffs a little. “You’ve got a long way to go if that’s what you really think.”

She snarls and grabs at the girl’s shirt. “Shut up!” she yells. “How dare you beli-” She cuts herself off.

There’s a steely glint in her friend’s eyes that she’s never seen before. The warmth and kindness that usually filled them is nowhere to be seen. The girl’s jaw is set and her body is tense, but it’s her eyes that scare her most. She knows that this girl is unaccustomed to any form of violence – verbal or physical – but there’s something about the glint in her eyes that hits her as more than terrifying.

“You’re not the best,” says the girl, prying herself away from her fingers. “Neither of us is. And you’re never going to get anywhere close if you’re going to treat people like this.”

The girl pauses for a moment, and when she thinks that she’s calmed down a bit and the party guests have carried on with their conversations, she leans in a little and allows a self-satisfied smirk grace her lips. “But you know?” she whispers finally – smugly – in a tone of voice that makes her spine tingle with a cross between fear and alarm.

“I will always be better than you.”

And the girl turns away, leaving her to wallow in the knowledge that she has never been the best.

She has never been close.

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: Telephone

2010-12-29T11:25:34Z

Title: Telephone
Word Count: 248
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairings: Fuery, Roy, mentions of Riza
Summary: “Sir, can I ask what it is about your conversations with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes that causes you to abuse the phone so much?”
Warnings: None

Telephone

At times, Colonel Mustang shows a shocking lack of maturity. Fuery knows this first hand from the number of times he’s had to fix his telephone.

It happens more often than it should. At this point in time, it’s actually more annoying if anything. He can only fix his superior’s phone so many times before he can pronounce it un-fix-able and suggest a replacement – and as it’s had to be replaced six times, it’s only reasonable that Fuery is getting a little frustrated.

When he’s called into the office for the umpteenth time (three guesses why), he sighs and adjusts his glasses a little.

“Sir, can I ask what it is about your conversations with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes that causes you to abuse the phone so much?”

Mustang looks disgruntled. “It's nothing, Sergeant,” he snaps.

Right. Nothing.

Fuery pauses in his work and hazards a guess. He coughs. “What’s so bad about getting married, sir?” he asks tentatively. He’s cautious because Mustang is terrifying when he’s annoyed, and it’s always this particular topic that seems to irritate him the most.

“For heaven’s sakes,” the Colonel growls, “Just because Lieutenant Hawkeye is the only woman who – ”

“I never said anything about her, sir.”

There’s a pause. It’s long and it’s awkward, and inwardly, Fuery cringes and wonders how in the world he hasn’t been fried yet. Divine protection, he hopes, because Mustang looks murderous and he really, really wants to live.

“...Just get back to work, Fuery.”

Original Fiction: Linger

2010-12-29T11:21:32Z

Title: Linger
Word Count: 966
Summary: He feels as if the one person she will cling to will be the person she spends the rest of her life with.
Warnings: None

Linger

He tries to convince himself months afterwards that he’s over her by finding a new girlfriend.

He does all the things he should have done that he didn’t the first time: he works, he drives, he organises dates and acts like the perfect gentleman; he keeps a photo of his new love in his wallet, on his phone and on his desk; he calls regularly and puts more effort into this new relationship in general.

But still, he watches his old girlfriend for reasons even he can’t fathom.

He hasn’t spoken to her in a while. But he watches.

One night, he works up the courage to corner her and attempt a conversation.

The first words out his mouth are “I miss you.”

She looks at him oddly. “We broke up,” she says levelly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Not – not like that,” he tells her, catching his blunder much too late. “I-I mean, before we even got together, we were best friends – I miss what – what we had.”

The eyebrow is still raised at him, waiting for more of an explanation.

“Do you – do you think we could be friends again?”

She looks at him as if she’s considering the offer, and he watches her, trying not to look too hopeful. When she catches the look on his face, she offers him a small smile – the smile he’d grown so accustomed to seeing before things had fallen apart.

She holds out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again,” she tells him.

He sighs, relieved. “Same here.”

- - -

They don’t talk to each other nearly as much as they used to.

She’s different now. She wears a brilliant smile almost constantly, she stands straighter and walks prouder, and he doesn’t ever remember her being this forward, or this confident, or this happy – and it hits him so suddenly that it’s like a punch in the gut: she’s happy.

She hasn’t found anyone new like he has, but she’s happier than he is. She hasn’t had to latch onto anyone else to be as confident as she is now. He’s reminded of exactly how kind and forgiving she is when he realises she treats him with as much care and respect she treats everyone else, even though it had been his fault their relationship had fallen apart in the first place.

He wonders how she does it.

And as he wonders, he’s reminded of how he fell in love with her in the first place.

- - -

On the day of their graduation from high school, he watches her banter with other friends.

They’re a lot more touchy-feely than he remembers. She hugs everyone and is hugged by everyone. She offers shoulders to lean on and laps to lie in. He’s reminded of how small she is when he watches all her other male friends (and sometimes even all her female friends) lift her and carry her off willy-nilly.

When she appears from around the corner after refilling her water bottle, one friend hoists her up over his shoulder and carries her over to a group of five for the last group hug they’ll ever share at school. She’s beating at his back, but she’s laughing. When she’s set down again, he watches as that same friend rests a brotherly hand on her head and ruffles her hair a little before wrapping an arm around her waist and joining the rest in their final embrace.

He knows they are just friends, but there is lingering a twinge in his chest that shouldn’t be there. It reminds him of just how well she used to fit in his arms.

- - -

He introduces his new girlfriend to her one night at a friend’s party.

He half-expects her to shut down completely, but he’s more curious as to how she’ll react to the girl he’s come to love. He expects a forced smile, or perhaps a short, clipped conversation on her part, but really, he tells himself, he should have known better.

She’s much too kind for that.

Instead, she greets his new girlfriend with a warm smile and a hand shake. She introduces herself to her and converses with her like she’s an old friend; she laughs and wishes them well, offering, even, to keep her company for the night as he catches up with his own friends. She looks as if she’s genuinely pleased to meet her, but he can’t be too sure. Or rather, he doesn’t want to believe that she’s really this kind.

But as he watches the two converse, he realises something unsettling.

His new girlfriend is only just taller than she is. He’s always wondered why she didn’t quite fit.

- - -

He realises that night that his new girlfriend is not a new love. She’s a replacement.

He understands, all of a sudden, why he’s not as happy as she is even though she’s the one who hasn’t found anyone new. He’s the one who isn’t over her. He’s the one who’s still bitter about the entire ordeal. He’s the one who wishes she was still with him.

She couldn’t care less. She’s over him. She’s moved on. She doesn’t need a replacement to be happy.

She holds her head high, and she smiles, and she laughs and she doesn’t need anyone to cling to.

He feels as if the one person she will cling to will be the person she spends the rest of her life with.

It’s never been him.

It hurts because he still loves her. He always has.

And as he watches her from across the room, she catches his eye and gives him a small, sad smile that says only one thing.

I know. I’m sorry.

- - -

Fanfiction: Fullmetal Alchemist: A Fair Fight

2010-12-29T11:19:20Z

Title: A Fair Fight
Word Count: 1 374
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairings: Team Mustang, Maes, Scar, Edward
Summary: "Hey, if Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye got into a fight, who would win?"
Warnings: None

A Fair Fight

“Hey, if Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye had a fight, who do you think would win?”

The question comes out of nowhere. It’s so out of the blue that there’s a good one minute of silence after the question is asked. The part that gets them most is the fact that the question had come out Fuery’s mouth.

The superiors in question are running an errand. The men are bored. It’s just. Fuery.

They look at him as if he’s grown an extra head, but Fuery is either impervious to it or he just can’t tell at all that the rest of them are kind of weirded-out by such an unexpected occurrence. In fact, if anything, the kid looks genuinely curious.

Havoc smirks. They can corrupt the kid yet. He props his feet up on the desk stretches his arms above his head. “Mustang, of course,” he says, finally and like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean come on, things blow up when he snaps his fingers – Hawkeye’d have no chance.”

For some reason, saying this outright makes him feel as if he’s suddenly put himself in a lot of danger. He shrugs it off.

“In a fair fight,” corrects Fuery, adjusting his glasses a little. “So, no guns or alchemy.”

Again, Havoc scoffs. “Mustang would still win.”

Breda shakes himself out of his stupor and nods. “Hawkeye’s good with guns, but Mustang’s built physically bigger and stronger than her, so even then, there’s no way.”

“And,” Havoc adds, chewing on the unlit cigarette, “Hawkeye’s a girl. I mean, really, there’s just no way.”

Falman chooses this point in time to interject by clearing his throat. “Lieutenants, that’s sexism – you can’t say she wouldn’t have a chance if you’re basing it on her gender.”

Breda shrugs. “We’re not basing it on her gender,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s fact – the fact that Hawkeye’s a girl makes her physically smaller in build than Mustang. I mean, if you stand them next to each other, she’s literally half a head shorter than he is.”

“Mustang would win,” concludes Havoc.

Falman looks unconvinced. He folds his arms thoughtfully across his chest and thinks for a moment.

Fuery’s watching the argument from his desk like it’s some sort of verbal tennis match. He’s just about to agree with the other two on the basis that they did, in fact, give plausible reasons as to why Mustang would win when Falman clears his throat and pushes back from his desk.

“I wouldn’t underestimate her,” he tells them finally. “I think the Lieutenant’s better at hand to hand combat than she lets on.”

Havoc rolls his eyes. “You want to put money on it?”

Falman raises an eyebrow. “They’re not going to agree on having a fist fight,” he says pointedly.

“What? No,” Havoc says, waving him off. “Hughes has known them both for a while – we’ll ask him. And I’m putting 5 000 on Mustang.”

Either Falman knows something the rest of them don’t or he just has a competitive streak, because – even if he does frown at the idea at first – he nods. Confidently. Havoc thinks nothing of it because he almost feels like this is the one bet he’ll actually win.

Breda catches Fuery’s eye and nods approvingly. “We’re so proud of you, Sport.”

Suddenly, Fuery regrets asking the question in the first place.

- - -

They corner Hughes on his visit out East while Mustang’s on his break and Hawkeye is fetching more paperwork for him.

When they ask him, Hughes gives them the same look they gave Fuery when he had first asked. Then he sniggers a little.

“You know that something like what you’re talking about has and never will happen ever, right?” he asks them, raising an eyebrow.

Breda nods. “Well, obviously,” he says. “We don’t peg Mustang as the type to get into fist-fights with women, but if, hypothetically, they got into a fight, who would win?”

Hughes looks like he’s fighting the urge to laugh. “You really want to have this conversation?”

From their desks in the office, Fuery and Falman watch the exchange looking mildly interested in Hughes’ answer. Havoc and Breda are nodding eagerly.

“I put money on this, Lieutenant Colonel, come on.”

Hughes rolls his eyes at them. “Well, I’d have to say – ”

The door opens and Hughes pauses in mid-sentence to see that the subjects in question are standing at the office doorway. “Scar’s been sighted,” says Mustang professionally, stepping briskly into the room and seizing his and Lieutenant Hawkeye’s coats from the coat stand. “He’s fighting Fullmetal as we speak. We need to move fast.”

Hughes shrugs and follows them out, topic completely forgotten by the news.

Havoc almost groans as he steps after them.

- - -

The gunshot Mustang fires into the air to interrupt Scar from the murder of Edward Elric is loud enough to echo through the heavy shower of rain. With his men behind him and the gun held in the air, Havoc figures that Mustang must look like the epitome of authority from Edward’s perspective.

“That’s as far as you go!” calls Mustang.

Behind him, both Havoc and Hawkeye raise their own guns.

Mustang turns his gaze to Edward. “That was a close call, Fullmetal,” he addresses him calmly. “That man is a suspect for the murders of numerous State Alchemists, and looking at this situation, there’s no doubt about it.” He looks at Scar and lowers the gun. “So you’re the one behind the murders at the Tucker residence?”

Scar closes a hand into a tight fist and glares at the Colonel. “Alchemists twist the natural state of creation – it is sacrilege to our God,” he snarls, turning away from Edward. “As a messenger of God, I will carry out God’s judgement!”

Mustang frowns at him. “That’s something I don’t understand,” he says slowly. “Why only State Alchemists?”

Scar gives him a look. “If you intend to interfere, I will eliminate you too.”

From behind him, Havoc can’t tell what kind of reaction is on Mustang’s face, but it sounds like he’s smirking. “Interesting,” he says, handing his gun to Hawkeye. She raises an eyebrow at her superior.

“Colonel Mustang...” she warns.

“Don’t lay a finger on him,” says Mustang. The authority and all-around terrifying tone Mustang reminds Havoc of his bet. Inwardly, he notes how it’s a situation like this that gives him confidence that he’ll win. A figure as intimidating as Mustang being beaten in a fight by a female subordinate officer? Yeah, right...

“Mustang?” says Scar. “The State Alchemist?”

“Indeed,” Mustang growls. “Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.”

Scar looks undeterred. “For one that turns against God to come in person to receive judgement... today is a good day!”

Mustang extends his arm, fingers poised and ready to snap. “So you know who I am and you still want to fight me? You fool!”

“Colonel!” Hawkeye snaps from behind him.

He pays her no heed, and Hawkeye gives a frustrated sigh and ducks, sweeping his feet out from under him in a single, swift kick.

Mustang yelps and falls backwards. Hawkeye crouches low and fires at Scar.

Havoc feels as if he’s been kicked in the stomach because he has a feeling Falman’s just won the bet.

- - -

“He was caught off-guard!” snaps Havoc back at the office. “It doesn’t count!”

Falman smirks at him smugly with a hand outstretched and expectant. “Pay up, Havoc.”

It’s at this point that Mustang returns from his errand and frowns at the scene. “What the hell is going on here?”

Falman gives him a salute. “Lieutenant Havoc lost a bet, sir!” he says briskly. “He’s refusing to pay up.”

Havoc looks at him, denial etched into his features. “Colonel, come on,” he asks desperately in an effort to keep his money and his faith in the Colonel’s hand-to-hand skills. “In a fair fight, who would win? You or Hawkeye?”

Mustang gives him a look. Then he snorts. “Hawkeye,” he scoffs shamelessly. “She’s been kicking my ass since we were kids. Honestly, the things you men bet on...”

Falman sniggers. “I’ll take my money now, if you please.”

- - -