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We won!
Roy remembered the hollers of elation that accompanied their final week in Ishval as he checked the table again to make sure everything they could need was there: disinfectant in all its forms, an entire pack of gauze, lotion, painkillers, bandages, warm water, antibiotics, pre-drawn medicinal alchemy transmutation circles and anything else two tired, heartbroken soldiers could think of.
We won, Major! We get to go home! Finally!
He doubted Riza felt at home in her decrepit old manor, torn down by all the years she had been gone. Only one room was clean: the one she used to sleep in. They had made the bed and dusted everything the best they could yesterday. It wouldn't have been good if— he didn't want to even think about it.
Aren't you happy, Major?
There was an ignition glove embroidered in red in his pocket and he wished there wasn't. He had stitched every single line into it by hand, and he wished he had screwed it up, skewed the array in some way so it wouldn't work.
I'm just relieved it's over.
Behind him, with her back turned to him, Riza was slouched over on a chair, breathing heavily. She had tried to keep it cool as long as she could, but the realization of what they were about to do had seemingly hit her for real this time. Every so often, a choked sob broke out.
You're a strange man, Major.
"Roy?" She asked tremulously.
"We don't have to do this," he reminded her. "There are other ways—"
"No, there aren't," and she didn't need to say what they both already knew. She had given away the key to Flame alchemy in exchange for the promise that he would use it to help people. When he broke the oath, she offered him a chance of redemption: erase the tattoo, make the secrets die with her.
It was punishment for herself, for being too naive, too trusting, but it was also for him. She had to know it would kill him to hurt her.
I just don't think this much death can be considered winning.
"But…" She sighed. "How painful is it going to be?"
He didn't have it in him to lie. "A lot. I've never burned myself beyond the occasional accident, but from what I hear…"
"I see." She sat up straight and began to unfasten her shirt. "In that case, I'm ready if you are."
"Are you?"
Her hands were trembling so much she couldn't even pop another button open. She sobbed for real this time. "Can you help me?"
Delicately, he made his way down the shirt, careful not to let his gaze linger anywhere inappropriate. Were this anyone else, he would have never consented to undressing them, but what was coming would already be hard enough for her, so he indulged her. Once he slid the sleeves off her shoulders and neatly folded the shirt on the bed, he turned to her only to find her curled up in the chair, knees to her chest.
"Riza?"
"Can— can you give me a minute?" She stuttered. "I just need a moment then I'll be ready."
He nodded and plopped down on the bed. "Take all the time you need."
After a beat, she whispered, "Would you hold me?"
Roy stared down at his hands, at the blisters and dry knuckles, wondering if those were really the hands she deserved. They were bloody and reeked of putrid. He could never wash it off or make it go away. Hers had to be the same way, but two wrongs had never made a right.
Slowly, hesitating, he stood up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She finally broke down and collapsed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He cradled the back of her head, her short hair spiky between his fingers. Her skin was feverishly hot, and he would have dropped everything right there to turn Amestris on its head until he found some sort of alchemy that would allow him to ease the warmth.
After a few minutes, she pushed him off and dried her tears. Her eyes shone with a different kind of determination. "Get it over with."
He moved to her back and examined the tattoo. "I've pinpointed the key areas. If those are gone, the whole thing falls apart. I'll burn only those, alright?"
"Burn all of it."
"I refuse."
"I deserve it."
"I won't do it."
She glowered at him. "It's not your choice to make."
"You think hurting yourself more than necessary will fix anything?" He shook his head. "The bigger the burn, the longer you will need to heal. The longer it takes you to heal, the less time you have to actually fix things. You think self flagellation will make you feel better, and it might, but you're not going to atone for any sins like that."
"Fine," she conceded. "Just do it."
"Um. The you-know."
She unhooked her brassiere and tossed it on the floor. He found the two spots he had to destroy far too easily and pressed one hand against each.
"Here and here."
"Do it." She braced herself, but there weren't any traces of tears in her voice anymore. "Hurry."
With a deep breath, he slipped on the glove and snapped.
We won the war.
Roy pondered what it meant for hours on end while Riza slept inside. Winning surely didn't feel like this, sitting on a porch in the biting cold after bringing more pain he'd sworn to avoid.
Whenever he'd let his eyes flutter shut, he saw raw skin and bleeding rashes. Never before had he really seen what Flame Alchemy could do to a person besides killing them. In Ishval, he fired and left nothing but ashes. Last night, Riza had screamed in agony and fallen to her knees when a precise string of fire hit her across the shoulder blades and on the upper right ribs.
There weren't enough pills or ointments or bandages in the entire world to ease her pain fast enough. He'd done his very best to seal up the wounds, but medicinal alchemy had never been his forte. For a second, he'd dared to contemplate an alternate timeline where he learned that instead of coming under Berthold Hawkeye's tutelage. He would have never met Riza, but he would have never taken a single life either. She wouldn't have followed into a battlefield. It had been easy to get lost in the what ifs where they lived their lives apart, happier and more peacefully.
Her cries of agony had brought him back and he didn't think about it anymore.
There was no way this was a victory, he decided. They would have won something if it had been. All they'd done was lose their integrity, their hearts and their innocence. Riza hadn't been twenty when they drafted her. He and Hughes had been twenty-two. Too young, too young, too young to have suffered this much. It wasn't fair.
No, it wasn't unfair. They had the choice. They saw it and chose to kill. This pain was nothing but what they had coming. It was the price of moving forward, so move forward he would. The seat of Führer was far away from a simple Major, but he'd manage. He had to.
"Aren't you cold?"
He spun around on his heel and ran to catch Riza in case she fell.
"You shouldn't be standing."
"I'm fine," she replied dryly. "It doesn't hurt that much anymore."
"I think we're past the point of lying to each other." He guided her to the dusty bench against the wall, careful not to touch her back. "Don't you?"
She kept quiet, but allowed him to help her sit down. Her spine was arched; it probably hurt to straighten up. He swallowed the guilt and reminded himself this was her request.
(He should have said no.)
They let the silence hang between them for a few minutes. Roy had half a mind to go inside to brew some tea or something; none of them had taken a single bite in hours. But if he abandoned her on the porch, God knew what she would do; she had never quite gotten the handle of resting.
She shuddered, and he didn't even have a coat to offer. "Maybe we should go inside," he suggested, concern building up again.
"I like it here," she shrugged. "It's pretty. Or it used to be."
The latter statement was more correct than the former. The garden, once a beautiful maze of well-tended flower bushes and neat rows of vegetables, had very obviously lost its charm after its owner left. Hares and possums had claimed their loot and the branches grew wild and crooked. Even then, there was an air of comfort in the yard. Life often had that effect, even if it had become ruins.
"You loved this garden," he observed.
"It was my mother's."
He never got to meet the woman, he didn't even know if she died or just left. Berthold never mentioned her. There were no pictures, anecdotes or any trace that she even existed except for the garden and a diary her daughter had kept as her most sacred possession and her best kept secret.
Well, second best.
"If you want, I could help you restore it," he offered tentatively. "Not right now, not for two weeks at least, you do need to recover, but…"
She shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I don't plan on staying for long."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted. "You?"
"Soldiers that served in Ishval get six months of leave," he explained. "I'll stay with you until you're fully healed, and then as long as you want me to. Then it's back to Central for me."
"Are you going to turn in your resignation?"
The question hit him like a ton of bricks. He fixed his gaze on the ground. "I can't."
"Yes, you can." She sounded almost angry. "You should. If you do, you'll never hurt anyone again."
"I'll never be able to help anyone either," he retorted. "I won't retire until I've done something . I can't. It's just not okay."
She glared down, her mouth contorted in a tight grimace and her brow furrowed. "You still have those dreams of yours?"
Ah yes, the dreams that made her give him Flame Alchemy and kill hundreds, if not thousands. "They're not dreams anymore. I'm bound by duty to them now. If I don't accomplish them, nothing will ever get better."
"You're one tiny person. There's nothing you can do anyway."
"I have Hughes," he said. "And I'll have more people behind me soon enough. You'll see. I'll make things right."
"How," and she finally looked at him, "can you still be so hopeful?"
"It's not hope."
"Then what is it?"
"If I find out, you'll be the first to know."
She hugged her legs to her chest, wincing. He held out a hand to steady her, but she didn't need it. Burying her face in her knees, she sighed. "How long will you stay, then?"
"Three weeks, at the very least. Then… It's up to you to decide."
A beat passed. "Maybe we will have time to fix the garden."
He stared out at the overgrown ivy and the moss covered rocks. Dawn began to break through the mist.
"Maybe we will."