Archive of Our Own

With his newly acquired twelve years of age, Roy rolled up to Hawkeye Manor with Carolina in tow. His sister walked too slow, like all grown ups. What was wrong with them? Didn't they understand he was on his way to learn alchemy?  

He would have wanted to travel alone, but Chris had been very clear: it's bad enough I'm sending you to the middle of nowhere on your own, there's no way you're going to board a train all by your tiny little self. A long, long lecture about safety and stranger danger had followed. Roy hadn't bothered to listen, still too high on the ecstasy of being allowed to study alchemy ! Under a great master, too. Although he wasn't a State Alchemist, Berthold Hawkeye's fame spread through Amestris.

(It didn't, actually. Chris only knew about him from one of the girls, but he wouldn't learn about this for many years.)

He skipped along the narrow dirt road, careful not to step on any of the puddles on the edges. The sun shone, but there were still some dark clouds in the horizon from the previous days.

"Roy, honey, won't you slow down?" Carolina called. "Your sister is getting old and tired."

"You're twenty-five!"

"So old and tired."

He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. She chuckled quietly.

"Why don't you go on ahead?" She proposed. "Knock, and I'll catch up with you to talk with Mr. Hawkeye."

"But Chris said—"

"What Chris doesn't know won't hurt her," she winked, taking the suitcase from him.

Roy tackled her with a hug. "Thank you!"

She ruffled his hair. "Run, little alchemist."

And run he did. He sped down the path, squeaky new shoes clopping down on the cracked ground, coat flung over his shoulder, flapping on the wind. The Manor appeared on the horizon, big and imponent. Each window seemed to peer at him through half closed lids, beckoning him to come closer, to discover the secrets they kept. Alchemy. He smiled so wide his cheeks began to hurt. He was going to be an alchemist and he'd perform miracles and help people and—

Something caught his foot and sent him to bite the dust. He sat up, coughing, and found a barrel aimed directly at his face.

"Who are you?"

He yelped and crawled back on all fours, shying away from the shotgun. "Whoa, whoah, whoah, please, get that away from me."

"Who are you?" His assailant repeated. "Why are you here?"

He dared to look beyond the rusty muzzle and his eyes landed on a perfectly blonde head that did not look old enough to be holding a weapon like this. A girl, he noticed, younger than him, too. Yet she pointed the gun with deadly aim to his head.

"I'm sorry, miss." He raised his hands above his head so she could see he meant no harm. Her gaze flickered to his dirty fingers then back to his face, forever unrelenting. "I didn't mean to scare you. My name is Roy Mustang. I'm here because Master Hawkeye promised to take me under his tutelage to learn alchemy."

She lowered the gun, slightly, to shoot at his neck instead of his forehead. "I didn't know my father would be taking any disciples."

"Can you, uh, please, maybe, put that thing away?" He stuttered. His palms were starting to get sweaty. "I won't do anything, I promise."

Just as she squints in suspicion, Carolina turns the corner. "Oh dear, what's this?"

The girl had the good sense to actually set down the gun instead of aiming it at his sister. "Who are you?"

"He's my brother. You must be Berthold Hawkeye's kid, aren't you?" Carolina helped him stand up and shook his shirt, though it no longer had any hopes of ever being white again. "Liza… Elizabeth?"

"Riza," she corrected her. "You really here to see my father?"

"We are," Roy nodded fervently. "We're not trying to rob you or anything."

"No one ever comes to see him," she explained, "except for those soldier men from Central who keep insisting he become a State Alchemist. We had to throw 'em out last time. Sorry if I'm a little suspicious. We don't want that again."

Now that there weren't any certified-death artifacts glued to his nose, he took a moment to really look at Riza. She couldn't be more than ten, yet the aggravated expression on her face made her seem older. In all honesty, he would have supposed a blind man had dressed her: gardening boots with wool socks in odd colors, a plaid shirt under a thick, worn coat with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Pair that up with a shotgun and choppily cut hair and she painted a strange image that felt weirdly out of place with the Manor. 

"We totally understand," Carolina agreed. "Military men are the worst, believe me, I know. A hassle to deal with, aren't they? Never get tangled up with one, that's what I always say."

Riza responded to her charm with a confused look. He elbowed his sister before she could say any more embarrassing things in front of the admittedly pretty cute girl. 

"Fine, fine. Can we talk to your dad, sweetie?"

"Uh, I don't know." Riza suddenly went very red. "He's very busy, I'll go see if he can—"

"What's all this commotion?"

Three heads turned towards the front door. A middle aged man who had never seen the sun in his entire life stood on the porch, glaring at them. Roy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze; he wanted to run back to the train and find another teacher somewhere very far away from there, because that was undeniably Berthold Hawkeye. 

For a living legend, there was nothing about him to suggest it. He was hunched over and his shirt was wrinkled. Unlike his daughter, who kept her old clothes clean and neat, he looked like he'd been wearing the same outfit for several days. God, he hoped he didn't smell too.

Riza didn't meet his eye. "Uh, father, this is…"

"Good morning, Mr. Hawkeye," Carolina greeted graciously. Roy chanced a quick glance at Riza. She seemed relieved to not have to explain their presence herself. "This is my brother, Roy Mustang. You agreed to teach him alchemy, if you remember. If you don't, I'm sure a quick phone call will freshen your memory."

"It won't be necessary. Madame Christmas talked to me yesterday." Berthold Hawkeye gave him a once-over. "Your shirt is dirty."

"Uh, well…" Roy stammered. Riza hid the gun behind her back. "The thing is…"

Carolina waved a hand dismissively. "Children, you know how they are."

The man grunted in distaste and spun on his heel to go back inside. "Say your goodbyes quickly and follow me, boy. There is some material you need to read before we begin your training tomorrow."

"Yes, sir!"

"What a charming gentleman." Carolina shook her head disapprovingly. "You're gonna need luck, Royboy."

"Don't call me that," he whined. Halfheartedly, because he'd miss it. "Will you call?"

"Every day," she assured him before pulling him into a hug. "I'll come back for you the moment you say so, okay? Just say the word and I'll take you back to Central."

He buried his face into her fancy coat and sniffed her distinctive perfume one last time before stepping away. "Travel safe, Caro."

"Will do." She kissed the top of his head and put his suitcase in his hands. "See you around, Roy."

He watched her until she disappeared around the corner and shifted to look at Riza. She had been staring at them rather unashamedly, like they were a puzzle she couldn't put together. 

"Miss Hawkeye?" He held out his hand to her. "I think we got off the wrong foot."

She hummed and shook it. "Sorry about the gun, Mr. Mustang."

"Happens to the best of us, no worries."

She offered him a tiny smile. "Come on, I'll show you your room. My father doesn't like being made to wait."

And he followed her into perhaps the biggest mistake of his life.

Roy ran his fingers through his hair as he redrew the same transmutation circle over and over again. No matter how many times he tried, it wouldn't work; one line or the other came out crooked or out of place. The pieces of wood he was supposed to make into a toy horse stared at his futile attempts with pity. 

No one had warned him alchemy would require this much art and he wished someone had.

"No luck so far?"

"Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not."

Miss Hawkeye, as her father had adamantly insisted he addressed her as, pinched her lips together, very clearly holding back from cackling in his face.

"Help me out?" He asked, batting his eyelashes like Carolina often did with her trickiest clients. "Pretty please?"

"Let me see." She sat beside him and examined the circle he'd been unsuccessfully trying to copy for the past hour. "Ah, it's not that hard. Here, let me."

He handed her his pencil and she traced the array perfectly in a matter of seconds. Roy hated her a little for that. Just a little.

"Try it out."

He dumped the wood on top of it and pressed his hands against the paper, mentally repeating the chemical components of cellulose. Carbon six, oxygen ten, hydrogen five, carbon six… Blue lit up the graphite lines and the little blocks decompose before reconstructing in the shape of a horse. 

It was a bit deformed, but it was undoubtedly a horse.

"How'd you do that?" He asked. "I've been trying to get it right for so long and you did it in what? Five seconds?"

"My father tried teaching me alchemy first," she said nonchalantly. "I didn't have the talent for it, so he gave up." 

"Alchemy isn't a talent though. It's a learned science." 

"It comes easier to some people," she leaned back on the chair. "I'm not one of those people and my father isn't a patient man either. It's okay," she reassured him when his face soured, "I don't feel bad about it. I like hunting more anyway." 

"I still can't believe they let a kid like you around guns," he muttered.

Her face reddened like a tomato. "What do you mean a kid like me? You're a kid too!" 

"How old are you?" 

"Nine." 

"Well, I'm twelve," he stuck out his chest, "and also I don't deal with guns." 

"That's because you're a city boy," she retorted. Her voice acquired a pronounced countryside accent when she got angry, and that happened quite often. He would find it most endearing if it didn't usually come with a side of city boy insults, which pushed all of his buttons for some reason. "A city boy who can't hunt." 

"At least I don't set the kitchen on fire!" 

"That happened one time! And it was because you distracted me!" 

"So it's my fault now?" 

Loud steps stomping down the hallway broke their little squabble apart immediately. Roy had only lived with the Hawkeyes for two months, but he'd learned the number one rule of the household pretty quickly: do not upset Master Hawkeye under any circumstances. He had yet to turn violent, but every time he sent a fiery glare in their direction was more than enough to confirm he could and would , if they pressed his limit too much.

"What is this disturbance?" Somehow, talking in feigned calm was more threatening than any yelling would have been. 

Riza scurried away from him. "Nothing. We were just—" 

"A game," Roy intervened. "We were playing a game and it got heated. We're truly sorry to have bothered you, Master. We'll be more quiet." 

"You're supposed to be practicing, not playing," the man reminded him. "Did I ever say you could take a break? And you," he pointed to Riza, "don't you have anything else to do other than annoy Mr. Mustang with your child's play?" 

"It was my fault, sir. I asked her to play. I'm sorry." 

Master Hawkeye eyed him suspiciously, but deemed the matter unworthy of his time and turned his attention to the crooked horse on top of the sheet of paper with Riza's array. "Did you finally get it right?" 

Roy opened his mouth to confess, but she was faster. "He did. Just a few minutes before you walked in. Isn't that impressive?" 

Berthold crossed the room to pick up the toy and inspect it. "It needs work," he said, "but the array is correct. Try again. I want you to make fifteen of these by tomorrow morning. And make sure they aren't malformed." 

"Yes, sir."

Without another word, he dropped the horse on Roy's hands and left for his studio. The two children breathed again and shared a glance.

"Why did you tell him I did it?" 

She shrugged. "He would've gotten mad at you if you said I did it." 

"That's the only reason?" 

"Is it so hard to believe?" 

"Frankly, yes." 

"People often have simpler motives than one expects, Mr. Mustang," she said. "Not everything is like alchemy, you don't have to break down every single action someone does. Us humans aren't clockwork. Sometimes we just want to be nice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go find us dinner before he comes out fuming again." 

"Wait, I'll come with you." He shut his notebook and collected his pencils.

"I can handle it on my own. You have work to do." 

"I'll do it later, it doesn't matter," he insisted, already looking for the basket she used for groceries. "I've lived here long enough. I think it's about time I started pulling my weight, isn't it?" 

"You don't have to pay me back for saving your butt back there." 

"No, but I want to be nice." 

She blinked, then smiled. There was a gap between her front teeth he'd never noticed before. "Okay then, how do you feel about stew?"

Roy woke up to pebbles softly hitting glass. He opened up the window and another rock landed square on his nose.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." Riza wasn't really sorry. "Come out, I wanna show you something."

"Are you sure it's safe?" 

(Code: won't Master Hawkeye catch us? )

"Don't worry," she affirmed. "My father might sleep little, but when he does, he sleeps like a log. Hurry up."

Convinced, Roy hoisted himself on the windowsill and jumped to join her in the garden. He had no shoes on, and the grass was deliciously fresh. She grabbed his hand and they snuck out through the back fence. 

Hawkeye Manor was a little ways from the town it supposedly belonged to, separated by a hill that kept it away from prying eyes. It was secluded and somewhat hidden, making it the ideal place to research Flame Alchemy. 

(He'd recently learned that was what Master Hawkeye was developing: the most powerful form of alchemy ever created. His teacher had promised to pass on his knowledge one day, when he was ready. When questioned how long that would take, he had simply shaken his head and said he would know when the time came. To say that made Roy anxious would be an understatement.)

Riza led him to the top of the hill and plopped down on her belly on the grass. "Look down there."

He mimicked her position and did as told. Below them, the town center was alight with music and joy. People bustled around the streets dancing, singing or simply enjoying a late night walk. He had never seen such movement and life in the small community and he'd lived there for almost two years now.

"What's that?"

"The fair!" She told him, watching it in earnest fascination. "It comes around every couple years. There's food and games and all sorts of fun stuff."

"Can we go?"

She jerked up with a fearful expression on her face. "Are you crazy? My father hates it. If we got caught—"

"You said it yourself: he sleeps like a log, remember?" He stood up hastily and shook the sticky weeds off his pants. "Let's get some money and go! He won't even notice."

"I don't have any money."

"Don't worry, it's on me," he assured her. "Chris gives me an allowance every time I visit Central. I've been saving up for something exactly like this."

"I can't have you wasting your money like this." 

"I don't want to hear it." He tugged her up and dragged her back to the house. "We're going right now!" 

It took them a few minutes to gather their coats and the coins he should have saved all together instead of scattered across the house, but soon enough, they were running to town, shushing each other and laughing in delight. 

When he saw her smiling up at the fireworks that lit up the sky later that night, he thought for the first time that she was the prettiest spectacle to watch.

On the day that marked the fourth anniversary since Roy had first stumbled onto Hawkeye Manor, Riza took him hunting for the first time. No words in existence could describe the way his soul visibly left his body when she shoved the old shotgun in his hands and showed him how to hold it up properly.

"I don't know how anyone finds any joy in this," he muttered, index shaking against the trigger.

"No, no, don't do that." She reached and pried his finger away. "Don't even touch the trigger if you're not going to shoot. Gun safety first."

"I would argue guns are not too safe to begin with…"

"Roy, shut up. You're scaring the rabbits." 

"Sorry." She gave him a dirty look and he lowered his voice to half a whisper. "I mean, sorry."

"Hush." 

She shifted abruptly, aiming to a bush that shook. A shot rang out, something alive —or formerly alive— squaled. For a thirteen year old, she was surprisingly bloodthirsty. It would never quite sit right with him to see little Riza with her hands stained scarlet.

"Look!" She lifted a small hare by the leg. "Dinner!" 

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," he joked. "Well, now that we got one, how about we get back to the house, huh? We're not gonna need another one." 

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head, tossing the animal into a bag. "I know you're trying to get out of actually shooting. I won't let you." 

"Why?"

"Isn't that exactly what we came out here to learn?" 

"Yes, but why ?" 

"Oh, stop making such a fuss. You're gonna need to get a little more comfortable around weapons if you really plan to be a soldier." 

He immediately stopped fiddling with the safety pin. "How do you know that?" All of a sudden, she seemed very interested in cleaning her barrel. He pressed again, "Riza, how do you know that?" 

She didn't meet his eye. "I might or might have not overheard you talking to Chris about joining the Academy the other day." 

"Were you eavesdropping?" 

Her ears turned red. "I was not!" 

"It's okay." He leaned back against the trunk of a tree. "I was going to tell you soon anyway." 

"So it's true?" 

Roy didn't understand why she looked so… sad . "Yeah. I plan on entering the Academy next year." 

She fell deadly quiet. With the way she behaved and valiantly took on every responsibility in the house as Master Hawkeye's health (mental and physical) deteriorated, it was hard to forget how young she was, and he received a grim reminder in that moment. Riza, with her legs buckled beneath her weight, elbows and knees covered in bandaids because she was always either falling or getting into a fight at school, was still a child. Roy himself still was as well, or so he wanted to believe, if only it brought him a little closer to her. But the truth was he had a foot in the world of the adults and as such, he had to begin acting like one.

"What do you think about that?" 

Nothing but silence.

"Please say something," he implored.

"You'll kill people, you know that?" She whispered. "Soldiers do that. They kill people." 

He bowed his head. "I hope I won't have to." She raised her shotgun and aimed it directly at his head. "Whoah, wait, wait, hold on a moment—"

"What did I teach you about gun safety?"

"Finger on the trigger only if you're going to shoot." Hers was almost forcefully away from it. 

"Then why are you scared?"

"Because you look like the sort of person who could kill me."

"Do I?" She swerved the gun upwards and fired. A goose had the bad luck of passing by at that exact moment and it caught the bullet. The body hit the ground with a thud . "I don't think I could kill you."

"You might, one day," he tried to lighten up the mood with some humor. "Maybe I'll, uh, I don't know, scare away too many rabbits and you will have had it with me. I doubt I can run fast enough to escape from you."

She bit back a smile. "I wouldn't kill you over rabbits."

"That implies you would kill me over something else."

"Muddy shoes, probably."

"Fair enough."

As soon as the Academy gave him a break, Roy hopped on a train and made his way to Hawkeye Manor. Autumn had decided to take it easier that week; he would take Riza fishing, and then for a little vacation to Central. He'd wanted to do that ever since he met her, give her a little break from the grim walls and the incarceration of her house. If her father objected, then they would simply sneak out. He finally had some money of his own earning, and Riza seemed as good a way to spend it as any.

Much to his surprise, she wasn't out basking in the sun, nor sitting in her apple tree munching on something. The crate with the hunting supplies was locked and the groceries basket rested by the door, so she wasn't out either. He frowned. Was she sick? 

He knocked. When no one answered, he pushed the door open. 

To be completely fair, the house had never once been a paragon of tidiness and order. No, it was too old and decrepit for that. But Riza (and him, when he was still around) had managed to keep it clean enough. Now, dust covered every available surface and dozens of the dead leaves piled up in the corners, like the wind had dragged them in and no one had bothered to sweep them out.

"Hello?"

No answer. He walked in cautiously. This much silence never meant anything good. 

"Is anyone home?" He called out again. "Riza? Master Hawkeye?"

"Roy?" A voice came from an ajar door.

He rushed into the room, which he recognized as hers. "Riza? What happened— oh."

She was curled up on bed, shivering despite being buried up to the chin under the covers. Her blonde mop of hair was barely visible but unruly. The sclera of her eyes was red and swollen. Had she been crying? 

"Hi." 

"Hey, are you okay?" He dragged a chair beside her bed and pressed a hand to her forehead. "You're burning up. Are you sick?" 

"Oh, I didn't notice," she said faintly, sitting up with caution. She winced like a jolt of pain had shot through her.  "Maybe I caught the flu or something." 

"Does something hurt? You look—" He noticed she wasn't wearing a shirt, her body hidden only by bandages, and looked away. "Are those bandages? What happened?" 

"I had an…" And she hesitates in a way she shouldn't. Her gaze deviates to the window to the right. "Accident. I was helping my father a few days ago and I injured my back. I'm alright now."

He reached for her. "Can I see?" 

"No!" She recoiled on instinct and hit the wall behind her. A new sea of pain made itself evident in her eyes. "Please don't touch me." 

"I'm— I'm sorry?" He scratched his ear, slightly confused. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just concerned. You just look like you're in a lot of pain." 

"I'm alright," she insisted and tried to stand up. "Do you care for tea?" 

He stopped her before she could put a single foot on the floor. "In those conditions?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Riza, not to be rude, but the house is a mess, you're half naked and you're so thin I can barely recognize you," he pointed out. "Clearly you've been in bed for some time already. If you're in so much pain you can't even get out of bed, there's no way you're getting up for tea. "

She rolled her eyes. "You're making too big a deal out of this." 

"When was the last time you ate?" Silence. "Checkmate. Hold on, I'll find you some food." 

"You don't have to—" 

"Shut up." Her eyebrows lifted so high they got lost under her bangs. "Sorry. Please, shut up. Wait here." 

"It's not like I can go anywhere!" She huffed as he left. 

The kitchen was, surprise, dirty, but he managed to clean it up and put the kettle to boil in record time. There weren't a whole lot of ingredients in the pantry, but he made do with broth, carrots and sweet potatoes. He would brag later, he thought proudly, about how good of a cook he had become, even with the littlest of resources. 

By the time he returned to Riza's room with the makeshift soup and tea on a tray, she had organized her bed a little bit and sat back up. She had also draped one of her infamous plaid shirts around her shoulders, although she hadn't slipped on the sleeves nor buttoned it. He didn't mean to gawk, Chris raised him better than that, but he eyed the way the bandages went from her collarbones to her stomach, disappearing into her wool skirt.

"Here," he set the tray on her lap. "Eat. I'll go to town later to get you some real food." 

"Thank you," she muttered, not meeting his gaze. "Sorry to bother you." 

"It's no bother. Can I ask you something?" 

"About my back?" 

"Yes." 

"I'd rather you didn't." 

"Why?" 

"Because I don't want to lie to you." 

"I'll ask and trust you'll say the truth." He laid a hand over hers. "You said you got hurt helping your father. Did… Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?" 

"No." 

"Are you lying?" 

She let a beat pass to swallow a spoonful of stew. "No." 

"Can you promise me he didn't do anything to you?" 

"I promise." She caressed his knuckles with her thumb. "Don't worry about me." 

"Impossible." 

She looked at him with dejection in her eyes before returning to her food. He'd noticed it before he left last time, and he noticed it again: her features were becoming increasingly more and more burdened with sadness. Loneliness had never been a stranger to Riza Hawkeye, and it had only hugged her tighter as time went on. She was sick and injured and yet she was alone. Where even was the man she called father? Shouldn't he be caring for her? He squeezed her hand to loosen grief's grip on her, even just a little bit. 

"Wake up, Mustang." 

Havoc's voice violently rips him out of his memories.

Roy flickers his eyes open. He wasn't really sleeping, but the images behind his eyelids are always more interesting than the cracks in the ceiling. When he tries to rub the drowsiness away, his hand comes back damp. Pushing himself off the flimsy mattress, he stretches his arms above his head before walking out to meet Havoc. 

The recently promoted Lieutenant Colonel's face is distorted with aversion. But it's a shallow form of the emotion, meant to mask the deep sorrow and resentment behind it. 

"It was cruel of you to ask her to come here." Havoc chews furiously on a cigarette that isn't even lit. "It's gonna be hard enough for her already."

"Cut me some slack. I'm the one dying here." 

"You're stupid if you think you'll be the only one." 

"It's exactly your job to avoid that." 

"I don't mean it that way." Havoc pretends to be mad for about four seconds more, then he claps Roy's shoulder. Tears wells up in the corner of his eyes as he digs his fingers into his arm. "You crazy man. Deranged bastard." 

"We've been through this, Havoc. You don't need to insult me." 

"I do, actually," he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "I don't want to see you anymore. Ever." 

"Won't be a problem," Roy assures him and pulls him into a hug.

He has never been one for physicality, but Havoc is. He knows it has to mean something to him. His friend holds so tight he hears the cigarette snap in two and fall to the ground, wasted. 

"You are the worst, Colonel ," Havoc stresses his former title. "And I hope you know it." 

"I know." 

"And I will never forgive you." 

"I know." 

"And I won't stay." He steps back, tossing the filter to the ground. "Don't ask me to." 

"I would never." 

"The room you want is the last down the hall. Your things should be in there already." 

"Thank you, Jean Havoc." Roy holds out a hand for him. "For everything, thank you." 

Havoc shakes it and nods curtly. No sooner after he lets go, he spins on his heel and leaves with his head hung low, presumably never to be seen again. 

The walk to his room is long and it makes his shoes feel like they're made of lead. Roy wishes he had his squadron with him, but they'd all decided to say their goodbyes beforehand. Falman and Breda visited him two days ago before their trips to Briggs and South City, respectively; Fuery was a little braver and waited till the night before. He did end up bawling his eyes out, so Roy poured him the wine that was meant for himself and the kid (the thirty-five year old kid ) promptly fell asleep. An endearing memory, that's for sure. Only Havoc stuck around. And well, of course…

The room is small, clean and dead. His uniform awaits him on a chair, alongside a polished pair of shoes and a shaving kit. He disregards the latter; he shaved last night. Spreading the blue overcoat across the table, he begins to change his old polo for the brand new white shirt.

"Why even ask for my assistance if you're just going to do it all by yourself?" 

He turns to Riza standing at the doorway. "You were taking too long and I happen to have a date." 

She shakes her head and approaches him to button his cuffs. "You're too impatient." 

"And you're beautiful," he points out, tucking a loose hair strand behind her ear.

Her expression shifts instantly; her lower lip starts to wobble and she casts down her gaze. "Don't say that right now." 

He understands, sadly. "I'm sorry." 

She continues to help him get dressed, efficient in a way only she knows to be. Her fingers ghost over his skin, leaving sticky trails of heartbreak all over his body. There are no words spoken: everything they needed to say was said in advance, to make sure they didn't forget anything. Instead, he lets their touches linger for the first time in… how long has it been? He's lost count. 

(He hasn't, really. It just hurts to put a finite number on their years together.)

"I find it strange that you chose your uniform out of all things," she comments as casually as one can in a situation like this. "You always thought they were in poor fashion taste." 

"And they are," he agrees, "I just don't want to ruin my better clothes." 

The like you're going to need them is left unsaid to hang between them.

She straightens his collar once they're finished. "Look at you. So…" 

"So what?" 

"So… So…" She trails off, and soon her stutters turn into quiet sniffles. "So damn stupid." 

"You know, Havoc said the same thing." He opens his arms and she wraps hers around his waist, face buried in his neck. 

"And he was right." 

"I know." He squeezes her three times and pulls back just enough to look at her. She dabs at his cheeks with her fingers. Again, they come back damp. "I know, Riza, I know." 

"They shouldn't have absolved me." 

He hushes her. "Please, those aren't the words a dead man walking wants to hear." 

"Wait for me," she begs.

"Follow me into hell," he retorts. "But take your time. Please." 

She raises on her tiptoes and presses her humid lips against his. They're so used to each other, he can barely believe this is the first time he kisses her. It can't be, can it? He must have done it before, at some point in time. But the way she shifts unexpectedly reminds him he hasn't, and that is really such a pity.

When a soldier comes to get him, he closes his eyes and doesn't open them until he's out in the hallway again, away from her. If he sees her, he might just want to live.

And he does, he realizes as they guide him to the stands where the firing squad expects him, he does, he wants to live so bad. He wants a simple little life. They could restore the Manor. They could buy a better house with no dirty memories in it. A small one would do just fine. Life in the countryside is better anyway.

"Roy Mustang, for your crimes against the people of Ishval during the Ishvalan Civil War, you have been sentenced to death," a faceless somebody reads. 

Wouldn't it be so nice for it to be just them again? With Black Hayate's pups, of course. 

"You will now face a firing squad."

They could visit the Elrics, they could travel to Xing. Riza has always wanted to see Xing. Sure, they've been once or twice, but on duty. It would be fun to be just tourists for once.

"In honor to your valiant efforts towards the restoration of Ishval, your death is to be quick. Any objections?" 

He would ask her to marry him if he lives, he decides. They cover his eyes with a handkerchief, he hears one last salute. He would transmute a ring out of their dog tags. That would be just right, wouldn't it?

A single shot breaks the silence of the courtyard.