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The desert sun scorched down on them all, irreverent of their needs. Ishva did not care if she struck them down with heatstroke. How could she care, thought Riza, looking up, blearily, perhaps on purpose – when they were all keen to kill each and every one of her children?
She tried to imagine a different world in which she did not become who she had. No matter her imagination, it all felt like a lie, and Riza Hawkeye had promised herself she wouldn’t lie to herself.
What would happen next, she looked up towards the sky, and the scorching desert sun that would switch out for the freezing desert moon, a sister of Ishva’s that wished to freeze them at nighttime, for their crimes in Ishval.
’’Do you believe in a kinder world than this one, Hawkeye?’’
What a bold thing to ask. Especially coming from someone like him.
Riza looked down at her rifle and said, with a squeeze of her fingers around the metal: ’’No, sir, I don’t. Because that would mean I had done something to doom myself to this life.’’
’’Maybe we have.’’ He said, tipping a flask down his gullet and making his Adam’s apple dance for her. The hand which held the flask was gloved. His array – the one modelled after the one on her back, was etched neatly into the back of a white ignition glove.
It was difficult to breathe in the desert. From the Crimson Lotus’ explosions, to the Flame’s smoke and fire, it made the air in Ishval repugnant not only to the domicile population, but to them as well. To them, who’d come in broad daylight and started culling.
Don’t look away!
Riza shook her head. She wanted to get to higher ground quickly. With her rifle on hand, the need to leave only quadrupled. Nothing about this conversation boded well for her. But oh, a painful sort of twist squeezed her heart just-so, oh she still sought Mr Mustang out from the entire crowd of soldiers clad in blue and gold.
’’Good night, Hawkeye,’’ he saw right through her unease, and he cut the cords tying her to him, and he wished her sweet dreams. What a parody of a man, still pretending to be that young Mr Mustang from all of those years ago. When the only boogeyman either of them had to contend with was her father, a mean, sick man.
Did it make her a bad daughter if she found war easier to handle than being stuck in that house with him?
It probably did.
So Riza didn’t try to think about it. She nodded curtly at the superior officer of the pair of them, and skidded away. It was time to go to her post.
She climbed up towards the sniper’s towers and relieved a comrade of his duties. He complained about his knees, about his back, about how rigid one had to be to be a sniper.
Riza only nodded. She did not tell him that she’d had her entire life to practise such a thing. That in her house, the only times she’d ever been allowed to be a person capable of noise and movement was when Mr Mustang wanted something of her. That often, when it was just her and her father there in the old hunting estate, entrenched in the forest around them, she’d only ever had one duty: not to bother him.
It was with a perverse curiosity that Riza searched Mr Mustang out through her sniper’s scope. There’d be another attack tonight, they’d told her, and she was supposed to be prepared to guard the alchemist.
Her disappointment when she saw long black hair instead of neatly cut hair was indescribable. She didn’t comment, like her other snipers would, when having to watch this man’s back, but she did sigh, in utter dismay – when said man clapped his hands together and stopped paying attention to his surroundings, losing himself completely into what he called „his symphonic orchestra“.
Riza cursed her hawk’s eye, because when she spotted an enemy lunging for him, she took the shot and shot them through the head. A whirl of joy spread across the man’s face when he saw such a clean kill. He turned towards the towers and gave a little wave. ’’A thing of utter beauty!’’
’’Thanks,’’ Riza whispered to herself, utterly dismayed. Though she was practising already, because she’d have to say that again when he sought her out, and she wanted to sound at least a little bit sincere. Because making enemies within ranks wasn’t advisable. Women were supposed to be good liars, people often told her, but everything she seemed to say just sounded like an out of body experience these days and so she didn’t think she was a good example of a woman, then.
There were more shots, though thankfully they weren’t around the Crimson Lotus. He’d probably have a comment for every little one, and she didn’t want to spend any more time talking to him than she had to.
But unfortunately she did have to.
’’That was a fantastic show last night, cadet!’’
He was at his worst right out of battle. People called him manic. Some tried to crack down and see if he really did have cocaine, as others claimed. But whatever drug the Crimson Lotus was on, wasn’t easily accessible to others.
’’Thanks.’’ Riza said, with a little more zest to her words. She’d practised.
Before he could open his mouth and go on about the beauty of alchemical destruction, she cut him off by saying: ’’Apologies, Major, but I’m looking for the Flame Alchemis; have you seen him?’’
He smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. So, that was a fake, then. He, too, could be fake sometimes, then? ’’Bored of me, arleady?’’ He asked her.
Riza’s silence was telling.
He cracked an awkward laugh then and waved her off, the sun array on his palm on prominent disaplay. She would have liked to talk to him, if he weren’t such a loud man, what it was like to have those arrays tattooed on his skin, and who had done it. To have a kindred spirit in alchemical bonds in some way, but the Crimson Lotus would probably manage to talk about what a great honour it was to have such alchemy on her back. Or maybe he wouldn’t, but he was so god damn annoying that even if he would offer genuine insight, Riza would prefer to claw her face off instead.
’’We can talk another time.’’ Riza tried to alleviate the man’s hurt ego in some way.
But he continued to wave her off. ’’No, no, I know when I’ve been dismissed. I saw Flame brooding in that direction.’’ He pointed in said direction. It could be a trap, Riza thought, and then thought better of it: Kimblee didn’t believe in setting traps, that man would openly try something if he wanted to. So she nodded. But no, wait, no, he wasn’t done yet, so she stood and waited: ’’That’s where his men are. Just follow the amusing shouts of: My girl Gracia! And you’ll soon locate the Flame Alchemist.’’
’’He has a girl named Gracia?’’ Riza asked, more dismayed now than she had ever been in her life at war. No, of course not. That was a terrible thing to think. She’d never be more dismayed than when she’d first shot a child.
’’No, not him.’’ There was some humour in his words, or maybe at her question, because what she’d asked was the most ludicrous thing he’d heard. It either meant that she didn’t know something EVERYONE knew, or she’d showed her hand and surprised him: ’’You know he has a friend out here, Hughes something. Everyone knows him. He knows everyone.’’
’’I know Hughes.’’
’’Yes, well, he goes on and on about his girl Gracia. So if you just follow the amorous words of a lovesick man calling out for his sweetheart, you’ll surely find Flame.’’
’’All right.’’ Riza nodded. And then, painfully, but dutifully: ’’Thank you.’’ And then, on top of that: ’’Sir.’’
’’So polite, cadet.’’ He teased her.
And she just nodded, again, and left.
’’And then my beautiful, sweet, adorable, sexy, and kind, and smart, and – ’’ this went on.
There was a group of men and a handful of women circling a man with glasses going on and on about his darling Gracia. He was reading them his letters from home, and putting on a whole performance. It was the closest thing anyone out here had to a play.
’’Hughes, would you give it a rest, please.’’ Mr Mustang – correction, Major Mustang said. He had a smile on his face and it was short-lived, because the moment his eyes spotted her from the approaching crowd, his smile fell. Ah, so she continued only to inspire great horror in men. Rebecca was right, Riza would never find herself a man. A horrible thought: did she want Mr Mustang to be that man?
She waved at him.
He waved, with a little more force than her wave had been.
Women were supposed to read into things, therefore Riza decided to read into this as him being glad to see her, just not being glad to see her here.
’’Are you all right?’’ He asked her.
Did he care?
Riza shrugged her shoulders.
He looked away, absolutely mortified to have asked and not received an answer. Maybe she should practise talking some more, because her socialisation skills were becoming rusty. Nobody talked to her. Her entire job as a sniper was to lay in silence and wait. Who did that leave her to talk with?
Don’t look away!
Oh dear god no.
Riza would rather become mute than willingly subject herself to talking to that man.
Someone had done the math on that, piss drunk, but that was the best time to do math – and they’d calculated that Solf J. Kimblee, the Crimson Lotus, had a habit of saying something normal only four out of ten times. But those six times were most always absurdly long monologues that when people did, in fact, have a normal conversation with him, those conversations were completely overshadowed with his Shakespearean monologues on what it means to kill.
So, no, it wasn’t worth talking to Solf J. Kimblee. Not even for practise.
Unfortunately, some things happened that forced Riza into talking to Kimblee.
Maes Hughes was celebrating something, something, Gracia something. Riza eyed the bottle of whisky she’d sent his way. It was opened. Half drunk.
Mr Mustang was swaying. He was smiling at her. Always a more honest, and kinder man when he didn’t think there was a magnifying glass on him. Was he an ant? Or was he the child holding said magnifying glass on an anthill, watching it all burn?
He offered Riza a drink and she sat down on a rock next to him. She was night shift tomorrow. Drinking with Mr Mustang might prove a good distraction.
’’Do you believe in a kinder world than this one?’’ Riza asked him, for a change.
Mr Mustang looked harrowed. He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It barely stretched his mouth to show his dimples. She’d envied Mr Mustang for having them as a young girl, quite taken by the handsome boy from Central City. He was useless in almost all other regard – not knowing how to hunt or how to cook or how to skin game or kill chickens. He had such a weak stomach. It was always out of the two of them she that was more qualified for the more gruesome tasks. ’’I do believe in a kinder world, Hawkeye.’’ But the horror left him, replaced by something dangerous and strong. ’’And I’ll be sure to craft it myself, if I can’t live in it.’’
They clinked their glasses and drank.
Maes Hughes was talking to someone else, a mile a minute.
Riza was looking at him. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Then she looked away and wondered what had come over her to think of such a thing. But then when she glanced back, she saw him looking at her, too. And she hoped, against all odds, that the drink in their hands would make something happen.
Mr Mustang needed to only ask. Riza was certain that she’d wholeheartedly accept.
It was the drink! Riza would argue, much in the same vain as a character from a book she’d read had shouted, It was the Sun!
Mr Mustang’s mouth was on her neck and she was fumbling with opening up her uniform, with making this bad decision feel only slightly more efficient. He moaned in her ear and she felt chills crawling up her spine. It was as if someone had trapped her inside of her own body. She was present for the entire ordeal. His fingers coaxed a reaction out of her and she hitched a breath, and then another one. It was all she could do, all of the training as a cadet she could force on herself – not to fall apart in his hands.
It was the drink! Riza was sure Mr Mustang would claim, too, when she kissed him back and he moaned into her mouth.
Days following their drinking escapades, and Riza noticed that Mr Mustang was avoiding her. So, she, too, began avoiding him. Since she didn’t know what was going through his mind, she elected to think of the worst possible things imaginable – he disliked her and wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Contrary completely to the way he’d become putty in her hands. Contrary to how he’d said beautiufl things to her that night and brought her over the edge.
Riza held her rifle and she felt safe with the knowledge that no matter what happened, she still had the ability to shoot people at her disposal. Perhaps she’d shoot Mr Mustang, an irked thought entered her mind, abruptly, if he didn’t deign to speak to her anymore.
So what, they’d both gone into that tent knowing it was going to be a mistake!
Riza assumed position in the sniper’s towers and lifted her rifle. She glared at the alchemist in blue and gold. Not the one she wanted to see, but the one she knew nobody would question if she actually shot. Long black hair instead of short black hair.
He clapped his hands and totalled a quartier in the Mand district.
Riza felt exactly like those ruined buildings collapsing in on themselves.
It spoke of something terrible, indeed, that it was Riza Hawkeye that sought Kimblee out after her shift finished, instead of the other way around.
‘’Permission to speak freely?’’ He did outrank her.
Talking to Hughes was out of the question. He was Mr Mustang’s man.
Writing to Rebecca was out of the question. She was too far away.
Talking to ANYONE else was out of the question because they’d relay it to Hughes and he’d relay it to Mustang. The woes of not having anyone trustworthy on the front.
Belatedly she remembered to tack on: ‘’Sir.’’ And then added a salute, too, for good measure.
He saluted her back and she dropped her arm. ‘’Cadet, colour me surprised! I thought you’d grown bored of me.’’
She had. Though unfortunately she knew that if she didn’t unload these terrible thoughts on someone – someone who would NEVER talk to Mustang or Hughes and be taken seriously – she would combust. Internally.
’’I have feelings for someone.’’ There. She’d said it.
It didn’t quite land. That was on her. She’d miscalculated severely the severity of a man’s ego.’’Is this a confession?’’ He’d meant it to be teasing.
He’d not meant it to be a blade with which Riza would skewer him.
Riza’s face of absolute horror was answer enough. Her silence only further murdered him.
’’Cadet,’’ with a very shaky voice, as if trying and failing to salvage what could not be salvaged, ’’I have never done anything to you to deserve such a reaction.’’
’’I love men.’’ Riza could be found saying, when in fact, if she was looking at numbers alone: she’d been with more women than men.
Kimblee was going through a lot. ’’Do I ... I am a man.’’
Riza had figured out her mistake the moment it’d left her lips, though unfortunately now she had to explain her reasoning: or lack thereof, really. ’’I meant, manly men.’’ This, also, wasn’t what she’d wanted to say to Kimblee. If anything, this would be something Rebecca Catalina would say to Kimblee. When in doubt, Riza most always wondered: what would Becca do? And most always, that advice turned out to be terrible.
’’The hair?’’ He picked up his ponytail and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe she was so shallow. Surely that couldn’t be it?
’’You talk a lot.’’ Riza said. Finally, what she’d meant to say. From the start. ’’I don’t like how much you talk. You annoy me.’’ Belatedly she remembered that this man outranked her. ’’Sir.’’
He seemed more annoyed by her tacking on that belated sir than her actually speaking her mind. Which, kudos to him, but Riza was thinking about her chances with Mr Mustang – if only because the idea of Kimblee of all people trying to hit on her had unlocked a part of her brain that shouted: YOU’RE ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY. NOT WITH HIM, THOUGH, HE’S ANNOYING.
The voice was Rebecca’s. The thoughts were Riza’s.
’’That’s something I can’t change.’’ Kimblee said. And then waved her off. As if that, too, was a deal breaker for him. ’’Good luck.’’
All in all, it was a very amicable conversation.
Definitely one of those rare four out of ten times Kimblee could be spoken to normally.
It was during those six out of ten times when Kimblee could not be spoken to normally that he searched her out specifically and gasped, delighted, at having cracked the case wide open: ’’You like the Flame Alchemist, don’t you?’’
’’No.’’
Riza needed to only remember that very recently she’d glared daggers at Mr Mustang, had him glance at her, and had her whole face freeze, unable to quite piece together if she should be angry with him or happy he was looking at her. Truly, she needed Becca’s guidance in all things romantic in nature.
’’You lie badly.’’ Kimblee called her out on it.
’’Okay, yes.’’
’’Don’t be so sad, cadet! If he looked my way, I’d invite him to keep me warm, too!’’
Riza was as red as what she assumed a crimson lotus could be. This was insane. Kimblee had come with a whole plan. It had seventy-three bulletpoints which he hadn’t quite had the time to write down because he’d come up with this plan only an hour ago and it was still fresh in his mind and, contrary to popular belief, ‘’Being an alchemist didn’t mean I was supposed to have chalk and papers on hand at all times.”
’’You and my father both.’’ Riza could be found saying.
Kimblee blinked up at her. ’’Are you going to tell me about your life, cadet?’
’’No.’’ Riza levelled an unamused gaze on him.
’’All right!’’
And he moved on. Bullet points from one to thirty-three were... kind of normal. Except for one thing that Kimblee didn’t account for: ’’I will die if I come up to him.’’
’’Don’t tell me you’re shy now?’’
’’There’s a lot of history here.’’ Riza grimaced.
Kimblee said that her grimace right now was even worse than the grimace she’d had on her face at the prospect of being with him. ’’Are you even sure you like him?’’
’’I’d go to hell for that man.’’ Riza blurted out.
’’He’s not that handsome, cadet, have some higher standards. You don’t know if he even knows how to cook.’’
’’He doesn’t...’’ Riza said, knowingly, fondly, remembering a time when she would see him around her home. When he would make the days last longer with sound and laughter. When he’d make her father be less of a shadow and more of a man who even sometimes, when she squinted and tried to recall very, very hard, looked at her with not-apathy.
Major Mustang finally mustered up the strength to talk to her when the war was very close to finishing. He was halfway into apologising when Riza, in a moment of weakness for everyone staring their way, told him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Then she turned on her heel and left. There.
If Kimblee had cracked her feelings for Mr Mustang, she wouldn’t let anyone else clock her.
Unfortunately, this created an effect where poor Mr Mustang thought that he’d insulted Riza Hawkeye so heinously that now she didn’t want anything to do with him. He would proceed to go to Hughes and tell him that he’d fucked up.
Hughes would place a hand on his shoulder and tell him: ‘’Roy Boy, don’t worry about it. I’ve got my top agent going to interrogate her.’’
‘’What top agent?’’ Mr Mustang would ask, horrified utterly. ‘’This is between me and Hawkeye, Hughes.’’
‘’Right, right.’’
‘’Don’t start anything.’’
‘’I’m not the one who started anything!’’
Kimblee didn’t wait until she left her sniper’s towers. In the dead of the night, from the shadows cast by the moonlight, he emerged with a big grin. He waved, the moon array on prominent display. ‘’Cadet! I’ve got excellent news from a man on the inside.’’
Riza Hawkeye, exhaled, unable to look away from her sniper’s scope – because she was on DUTY – but wanting to.
In her scope was Mr Mustang, this time. And she wished she didn’t have to look at him. If only because giving herself a moment where she didn’t guard his back would entail a chance to whirl around and shoot Kimblee straight in the chest. Startled, she’d say – only snipers were allowed to be up there, she’d add, it was his fault, she’d insist.
’’All right, how far along are you on our bullet point plan – I have backup. I needed someone on the inside.’’
’’I will shoot you right through those targets you paint on your palms.’’ Riza hissed, anger rising in her voice. She held the rifle in her hands and glared bloody murder. But she couldn’t look at him, nonetheless he was chastised.
Kimblee raised those palms of his up in surrender and smiled. ’’Please, you’d be hopeless without my meddling, cadet! Besides, I went straight to the source!’’
It took all of Riza’s combative training not to raise her sniper rifle and shoot Kimblee right then and there. ’’You went to Mustang?’’ Her voice was frost, even in the desert.
’’No! No, he’s hopeless, too. I went to Hughes. He’s a sensible man. And he also caught on that Flame might be harbouring feelings for a certain someone.’’
’’This doesn’t concern me.’’ Riza bit out.
Kimblee shook his head. His ponytail swishing angrily, as if a cat’s raised tail. ’’Now, wait a minute. Yes, it does! That someone is you, Miss Sniper, and last time I checked you weren’t going to act on your feelings until you were certain they would be reciprocated. Therefore, I checked all of that out for you.’’
There was a woman with a knife charging at the soldiers. They’d killed her children, they’d taken her husband, and they’d destroyed her home. But nonetheless, Riza pulled the trigger and was the one who would be lauded as a hero for protecting her fellow man.
’’Why are you doing all of this?’’ Riza asked. She closed her eyes, for only the briefest of moment – so she wouldn’t see Mr Mustang see her handiwork.
Don’t look away!
Riza forced her eyes open and growled. There would be no reprieve for her, would there? Neither for Mustang, nor for the man antagonizing her because – because – because of what?
’’I’m bored.’’ Kimblee said. ’’They don’t send me on the field as often anymore. They say there’s nothing left for me to do.’’
’’Why don’t they send you home?’’ Riza would one day, maybe, think that she was being very insubordinate here. Maybe. Probably not. It was Kimblee she was talking to, after all.
’’They tried to!’’ He boasted with a smile. ‘’I insisted I stay.’’
Riza groaned in disbelief. Definitely one of those six out of ten times.
Riza did get her medals. She got so many accolades it was absurd. They said that the Hawk’s Eye was the most awarded war veteran from Ishval (after the State Alchemists). Throughout the entire affair, both public and celebratory, she tacked on the weirdest, ugliest smile she could find in her arsenal and she tried to survive the days with it on her face.
Mr Mustang – now Lieutenant Colonel Mustang – didn’t have such issues. He was a showman, through and through.
It was eerie how he could inhabit a persona. Riza could do the same, really, but he did it so much better. He did so many things so much better than her, the stunted, emotionally repressed girl with the hunting rifle.
He asked her to dance. Riza took him up on the offer. She apologised, because she didn’t know how to dance. But as pathetic as it may be, she would not want to miss out on the opportunity to have him hold her hands.
God, she needed to talk to Rebecca about this. This wasn’t normal line of thinking was it?
Rebecca was a listening ear. ‘’Jump him.’’ She finally said.
Riza raised her hands up in the air and said: ‘’I can’t do that, Becca!’’
‘’Why not?’’
‘’Because!’’ Riza shouted in aggravation.
‘’Would you, please, do me the honour of working with me? I’m being given a chance to make my own team.’’ There was something so raw in the way he was looking at her. In the way his skin was scorching to the touch. But she knew a lot about that scorching touch didn’t it? It’d started in the desert, but it’d happened again – though unlike the first time, last time had left her with a burn mark on her back that had set her free.
‘’Because he’s my Commanding Officer.’’ Riza blurted out.
Rebecca screamed at her. Calling her an idiot for accepting. ‘’It’s always the women who lose their jobs, Riza!’’ In case of being caught violating the frat laws. Then her eyes hardened and she said, no room for argument. ‘’Find someone else willing to ask you to transfer in their unit. Whoever. Just so you free your chance up with Mr Hottie.’’
‘’Don’t call him that…’’ Riza blushed, embarrassed. Always so deeply embarrassed when it came to all things romantic.
Rebecca laughed good-naturedly. Then an idea: ‘’Hey, what about that nutcase you wrote me about – can’t you work in his unit?’’
’’I heard he’s dead.’’
’’I heard he’s in prison.’’
’’I heard he’s been promoted.’’
’’I heard he’s been court martialled.’’
’’I heard he’s been dishonourably discharged.’’
Riza was sitting tete a tete with the man in question.
‘’I should have blown them all up.’’ Kimblee whispered to her. Depressed. The man was depressed, but no less strange. ‘’Instead I gave it up like a fool.’’
Would this be one of the four or one of the six times?
‘’Oh well. Go find another project to take your mind off of this. That’s what my friends tell me to do now that I’m back.’’
When Kimblee looked at her, and then at Mustang, who was being photographed for this and that with Hughes for the Amestrian Times– and then back at her – Riza wondered if she’d just now given the man PERMISSION to meddle in her love life.
‘’No,’’ she said, ‘’absolutely not.’’
‘’I think…’’
‘’NO.’’
‘’Perhaps now that I don’t have anything better to do-‘’
‘’Kimblee, I swear to fucking god.’’
He cracked a smile.
She was losing count. The math was skewing. This was neither one of the four nor one of the six anymore. Fucking hell!
Riza Hawkeye explained to Becca, because she was always so unfortunately honest with Becca, that she had sworn to protect Mr Mustang – the Lieutenant Colonel’s back. That, no, it’d be against their code to have her change units. She would go into hell for this man in front of her, and she would both guard his back and ensure if he strayed too much that it was her blow that was the finishing one.
‘’You’re an absolute fucking nutcase, oh my god. You’re in love with him. Just fucking confess. Hughes says he’s into you, too.’’
‘’Are you talking to Hughes now, too?’’
‘’Actually, I’m talking to Kimblee, who’s in communication with Hughes. We exchange letters via carrier pigeon. It’s all very convoluted what we’re doing.’’
‘’I’m going to shoot all three of you.’’
‘’We’re on your side here!’’
Hughes winked at her and made a comment to the Lieutenant Colonel about this or that. About settling down and marrying. The Lieutenant Colonel laughed him off good-naturedly, but he didn’t look her way, though his ears did tinge with some redness, and his smile was way too wide to be genuine, but not small enough to be bored. It was embarrassed.
Riza’s was no better. Especially when Kimblee cornered her one time, during lunch, at the cafeteria and said to her: ‘’I found his relatives.’’
‘’Don’t you fucking dare.’’
‘’He’s got an aunt. I’ll write to her to see what he likes and if he’s ever mentioned you.’’
‘’I’m going to kill you.’’ Then, belatedly, because he still outranked her: ‘’Sir.’’
‘’I have nothing to live for anymore.’’ Kimblee told her. Chirpily. With a big smile. ‘’So, go ahead.’’
Riza groaned. She ate bread and glared at him.
’’You’re a real piece of work, you know that?’’ Riza was holding a letter in her hand from none other than Madame Christmas herself. She listed off all of the Lieutenant Colonel’s weaknesses and how to best ensnare him. Riza Hawkeye had a STEP BY STEP guide how to win the Lieutenant Colonel’s heart. She flicked a man with the bunched letter in the head.
’’Cadet, please!’’ He raised his arms in the air, to placate her, both the sun and the moon arrays present.
’’Warrant Officer.’’ Riza corrected him.
’’Warrant Officer!’’ back to business, when she hit him again: ’’Warrant Officer, please!’’
’’Sending his aunt letters was just way too out of line.’’
’’I sent one letter. She immediately opened up further correspondence. I was running out of options! I needed to crack this.’’
’’Why?’’ Riza was holding her head in her hands, angry, yet also – oh god ew, no – fond of Kimblee’s stubbornness.
‘’Because if there isn’t a chance, then I don’t have anything else to do. But seeing as there is a very viable chance – I need to follow this through until the end. I wasn’t a deserter, nor a coward, Warrant Officer, and I won’t be backing down until I’ve succeeded in my mission.’’
’’I work... in the same unit as him. He asked specifically for me.’’ Riza offhandedly said.
’’That’s terrible!’’ Kimblee shouted. ‘’It’s like he doesn’t care at all about you!’’
’’How is that terrible?’’ Riza would be content to just be in Mr Mustang’s vicinity for the rest of her life. She didn’t need him to hold her hand or to kiss her. He wanted her to guard his back and shoot it if the time ever come, and she would do so gladly.
’’Fraternisation laws will apply to you, then. No, you have to transfer to someone else. It doesn’t matter if you work together – he just can’t be your CO.’’
’’I don’t...nothing will happen...’’
’’It’s always the woman who loses the job, you know!’’
It was like listening to Becca. Riza got an idea: ’’Kimblee, hey,’’
’’Yes?’’
‘’You like women, right?’’
’’They’re all right.’’
’’I’ve got just the girl for you. She needs a real project.’’
If Rebecca Catalina managed to unKimbleefy Kimblee if even by 5%, she would be seen as a master at the art of bettering men.
Unfortunately for Riza, Becca grimaced at the sight of Kimblee and said that it wouldn’t work out: ’’I like manly men.’’
’’Is it the hair?’’ Kimblee protectively held his ponytail in his hand and whispered, to himself mainly.
Riza implored Becca to give it a try. Becca refused. ’’Nope.’’
Kimblee, to make matters worse, said the following: ’’That’s all right, Warrant Officer, I like only a specific type of woman.’’ And then very pointedly made a show of glancing at Riza. Then at Rebecca. Then for the briefest of seconds at Riza’s chest.
Rebecca Catalina almost threw a grenade at him.
They would proceed to start dating not long after this.
‘’She’s insane!’’ Rebecca was sitting cross legged on a couch and braiding Kimblee’s hair. ‘’She could have that hot piece of ass if she wanted to and she’s – what – content with just yearning? Who just YEARNS these days?’’
Riza sighed, hating the sight of them. They’d ganged up on her. Kimblee was coming over more and more often to Rebecca’s and Riza’s apartment on account of his dating Rebecca. His goal in life was to UnRebecca Rebecca by 5. It was only equivalent exchange, if Rebecca’s goal was to UnKimbleefy him, that is.
Kimblee offered Riza a face mask. Both he and Rebecca had the concoction plastered on their faces.
‘’No.’’ Riza simply said.
‘’No wonder she’s single.’’ He commented.
Rebecca hit Kimblee playfully at this and told him that if he didn’t behave she’d dump him.
‘’Maybe that’s a smart idea.’’ Kimblee returned, smiling. ‘’My joint training with the Northern troops is coming up and Major Miles would take offence to sleeping with someone who’s got a girlfriend.’’
‘’I gotta fucking meet that guy. I heard he’s hung.’’
‘’Really? Who’s your source?’’ Kimblee asked, now curious himself. ‘’Last time I was training with them, I didn’t get that far, but I think you’d like him. Now he’s manly.’’
‘’Would he be down?’’ Rebecca asked, quirking up a brow. She gestured to both herself and Kimblee. Then wiggled her eyebrows.
Kimblee raised his brows at that, pensive. ‘’He might. Seemed very interested in putting me in my place.’’
Rebecca giggled and clapped her hands together gleefully.
Riza found the fridge and found some beer. She needed alcohol in order to handle the both of them.
If Hughes wasn’t in Central City, he’d most likely also be accosting her apartment. She sat down on the couch, now sandwiched between Kimblee and Rebecca. And when she looked at them now, both with those face masks, both in their pyjamas, both with long black hair, both with so many opinions on her love-life, she was struck with a fit of giggles. They looked so much alike, actually.
‘’How goes the Lieutenant Colonel? Any success on your mission?’’
‘’Well, I would consider it failed, Major.’’ Kimblee hadn’t received a promotion. He’d almost killed his COs in Ishval – he was lucky to still be a military officer of any kind. ‘’I’m in his unit and I’m not transferring out. No matter what either of you say.’’ Riza sipped her beer and relaxed.
‘’I don’t care about that.’’ He told her, honestly. Even shrugging, too, as he laid his plan out: ‘’I need you both to realise your feelings for one another. It’s your decision if you want the frat laws to apply to you or not. Though,’’ an idea twinkled in his blue eyes – oh god – ‘’frat laws can’t touch you if you’re already married.’’
‘’What, like a secret marriage?’’
‘’Yes, wouldn’t that be so romantic?’’ Rebecca shouted.
‘’Ugh.’’ Riza sipped her beer more. ‘’When are you going to leave?’’
‘’Very soon. Tomorrow morning I’m going South East.’’
‘’South East?’’ Riza wondered. ‘’Are they sending you to Ishval?’’
A laugh. ‘’I think this is the closest they’ll ever send me to Ishval again. Wish me luck!’’ Then. ‘’Is there anything interesting to see in Resembool? That’s where I’m going.’’
Riza, as someone from the East, had only this to say: ‘’That’s sheep country.’’
‘’Ah, nice. I’ll bring you woollen socks.’’ Then to Rebecca. ‘’What do you want?’’
‘’I want a wool sweater.’’ Then a grin. ‘’If I like it, I’ll get you another shiny rock.’’
Rebecca was a shiny rock type of girl. She’d taken Kimblee’s terrible time without a special kind of rock to mean that getting him garnets and rubies and other such shiny rocks would be helpful. It wasn’t, but Kimblee appreciated the gesture all the same.
‘’Good luck.’’ Riza said. Then, belatedly: ‘’Sir.’’
He waved her off, especially now that they were at home together.
‘’Transfer!’’ Rebecca shouted.
‘’Never.’’
‘’I’ll ask for your transfer if you continue being so insubordinate.’’ Kimblee threatened.
‘’I will gut you like a fish if you do this.’’ Riza said.
Kimblee choked on his own laughter at that. She was serious, too, he could tell.
This plan of theirs, cooked up and laid out meticulously, lasted for years after Ishval.
Riza was at her wits end. Her ears were as red as the coat the kid who’d been roped into helping these nutcases with her love life was wearing. ‘’Edward,’’ then, because even a twelve-year-old outranked her, belatedly: ‘’Major Elric…’’ There was a thundering storm in her voice that would have levelled an ordinary child down.
Edward Elric was no ordinary child. He was grinning from ear to ear. With his alchemy, he’d transformed the Colonel’s desk into many, tiny wooden hawks. Rose petals were thrown over them, as per his younger brother’s suggestion (Riza’s eye twitched, as she remembered her child killing days were long behind her and she couldn’t hunt Alphonse Elric down for a beatdown, too. Not that she’d be able to do much of anything to Edward, either – because all of these annoying boys and men outranked her)
And then, wisely, he bolted.
The Colonel saw the mess and laughed.
She twisted her face in something macabre, she was sure, because she was so deeply tired by this song and dance.
‘’Lieutenant, Fullmetal just came by and said you wanted to talk to me’’ Roy Mustang laughed, flabbergasted utterly. He saw the state of his office and all of the rose petals and all of the wooden hawks, transformed via alchemy from his desk, and Riza trying to all but throw them out of the window to get rid of the evidence. And he blurted out, with an airy sort of nonchalance he’d cultivated as a womanizer in these parts: ‘’would you like to go out sometime?’’
But Riza was just so tired of playing along to bits anymore.
So instead she just levelled an unamused gaze on Mustang and said: ‘’Frat laws.’’
And Roy Mustang’s womanizing persona slid right off. She hadn’t said NO, as he’d expected her to. She hadn’t sniped back that they had too much work. She’d accepted – but she’d simply turned their arrangement on its head by reminding him that it was law only that stopped her from acting on her feelings. He went red, himself, too. For how long had her feeling from him run so deep?
There was no drink to blame for what happened next. He closed the door behind him and lunged for her, grabbing her face gently, cupping it and tilting her chin to the side as he kissed her. Ravenous. Riza sighed, contently, and leaned into each fevered touch.