[roy/riza; g] And the Rest Was History... Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Title: And the Rest was History Author:emilie_burns Theme: #18 - Little Prince/Princess (30_Smiles) Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye Rating: G Word Count: 4104 Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. This is a work of fanfiction for personal entertainment only. Jossed. Notes: Random trivia, the date and day are correct. Perpetual calendars are fun. There is a yet-unconfirmed (AFAIK) fandom rumor that Roy Mustang obtained his state alchemist certification at age 13. I'm playing off the idea that it was around thereabouts. For the record, the Ishbal uprising began in '01, and it wasn't until '08 that alchemists were sent in. Mustang was born in 1885, and Hawkeye four years later in 1889. Thanks to jchaos for plotting help and some of Mustang's dialogue, and thanks to writer-lilies for the beta. Summary:"Excuse me, little girl," he said, hiding his irritation behind a smile. "You really shouldn't play with your daddy's toys. They're not like your dolls at home. They can hurt people." Original LJ Post Date: October 31, 2005 @ 30_Smiles
And the Rest was History
Central City, Amestris Thursday, the 20th of September, 1900
Teenage boys were not typically known for being deficient in the department of ego. That went double for boys who were quite aware of their appearance, and the effect it had on the pulse rate of females. It especially applied when for those who were able to best their elders in academic pursuits. Roy Mustang, the youngest State Alchemist at fifteen years of age, was aware of those facts. He also firmly believed that he was quite entitled to that ego, for not only did he master alchemy well enough for the Fuhrer to appoint him, he mastered the most difficult elements to control: gases, ever-changing and difficult to contain.
Most alchemists preferred to work with much more tangible matter, things such as rock or metal or plants or other various solid substances. Any fool could could make a flame. Only the Flame Alchemist could make the fire dance in strict choreography under the force of his own willpower.
Oh, yes. He had no difficulty in believing his ego was certainly not misplaced.
But while he was a scientist, as a State Alchemist, he was also a solider. In all technicality, he wasn't yet assigned to any unit, nor was he required to wear a uniform. He held the same authority as a major, but unless another war started up before he turned eighteen, that wasn't officially his rank. He had a right to the uniform, and duties around H.Q., but by and large, he was expected to take advantage to the access he had to the libraries, and hone his alchemy to a deadly weapon.
Sometimes, he went to the gun range to study. He listened to the reports, and watched the mechanisms of various weapons in action. Theoretically, he could cook the ammo in a gun. But the kind of access he needed to do that required split-second precision as it was in the process of firing a bullet and ejecting the spent casing. Rifles were different, easier, as most of them required manual ejection of spent rounds as opposed to automatic. And guns which used clips needed different techniques than those with magazines.
Of course, it was still just a theory he had. There was some degree of supporting evidence in alchemy books, but he didn't know if he could manage it until he tried. Due to the fact that it would be undoubtedly crippling, if not outright fatal for the person holding the gun, there was a notable lack of volunteers to help him test that. Maes was often ready to point out that his idea required that a bullet be fired from the chamber before he could put his plan into action, and a bullet traveled faster than fire. A lose-lose scenario.
Roy wasn't concerned. If the time presented itself, he'd find a way to make the event unfold in his favor. The only true losers in a battle were the ones who gave up.
The shooting range was noisy, but he didn't bother to pull his ear protection on just yet. Only half the stalls were occupied, if even that much, and different guns had distinctive sounds in their individual cycles from the moment the decision to pull a trigger was made. If it were a full house, he would not go without the coverage, but he considered slow times good practice for a battlefield, and Thursday afternoons were his favorite for that. He could already pick out individual gun reports amid the chaos.
As he walked toward his preferred bench, a casual glance over the occupied stalls revealed mostly familiar faces, and then he stopped, canting his head a bit at a new face.
Ten meters away, a young girl was leaning back against her booth, gripping a clip tightly while she struggled to get a bullet loaded. Her face was slightly contorted with effort, and her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she attempted to push the clip's spring downward for another round. The ear protection's headband almost certainly had to be modified for her, for the sides were definitely too large, covering her ears and then some.
He took in the french-braided blonde pigtails ending in light blue ribbons that matched her t-shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans that ended over scuffed sneakers, and shook his head, looking around for whoever was crazy enough to leave a child alone with a weapon. He pegged her to be about nine, and to his annoyed dismay, there didn't seem to be any soldier near enough to have a claim on her.
What was the world coming to, parents leaving their children unattended with deadly weapons, or even bringing them to a gun range in the first place? He rolled his eyes and straightened his uniform. As a soldier of Amestris, and especially as an alchemist, he supposed he did have some sort of obligation to intervene and pick up the errant parent's slack. Oh, bother.
His eyes widened when he saw her turn around and slap the clip into an automatic pistol, then struggle to with the gun's spring to draw it back and chamber the first round. This could not end well. Roy hurried over and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, little girl," he said, hiding his irritation behind a smile. "You really shouldn't play with your daddy's toys. They're not like your dolls at home. They can hurt people."
The girl's mouth went slack in an annoyed expression of indignation, and as she looked him over and noticed the distinctive watch chain, for some reason, that indignation turned to an outright offended look. Then her brown eyes widened and she looked to the side as if noticing something. "Wait, do you hear that?"
Oh, great. Not only was he stuck dealing with a child, he was dealing with a crazy child. "Hear what?"
She put her finger to her lips in a hush gesture for a moment, then looked back to him. "If you're really quiet, you can hear a pot somewhere calling a kettle black."
Roy blinked, then closed his eyes in irritation. "Now look here just a moment! Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect your elders? Where's your daddy?"
"At work." She turned away and closed the bullet box.
What an impudent little child. Roy crossed his arms and again looked around for the young brat's caretaker.
That was a mistake.
When he looked back at her, to his unmeasured horror, she was frowning in concentration and holding the gun, aiming at the target, some six meters away.
"Stop!" he ordered, a split-second too late and clamped his hands over his ears as the gun fired. He moved to take the weapon from her. "Are you cra--" Roy blinked, looking down the range at the target. "...zy... You did not just do that." He blinked again and looked at the little girl.
She looked up at him with an extraordinarily smug smile.
Roy stammered for a moment. No way could a nine year old be that good with a gun. "So you got lucky. That bull's eye was a fluke."
She scowled at him and jerked her arm free from his grip. "You think so? I'll fluke you," she said, aiming the gun at the target again.
Roy blinked and stammered again, thoroughly bewildered by the amount of mouthy attitude in such a small package, and looked around once more in hopes of spotting the child's guardian. The second report from the gun startled him, and a quick look down the range showed another small hole in the paper target, not terribly close to the first, but still within the center circle. Roy looked at her out of the corner of his eye, watching as she re-aimed the gun a third time.
A few moments later, another shot landed near the others. She wasn't particularly fast, taking at least thirty seconds, if not a little more, to aim the gun each time and squeeze the trigger -- by the fourth shot, it caught his notice that she handled the trigger correctly -- and fire.
The fifth shot was the last, and the pistol remained open as the last casting was ejected. She set the gun down and grabbed hold of the winch, pulling the target back up to the booth. Sure enough, all five shots landed in the center ring. Bull's eye. The girl crossed her arms and looked up at him with a triumphantly smug expression.
Roy looked between her, the target, and a gun, mentally floundering for a comeback. "That gun's too much for you to handle."
"What?!" She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips.
"You heard me," he said. "It kicks way too much for you."
"I can still handle it," she snapped. "And not only that, I can handle it better than most grown-ups! In fact, I bet I can handle it better than you!"
Okay, those were fighting words. Roy couldn't quite believe it, but he was arguing with a child. A very impudent little brat of a child who clearly didn't realize what she was getting herself into, taunting the Flame Alchemist. Someone had to teach her a lesson. He was better with rifles than handguns, but how difficult could that gun be at that range? "Give me that gun, no way are you better than I am!"
"So you wanna bet on it?" she taunted.
He glared at her. "Bet what?"
A thoroughly devious little smile appeared on the brat's face. "Loser buys winner a chocolate milkshake."
He personally preferred vanilla, but he didn't plan on claiming it anyway. No doubt she'd throw a fit when he showed her up and reneged on the bet. "Fine. It's a bet. Now gimme that!"
With far too much confidence and far too smug a smile, she stepped back and swept her arm toward the booth. "Load your own clip."
When he ejected it from the gun, he realized the clip was made to hold seven. To keep things fair, he pushed in only five bullets, and loaded the clip before pulling on his ear protection. He cranked the winch to send the target back out to its previous location, aimed, and fired.
It clipped the edge of the target.
Narrowing his eyes, Roy concentrated, firing the remaining four shots, all of which did hit the target in some manner, at least. He really was not looking forward to seeing the expression he knew was on that child's face. He set the gun down and pulled off the ear protection, running a hand through his hair. "Rifles are superior weapons anyway."
"So you can fire a weapon?" the girl asked. "Oh. Good." She gave him a far too chipper smile. "Then you shouldn't need to worry too much about rainstorms."
So she did know who he was. Roy scowled. "I bet you don't know the first thing about strategy."
"Don't let it get to you too much, Flame Alchemist," an amused male voice said from behind him. "Riza has been learning how to shoot since she was eight."
Eight? "What is she, ni--" The word died on his lips as he turned around and saw the stars on the older man's uniform shoulders. Roy promptly snapped to attention and saluted him. "My apologies, General."
Graman waved it off, laughing. "At ea--"
"Wait, what?" Riza interrupted, stomping her foot as she stalked around to stand by the old general. "Nine? Is that what you were going to say? Nine?! I am not nine!" She crossed her arms and lifted her nose in a haughty manner as Graman placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm almost twelve!"
Roy lowered the salute and looked at her. "Well, at least you have a teenage attitude to make up for being in such a small body."
She squeaked in outrage and glared unholy death at him. "And you have an ego big enough to fill that uniform!" Riza retorted, refusing to be outdone.
Roy merely smiled. "Hmph. Shows how much you know. It comes with the uniform." With that, he stuck his tongue out and razzed her.
She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, looking him over. "Looks to me like you didn't get the one that comes with the bonus maturity package."
"Of course not," Roy replied. "I am only fifteen."
Her inability to get under his skin only aggravated her more. Good. "A fifteen year old who owes me a chocolate milkshake," she said, sidestepping the fact she lost that little round of insults.
"A whatnow?" Graman asked, looking at Riza.
"We bet on the target. Loser buys the winner a chocolate milkshake," she said.
Graman rubbed the back of his head, groaning a bit. "You already had one today, you little imp. Your mother will have my hide if I let you ruin your dinner."
Roy watched them as Riza said nothing, continuing to look up at her grandfather with those big brown eyes wide and innocent.
Graman studied her, then chuckled, rubbing the top of her head. "I suppose I should concede since that was an interesting bit of strategy on your part. Maybe if we put chocolate milkshakes on the stake with chess, you'd learn how to pick up that too. Go on, but don't tell your mother."
Riza beamed and hugged him.
"You've been shooting for three years, you little gun-shark," Roy said, watching her. He wasn't really intending to back out of a bet, especially with a general's granddaughter, but nothing said he couldn't make her think he was going to.
"The grouping should have told you that," she argued. "You didn't ask how long I'd been shooting before you insisted on proving you could do better, and it's not my fault your ego got the better of you. You just thought you could because I'm younger. And that's coming from someone who got the Certification out of a bunch'a older people."
Clever little brat. Roy closed his eyes and sighed. "Bah. I'll never go back on my word, but!" He held up a finger and eyed her. "You're getting one from the commissary. I'm not taking you to a soda shop in town."
Riza crossed her arms. "A milkshake's a milkshake."
"Hmph." Roy straightened his uniform. "Would you care for one as well, General Graman?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "As a matter of fact, would you mind keeping an eye on her for about an hour and then bringing her to my office?"
Riza made a sad, if somewhat whiny, little sound. "I thought you'd have this afternoon free."
"So did I." Graman patted her shoulder. "But that phone call was business, and there's some things that have come up which I need to take care of before this weekend."
She sighed, then smiled a little. "At least we got an hour or two in."
"We did at that." Graman looked to Roy. "Normally, I'm off on weekends and bring her here then, but I need to go out of town tomorrow on duty, and won't be able to. We were trying to fit a bit of time in, but I had less than I thought I might. I should be back at my desk in an hour, so if you'd bring her by after then, I would appreciate it."
Inwardly, Roy groaned. But currying favor with higher-ups was always a good thing in the military. He smiled, and saluted the older man. "Of course, sir. You can count on me."
Riza rolled her eyes.
"Splendid! Don't worry about the gun, I'll take care of that." He patted Riza on the head. "You two can run along, and try not to create too much chaos and mayhem."
"Come on," Roy told her, and walked for the doors, well aware that she had to nearly jog to keep up with him. Hmph. Showed up by a kid. At least she wasn't nine, which would have made it all the worse, but still!
They didn't say a word to one another until after the milkshakes were bought, and Roy carried them outside before handing one to Riza.
"Thank you," she said, smiling happily as she took the cup, closing her eyes in contentment as she sipped it through the straw.
Roy watched her for a moment, then shook his head. Kids. "There's a bench over there. Let's go sit down." He reached it first; she was less concerned now about keeping up with him than before, and he wondered if she even stopped drinking that milkshake at any point. "If you aren't careful, you're going to give yourself a headache," he warned her.
She came up for air then. "I know how to drink milkshakes. I never get a headache."
"You have them a lot then?" he asked as he sipped his own.
"Milkshakes? Yep. Dad usually brings me one when he gets home from work during the week." As soon as she was done talking, sipping resumed.
"Is he in the military too?"
Riza shook her head, not releasing the straw for another moment. "He's a banker. Grandpa's my mom's dad. No, she's not military either. She's more like Grandma."
"Any brothers or sisters?" Roy asked. Riza shook her head, this time not bothering to stop sipping long enough to speak. He leaned back against the bench and crossed his legs. "So maybe you're not as young as I thought, but what is a little girl doing in a gun range instead of being home playing dolls and dress-up and all the things little girls your age do?"
Riza made a face. "Dolls and dress-up are for little girls," she retorted, "and I never liked those things anyway."
"A regular tomboy then, huh?"
"Mom keeps hoping this is just a phase."
"Maybe it is. Just wait till you get old enough to discover boys," Roy said, smirking at her. "Guns might not be as much fun then."
Riza rolled her eyes and gave him a dry sort of look. "Why is people are always so sure I'll change my mind on being a soldier when I'm older when I've wanted to be one for as long as I can remember and I'm older now than I was then and I'm even more sure that's what I want?"
"A soldier, huh? So you want to take after Grandpa?"
"Yup. He's going to sponsor me as an officer when I'm old enough. I'm planning to be the best with a gun before then, not just pistols, but rifles too. He's promised me a rifle of my own when I turn sixteen, and when I'm fourteen, he'll start teaching me how to use one of those too with one of his."
Roy chuckled. "Sounds like Amestris might see the best sharpshooter in history then." He sipped his milkshake, looking at her again, and smirked. "I'll outrank you, you know."
Riza looked at him, then stuck her tongue out, razzing him. "You're forgetting that most promotions require experience, and you're on a fast track. By the time I'm a major, I'll be an even better soldier than you."
He razzed her right back. "It doesn't matter, I'll still outrank you and be able to able to boss you around. It's military tradition that fools get to boss around smart people."
Wait. What? That sounded so much better in his head.
She gave him a dazzling grin. "And be it far from us to break tradition," she replied in a cheery tone.
Roy glowered at her. "You put the 'brat' in military-brat, you know?"
"Grandfather says I take after him." She was rather proud of that.
"Hmph." Roy sipped his milkshake. "So he'll probably be glad to hear you're being a little pest."
"Mmhmm!" She nodded as much as she could without releasing the straw.
"You're planning on being better than most soldiers are after training before you even go into it." He glanced at her. "What else is going on in that devious little head of yours?"
"Just that. Finish school, become an officer, be the best sharpshooter ever, try not to get killed before I get promoted to general, and then retire." She nodded firmly.
"Like your Grandpa?" He reached out and tussled her hair. "So you got everything all figured out."
She smoothed her bangs back down into place. "Yup. So what about you?"
Roy merely smirked and looked away, sitting back in a casual manner as he sipped his milkshake. "That's a secret."
Riza watched him for a moment then stuck her tongue back out. "I don't know why the Flame Alchemist is so surprised someone younger is better at something."
Roy laughed quietly. "It'll happen to you too someday," he said. "You'll think you'll know everything, and along will come some upstart and knock you down a few notches."
"Nobody can know everything," Riza replied. "I don't know how you do your alchemy with fire. And I can out-shoot you. That's why I'm just focusing on one thing to be really good at and learn everything I can about it so the chances of somebody being better with a gun than me are pretty low."
"You should have gone into alchemy then. We all specialize in something."
Riza made a face. "But I hate math. Guns are better."
He couldn't help but snicker at the look on her face. "You're all so cute when you're young."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she complained.
He just smiled. "What do you think it means?"
She was quiet for a moment, then shut her eyes tight in a scowl. "I can still out-shoot you."
"Ah, but where will you be when I cook off your ammo while it's still in the gun?"
Riza was quiet for a moment, then her eyes widened as the ramifications of that dawned on her. "You wouldn't do that."
"Not to you, perhaps, but it's a valid tactic on the battlefield."
She made a face. "I hope none of the other sides ever have alchemists then."
His smile dimmed a little, and it was on the tip of his tongue to point out if that were the case, chances were the other side would be outgunned on a level that approached a massacre, should the Fuhrer ever decide to use Alchemists in battle. But she was still just a kid, too young to go to war, too young to worry about the moralities of combat. He didn't pretend he knew what the reality was like either, but since the day he put the uniform on, he wondered about the questions. "Good milkshake?" he asked, changing the topic.
She smiled. "Good enough for me."
Roy grinned and looked out over the commons area again, sipping his milkshake in silence. After a few moments, he spoke. "Maybe I'll have to see about what sort of strings I need to pull to get you in my unit once you graduate. It would look good on my record for the Flame Alchemist to have such an expert marksman."
Riza looked at him. "So you think I'm that good, huh?"
Roy looked at the girl out of the corner of his eye, and smirked. "What does it matter what I think?" he asked. "If I tell you 'yes', then you might get full of yourself and slack off. If I say 'no', you might be offended and have your grandfather see to it that you don't get transferred to me. Either way, neither answer would yield good results. If you want to be the best and know you're the best, you're going to have to work for it. If you can master a rifle with the same dedication as you're showing with a pistol, I'll have the best sharpshooter in Amestris under my command."
Riza grinned. "Hmm." She finished off her milkshake, noisily sipping as she tried to get the last bit out. "We'll see. I have to think about it. After all..." That grin turned thoroughly impish. "I might change my mind."
Roy stuck his tongue out at her. "Or I might, since you're such a brat."
"I might be a brat, but I'll still be the best," she retorted, then grinned. "You're an alchemist. Consider it equivalent trade."
All Roy could do was laugh. "No, equivalent trade would be seeing how the instructors in school manage to keep from pulling all their hair out when you show up."
"You might have to stop by then," she replied, playing with the empty cup, and grinned. "Knowledge like that would come in handy when I'm your subordinate."