[roy/riza; pg] No Small Command Theme: #13, Dreams of the impossible (52_Flavours) Characters: Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Rating: PG Notes: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. This is a work of fanfiction for personal entertainment only. Both concrit and comments welcome and desired. Anime spoilers for up to Episode 48. Title: No Small Command Author:emilie_burns Word Count: 1105 Summary:She found herself wishing he would call her 'lieutenant' again, or even 'Hawkeye'. The way he said her name, the look on his face, everything was changing beyond their control and they both knew it. Original LJ Post Date: July 24, 2005 @ 52_Flavours
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No Small Command
The knock followed quickly by three short barks from Black Hayate startled Riza Hawkeye from her book. "Quiet," she ordered as she stood, and glanced to the clock on the wall. At that hour, there were only two possibilities who it could it be, and while it wasn't entirely logical for one of those possibilities to knock, stranger things certainly have occurred in Amestris. She picked up her pistol from the table, sliding it out of its holster before moving away from the door, to the side, toward a window.
Taking care not to make any sudden movements, she inched the drapes away from the frame, and instantly recognized the figure silhouetted by the gas lamp down the street. Locks were quickly disengaged and she opened the door, pistol held down at her side, and stepped back to let him in.
"Colonel."
"Lieutenant."
The look on his face as he passed, the look she saw in full after locking the door behind him and turning to face her commanding officer caused a sudden, icy lump to form low in her stomach, and twist around inside in a sick manner which spiraled out, sending a frost along her nerves. "What is it?"
"The major and I have determined what our next move shall be."
"Yes, sir?"
"We're being placed in command of the forces deployed to the north to hold off the invaders." His lips twisted into a dark, humorless smile. "It seems it would cause them too much trouble if they were to dispose of us in the same manner in which they killed Brigadier General Hughes."
The sick, frozen feeling began to melt under the heat of anger. "Battlefield casualties," she said. "You have the best sniper at your back, sir."
The smile became a smirk, and there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, even if it was still a grim sort. "I'm afraid I won't, Lieutenant, although I do hope you will watch Lieutenant Havoc as vigilantly as you guard me."
The frost returned. Riza frowned. "What do you mean, sir?"
"We have decided that Major Armstrong, under my orders, will be commanding the troops into a rebellion. Once word reaches Central, the Fuhrer will no doubt deploy additional forces in order to bring us down. However, I will not be at the base camp. We have assured that according to records, Lieutenant Havoc is not well enough to leave the hospital, and I am going to switch places with him."
She stared at him, into those dark gray eyes which she could normally read so well. No, she could read them fine, she just did not want to understand what she saw. "And you will be doing what, sir?"
He hesitated. "It would be better if you--"
"Don't give me that!" she snapped. He blinked, startled as she dropped the rigid military protocol. "Tell me."
Roy sighed. "Very well. I am going to take down the Fuhrer, one way or another."
Riza closed her eyes. Her nerves were so cold, so frozen, they were humming like a wire fence in deep winter. "I see." Several moments ticked by in silence. "It's a shame that Sergeant Fuery is likewise incapacitated and unfit for duty." She looked at him again.
It took a moment for a look of comprehension to cross his eyes. "Riza, you don't ha--"
"I know," she interrupted, and her voice was quieter than she intended, the surprise of hearing him use her given name softening her words.
He was quiet, watching her. "You're willfully implicating yourself in an assassination on the head of a state."
"I know."
"You'd still follow me even to that?"
"To the deepest reaches of hell and back again, sir." A stinging sensation began in her eyes and tweaked her nose, forcing her to turn her gaze up to the ceiling in an effort to hold back the threat of tears. "You should know by now that's not even a question."
"I can't ask that much of you, Riza," he whispered.
She found herself wishing he would call her 'lieutenant' again, or even 'Hawkeye'. The way he said her name, the look on his face, everything was changing beyond their control and they both knew it. But it had become nigh impossible to pretend, when he said her name. Her lips twisted in an attempt at a smile that didn't quite make it past the way he blurred in her vision. "There was never a need," she replied, her voice low in an effort to keep it steady.
He shut his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "I can only hope that I can live up to deserving you."
Riza felt something crack inside, and crumble into little pieces. "I wouldn't be here still if you hadn't already, long ago." When he looked at her again, she gave him a soft smile, strained as it were by weight of tears that she refused to allow to fall.
He returned it, albeit wearily, and ran a hand through his hair as he looked around her living room. "Are you tired, lieutenant?" he asked, and she could breathe again. Return to normalcy, back to the sense -- however illusionary it may well be -- that things were still under their control.
"I can put coffee on, sir."
He nodded. "We have a lot of planning to do." She saw his lips curl into a smirk, but the look in his eyes was grim. "I don't suppose you know where to find any miracles at this hour of the night?"
A deep breath, a heartbeat, a moment to collect herself and she slipped back behind the old and familiar, if now tenuous, wall of efficient pragmatism and professionalism. "The same place we always do, sir. There's still a few left." She walked into the kitchen to prepare the coffee, Black Hayate at her heels.
"Riza?"
The third invocation of her name. The wall crumbled to dust, and she knew if it were used again from that moment on, it would be nothing more than a phantom cover lingering, unsubstantial. She stopped and turned to face him, to see him leaning in the doorway, watching her, his hands in his pockets. Feeling her own heart beating gave her a curious sense of numb detachment in a place where she could hold back her fears.
"Thank you."
There were no words left to say between them that either could give voice to. The silence said what they could not, and in the silence, they quietly picked up the pieces of dreams, hopes, and the wall of conduct which existed between them.