[roy/riza; g] Scars Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Title: Scars Author:emilie_burns Theme: #25, Paradox; (30_Romances) Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye Rating: G Word Count: 797 Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. This is a work of fanfiction for personal entertainment only. Notes: Blame IWIWAL for this plotbunny. That said, I'm not completely happy with this fic, but neither can I find any threads to pick up to weave more into it. Rather than poking around blindly and possibly overdoing it, I'm leaving it as is unless I ever get a clear flash of inspiration on what it might be missing, if anything. Spoilers for Manga Chapter 39 on up. Summary:It was then she realized that sometimes, scars could be beautiful. Original LJ Post Date: August 12, 2006 @ Chaotic_Library
Scars
The life of a soldier was a harsh one. Very few, save for those who never fought a battle except from behind a desk, made it through their careers without a single scar. Some were in places out of sight, but never out of mind, like her own. Some were below the surface, carved into the heart and staining the soul forever. Some battle scars commonly sustained by soldiers were thin lines, the skin sliced clean, and others were deep pockmarks with spiderwebbed scars spiraling outward from gunshot wounds. Others were burnt and jagged, from heated shrapnel tearing open the flesh. Still others were missing limbs, blinded eyes, and other disfigurements.
How they were regarded varied by scar and by soldier. Some were unconcerned, they were part of the life after all. Some wore them proudly, badges of honor sustained in battle. Still others, like herself, hid them from the world where possible, finding shame in them.
Not that she would ever admit to such shame; it wasn't practical. It wasn't a sensible reaction. They were there and that was that and there were certainly more important things to concern herself with. That was how the world expected First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye to be, so that was exactly how she was.
Not all the scars which made her cringe with inward shame were either on or in her. The wounds which left the Colonel restless with pain even now made her close her eyes tight against the darkness of the car.
Doctor Knox had been dropped off, and it was just the two of them now, returning to Central for a confrontation that left a cold lump of dread knotting her stomach at the thought. The Colonel was confident about it, or so he seemed. But she knew him. She knew that even if she couldn't read past the confidence, there was still that same private fear which was gnawing away at her.
That wound was a brand of her own personal failure, for not being where she needed to be, for not being able to protect not only him, but Havoc as well. And now, it was worsened still, the reopened stitches repaired by Knox before they left.
He was half-asleep, resting fitfully, and refused all recommendations to lie down in the back seat. She could hear his occasional groan of pain over the engine and the car's rattle as they went as fast as she dared over the dirt road, particularly at any bump she couldn't quite manage to avoid. His breathing was labored, and she could see a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip reflecting moonlight.
There was nothing she could do for him. She dared not go slower, let alone stop, since they had to be back in Central by morning. But each wince, each groan, it was pain she had failed to prevent, and couldn't take away.
She felt his hand seek out her arm, the grip solid, and she looked away from the road. His position hadn't changed, his eyes were still closed, and she slid her arm out from his grip to hold his hand. The pressure was almost painful, but if it helped even a fraction, it was bearable.
She looked down at his hand over hers, the marks visible in the dim light, the lines still an angry, fresh red. It was then she realized that sometimes, scars could be beautiful. The array carved there had saved all their lives; hers, his, Havoc's, Alphonse's. Self-inflicted, but necessary. A mark he would carry for the rest of his life, a reminder of that horrible day, and in her eyes, a badge of honor, proof of his dedication to them, his devotion, his determination to go any lengths to protect the ones who followed him.
Riza knew she hadn't made the wrong choice in believing in him, no matter what confusion she felt back in the war zone. Perhaps though, it was the belief they held in him that drove him to such lengths, a desire to deserve that loyalty.
Maybe though, it worked both ways. That scar, that damaged skin that had saved their lives, made her all the more determined to never fail him again, just as his determination to not fail them pushed him past the awareness of pain and into action where an ordinary man might fall.
They were only strong enough to support him because he built them up to be, just as they in turn built him up to be capable of giving them that strength. And those cuts on the back of his hand, they were a tangible symbol to words left unspoken, but not unfelt.
In the dark, her fingers tightened around his, and she smiled.