[roy/riza; pg-13] Crocus Angustifolius - 1/6 Theme: 4. Everything you ever wished for (52_Flavours) Characters: Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Rating: PG-13 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. The entire anime and movie are spoiled liekwhoa. Title:Crocus Angustifolius : Prologue, Chapter 1: Miss Ghost (Part 1 of 6) Author:emilie_burns Word Count: 14,000 Summary:He should have stayed in the north, should have stayed enlisted, should have stayed away from the epicenter of hell. Original LJ Post Date: December 18, 2005 @ 52_Flavours
Crocus Angustifolius
Prologue
"Well, it all comes down to the things that I never even wanted. I should live my life without holding on to you. But it's hard to see the sky through the clouds when it's raining. I know somewhere it's blue." - Chantal Kreviazuk
"And in review, we have found some serious questions raised on the allegedly late Fuhrer Bradley's administration." The parliament member looked up and clasped his hands over the documentation he had just been studying. "At present, our shortage of talented State Alchemists and a lack of reliable leaders has prompted us to place this offer before you."
Roy Mustang, corporal, kept his gaze steady and expression impassive to fight off annoyance at what he knew was coming.
"Your heroic bravery and quick thinking during the recent invasion has made the Parliament willing to overlook any misconduct in your actions two years ago. Your entry exam will be waived due to recent events, as it is apparent your alchemy knowledge has not suffered, and you will be granted the rank of Major with a clean record should you choose to accept our generosity."
"If you do not choose to do so, you will retain your rank and return to your station in the north," another member said. "The charges will stand, unfortunately. But the choice is yours."
How magnanimous, Roy bitterly thought. Either let them turn him into a living weapon again, or very likely face a trial in military courts for conspiracy. At least there were no murder charges to contend with, as no body was ever found.
Because I completely ashed that sonuvabitch.
"Corporal? Do you need a bit of time to consider our offer?"
Roy turned his head slightly to look to the speaker, as he was seated beyond his scope of vision. "Thank you, Mister Gruene, but that is unnecessary." He clenched his teeth and forced himself not to let his hands ball into fists. "Your generosity is appreciated," he replied, keeping his voice as close to neutral as was humanly possible. By 'appreciated', I of course mean 'despised'. "I would be honored to resume my title of Flame Alchemist."
"Wonderful. Simply excellent. We knew you'd see reason, Corporal, or shall I say Major?" Gruene gestured toward the door as another member stood to open it. "Just go with Lieutenant Maceler and we'll send along the appropriate paperwork to mark your promotion and reinstatement, effective immediately. Welcome back."
***
Crocus Angustifolius Chapter One Miss Ghost
"Way down beneath the surface, far beyond the light of day, So many things lie buried deep, and baby, they should stay that way. Oh, my wicked, little habit, we've really made a mess. Everything's been trivialized in our vain pursuit of happiness." - Don Henley
So this is what a major's office looks like. Roy turned around, inspecting the small, windowless room which was barely big enough for the three desks and the file cabinets it held. He noticed with no small degree of irritation that the room would have to be entirely rearranged for the larger of the three desks -- his -- to be positioned in a way that the door was not to his blind side.
He had no difficulty at keeping from expecting Hawkeye to walk in at any moment. Things weren't like they used to be. They would never be like they used to be. The altered perception depth, the narrowed field of vision, the headaches and lingering pains, they all reminded him every minute of the day what was gone.
Who was gone.
She was somewhere in the building, he knew. Right where she'd been the last two years. Right where she transferred herself to, behind a desk, out from under his command. Without even talking it over with him first.
Coming back to Central, letting the Parliament corner him into being reinstated, it was all a mistake. He should have stayed in the north, should have stayed enlisted, should have stayed away from the epicenter of hell.
True to their word, he was reinstated before the day was out. It had taken a few more days for an actual post to be finalized, and while he had hoped they would shove him off somewhere else in the background, somewhere away from Central, he doubted they would. For all the pretty talk, the fact remained that he had conspired with several others against the ruling government at the time. It made sense that the Parliament would want him close enough to keep an eye on him.
They didn't offer him anyone from his old command back, and he didn't ask. Following him got them nothing but grief in the end. Not even she remained, after she went to the end of all things and back again with him.
He didn't ask.
While he waited for his staff in his new office, which was little more than a closet (another testament to the hypocrisy of the Parliament's 'generosity') he occupied his attention with the layout, mentally scripting how to rearrange things. His desk would be relocated over there. The two other desks across the room, front to front. Pull the file cabinets away from that wall and line them up against the other. Get another lamp or two in there to counter the lack of sunlight.
If he was going to be stuck in there, he might as well make it somewhat tolerable.
"Reporting for duty, sir," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Too familiar. Not quite believing his ears, he spun around and couldn't help but smile in surprise seeing someone from his previous command. He wasn't sure how or why the younger man got the post, and at that moment, he didn't care.
"At ease, Lieutenant Havoc," he replied, returning his salute.
Havoc grinned around that ever-present cigarette, dropping his hand and stepped aside to let the other subordinate in.
"Second Lieutenant Adam Lansen reporting to duty, sir!" The brown-haired man gave him a snappy salute, heels clicking together, his back ramrod straight in perfect formation.
My god. Were we ever that young? He knew he was likely no more than ten years Lansen's senior, if even that, but looking at the young, intensely serious and eager expression, it felt far more than that. He doubted the boy had been out of the academy for more than a year. "At ease, Lieutenant Lansen," Roy said, returning his salute.
The younger man lowered his hand and immediately assumed parade rest. Inwardly, Roy sighed.
"Here's the records and transfer papers," Havoc said, casually holding over the envelope he carried, matching the one in Lansen's hand.
"First day on the job and already you're giving me paperwork?" Roy asked, managing a faint smirk. There was something to be said for normalcy, no matter how painful.
"I hoped a few years of being enlisted improved your work ethics," Havoc retorted.
His smirk deepened. His work ethics were fine, they always had been. But it was all part of the performance they had put on, and familiar old ground had its own brand of comfort. "On the contrary," he countered, "after several years of grunt work, I'm more determined than ever to enjoy the perks of command. You both can put those on my desk for now. We have other work to do first."
"By 'we', you mean me and Lansen," Havoc said.
"Of course. I'm a leader, I'm here to tell you what to do. You two are here to do it."
Meanwhile, Lansen watched the two of them with a slightly disbelieving look at their casual, almost insubordinate interaction. Roy decided he would give him a day or two to get settled in to see if the case of academy-induced stiffness would abate before ordering him to extract the stick from his ass, in nicer terms, of course.
Lansen carefully placed his folder in the center of Roy's desk in front of the chair, while Havoc casually tossed it in the general direction. For a moment, it looked like the folder was about to slide right off to the floor, and perhaps it would have, had the younger officer not been quick to catch it.
"Now, your first assignment," Roy said. Havoc arched an eyebrow slightly, giving him attention, while Lansen stood at attention. "We're going to arrange this room. I want my desk over there, and those desks here, and the file cabinets down this wall instead."
Havoc looked around. "I'm not sure there's enough room in here to move anything."
"Then we'll move my desk out into the hallway, and bring it back in when we're done," Roy said, and picked up the folders.
"You mean we're gonna move it and you're gonna stand there," Havoc said, even while grabbing one end of the heavy wooden desk.
"I'm not just standing here." Roy adopted a tone of mock indignation and importance. "I'm making sure your important paperwork doesn't get misplaced through all this."
Havoc looked over as Lansen picked up other end of the desk, and smirked. "Welcome back, sir."
***
It barely killed an hour for them to get the office arranged to Roy's satisfaction. There wasn't much to do with just a few pieces of furniture to worry about, and lunchtime was still a couple of hours off. That would hopefully kill another hour, but in the meantime, he still had a little over six to endure.
He assigned them busywork, making up lists of supplies they felt the office lacked, while he reviewed their files. He read Lansen's first, and as he suspected, the nineteen-year-old had only been out of the academy a mere four months. Wonderful. So they assigned him an idealistic greenhorn barely old enough to remember Ishbal. It wasn't so much a clean record as it was a blank one. His marks were good, but not impressive. An average soldier, the sort of one who might make captain, or perhaps even major, before retirement, if circumstances allowed.
All in all, not the sort of subordinate Roy would have personally chosen. He would much rather have someone like Breda, for although his exterior wasn't impressive, his mind was quick and brilliant. Or Fuery, who for all his socially awkward demeanor, was a wizard with electronics with a helping of courage as big as his heart. Or even Falman, quiet, observant, and loyal to the end.
He could feel her name pressing in on his thoughts, out of sight, but never out of mind. If the choice of a subordinate was left up to him, he would...
Roy viciously shoved the thought back in its closet and barricaded the door before it had a chance to complete formation. I'm being unfair. Just because Lansen isn't Breda, Falman, or Fuery doesn't mean he won't prove himself to be a loyal, hard-working soldier. Look at his record, he works and plays well with others. He'll do fine.
Finally, he closed the file and glanced to the clock. A little more than a half-hour had passed. Fortunately, there was still one more to review, even though he knew most of the contents by heart.
The name scratched and tapped on the doorway, making a distracting nuisance of itself and an epithet escaped under his breath.
"Sir?" Lansen asked, hesitant.
Roy looked up, trying to keep his internal irritation out of his voice as he spoke. "Are you finished with the inventory?"
From the way Lansen almost stammered the negative reply, he knew he hadn't been all that successful in his attempt. Roy glanced over at Havoc, but the other lieutenant was studying his notepad with deliberate care, as if completely oblivious to the conversation or his slip in temper.
"Very well," Roy replied, finally succeeding at leveling his voice under control. "Carry on."
None of the additions to Havoc's file came as any surprise to him. The two had remained in contact over the years, and he had been kept in the know of going-ons in Central. That hadn't even killed ten minutes. His first day back on the job, and already he was sick of everything before lunch. Sick of the uniform, sick of the office, sick of the ghosts of old routines shadowing every moment, and sick of the ghost of her standing by his shoulder, prompting him with paperwork, awaiting orders.
The hell with it.
Roy pushed away from the desk, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction the way the chair screeched painfully over the linoleum. It was an appropriate sound effect for the day. "You two finish the inventory listing," he said, tugging his uniform jacket straight. "I'm going to obtain some requisition forms for you to fill out when you're done."
He didn't wait for a reply before walking out the door, eager to escape the stuffy little office and the ghosts in every corner.