Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye (flame_queen) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-08-12 22:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | fullmetal alchemist: canon: riza hawkeye, fullmetal alchemist: canon: roy mustang |
Who: Colonel Mustang & Lieutenant Hawkeye
What: The Lieutenant makes an executive decision.
When: Afternoon
Where: The Barracks
Rating: PG-13
Status: Log - Complete
People had been shot. And from what Riza could tell, the tall blonde woman who was friends with York had been the person to shoot Mr. Ramirez. He hadn’t seemed too upset about it, though.. Well. Regardless, this place had just proven itself to be dangerous and the Lieutenant was here to make sure her Colonel was safe. That meant no more sleeping in an open Barracks. That meant something more secure. That meant an apartment. After visiting Ed in his, the blonde woman was convinced that was where the Colonel needed to be, behind a locked door. Of course, she had just started working and had very few credits, and she was certain he had few credits as well. Why? Because when did Mustang save his money for anything? It was a tradition of his to spend it as soon as he made it-- on drinks, on women, on cars full of flowers that he tried to pawn off on his subordinate.. The thought had her sighing as she came back into the barracks and headed over to the bunk the familiar dark mop of hair was currently inhabiting. Black Hayate was there, as always, and she smiled a bit as she saw the pair. “Sir.” Her greeting as she stepped up to the bunk and gave him a small salute. “Can we talk?” Always so formal, even after he’d.. Er.. Well. She tried not to think about what he’d done. Or what she’d done in return. Her cheeks threatened to heat at the very thought, but she managed to keep it under control. *** A day off for Colonel Mustang didn’t look much different from a day on the job. He was notoriously lazy and spent more effort finding ways to shirk off his duties than actually doing the work. The work did always get done in the end, however. Call it magic or manipulation. Call it weird. Whatever it was, it was and it was efficient enough for the man to maintain his position and even move up in the ranks. But today was the Colonel’s day off, which was why he’d spent it in the barracks, lazing around with the dog and a book he’d bought off someone, of course. He looked up on Lieutenant Hawkeye’s approach, his dark eyes assessing quietly and once assured she was in good order went back to the page. “None of this is logical,” he said… to the dog? Had he been talking to the dog? About the book? No one said the Colonel was particularly stable. But he did set the book aside and sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He yawned, stretched, and then looked at the Lieutenant. “I guess it would be awkward if you stood there all day,” he said lightly, his tone playful in that way he used on other women. He was in a good mood. A good sign. His good moods were as unpredictable as the rest of him, as was the cause for them. “Sit down Lieutenant. What did you want to talk about?” She sounded like she was going to scold him. He hadn’t even done anything wrong today. Still, the man looked amused. *** What a pair the two of them made. The Colonel wholly unpredictable in his mood, mannerisms, personality, and reactions to certain situations. He was an unstable individual who found great success with that situation, a rare thing. And then there was the Lieutenant, who was predictable down to her daily routine. Everything planned and scheduled out. Even her time spent with her unpredictable Colonel could be predictable. Try to puzzle that one out. Her reactions to him and his instability were predictable, the time she took her showers, when she ate, when she went running in the morning. A machine, that was Riza Hawkeye, well oiled and as stable as they came. Maybe that was why the two were such a perfect pair. She helped him be a little less insane and he helped her be a little less stale. When invited to sit-- rather, told to sit-- she considered the bunk beside him, but ultimately chose the empty bunk across from him, sitting there and folding her hands in her lap properly. “Sir. I’ve collected the remainder of my credits and I’ll be needing all the credits you have, as well. You need to be housed in an apartment. I’ll be selecting one this evening and you’ll be able to move in as soon as tomorrow.” No room for discussion there. He would be moving to somewhere safer, more controlled. “The apartments are closer to the Lab, as well.” So it made complete sense. *** An apartment. She’d elected to move him to an apartment. He was entirely unperturbed that she’d done this without his input, seeming more troubled by the notion he’d have to move at all. His eyes trailed up to the ceiling that now reflected a midday sky, sunny and blue with the occasional drift of white clouds. “Did it occur to you I enjoy this bunk?” he asked after a moment, his eyes unmoving from the sky overhead. Magic, the boys had said when he’d asked them about it. The things alchemy could do.. Or eventually be made to do. The true purpose of an alchemist’s research. Mustang flexed his fingers when he turned his gaze back down to his hands. He didn’t stare at them long, the Lieutenant was watching him watch them from the bunk across from him. So he curled his fingers into fists and folded his arms casually across his chest, leaning back against the bedpost, watching her with as much interest as he did anything. “Why?” To outsiders, maybe the question was a sign of defiance, but the Colonel genuinely sought Hawkeye’s reasoning. He trusted her. *** “It did, sir.” It was left unsaid that she had considered that he enjoyed the bunk, and that his enjoyment had been dismissed in favor of his safety. Sorry, Colonel, that was the way of the world sometimes. It was something they both understood well enough. Her hands tightened some in her lap, her cold eyes locked onto his fingers as they flexed into fists, watching as his arms crossed. She knew what he was thinking. She knew what he saw when he looked at his hands. But soon those Killer’s eyes were coming up to meet the troubled set of her Colonel. “Because there was a shooting earlier. I won’t risk you becoming a casualty in someone else’s personal vendetta.” God forbid someone open fire here in the barracks and Mustang take a bullet in the chest because someone couldn’t hold their temper. She could have explained further, but there was no need, he would understand exactly the reasoning with just that small bit of information. “There are several different sizes to choose from, sir. A studio, two, three, and four bedrooms. Or you prefer, there are also houses.” But something like that would be a little harder to get ahold of. She could do it, certainly, but it might take a day or two longer. If he wanted it, though, that was what he would get. As long as he was behind a locked door, he could have as much space as he wanted. *** Mustang’s dark eyes found her own deep brown ones, narrowing slightly while she explained in the barest manner possible. A shooting. Danger. He needed somewhere safe to be, but safe according to Hawkeye’s standards in a place she had no control. And the open barracks weren’t it. That it had taken her this long to make the decision was something in itself. But she’d done as told and had taken time to adjust before coming to the Colonel with anything too important (according to Mustang’s standards, anyway). If she was worried he’d take a bullet to the chest she had good reason to be, Mustang tended not to value his life above others. Would he put himself in the way of someone else? He was very unpredictable. The Colonel peered at her steadily for long seconds, letting them tick by before he nodded and offered her that playful boyish smile. “I thought you were selecting it?” He asked. She’d asked his opinion, or no, rather she’d asked for what he wanted in terms of space and little else. And no matter what he asked for she’d find a way to make it be. A mansion with gold floors? Fine, yes. Where was it? She’d bring it here if she had to, piece by piece. He chuckled at the idea, his grin widening. “Where will you be staying, Lieutenant?” He didn’t like too much space. What was he use when he never used it? When he went home alone or only ever brought women for an evening. *** His boyish taunting earned him a firm look from those chilly brown eyes, but she answered his question with all seriousness, to ensure the tone of the conversation was kept. “I will be, sir.” As soon as he told her what she wanted. She would choose the location, the floor plan, the level. That was up to her, for his safety. His home back home had been chosen by her-- well, nearly. She’d picked three acceptable houses for the Colonel to choose from and he’d been allowed to select from those. He wouldn’t get the same freedom here. Where would she be staying? “You’re sitting beneath my bunk, sir.” She had no intention of moving. For one, if they were getting him an apartment, there wasn’t going to be much money left over to get her one too, not until she got working (and he stopped spending his money on ridiculous things). His safety was far more important than hers and she could handle herself down here in the barracks. The blonde woman wouldn’t be throwing herself into the line of fire unless it was for her Colonel, or a child. And it wasn’t as if they could live together, for as close as they were, he had never been to her apartment and she’d only been to his home to bring him home after a drunken evening out. Their lives were entirely separate outside of work.. It just so happened that ‘work’ for Riza could often be 24/7, thanks to the instability of her Colonel. *** Her stern look earned another grin but it subsided when her seriousness took hold. She had a valid reason then to fear for his life, or at least to believe he wasn’t safe here. For all his laziness and boyish charm, Mustang wasn’t an idiot. Only morons took on a team designed specifically with their skills in mind and then ignored them when they gave their assessment. So he looked at Hawkeye and nodded, accepting her terms and her decision. She’d find a place and he’d go there. End of discussion. The rest was just details. What a pair they made. “Alright,” he agreed a moment later. She’d be staying in the barracks and he’d be moving. Part of him wanted to protest, to argue that she wasn’t any safer than he was out here, exposed. He didn’t though, because he knew that she wouldn’t hesitate; his safety took priority and she would, in fact, be safer if it was only herself she had to protect. They were each other’s Achilles’ Heel. Mustang’s expression relaxed, he rose from the bunk and turned to the locker in which his sparse items had been stored. A few changes of clothing now, a single pistol and its ammunition, a couple of books, and the small cache of credits. He collected them and pivoted, offering them to Hawkeye. “I haven’t gotten paid this week.” His smile flickered back into place. *** She would be safer if she didn't have to worry about him, and he would be closer to York and Ed, so they would help to keep watch. It was just a better idea all around. If he didn't have a size preference, he would get a two bedroom, in case someone else showed up here. Havoc. Fuery. ..Maes. Could that happen? Standing up, she would take those credits deftly from him. “And when you get paid, sir, you'll give me the money.” A statement, not a question. It went without saying that the money was far better off in her capable hands than his, considering he could spend that money on anything, and never be able to figure out how, exactly, he had spent all of it. The coin stashed into her pocket, cool eyes returned to his darker set. “I think a two bedroom is suitable.” Since he hadn't give. Any preference. “You can have an office.” For working. When he wasn't pulling security, that was. Or maybe for just that. Or maybe so that things could feel just a little bit normal. She could visit him in his office and everything would be okay. A few long seconds of silence passed before she got up the nerve to ask: “How are you doing, sir?” *** How does she do that? He wondered idly. She always had a plan and the perfect execution. Everything was so neatly ordered in her life, a series of calculations and executions, choices that combined so that everything went so smoothly. She took his credits and deftly demanded the rest whenever he should come by them and had the gall to know he’d comply. Annoyed, he raised a brow and asked, “Are you giving me an allowance?” Otherwise she’d end up having to buy the alcohol for him. Or he’d just get it from Gambit. He shrugged. A two bedroom, fine. It was fine. He looked at her when she asked her question, his expression melding into surprise just briefly. He schooled it, leaning back against the bunk, that casual smile returning. Colonel Mustang looked her head to toe and quirked a brow, “I’m fine.” It wasn’t said for her to guess what it meant, they were well beyond that now. “I’m holding myself together, Hawkeye, you worry too much,” he added. She did. *** Satisfied she would be getting exactly what she had demanded, the Lieutenant nodded once and folded her hands in front of her, clearly ready for an order, or simply to discuss matters with him. She would stand until he sat, or even after he did, if she wasn't invited to sit as well. Sometimes even if she was. It all depended on the situation and the moods of the two involved. “I will be giving you credits on a weekly basis.” Yes, an allowance, like a child. Or like a superior officer who would spend it all on booze and women. She wasn't sure how much he'd been drinking before she got here, but she knew about his much he drank now that she was here. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, she had seen him at his worst, the first few years following Ishval.. this seemed to be an improvement. She knew, of course, she should have done something. Put a stop to it. Made him do something healthy, made him talk about it to someone.. But she couldn't. Because she couldn't deal with it in a healthy way, either, and forcing him to do it would have him forcing her to do it and she.. She couldn't. “I'll find one this evening and we'll move you tomorrow, sir.” And that was that. *** It was a joke that Colonel Mustang needed a babysitter. It was a joke the Lieutenant Hawkeye was exactly that. Sometimes a joke got really close to the truth. She took his money, she’d determine how much he could spend of whatever he made and the rest? Well, she’d handle that. Roy liked to believe Hawkeye didn’t run every aspect of his life, but that was optimistic at best. As evidenced. She determined where he would live, she often made sure he ate, the only thing she didn’t do was decide who he spent his time with. But if she could be there, she was. He didn’t mind. She did her job and she did it well, and that was all he’d ever asked for. Well, in addition to everything else he asked her for. Mustang bent and picked up the book he’d been reading, lightly petting Black Hayate’s head in passing, before he turned and tossed it haphazardly back into the locker and closed the door. “Is that all Lieutenant Hawkeye?” he asked. If there was nothing else she wanted, then he’d go back to wasting the rest of his day. *** She stood there silent, unmoving, just watching as the Colonel tossed his book back into his small locker and set his attention to her dog. After Hayate had been pet to his satisfaction, he settled happily in the Colonel's bed and awaited his presence there as well. The dog had enjoyed being cuddled up. As the older soldier asked her if there was anything else, she was quiet a moment longer before finally straightening up and lifting her chin. She knew a dismissal when she heard it. “No, sir. Thank you, Colonel.” A crisp salute followed. *** “Good,” he said, his mood changing again with the winds. And why shouldn’t it? Business complete, the Colonel could go back to normal and his normal was, well, casual. “Don’t make plans tonight, Hawkeye,” he said as he slumped back into his bunk and pulled the little dog closer to his chest, setting both hands in his fur to idly stroke him. Hayate looked pleased and if anyone was being honest, so did Mustang. His dark eyes had taken on that playful gleam and he turned them on Hawkeye for a beat. “I already made plans for dinner. I’ll see you at 1900 hours,” then he put a hand behind his head for support and closed his eyes. *** Her brow furrowed slightly as he told her not to make plans for the night. Her plans had been to work. He coped with alcohol, she coped with work. It was just how they operated. With nothing else to cling to, they clung onto what they knew, even if it wasn't healthy. What more could they do? “Sir?” They were having dinner together? That wasn't entirely unusual, but for them to go somewhere together for dinner, for him to say he had made plans? That was odd. But, Riza was good at following blindly. “Yes, sir.” A nod, and with that she was turning to leave. She would be back a little before the appointed time, still sharply dressed in her uniform. “Sir?” Brown eyes roamed over to the Colonel on his bed. “Are you ready?” *** He’d spent the rest of his day doing nothing. Nothing was his standard mode of production. Time passed slowly, he spent it awake or napping with the dog and when the dog got bored of sitting idly they played. He loved dogs. And Black Hayate was perfect. But time did pass and before long the sharp click of military boots and the crisp words of the Lieutenant met the Colonel’s ears. He raised his head and then got to his feet. They were always a study in contrasts, the Colonel and his Lieutenant; where he was dark she was light, where he was unpredictable she was steady, where he laughed she glared. Where he destroyed, she saved. Today was no different. She was dressed in the pristine blue uniform of her station and Mustang? He’d opted for civilian attire, looking decidedly dapper (for a space station) in neutral tones with his mop of unruly hair doing whatever it pleased. “I said dinner, Hawkeye, not a night in the mess,” he teased. “Sure you don’t want to change your clothes before we go?” He’d been serious. Dinner. The two of them. Together. York would be pleased. *** He was dressed as a civilian, it wasn't that odd, and he looked handsome as ever. Everything looked good on him. The coat, the scarf, his well fit trousers, even his shined shoes. The Colonel somehow always managed to look good, despite his laziness, he put effort into himself. She always wondered how he managed to compartmentalize like that. “Is my uniform not presentable?” She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “I can change.” Did he want her to? Why did it matter? It was just them getting some food. It was little different than going to the mess, except he said they weren't going to the mess. “It's just food, sir.” She voiced a moment later. She wasn't picking up what he was laying down. Just two soldiers sharing a meal. Not a date. It wasn't a date. Was it? *** Mustang stuffed his hands casually into his coat pockets, one set of fingers idly curling around the neatly folded glove therein, the other doing nothing. He regarded the blonde with amused eyes and then simply shrugged. “If you’re comfortable,” he provided. She didn’t need to change for him, but if she wanted to he wouldn’t complain. “I made plans for slightly later,” he was notorious for never showing up on time for anything, he’d told her to come earlier in wake of that concern. The man would arrive late for his own funeral. But then, you didn’t bury war criminals in their own graves. “So we have time if you do.” He winked at her, pulled his hands from his pockets and casually adjusted his collar. He would wait for her if she did decide to change, and if not, well all the better. It wasn’t as if they had a car to drive, so the pair would walk to the restaurant he’d made reservations in. It wasn’t far. It wasn’t the nicest place given the rough atmosphere of Knowhere, but it was nice enough for dinner for two. *** “No, sir. There's no need for me to dirty another pair of clothes. This is fine.” She allowed her eyes to roam over him again. “But you look very nice, sir. What's the occasion?” Was it a holiday and she'd forgotten? Was it his birthday? No. The look on her face was placid and controlled, but as always, the silence following her statement said more than her words ever would. She was missing something and she didn't like that, it wasn't in her nature to be unsure of something. The blonde woman always had all the information, and if she didn't? She went out and found it. What was going on, Colonel? *** “Why, thank you, Lieutenant,” he replied in that stupidly suave tone of his. He understood her silence and the uncertainty within it. Part of him liked it. Is this what she felt like all the time? Having all the cards in her hands? Even in his most unpredictable moments when he issued the most ridiculous orders she seemed perfectly within her element as if she knew what was coming all along. No question he’d ever asked had come with anything less than the right information. And suddenly she was off balance? He’d told her he’d made plans for dinner, after all. The Colonel grinned that boyish grin. “Dinner, Hawkeye, just the two of us. That’s the occasion. Come on. Or we’ll be late and I’ll never let you live it down. Ever.” Hawkeye, late? Especially for a date? The man laughed. His good moods were abundant these days. Or maybe he’d just slipped that closer to crazy. It was difficult to say. Making no grand gestures, the Colonel turned and exited the barracks, his Lieutenant coming faithfully behind him. *** He had the knowledge now, it must have been a little exciting for him.. It wasn't something that happened often. He had best cherish the feeling because it wouldn't be happening again anytime soon. Once Riza got her head around this.. whatever this was.. She'd be in charge again. Except, this was something she hadn't been prepared for. This was something she hadn't expected, even though he's said they were going to dinner. It hadn't even crossed her mind. Dinner. Just the two of them. Just the two. Oh, no. She would fall into step behind him, just as always. Good way to start a first date, Colonel, with your date in her uniform, following behind you, like a proper subordinate. “Sir?” She questioned as they walked, she sounded confused. She was confused. Was this a date? No. He wouldn't take her on a date. That was ridiculous. The thought was so ridiculous, of course, that she banished it entirely from her mind. There had to be another solution. Another reason. So she fell silent as they walked. Had it been an order? To go to dinner with him? She really didn't know. If it was, this wasn't a date, not even close. If it wasn't... no. It wasn't. *** Sir. Mustang paused, of course that meant she stopped too. They were too in sync for one to move without the other. He turned to look back at Hawkeye, his dark eyes sharply assessing. She looked confused. She must have felt confused. He was holding the cards in his hands and tightly against his chest at that, and she was struggling. But sir. He stepped closer to Hawkeye and peered at her, her brown eyes focused but her silence ever so telling as it always was. When they were children he didn’t know how to read them but now he did. So he stood there and read her eyes and the silence therein, and then he smiled. It was more genuine this time, more relaxed, more everything other than what he pretended to be for everyone else. “Relax, Hawkeye,” he said. “You don’t have to call me sir when we’re not in uniform,” except she still was. He tilted his head to look her over. “I guess it’s too late to change now, huh? That’s alright. Next time you can let your hair down. It’s just dinner, Hawkeye.” He paused. It occurred to him… “.. there’s still time to cancel.” He hadn’t asked her, after all. He’d just assumed. *** Relax? It was something she heard from him on a regular enough basis that it had become just him telling her when it was time to chill out a little. Okay. She could accept that. She was strung too tight this evening and he was looking for her to cool her heels so they could both have a decent evening. Evening of what? Dinner? A working dinner. She’d justify it that way. It made things easier when she considered it was a working dinner. He wanted to hear about the apartment she’d found, and she could show it to him after they ate, and they could discuss his getting settled into the lab they were set to rent in a few days. Yes. Well, that made total sense. A calm washed over her and the blonde woman shook her head once, suddenly so sure of herself again. This wasn’t a date. “No, sir. It’s just dinner.” Two people having dinner together, they’d done it a hundred times before, though it was usually in the mess. Well, they’d had a chance of scenery before, so it was fine. “I wanted to speak with you about the apartment, anyway.” So this would make a good chance to do so. It was just dinner. “And the space you plan to rent from Dresden.” She’d been going over the finances and had a figure, she knew just how much the two of them would need each month to maintain everything. It was achievable. He didn’t need to know the details, but she’d give him the jist of it. *** And there it was. She came back into herself, so sure and confident again, sanity restored. Nothing in her sharp eyes changed, but her certainty had resumed its steady presence. Mustang continued to smile then he nodded faintly when she relaxed and confirmed that no, it was fine. She was okay with dinner. Of course she wanted to work through it. Of course it would concern business. When did it ever not? They’d never had a moment for just the two of them and never outside of work or the bounds of their positions. He could order her not to. He could say it was just going to be dinner and that was it, that they’d keep business for the office neither of them had here. Would she sit silently through the meal? … Did they have anything in common? For two people who knew the ins and outs of the other, he really had no idea what she was like at all.. Or really, the question was if she was different when she was alone. He’d never been to her apartment.. And she wasn’t that girl from long ago. Frowning now, Mustang nodded his head and together they went ahead to the restaurant. For all his nicely laid plans, she’d gone ahead and diverted them right back onto the usual path. She was too good at her job. *** Did they have anything in common? Funny he should wonder that. He knew, at least, that they both liked dogs. But beyond that? What did he really know about his subordinate, outside of their business relationship? Her favorite food? She always just ate whatever was on the menu for the day, she’d never shown any preference. Did she listen to music? Have any hobbies outside of shooting? How about a favorite color? Did he even know her birthday? She knew his. And his favorite foods-- she fed him, after all. She knew the places he liked to hang out, he knew the type of women he liked-- she could guess at the type of men he liked. She knew his favorite brand of clothes, where his dry cleaner was located, his favorite take-out, his favorite color, the activities he liked when he wasn’t working. Hawkeye knew his favorite liquor and what time of day he drank it. His Lieutenant knew just about everything about him. But that was her job. And it was his job to become Fuhrer. That didn’t require him to know anything about her. Well, at least they were well-versed in one-another’s childhoods, for the most part. She had even met his aunt on a few occasions. Taken to their table, she would automatically step to pull his chair out for him, causing the man who had led them to their table, to look confused: there he was, holding her chair for her. *** She pulled his chair out for him. The Colonel looked at her. It was a routine gesture between them, his subordinate slash assistant always present to make life easier and always deferring to his authority through respect. It wasn’t anything new but for that brief pause when they made eye contact, Roy just laughed a little and shook his head. Work then. It was a work night out, for real. “Sit down, Lieutenant,” he said, gesturing across from him. “And try to relax and enjoy dinner for once.” Even if it was boring topics of apartments and finances, the sort of dull details that always drove him insane. How did she do it? How did she set her mind to the numbing topics of daily life and not go mad? He couldn’t focus on things like that. He could never run the numbers; his energy was too wild to be so restrained in action. What else would they talk about though? The Colonel and his Lieutenant had seemingly never existed outside of their roles. What could he say that wouldn’t be wrong, somehow? He never knew how to talk to Riza. Just Riza. But Lieutenant Hawkeye was separate. Oh, but there was something.. “Have you considered using the passports?” he asked. He’d had ideas in his head. Really, the Colonel shouldn’t be permitted to have a day off, that was when all his crazy plans formulated, because he had too much time to think. That was when Taboos began to sound interesting. It was when he fiddled and fussed and it was when he was his greatest and his worst. *** Moving slowly around the table, Hawkeye would take her own seat, nodding at the man who waited to take their drink order. He seemed to realize, however, that maybe he should come back in a few minutes, and made himself scarce while the Colonel thought up his first question. The woman in her uniform stared at her superior for a second, then shook her head slightly. “No, sir. From what I’ve heard, they can be very unpredictable. I don’t know that it’s an entirely good idea.” Always thinking of safety and security first. “But the apartment I found seems to be in just the right location.” She wasn’t just good at her job, she was amazing, thanks! “It’s on the top floor, just down the hall from where Ed and York are living. It will give you access to an exit to the roof, as well as a fire exit, and an ally close by.” The napkin was plucked from the table and opened, set over her lap in a single, fluid movement. “Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, it also has a balcony and a tub.” So he could take a bath if he so pleased, or sit outside to watch the stars. It’d be a comfortable place for him to live. *** She started on with the details of the apartment. Roy let her continue, his hands coming together as per usual, looking like he was praying when really, he just rested his chin on them and watched her. When she finished talking, Mustang smiled faintly and said, “You can use them to travel to different times and different places.” Had he been listening to her at all? Sure. She had all the details sorted perfectly, of course she did. It would be everything she said it would be so why bother responding? She’d planned and executed on point. He trusted her to have it figured out and she did. “Which means we can go back to Amestris,” that ‘we’ again. “At any point in time.” If he understood correctly. Time travel wasn’t his forte, the restrictions on passport travel not under his purview. “Maybe we could change things.” Like remove a certain Flame Alchemist or the knowledge of Berthold Hawkeye from the world. It wouldn’t fix what Amestris had become for Riza and Roy as they stood now, but in some world, in some place.. Hell, maybe instead of removing the alchemy they could alter what Fuhrer King Bradley had ordered with Ishval entirely. Some world could be safe from the horror they’d rained down on them. Crazy? Sometimes Roy Mustang was just this side of it. *** We could go back to Amestris. At any point in time. That got her attention. Maybe we could change things. Brown eyes settled sharply on him, unwavering. He wanted to try and change the past? To change their future? And accomplish what, exactly? What did he hope to fix by that? What could he fix by doing something like that? Maybe he would seek to kill her father before he could finish his study of Alchemy. Maybe he would try to change the Fuhrer’s mind about invading Ishval. Maybe he could keep his younger self from learning her father’s secrets from her. But how? Maybe after Master Hawkeye died, a well-placed bullet to the back of a young Riza Hawkeye’s head could take care of it. Then no one would ever know about the secrets on her back. Mustang could never learn them. He could learn another sort of alchemy. He could maintain his optimism.. And maybe without such a crushing force as the Flame Alchemist, the Fuhrer might rethink his march into Ishval. Every single thought was so clearly displayed in her eyes. “We could.” She agreed more quietly, her gaze finally dropping away from his to find the single candle lit between them. How had she not noticed it before? Was that what this dinner was? Another plan to fix their horrible wrongs? Each new one worse than the last? If she shot herself, was it really murder? Who would miss her? No one. Maybe the Colonel was right. Maybe they could go back. Save someone. Save Ishval from the fiery death it didn’t deserve. *** He watched Riza’s understanding as it flicked through her eyes. Sometimes he was really on point in knowing what she was thinking. Sometimes he had no clue. Today he understood perfectly, except for her quiet agreement. Her small ‘we could.’ We could. Why did it sound so small? Why did her eyes drop away from his. His eyes tracked down and caught the flickering candle flame and he cringed. He saw the same things in every flame, no matter how large or small. Did she? He wondered if she recalled the images as clearly as he did, if that’s what she was looking at right now. He tore his eyes away from it before it could suck him in and reached out for her instead. He always reached out for her in times of pain. “Hawkeye,” he said, “Just look at me.” He searched for her eyes and in finding them, he leaned in and offered her a strained smile that would never reach the depths of his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you endure these things again and again. I wanted to have a nice dinner and I’ve ruined it.” He chuckled lightly finally. Of course he ruined it. He was perpetually incapable of talking to her like a normal human at the best of times. “How far am I from York? He’ll be over constantly,” because it was a better topic to return to. What was here in the present, not out there where everything else mattered. *** She couldn’t look at a fire without seeing the Flame Alchemist. She’d only bore witness to him burning his way through Ishval just once, but that was all she’d ever need. The young private (only having recently graduated, she’d actually fought the first several months of the war still as a cadet-- several troops of cadets had done so) had been perched in a burned-out building, laying on her stomach and picking off Ishvalan troops through a large hole in the side of the wall. She’d been hidden partly behind some rubble and had found his form, walking unconcerned through the street. Like he couldn’t be touched. Like he was invincible. Immortal. Had he had any idea the men who’d come after him from behind? From the side? Men he hadn’t seen? Or, perhaps he had, and he was hoping they’d do the world a favor and take him from it? Hawkeye didn’t know the answer to that question and she didn't want to know. At the time, there’d been no consideration, no hesitation, she had picked off anyone who came into her view, anyone who might have gotten near the Flame Alchemist. Hawkeye had protected Mustang for a stretch of a hundred yards or more, as he’d walked across the open square, as if inviting God himself to strike him down. Like Hell she was going to let that happen. And through her scope, she’d watched him burn the city. Burn the people. Burn everything. Riza had watched him burn their future together that day. She’d like to say that once he was out of her range of vision, she’d gone immediately back to work, but that would be a lie. Instead, she’d pulled herself up, set her gun between her legs, leaned back against a partial wall, and she’d cried. She’d cried like the child she was. And when there’d been no more tears left, she’d gone back to work. All she saw in that candle flame was what her life could have been, if it hadn’t been for fire. When he called her eyes back up, they locked onto his darker set and she just watched him, watched as he put on that stupid, fake smile and let out that ridiculous, fake chuckle. She wanted to punch him. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to pretend for her and that it was insulting that he would, especially in such an intimate setting. She wanted to yell at him for having brought her here and then talked to her about war and death and killing more people. Instead, she took in a slow breath through her nose and nodded once to his question, indicating she’d heard it. “Three doors down, sir.” He was trying to salvage something he’d destroyed so thoroughly. That plan was just as bad as all the others. So, with the Colonel sufficiently cowed, he would allow his subordinate to steer the rest of the conversation towards business, her tone crisp and firm just like when they were in Mustang’s office. Work. It was always work with her. It was her safe place, just like the bottle was his. The dinner, thankfully, would be uneventful, and the walk home would be in silence. Thank God that hadn’t been his attempt at a date, it’d been awful. |