[roy/riza; pg-13] Crocus Angustifolius - 5/6 Theme: 5. The effect of impact on stationary objects (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 : Chapter 5: Foolish Pride (Part 5 of 6) Author:emilie_burns Word Count: 14,000 Summary:The pained look, the weak smile; it was enough to bring the present slamming into him full-force, reminding him that everything had changed. Original LJ Post Date: December 18, 2005 @ 52_Flavours
Crocus Angustifolius Chapter Five Foolish Pride
"You try to live your life from day to day, But seeing you across the room tonight just gives me away. The heart won't lie; sometimes life gets in the way. But there's one thing that won't change; I know, I've tried." - Vince Gill and Reba McEntire
The Winter Solstice celebration had its roots in the north, beginning not as a grand party, but as a means of survival. Always notoriously cool year round, the northern winters were a dangerous force of nature. Diminishing supplies and sickness often made it a gamble as to who would live to see the spring, and people began to combine their resources, finding strength of survival in numbers.
Because shacking up in a large community building or well-insulated barn for the entire duration wasn't an option most people liked, it was eventually agreed upon that migration to a central location would begin on Solstice, the halfway point to spring, just before the weather would make a turn for the worse. To keep spirits light and pass time while blizzards roared outside, games and parties became commonplace, and the traditions evolved to center around Solstice itself.
Solstice, the marker of the bitter winter being half over, the time of gathering and celebrations among villages and family without the work of fields and many other chores which kept them all busy during the warmer months. It became a tradition of family, a strengthening of the community, and a time of merriment, peace, and generosity.
As borders softened and some families migrated or wed others from further away in Amestris, the traditions of Solstice followed. In the north, many regions still celebrated it in the old ways, a necessary tool of survival still in the more remote locations. But elsewhere throughout Amestris, people joined in for the celebration of family and community on Solstice Day, gathering together for parties and games, and lavish balls which interrupted the freezing, dreary weather.
The most well-known function through most of the country was the Military Ball in Central City. Originally exclusive to the officers and their families, it expanded to allow admission to anyone in service to the military. A set number of highly coveted invitations were issued each year to the upper crust of civilian society, and the social pages of the newspapers were flooded with articles and information the less privileged often followed with rapt attention.
Roy Mustang was bemused as he looked around at the lights dazzling off gold and silver and crystal decorations, and took note of the elaborate gowns and attire worn by the attendants. He could still recall the rush of nervous, smug satisfaction he'd felt upon attending his first, a cocky teenager in his first year at the academy. Surrounded by other equally wide-eyed and nervous raw recruits in his class, he'd made an effort to project an air of being above being impressed by such displays.
To that day, he still wasn't certain whether or not he had succeeded, but he wondered how he could ever have been so stupid as to view admission into the elite function as something important. Time quickly proved the ball's boredom, and after his return from his medal-earning tour of duty in Ishbal when he had become something of a household name, his close companions had had to run interference for him from the civilians so he could escape to the terrace for a chance to breathe.
She had been the one to get him through the ball every year thereafter, experience granting her a practiced ease in handling the crowds and nosy high society women. Unlike himself, she was a military brat, a tradition between herself and her grandfather which she still held and kept, even while stationed far from him. Because of the nostalgic ties, the Military Ball was far more important to her than it would ever be to him.
That was why, in spite of his determination to keep the walls solid, he found himself beginning to worry.
Ten minutes after his arrival, he was already desperate for an escape from the socio-political interactions, and habitually began scanning the room for her. Once he realized what he was doing, Roy merely told himself it was just an activity to keep from cracking under boredom and telling Thomas Auger that his notions on military strategy were complete bullshit, and informing his wife that her voice made the idea of pouring boiling acid into his ears appealing, and ask if they might please excuse him and let him seek out more intelligent conversation elsewhere.
Twenty minutes and a barely-noticeable change in discussion partners later, Roy finally gave in and excused himself, too distracted to need to bite his tongue lest he part with a scathing comment. Finding Havoc and Breda was easy enough; the two were mingling not far from the punch bowl where Havoc was chattering away with a busty, violet-clad brunette and occasionally casting glares at an amused Breda. Roy decided that whatever was behind that mischievous grin on his former subordinate's face, he didn't want to know.
When Havoc saw him approaching, his expression conveyed the dismayed groan Roy couldn't yet hear over the noise of the partygoers. Had it been any other time, Roy would have flirted with whoever the woman was just to hassle the other man for his reaction. But he wasn't in any mood for games.
"Pardon me a moment," he said with forced politeness, barely taking a moment to look at the woman. "Havoc, Breda." He greeted them with a nod and proceeded before anyone could respond. "I know this is going to be an odd question, but I have my reasons. Have either of you seen or heard any indication of Lieutenant Hawkeye's presence tonight?"
Breda and Havoc exchanged looks, then both shook their heads. Roy bit back a colorful word. "When was the last time either of you saw her anyway?"
The oddity of the question made Havoc frown, and he looked past Roy to the main crowd of the party. "Last week, I think."
"Been longer than that for me, due to our schedules," Breda replied. "Why?"
Roy looked away, turning a bit so he could better see the room and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This ball's a big family tradition for her, and when have you ever known her to be late for anything?"
"Well, it's fashionable to be late for this sort of thing," the woman said, turning toward him. Roy glanced at her as she gave him a dazzling smile. "I'm Betty Met--"
To Roy's relief, Havoc cut his potential interest off. "Hawkeye's not one to play the fashionably late game, never has been. What're you thinking, sir?"
"I don't know," he admitted, hating himself for being worried, for making an issue out of something which shouldn't matter to him at all, not anymore. "It was snowing pretty hard the other day, and then there was that freezing rain earlier this week, and..."
"I saw Sheska when I was over at the buffet table a few minutes ago," Breda said. "If something has happened, she might have heard something about it."
Roy hesitated, arguing with himself. He could very well be making something out of absolutely nothing. Perhaps she was just avoiding him, or maybe she took a train east to spend it with her grandfather instead of in Central. There were a million reasons why she wasn't there, and hardly any of them worth bothering anyone about. If it turned into a huge production and nothing was wrong at all, he would look like an idiot.
She left you, remember? he told himself, stubbornly ignoring the fact he enlisted and left Central. Play this one carefully or you'll look even more pathetic than you did when your closest subordinate abandoned you.
He waved his hand and turned away. "Don't bother. It's too likely it's nothing at all. I was merely curious, nothing more. Have fun, you two." He thought Breda might have said something in reply, but by then, there was enough distance between them for the party's noise to drown it out. Roy forced a sociable smile to his lips and tried to distract himself with political games. Maybe they were useful for something after all.
But try as he might, he couldn't quite keep his gaze from straying to the door, nor was he able to fully quell the increasing anxiety. After all, the dangers of the homunculi were a thing of the past and it wasn't as if she were in any danger of being found dead in a phone booth somewhere.
Inside his pockets, his hands clenched into fists tight enough to dig his trimmed nails into his palms. Just as he decided to cave in and ask Sheska himself, he spotted her.
Her cheeks were chapped red from the cold, and as she looked around the room, he noticed the polite smiles she gave people never reached her eyes. For a moment, caught up in the rush of relief, he almost stepped toward her, and then she pulled off her coat.
Time didn't stand still, it reeled back over the years and for a moment of perfect clarity, the past was present.
In his mind's eye, he could see her eyes sparkling with contained mirth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at his sotto voce commentary of the various civilians in attendance. He could feel her hand on his arm as they worked the room, furthering his political ambitions, the other attendees accepting his loyal adjutant as an acceptable escort for an unattached, popular colonel.
He could see her secret smile as they danced, outwardly following the usual social conduct of gatherings, and inwardly clinging to every heartbeat of time. He remembered the last ball before it all went to hell. For just a night, their worries had been left at home for while their attention gravitated toward the other. He remembered remarking on her dress, a relatively inexpensive and plain gown of green velvet that looked elegant, highlighting her natural beauty rather than drowning it, and how he was glad she didn't dress like most of the attendees.
It was the same dress. She looked the same. For just a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, and then she noticed him. The pained look, the weak smile; it was enough to bring the present slamming into him full-force, reminding him that everything had changed.
Why had she worn that dress? Was it tied in with her lateness? Was it all deliberately staged to play games with his mind and then try to make him forget everything that never passed between them? As he studied her, trying to discern her motives, a miserable expression crept over her face just before she looked down and fussed with her coat awkwardly.
His breath congealed in his lungs, growing painfully tight. What the hell are you doing, Mustang? This is getting beyond ridiculous.
Then she turned, taking a few steps away, and was swallowed up by the crowd.
***
"Just what the hell was that?" Winry demanded, watching as the former colonel and adjutant walked away in different directions.
"What Lieutenant Havoc and I have been dealing with the last two months," Sheska replied.
Winry covered her face with her hand. "They're a couple of idiots." She looked at Breda. "And he was worried about her being late?"
"Yup." Breda didn't look away from the party, his eyes remaining fixed on the major.
"All right, it's time to stop playing nice and pull out the big guns." Winry gulped down the rest of her punch and handed Sheska her glass.
"Secret weapon?" Sheska asked.
"Secret weapon," Winry confirmed. "Where did he disappear to, Lieutenant?"
"That way." Breda pointed him out and then grabbed her arm in a light grip. "I have a hunch what you're planning, but don't overestimate him. Kick him hard enough right now, and he won't get back up," he warned.
Winry looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. "I'll go easy," she promised, and looked to Sheska. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
She was fairly certain that she was one of the last people Mustang wanted to see at that moment, or perhaps ever, so she altered her approach to remain on his blind side. With hope and a little luck, she would be able to get to him before he noticed her and tried to evade her.
Score.
"Happy Solstice, Major Mustang," Winry said cheerfully as she stepped around his left into view. His remaining eye widened a fraction as his face lost a shade of color, and she saw him swallow hard.
"Happy Solstice to you as well, Winry," he politely replied, already looking around. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to--"
"Go somewhere else where you don't have to look at me and remember what you did?" she interrupted, keeping her hands clasped behind her back and the smile on her face. At the glimpse of stark pain in his eye, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from apologizing. The secret weapon wasn't something she wanted to use, and it wasn't any easier on her. But it was worse watching exchanges like the one she had witnessed.
"Winry, don't--"
"Don't what? Don't keep talking? Did my parents tell you 'don't shoot us'?" Winry narrowed her eyes and stood directly in front of him. He didn't meet her gaze, and dragged in a shuddering breath. "I have every reason in the world to not just be angry at you, but hate you to boot. But I don't. And right now, I want you to listen to me. That's the only thing I've asked of you, and you're going to do it."
He shut his eye and swallowed hard, giving her a faint nod. "Go on," he said, his voice barely audible.
Winry drew in a deep breath, focusing on her words in an effort to keep her eyes dry. "I'll repeat what I said. I have every right and reason to hate you, but I don't. I did for a while, I'd be lying if I said otherwise. But two people made me see something very important. They made me think. They made me understand that sometimes, good people make the wrong choices. Sometimes, mistakes are made."
Her voice cracked and he looked at her then, a muscle in his jaw twitching under the strain.
"Those two people were Missus Hughes, and Lieutenant Hawkeye. And it's Lieutenant Hawkeye I want to talk to you about." Winry inwardly cursed and wiped at her eyes as tears threatened to start falling. She always toyed at the idea of someday talking to him about what happened, but this hadn't been how she wanted to do it.
He shut his eye and turned his head. "Winry, what I did, I had a choice in. I made the wrong choice. She... that was an accident. I know she never would have fired on me intentionally."
"That's not what I'm talking about. You don't hate her because she shot you. It's something else, isn't it? She did something else to make you leave, something you're holding against her, didn't she?" Winry pressed, stepping closer into his personal space.
"I don't..." He let out a shuddering breath and shook his head. "Winry, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you don't understand what's happened. She left, all right? End of story."
"I saw her come in. That didn't look to me like she was the one who did the leaving."
"Ask Sheska to dig up the transfer request if you don't believe me." Now he was starting to sound annoyed.
"Oh, I believe you on the transfer request. But you left too, didn't you? You resigned and then enlisted and left," Winry pointed out. "What are you holding against her, the transfer request?"
"All her reasons behind it were just..." He trailed off and shut his eye, drawing in a deep breath. "She was punishing herself, and me in the process, and I can't stomach the way she acts like a kicked puppy around me."
"Like how you looked at me when you saw me just now?" Winry asked. "How I remind you of something horrible you did, and how much you hate yourself for it?" He looked away and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak. She didn't give him the chance, grabbing his arm for his attention. "If she made a mistake, and one she hates herself for, why can't you put it aside and go to her instead of running off too? It's not like she killed your parents."
The last sentence tumbled past her lips before she thought it through, and Winry inwardly kicked herself, afraid she'd pushed too far and kicked too hard at the way he flinched. She let go of his arm and sniffled, rubbing at her blurred eyes.
"I'm not saying any of this to hurt you," she continued, her voice beginning to crack uncontrollably. "I stopped wanting to do that a long time ago. But you were worried about her, and Sheska told me she still thinks about you. There's enough there to build on, enough left to fix, if you both tried. Stop hurting each other. Ed hated himself for what happened to Al, and he tried to go on to Central alone after he was back on his feet again. Al never let him go. They're not here anymore but they're together, and Ed got what he was after for Al. You and the lieutenant, you depended on each other like that too. And there's nothing that's so bad that what was there isn't worth fighting for."
The major released a shaky breath and ducked his head. "Winry, I'm sorry for what I... what happened."
She smiled, even though her expression still insisted on twisting under the tears. "I know you are. If you really want to make it up to me, go try to work it out with her. Ed and Al wouldn't like to see you guys like this either, so do it for them too. And do it for the both of you. Nobody oughta live like this."
He looked at her, and his lips moved in a ghost of a smile, a weak effort that didn't touch the pain in his expression. "I suppose I better go find her then."
Winry nodded. "I have to get back to Sheska." Without another word, she turned and took a few steps away, changing course to a restroom. She would go back to Sheska, but only after a few minutes alone to let the urge to break down pass.
Secret weapon fired. Target hit. Now it was out of their hands.