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Soulmates were a rare thing in Amestris. At least, people who were explicitly marked as soulmates—plenty of people still married without them, certain that the one they'd chosen to stand by their side was their soulmate, even if they never said the words which would make the mark appear.
Roy can remember clearly the day that Maes's mark appeared. The two had just finished dinner, and made Gracia sit down with them. “Roy will do the dishes,” Maes assured her, pulling her into a comfy armchair. While Roy didn't appreciate being volunteered for household chores, he had to admit it seemed only fair—Gracia had cooked an amazing meal for them, and she was forever doing little things for him. Just like Maes, she was endlessly devoted and generous.
His mouth quirked. “I'll be more than happy to, as soon as you promise to stop calling me to gush about your beautiful family during work hours.”
Gracia laughed. “How am I not surprised? Maes, you'll bring the office down one day with your antics!”
Maes suddenly cried out, grabbing his forearm.
“Maes,” Roy urged. “What's happening?”
Whatever pain the man had felt a second ago, it seemed to have passed. His breathing evened out and he cautiously rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. After he revealed the words you'll bring the office down one day freshly seared into his arm, Roy knew he wouldn't be able to get him to shut up about his family ever again. Truth be told, he didn't really have the heart—Maes and Gracia were the only marked soulmates he knew.
Hers had never had the chance to appear before Maes had died.
So Roy wasn't waiting around for a soulmate. Not in the least because he had a country to run, one day, and plenty of work on the way to getting there. And anyway, soulmates didn't always wind up married. Sometimes, they were platonic soulmates—just as good as romantic ones, and you could still fall deeply in love with someone else. Roy had heard it was like being doubly assured of having someone to lean on.
But Roy already had someone to lean on. Plenty of people to lean on, in fact: he had Havoc, as was made evident on the Promised Day; he had had Hughes, for whenever Ishval or his other past crimes threatened to drown him; he had Hawkeye, who had not only protected his back and given him the secrets to flame alchemy, but picked him up after Hughes had gone; he had both the Armstrongs (Olivier would never admit it more explicitly than by telling him he was “better than Alex, by a hair”). The list went on and on—he even might be able to put Fullmetal on it somewhere.
Simply put, he didn't have room for any more love in his life.
So, in the years after the Promised Day, as he and his team helped rebuild Ishval, and made visits to Fullmetal and to Fuhrer Grumman, he held his head high, his step light.
His joviality seemed to aggravate Hawkeye, though. In the past week, he had noticed her examining him with narrowed eyes. Vaguely, he wondered what he had done now. The team was in Central for a few days, temporarily aiding the forces there with a particularly difficult case. They therefore had to share the open office space on Central Command's second floor with Captain Armitt and her team. Perhaps I managed to offend Armitt? he considered to himself. It was possible, though she had seemed admirably level-headed in all his dealings with her. Or maybe I left a stack of paperwork back in East City...
That was probably it, he decided. He caught her eye and walked over to her desk. He opened his mouth to begin his apology, but she cut him off.
“If you don't shave that mustache, I might have to shoot it off, sir”
He had barely started to raise his eyebrow before he doubled over, clutching as he felt his hand burning. Hawkeye stood quickly, rushing over to the other side of her desk to grab his shoulder. “Sir?” she asked, concerned.
As he started to pull off his glove, he noted vaguely that his small cry of pain earlier was now attracting them some attention. When he finally wrestled the glove off, he gawked for a moment at the writing that was now apparent there.
Hawkeye stared as well, and appeared to be attempting to say something.
Roy saved her the trouble, and laughed. Breathlessly, he told her, “You're fucking incredible, you know that?”
He gaped as she cried out and clutched at her neck.
“Major...” he managed, shocked, wishing he could just say her name instead.
Prying her fingers off her neck, she apprehensively asked, “What does it say?”
He turned his eyes to the newly revealed words, tracing them with his finger, before giving her a grin. “You're fucking incredible,” he repeated.
She groaned. “Only you would leave a curse word on my neck.”
“It's not like I picked where the mark goes!” he protested.
“If you didn't have such a foul mouth, the universe wouldn't have picked it in the first place!”
The news spread like wildfire after that. Major Riza Hawkeye and Brigadier General Mustang were soulmates. And they had been marked within seconds of each other! The officers at Central prepared themselves to find the two making out in the break room and sneaking away at galas, while reporters and the public started looking forward to what was sure to be a grand wedding.
But nothing appeared to have changed. Other than avoiding each other for about six hours after the event, they had acted completely normal. Captain Armitt supposed she should applaud their professionalism, and told her team the same. Team Mustang, who had known for a long time that the two loved each other, thought the same. But then they realized that each night, the two went back to their separate hotel rooms, and didn't leave them (and the team knew—Havoc and Breda had taken it in turns to stand watch in the hall on three separate nights, to no avail).
It was unacceptable.
“What the hell is with your stupid boss!” Rebecca protested to Havoc in the break room.
Taking a sip of coffee—he was trying to replace his cigarette habit, but it wasn't going well—he shrugged. “He's an idiot. What did he do?”
She let out a frustrated groan. “More like what did he not do. Riza should be, like, glowing right now, if he was doing his job as her soulmate properly.”
“Ah, well.” He turned away from wistfully eyeing the beautiful day outside, and tried the coffee again. “They've been in love for long enough. I suppose that the fact it's imprinted on their skin now hasn't really changed whatever was holding them back before.”
She blinked. “You mean they're not together at all?”
“Maybe they believe they're just platonic soulmates?”
“Maybe they're just idiots.”
It was going on three weeks now since they had arrived in Central. They'd finally tracked down the arsonist that had brought them there, and Riza was more than a little relieved to think they'd finally be able to go back to East City after they apprehended Habbersmith today.
Captain Armitt's voice burst into her ear with a crackle. “Hawk's Eye, are you in position?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Flame Alchemist?”
His reply came into her earpiece, voice low. “In position.” She shivered.
Havoc, Breda, and the two lieutenants from Armitt's team all indicated their readiness, and before long, Armitt was giving them the go-ahead.
They burst into the warehouse, guns aimed at the man in the center. Riza tensed, seeing the arrogant upturn of his mouth and the large circle at his feet. He'd clearly been waiting for them.
As they advanced towards him, Mustang gave a warning shout from her right. She kept her gun and her eyes trained on their target. “Sir?”
“That's a flame circle on the floor,” he explained. She tensed in response.
The man in the middle laughed. “You thought you were the only one able to obtain flame alchemy, Mustang? How arrogant.” He began to bend down, hands stretching to the floor, and Riza pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. She tried one more time, but the gun just made a quiet click. Since no other bullets were flying, she figured the rest of the team were having similar problems. She saw Mustang put the gun away and raise his hand, but it was too late—a column of fire blocked her vision before his fingers could snap.
“Roy!” she shouted, feeling as useless as could be. Cursing, she spoke into her mic, praying the coms were still working “Armitt, the sprinklers, now!”
But even as Armitt gave her reply, the flame burned out suddenly. Through the haze of smoke now in the warehouse, she could see Habbersmith on the ground, before she heard him screaming. She watched in horror as his arm started morphing, turning blue then black, holes appearing in the skin.
The sprinklers came on, clearing the smoke, and she ran towards Habbersmith. He sat, whimpering, whatever had occurred apparently over now.
“Jason Habbersmith,” she declared, reaching behind her for her handcuffs. As she cinched them around his wrists, careful of his blackened arm, she noted with satisfaction and some degree of puzzlement that, unlike their guns, the thin metal contraption was working just fine. “You are under arrest for arson and attempted arson of the homes of several officers...” She continued to read him his rights as Armitt congratulated her over the headset, before checking in with all the others. Distantly, Riza noted the reply of Havoc, Breda, and the two lieutenants, reporting with minor injuries but otherwise unharmed. She hauled Habbersmith to his knees and looked around her, waiting for Mustang's reply to Armitt.
There was silence.
She glanced at Havoc, who had almost reached her, and he nodded. She left Habbersmith where he was and ran over to where she remembered Mustang' being.
“Flame Alchemist, come in!” roared Armitt over the coms.
Riza found him in a patch of black ground, his black tactical gear making him blend in to the burnt patch. She was so frantic, she might not have spotted him, if not for that stupid white glove still on his hand.
“Mustang,” she called, voice even as she approached him. He didn't answer, and didn't move. Riza felt her heart rate elevate past the normal adrenaline high of a mission. She quickly assessed him for signs of breathing.
She mentally sighed in relief as she knelt down next to him and saw his chest moving. “He's alive,” she said into the coms. “And he looks unharmed, but he's not conscious.” Havoc's voice cursed.
“Alright, we'll have an ambulance there in two minutes. Hawk's Eye, stay with him, Legs, bring the prisoner to the van outside. You're responsible for making sure he gets back to headquarters and into custody.”
Havoc and Riza uttered their agreements. She heard Havoc and Breda leading Habbersmith out of the warehouse, but she kept her eyes on Mustang, and waited.
Roy woke up in a hospital bed with Hawkeye glaring at him from the chair sat next to his bed.
“Explain,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Come on,” he croaked. “I just woke up.”
“The doctors said you've got nothing more than a few cuts and bruises.”
He gave an experimental stretch, and found that, other than a bit of stiffness, he was fine. “True. Explain what?”
Her features tightened. “Why I found you unconscious on the floor, and why Habbersmith's arm looks... well, I don't know what it looks like.”
“Ah,” he said, comprehending now that he felt more fully awake. “Any chance I could get some water?”
She reached for the glass that was sitting on the table next to him, and handed it to him silently. He quietly thanked her, taking a drink.
“It's not terrible. Habbersmith seems to have figured out the array for flame alchemy, but he didn't understand the theory. He attempted to create a steady-burning fire in an entire corner of the warehouse, but he couldn't maintain it. As for his arm... that must've been the rebound.”
She nodded, expression still tight. “Okay. You weren't burnt at all. But why were you passed out?”
He gave a sheepish smile, knowing she wouldn't like the answer. “I, uh, had to use a bit of extra energy to fend off his flames.”
She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. “A bit of extra energy. You used your life force, didn't you?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, bracing himself.
She didn't scream at him or slap him, though. He should've known better than to expect that. Her silent, burning glare was a thousand times worse. “You fucking idiot.”
“Riza—” he began, reaching for her.
“No. We're soulmates Roy, that means you're not allowed to die before me!”
He stared at her, hand suspended over the edge of the hospital bed. He couldn't believe she'd brought it up. Seemingly, she couldn't either—her body seemed to freeze even as her eyes continued to burn through him.
“At least I didn't die?” he finally ventured, breaking the silence.
This time, she did hit him. “I hate you,” she sneered, even though they both knew it wasn't true.
He grabbed her hand then, twining his fingers through hers and giving them a squeeze. “I have unnaturally good health, anyway. I'm sure I've only ensured that I never have to live without you.”
She let out a frustrated half-sob, before she leaned forward and kissed him.
His blood sang and his ears rang as she pulled away, leaving him tingling and flushed. She settled her head into his neck, muttering, “You still need to get rid of that mustache.”