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The hungry night air sucked the moisture out of her open mouth. She was looking up at the serene black, starless sky above her. A stark, raw feeling was forming a coal-like lump in her heart; it felt as if it was pulling it down quickly like a rock being dropped in the middle of a levitating bed sheet. This feeling, this feeling, was so customary for Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, but even so her jacketless body still violently shivered in reaction. Her black military boots, soiled with drying mud, remained motionless on the cobblestone ground beneath them. Her raw, numb lips allowed her mouth to inhale a sharp breath of cold air. Her lips, like an indestructible chamber, withheld her breath.
Nothing was the same, how could it be? She was a free woman for the time being. A free woman, she scoffed internally. She and her duties as Lieutenant for the day were over. Colonel Roy Mustang sent her home so she could "retire for the evening." She was return home as always. In that moment she felt instantly condemned. Unwanted. Unneeded.
As always a pawn of the military to do with as they pleased.
This decision was firmly against her will, but there was no room for discussion on the matter. There were no elaborations as to why, but Colonel Mustang had no time to argue such an action. This was such a trivial matter but, secretly, she was upset. She had secretly wanted the Colonel to put up some fight for this- for her. Just to fight for her. However, Hawkeye would not contest the orders and for the evening would not stand in the way of Colonel Roy Mustang. She knew she would return to headquarters the next day and resume her duties as always. Her colonel was going to be working late tonight, still unsure why, and she noticed the fourth floor office light shining dimly through their office’s window blinds. Her fit body had trekked from headquarters to the street she lived on, but she stopped by the local bakery that was soon to close for the evening.
In all her years autumn had never felt so wet and bone-chilling. Something other than the weather was causing this heavy pressure on her chest she could not rid herself of. It hurt, no, it ached. Invisible shards of broken, bloody glass violently pricked her chest as she thoughtlessly walked. The unreasonable pain made her verbally wince and grip the fabric of her black turtleneck to cope. The older woman who ran the bakery noticed the Lieutenant through the raindrops left on the windows of the shop. To Riza’s surprise the door opened with a simple bell gently swaying against the door handle. “Miss, you’re out at such a late hour and the rain is supposed to start up again. Please come inside to get warm and I’ll get you your usual to take home,” the shop owner pleaded gently in her all-too-familiar Xingese accent. A simple, gracious line formed across the soldier’s face in response. “Yes m’am, thank you,” she replied softly as the pain gravely lingered. She paused hesitantly. “My shoes are quite dirty. I will just stay here at the door. I’m sure you have already cleaned up for the evening. Please, also, I’d like two loaves this time,” she requested.
The short woman popped her head out by the little cash register area to protest her, but she realized her regular customer was not herself. “Well, thank you for thinking about a little old lady like me. You are my favorite customer you know,” she confided while pulling two fresh loaves of Xingese-style bread out of the bakery’s brick oven. After precisely and immediately slipping them into their respective bags, she trotted to the storefront. Out of Riza’s pocket emerged some crisp, fresh bills in exchange for the warm food. The woman furrowed her thin brows together to reveal her set-in wrinkles. “Not tonight. Like I said, you are my favorite customer and I want you to keep coming back.” Hawkeye, caught off guard by her actions, attempted a reply. “M’am, please…no I troubled you so late at night. Please.” The Xingese woman turned her back to the soldier to indicate she would take nothing of the sort. Riza looked down to her cobalt work pants and stashed her money back into her pocket. “Thank you. But, I will always be a customer, thank you for your kindness,” Riza spoke softly as a bleak smile came across her lowered face. The woman who was waiting to hear the bills slip back into their original place finally turned around. She gave Riza Hawkeye a deep, longing stare with her ash-colored eyes. Eye contact was never something to fear for Hawkeye, but was surprised at the intensity of her concerned eyes. After a few moments of silent the women piped out, “Dear, are you alright? You don’t seem yourself today.” Riza’s eyes widened slightly, but not enough for the female in front of her to notice. She forced herself back to the conversation. “Ah, yes m’am. Thank you for your concern. I’m just a bit tired today, that’s all.” The woman ever so slightly pulled her graying eyebrow up questionably in response. “I see. Well, please get home safely Miss. You need to find a man, because you need one to walk you home on nights like these,” she frankly announced to the empty bakery walls. A flustered Hawkeye quickly exited the shop with a sincere “I’m sure I can manage on my own. Thank you and goodnight,” and a false, embarrassed grin attached to her light bow.
Looking down in her hands she held the loaves with care. Realizing her movements were most likely being watched by the Xingese woman, she wandered toward the direction of her home, and once out of sight took a different turn than she normally did. The warmth of the bakery had slipped away instantly as she moved through the damp air around her; her body’s back sought shelter against a building’s sturdy brick wall. Her heavily mud-caked right boot stabilized itself firmly against the brick as well. The woman needed to collect herself.
What is going on? She asked herself. The inner monologue running through her head quickly became incoherent. work…military… two loaves of bread. Why did I do that? Two loaves… And Roy. Her home was still blocks away. Though she still had her uniform on, sans jacket, she was fairly confident she could most likely return to Headquarters tonight. But why? Why? Why do that? Hawkeye internally questioned her current, twisted thought process. Home. I just need to head home. Her internal dilapidation was scaring and confusing her. The recurring chest pains returned again with greater vengeance. She decided she had to take action.
The curves of her body rubbed swiftly against the crisp cotton of her military uniform’s inner fabric as she half-ran back to Headquarters. Answers,Answers, was the only thing her conscience was slushing around in the emptiness of her stomach and throat. Going back to HQ after being relieved for the day would most likely raise eyebrows, but she could simply work her way around any subordinate she may encounter. There stood Kain Fuery, obviously surprised to see the Lieutenant back so quickly. His dark, shiny eyes widened behind his large black glasses. “Lieutenant what are you doi-“ “Sh. Please,” she nearly mutely replied as her right index finger raised itself above the loaves’ packaging toward her lips. “I need to speak to the Colonel. Don’t tell him it is me, though, please Fuery.” Confused, her subordinate nodded and complied; he eyed the bread but did not question his superior’s uncharacteristic actions. The young man raised his right hand up to scratch his raven black hair in confusion as his back began to get smaller as it walked toward the Colonel’s door.
She remained on edge and irrationally paranoid she would be seen by any superior officers in the slightly unstable condition she was in. It was late and most soldiers had gone home, but that didn’t mean she would provide herself any false security. Her hawk eyes never missed a single movement and her perfect hearing gave her an ultimate edge against any potential enemy. She could tell the difference between Kain Fuery’s footsteps and her Colonel’s without any hesitation. What is- she began to ask herself, but Fuery returned to her find her still in the hallway standing perfectly straight with seriousness in her eyes. She could hear the Colonel’s footsteps, but where exactly was he? She could not pinpoint the location- a first for the sharp shooter and soldier extraordinaire. It was too late, for his boots met the marble hallway Fuery was already standing on.
A look Riza Hawkeye had never seen before filled her Colonel’s eyes and faces. It was nearly indescribable- a mixture of utter concern, fright, and extreme perplexity. He, like Fuery, stared oddly at the bread. The Lieutenant could no longer bear to see her superior’s face. “You two act like you’ve never eaten bread before,” she harshly reprimanded as her eyes, emotionless, shot back to the hallway wall facing her. Her eyelids turned into slits as she stared onward at the wall. “I need to speak with you Colonel…alone. I apologize Fuery.” He instantly nodded in understanding. Though he was young, he hoped to someday have a relationship similar to his superiors’. He looked at his Colonel and announced, “I will go check downstairs to see if they've got any new information for us to work on.” With a swift salute and a click of his shiny boots his body quickly disappeared around a corner.
Mustang wordlessly led his subordinate to their office area and allowed her to entire first. After shutting, latching, and locking the door behind him he allowed his back to face her as he began to undress his hands of his pure white gloves. “Why are you here?” he asked simply as his right thumb and index finger yanked gently on his left gloved index finger. She sat the bread loaves down on her bare desk. “To be frank I do not know sir. I was headed home and I suddenly had a change of plans and showed up here,” She spoke with honesty. The Flame Alchemist could hear it in her voice; Roy Mustang had been working with Riza Hawkeye so long he need not see her face. “I see. But why are you here? You should have just went home,” he replied nonchalantly as he went to place his gloves onto his now clean desk. “Yes. But I have nothing else,” she stated candidly. Those words. It tugged violently on an internal nerve and caused it to snap. That statement angered him. The blood of the nerve gushed out and caused Roy Mustang to react to the words spoke by his subordinate. His bloodshot eyes, caused from the long night dragging on and the long night ahead of him, squinted and filled with immeasurable rage. With all his force he immediately slammed his right fist deeply into the dark grain wood desk and a heavy, destructive blow was dealt. A hint of smoke rose from the now warm wood. It made his Lieutenant perturbed and he could feel the atmosphere of the room change.
His body turned angrily to face the woman behind him. Bloodshot and black as soot eyes stared her down. Realistically, Roy Mustang wasn’t much taller than Riza Hawkeye, but his shoulders and chest were risen up higher, due to his rage, and provided him the temporary ability to look down at her wheat colored, saddened eyes. The warmth they could hold was gone- it had been for a while- and he knew he was cause of its extinguishment. Even in that moment her hazel eyes coldly met the man’s head on without fear. She knew every emotion they contained- joy, contentment, anger, sorrow, agony, vengeance, determination. But this was a new emotion she had not been exposed to before. What was it?
“Your eyes…sir…what is that emotion? I cannot read you,” she asked with cold hesitation to the silent room. “What do you think it could be Hawkeye?” he snapped, but realized his tone was only making the situation worse. Even though her body was stationary she was desperately trying to pull away. He could just tell. In intense internal frustration he ran his right hand, now slightly injured, through his soft Xingese black hair. He refused to look up, feeling childish for his actions. Mustang continued, “You can’t see when a man wants you so badly he can’t breathe? So desperately that he can’t walk a single step without clutching his chest from the overpowering desire?” That was obviously an unexpected answer for the woman, for her sharp black pupils dilated and her golden orbs wavered uneasily. He noticed her unspoken feedback-he always did- and continued with a softer tone. He had closed the space in between them as much as he could tell Hawkeye would allow. He raised his right sore hand up to the long hair he rarely saw cascade over her breasts. “Longing for just a touch, or even just the brush of our shoulders. For a strand of your hair to accidentally whisper past my skin as you turn your head. ” He stopped his fingers before they could reach her thick, luscious hair. “Or even just getting the chance to look into those beautiful eyes of yours,” he trailed off as he redirected his strained eyes to the bookshelf to his right. The words spoken were being roughly shoved into an unwilling, unprepared vessel. He could see it in her eyes. It physically pained him to see the reaction. For the first time in Roy Mustang’s eventful life, he was at a loss for action. The words he spoke were candid and could never be taken back. This was not what he had wanted to say. He wanted to take it all back. Absorb every word, every breath, from the air and shove them back into his ashy, swollen lungs. She was breaking in front of him as each word soaked deep into the skin of her soul like an inverted wound.
“How can you say those things sir,” no question inflected in her statement. The shine of her eyes had long faded. He remembered that day more vividly than any other memory he retained. It was in Ishbal. She had been alongside Mustang for training and in his unit on the field. He, a human weapon, and she, working a physical weapon, were both faced with their first war encounter. They both shared a similar experience- he wiped out dozens of innocent men, women, and children with the simple snap of his powerful fingers. His black and fiery eyes could not look away from the cremation he created before him; his eyes, as hard as they fought, could not slide themselves away from the scene in front of him. The scene he created with his own hands. Riza Hawkeye had been placed atop a church tower for the day and scoped out those the alchemists missed. Though she killed in smaller numbers, she too was a murderer. She knew her duty. The woman clicked the safety of her sniper rifle and aimed at a man. He was about 6 feet tall, had slicked back, short silvery-white hair and wore a pair of large thin-framed glasses. He seemed to be about 40, she guessed, and wondered if he had a family. Pushing her thoughts of her mind, her glistening hazel eye found its target. He was running with a limp- he was most likely injured from some nearby debris. After pressing the trigger it was too late. Riza Hawkeye saw the once standing man fall to his knees and not recover from the blow she dealt. The bright gleam, the young splendor her eyes once had, disappeared. She and Roy Mustang reflected on their day after supper. Mustang noticed the absence of her once innocent eyes. He too lost the purity his black Xingese eyes once held childishly, especially because he knew he could not shelter the woman he knew he loved from the cruel realities of war and senseless killing.
He pulled himself back the present as he stood before a person he knew for many years. She would not speak and she refused to return the eye contact he tried to reestablish. “Your eyes,” he said, craving for a reaction. “That’s what I remembered most about you when we were children. When we first met you hid behind your father’s legs. Your widened eyes peeked out from behind his slacks.” It got her attention, for he could see her eyes changing shape as they stared steadfast to the wall to his left. “And the time you taught me how to do laundry and properly hang it out to dry. When you giggled and make fun of me the sunlight would catch gold specks in your eyes and make them glimmer,” his serious face cracked a gentle smile. This caused her to quickly shift her eyes to see his face. The smile faded quickly as he recalled another distant, yet reachable, memory. Riza Hawkeye’s bitter eyes darted back to their resting place on the wall. “Those same eyes had the most heartbreaking shape and glaze when I left for the military. I remember them so clearly,” Roy Mustang hoarsely whispered, almost as if he regretted his actions back then. “I hurt you,” he rasped with an intertwined tone of anger and upset. His fists were clenched angrily at his sides as the alchemist grit his teeth shut roughly. “I always cherish the moments when I can see how you feel by just looking at your eyes,” he subtly encouraged. At this point any look Roy Mustang could receive from her he could accept, even if it was one of contempt. He made one last statement, “The eyes I knew before the war are gone. I remember the exact day they were ushered away. But your eyes are still beautiful, even if they have changed...and are laced with hurt and painful memories,” a little courage built up in his throat inside his Adam’s apple.
His semi-calm composure cracked. “Damn it, just look at me please.” The woman before him would not avert her eyes away from the wall. The alchemist began to get irritated, but realized she was withholding tears. The right hand belonging to a human weapon and military pawn found refuge on the woman’s face as it prepared to wipe away all the droplets. The woman’s lips, still rough and pink, began to retreat slightly inward in an attempt to prevent her tears. A few stray droplets escaped from her tear ducts. “I don’t know why my eyes want to cry,” she said defensively, still refusing to look at Roy Mustang. His left hand reached for the right side of her face that faced away from him. The calloused thumb rested near the bridge of her rose as he directed her silky face to be flush with his own. A hint of white began to bite on her slightly swelled bottom lip. Desire for coherent words ate at her with unabashed hunger. “I don’t know why I came here,” she regrettably announced. Her empty, glazed hazel eyes were trying to look away from her superior’s glassy black Xingese ones. With those words, a fire was extinguished in them and she watched as it flickered away instantly. Like a delightfully warm flame entering a cold room when the wind picks up and puts the fire out. Her empty words tore her and the man in front of her apart viciously.
“I didn't mean that,” she tried to defend her incoherence as he looked away and walked back over to his desk. “It’s fine Lieutenant. I don’t know what got into me to say what I did,” he caustically slew out a sentence as he looked at the window blinds in front of him. A looming silence billowed from every inch of the room as they stood. “Permission to speak freely sir?” He could hear her ask from behind him.
“Your eyes say more than your words ever could. I did not realize you felt this way about me. To be honest, I am surprised,” she began. He maintained his position at the desk. His lieutenant continued, “Your eyes used to be so young and wide. So full of life and ready to take in all the world and what it had to offer. After Ishbal, you eyes filled with pain and glazed over to shelter yourself from others. Even now I still see it.” She paused. “It pains me as well. I want to help restore the flame that’s fallen out of its rightful place in your eyes,” she confessed. His strong, muscular body slowly turned to see her in an odd stance. Without his knowledge, she had gotten closer and then silently grabbed a handful of fabric from the back of his white button-up; her left hand was lightly clenched at her sides for internal stability. Riza Hawkeye was slightly slouching, but she was composed and her voice had clarity embedded in it. “How long have you felt this way about me?” the solider asked without permission. His eyes widened at the question. He turned toward her and closed the space between them once again, now an increased confidence with his actions. “Since I saw the way you looked at me when we did laundry together,” he childishly grinned. A smile replaced the unease that had been resting on Riza Hawkeye’s face. She still kept a bit of distance because she was secretly terrified of physical contact with her superior. “My heart aches when I see you Hawkeye. Everything I have said is true, at first I thought I would regret saying it but now...I don't,” he simply stated and chose not to continue. “I see,” she gave a simple response. “Why did you sent me home for the night?” “You looked drained and tired. I thought the least I could do is send you home so you could rest,” he genuinely admitted before she could barely finish her question. She frowned and the gold specks hidden in her eyes glistened from the ceiling lights. She groaned, “Sir, you have work to do and it could be completed faster if you had just let me stay and help you.” Laughter was bolted shut behind a cracking smile on the raven haired man’s face. “I can’t say no to that face, can I?” He managed to cheerfully respond with a hearty, rarely heard laugh as he looked deeply at the gold flakes floating in her longing gaze.
She pulled out a piece of the bread and broke it in half, giving part of it to her superior by shoving it in his mouth teasingly and saying, "You need some energy to keep you going this late at night." She saved the other loaf for Fuery when he returned. Afterward, she resumed her usual position and sat dutifully at her desk prepared to assist her superior; Roy Mustang began to pull documents out from a folder on his own desk as he chewed diligently on the chunk of fresh Xingese bread Riza assaulted him with. They worked diligently for about 30 minutes and, without any prompting, he spoke up, breaking the silence, “Come home with me after we finish? Please?” The golden hair covering her breasts and shirt moved slightly as she shot her head up from the desk in surprise. A smirk laced across the lower half of her slowly aging face. “Only if you do your paperwork,” she cunningly jousted. With that comment she saw him work with a speed she never knew he possessed. In a matter of an hour or so, the stack of late-night papers were completed. She let out an audible giggle as the alchemist shoved some papers away furiously into drawers and put his pen away for the night. As he yanked his crisp cobalt coat off the coat rack, quickly like an overexcited child, she watched him contentedly.
“What did you say earlier sir? That you had an ‘overpowering desire’ was it?” she flirtatiously grinned at the thought of his confessions earlier that night as she held her coat in her hands. His face flustered but could not hide his slight embarrassment. “Something like that,” he beamed as jolts of heat swished through his fingers as he touched her cheek. The impact of flesh on flesh turned her cheek a hot red tint and caused her to catch her breath. "Let's go home," he said eagerly as he planted a soft kiss on her lips.