Guard You, Guarding Me

Inspired by Guard You by Miyavi

He languidly twisted around again in his bed, eyes burning desperately for sleep that probably wouldn't come. Every time his eyes fell shut, all he could see was flaming carnage. Blood and ashes falling like rain all around the bodies he had slain.

How long would this false rebellion last? Surely, the Fuhrer would be running out of resources soon. If anything, he's running out of men to control, sending quadrant after quadrant of toy soldiers to be shot and blown up. Even the once abundant team of State Alchemists were starting to dwindle, and surely no one was going to sign themselves up for this Hell.

But nothing compared to the immense amount of Ishvalans that had fallen, fighting for their motherland. The government advertises it as a war. The people know it for what it is. A genocide.

It was times like these when he missed "home" most—a looming, ominous mansion that creaked with every breath Mother Nature blew across the fields. He hadn't been born and raised there, in that dimly lit mansion, but it was where he felt most content. And he was so far away.

Or, more accurately, she was so far away.

Choppy blond tresses. Rusty brown eyes, lidded with sadness. Paper-white skin. A face as stiff as stone, almost successfully hiding her sorrow, framed by a cascade of pink petals falling behind her. This was his most fondest memory. His last memory of her before wretched war stained him with its filth.

He didn't eat for two days after he saw her in navy blue, the uniform still crisp and bright from it's newness. She had obviously only just been deployed, making her a year below him. The thought of her being here, in this God-forsaken hellhole, using those small but work-roughened hands to murder innocent civilians. Like him. He left to save her from this, to keep her away from the ugliness of the world. But she followed him, like a shadow.

Neither of them felt joy anymore, war and death does such things to a soldier. He couldn't remember the last time either of them laughed. Or anyone, for that matter. Every one of the Amestrian soldiers were dead inside after taking the lives of so many others. His biggest debt, however, was to her. He felt as if he single-handedly ruined her life; she vowed to follow him, protect him, and raise him to the top, and he couldn't help but think that it was entirely his fault. This was what kept him up night after night.

Sighing gently through his nose, the man rolled himself to the edge of his cot and lifted himself to sore feet, bones cracking and metal frame creaking as he shifted his weight. With her on his mind, there was no way he could sleep. His white tee stuck to him everywhere, the insane midnight heat raising up from the sand and enveloping him, wrapping him in its warmth. Choking him. There was only one way to end this guilt.

Smile. Cherry blossoms. Maroon eyes.

He picks up his boots, flipping them upside down to empty out the gathered sand and any scorpions finding a home there. He slips them on, not even bothering to tie them as he trudges out into the dusty wind. He secures the tent behind him as he squints into the darkness, hearing gunfire and screaming in the distance. The fray was closing in. He didn't really mind. That wasn't what he got up for.

Her smiling face is burned into his retinas, though it is disfigured. A flash of blue and she's back in her uniform, dead eyes rimmed with black, staring straight at him. There is no emotion. He doesn't doubt that he looked exactly the same, staring back at her. Neither of them were the people they were before. Roy can't find himself in his muddy thoughts, let alone find her under all of the pain etched into her posture and stern expression.

He marches forward, shoulders heavy with grief, mouth turned into a determined scowl, eyes narrow to keep out the sand. The next camp isn't far, though he has to be careful so no one sees him. It would really be a pain to get shot before even making it to the tents. She certainly wouldn't be happy if he got shot by anyone but her. They made a promise after all.

Smile. Cherry blossoms. Maroon eyes.

Once he found his way to camp, he has to make sure he can navigate in the darkness without making a sound. The howling wind helps him, licking at the tents and whipping sand everywhere. The shouting and shooting gets louder. Unabashed, he stands in front of a tent. Only one light is on inside, flickering her silhouette onto the green tarp in front of him. He reaches out and touches the plastic, his jaw tightening as he closes his eyes.

He sighs, the tears streaming down his cheeks even more miraculous considering his dehydration. He holds a thick, gloved hand to his mouth, the red symbol on the back seemingly burning into his hand. This is it. It's time.

With the image of her smiling in the back of his mind, he ducks into her tent and forces a mangled smile. She smiles weakly in return, looking at him over her shoulder. Her bare upper torso blurs his vision. He can't believe he agreed to this, but...

"Ready..?"

"Of course. Are you?"

"I will never be ready."

Riza nods and pulls her hair forward, leaning forward to give him a clear shot. He lifts up his hand, ready to snap.

'It's for her safety,' he thinks in his mind, 'I'm guarding her.'

He breathes in. He closes his eyes. He flexes his fingers. He instantly hates himself.

She screams into her blanket.

Smile. Cherry blossoms. Maroon eyes. Burnt skin.

A/N: Hope that wasn't too dark for y'all. Had it stewing in my computer for a few months now, but I think I'm satisfied enough to share it with others. Please review and tell me what you think! This was my first Royai fic after all.