A/N: Well, this is it, you guys. Last chapter. Probably. You'll see. Thank you to vino_and_doggos on AO3 for beta-ing this chapter for me. She's so patient. I could gush all day. And she's got a new fic posted. It's a gorgeous piece of angsty smut. All the feelings. So, if you didn't get the *em* satisfaction you wanted from this fic, check out Rewrite the Stars on AO3.

Also, thank you to everyone who read (and especially those who followed) this little kitschy AU of mine. You guys gave it more attention than I'd ever hoped for. I've got a lot going on in my life; we all do, to be fair. But seeing the comment e-mails from AO3 come through can really make me smile during tough times.

That being said, I hope this last chapter lives up, and (just like Fullmetal Alchemist) I (sadly) didn't write the lyrics to Kiss Me. Please don't sue me.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

For a moment in time, the world around Roy and Riza simply ceased to be. The crowd melted away, and all noise left Riza's ears save the sound of her quickening pulse. Roy's lips were soft and plump; his eyes were bottomless wells of dark, intoxicating liquid. From the point where Mustang's mouth met Hawkeye's skin, warmth shot through her system like a deadly virus that sapped her restraint. It left Riza feeling soft and supple from head to toe.

She might have been able to set those feelings aside, to play off the way her breath hitched as nothing more than shock, but his gaze held too many unspoken truths. Roy knew her inside and out, from the subtle swell of her thigh to the blunt wit of her straightforward mind. And he wanted to have and hold it all. As serious as a heart attack. With an impulsive sincerity, he kept locked behind all the reasons a relationship would be improper.

Roy was her father's assistant and her superior officer. He had a reputation for running hot and heavy while Riza was considered standoffish. And whether consciously or inadvertently – Riza honestly didn't know – they'd cast themselves in these contrasting roles, a method designed to keep them together but only at arm's length. And now the system faltered. The cycle was disrupted as if the serpent finally realized he was devouring his own tail. She told herself that she should have realized it sooner.

Though Hawkeye was a rigid person, drawn to rules and regulations like a moth to the flame, she felt her reservations crumble under the weight of Mustang's silent confession. Riza wondered what she looked like as she allowed the realization to wash over her, drowning all her sensible notions of self-discipline and moral fortitude. Surely, he knew that she felt the same, that she saw him for who he was underneath the intrigue and bravado, that following him came to her as naturally as breathing.

But the moment passed as time is wont to do, and once at full speed, events transpired in cut time to compensate for the lag. Roy slipped away, yanking his hood over his downturned face as he hastily exited the stage. Still dazed, Hawkeye felt Maes clap her on the back and offer himself congratulations for a flawlessly executed plan. Breda smirked. He rocked back and forth on his heels, exhaling with amusement as his eyes followed Roy's red-hooded figure through the dwindling crowd.

It was difficult to tell if Maes knew. His pleasant poker face wasn't known to falter without a calculated purpose, and with Gracia waiting, the cadet lieutenant colonel was quick to excuse himself. But Breda's laid-back demeanor left little to the imagination. Ling's off the cuff strategy wasn't Shakespeare, not even Hemingway at that. There was no question; he knew.

"I would appreciate it if you could keep what you saw to yourself," Riza stated in hushed tones.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Hawkeye," Breda quipped. His lazy smile and relaxed posture remained intact. Riza curtly nodded in his direction and turned to flee as fast as her legs could carry her to somewhere, anywhere else. She'd call Rebecca and beg to be picked up. Thin walls, ear plugs and audible tantric sex would be a better fate than…

"If I may…" Riza paused and steeled herself against whatever advice was on the tip of Breda's tongue.

"Aren't you tired of it?" he asked. The cadet's tone was as blunt as a battering ram.

Riza scoffed. Was she tired of silly questions and idiotic fundraisers? Of unreliable best friends whose cell phones went straight to voicemail? Of men with dark hair and eyes that made her stomach do somersaults? What kind of question was that?

"You'll have to be more specific, Breda," Riza retorted with as much venom for Breda as for herself. "Am I tired of what?"

"Do you really want me to spell it out?"

"No. I want you to pretend you didn't see anything tonight." Riza's face flushed with indignation. It wasn't Breda's place to offer advice on her love life like he was playing a simple game of chess.

"And what about earlier this evening, before Armstrong's sister showed up? I heard about that. Even Falman suspected something. Or last week when you needed help jumping your car? There's a lot of things I pretend not to see, but then I'm an observant guy. I know when to keep my mouth shut. Other people aren't so discerning."

Breda spoke softly as he absentmindedly unbuttoned his jacket and pulled at the tie constricting his neck. He sauntered past Riza and moved toward the edge of the stage as calmly as if he was reciting his grocery list. The young woman found it difficult to meet her comrade's eyes.

"Your secret's getting out," he stated matter-of-factly, "Kimblee knew something; that's obvious. Hughes ignores it as I do, but Roy is climbing the ladder, and you're about to contract. There'll be more on eyes on you both."

Breda paused as much for breath as for effect and continued. "I'm a simple guy, Ri. I call it like I see it. Whatever's happening between you two, it's your move. Decide what you want from him, and make your peace. That's all I got to say."

…

Becca didn't answer her phone, and Riza had a half a mind to send her a string of passive-aggressive text messages just for the hell of it. But, other than igniting Becca's curiosity, that would serve no purpose, and by the time Riza had made her way to the parking lot, Roy was waiting for her. He leaned against the hood of his secondhand Mazda Protege wearing a relieved expression. The infamous red hoodie hung limply over his arm.

"I thought you wouldn't show," he chuckled, as lighthearted as ever.

Riza slipped off her jacket and laid it carefully over Roy's backseat. She closed the car door with gusto and prepared herself as best she could to tell the lie that would make their lives easier. "It was just a kiss on the hand. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Of course. I was only doing Ling a favor."

"I'm glad we can agree."

"Shall we go then? I'm sure your father is waiting."

Riza slid into the front passenger seat with far more ease than either her predicament or the cheap fabric of the seats warranted. "It's Friday night," she remarked with an air of truth. Not to make a habit of fibbing, she felt the need to remind Roy of the reality. "We both know he's already collapsed on the couch in his study. When I said I'd never sleep under that roof again, I meant it. I'll stay in the pool house."

Roy turned the key in the ignition, and the well-used sedan sparked to life. The vehicle's drooping headlights swept the emptied parking lot as the cadet major turned onto the unpaved road. The sounds of crunching gravel almost buried Roy's groan of frustration. Yet, in the haste of being only too happy to leave both the fairground and the memory of their kiss behind, Riza didn't question it.

…

It took 10 minutes to reach the highway, and from there, it would be another 15 before they arrived at affluent East City Heights. Despite the elephant in the back seat, neither cadet mentioned anything about the evening's events. Begrudgingly, Riza realized that Breda had been right. It was her move, and her usual tactics fell short of anything more than stalling.

Unsurprisingly, Riza's first instinct was to maintain the status quo, to live the lie that she'd proclaimed with gusto minutes earlier. "…just a kiss on the hand…" But if it had really been as innocent as his placement suggested, if it had really meant nothing, the silence wouldn't have felt so charged. The radio would not have chosen that moment to speak to her.

A familiar beat ricocheted from Roy's ancient speakers. It curled around Riza's ears like a potent lullaby and reverberated through her mind until she placed the song two seconds too late. By the time Hawkeye reached to turn the dial, the lyrics had blossomed into a message she couldn't ignore, an answer to the question she kept asking herself.

What happens next?

Settle down with me

Cover me up

Cuddle me in

Lie down with me

And hold me in your arms

Roy cleared his throat. "You can turn it," he said like it was such a simple thing. Turn off the song, turn the page, wall up these feelings behind bricks of duty and layers of misapplied loyal mortar. But none of that would change the quickened thump of her tell-tale heart.

"No." Riza lowered her arm, letting it rest dangerously close to Roy on his side of the gear shift. "I like this song."

And your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed in my neck

I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet

And with a feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now

"Why?" He glanced over at her with questioning eyes before directing his attention back to the road. The back of Roy's hand rested temptingly near Riza, so close that she could sense he was cold, wanting the warmth of her digits. In contrast, the sour vinegar in his voice was palpable. "I can think of better love songs," he said ruefully. "This one seems sad and slow. Don't you want something happier? A story that might suit you better."

She knew what the refrain would say before Ed Sheeran's voice crooned the cruel words at her. And the little voice in the recesses of her mind suddenly echoed Breda's earlier question, the one she never answered. "Aren't you tired of it?"

Yes, she was exhausted. Fed up with the looks of longing and small touches that amounted to little more than frustration. Yet, try as she might, Riza couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for falling for her father's assistant, her superior officer. For Roy.

And just as all doubt left her, the short distance between their hands became unbearable. Once again enveloped in the darkness of his car, Riza gave in. She laced her fingers through Roy's, just as he had on the day she buried her mother, and pushed her thoughts of reprisal aside. She wanted him too.

"I don't want another story," she answered with a breathy tone that was far removed from her normal register. "I like this one, mine."

Kiss me like you wanna be loved

You wanna be loved

You wanna be loved

This feels like falling in love

Falling in love

We're falling in love

"Well there's no accounting for taste," Roy managed in a raspy voice. He squeezed Riza's hand gently bringing his palm flush with hers. "Does Ed Sheeran deserve such a loyal fan? I had no idea you liked gingers."

"Not particularly. I prefer tall, dark and complicated, but you knew that, Roy."

Roy groaned, exhaling slowly at the sound of his name. If the pressure on her hand was any indication, there was little he could do to turn back. Riza didn't kid herself; she was in the same boat.

…

Thankfully, her father had remembered to unlock the gate, though Riza suspected Roy had a key in any event. And when he turned into the parking spot next to her father's luxury crossover with practiced ease, Riza understood just how much Roy was risking when he flirted with her feelings in the dark. Despite the professor's frigid exterior, Berthold Hawkeye never let anyone park in her mother's old spot. No one, it seemed, except Roy Mustang. Nevertheless, that hard-won trust could turn a dime. Riza knew this all too well because she witnessed what had happened with her mother.

Roy insisted on walking her to the pool house, though, Riza would have asked if him to if he hadn't offered. Once again, their hands found each other along the short walk. She shivered at the memory of his lips on her skin, wishing for them taste places other than the back of her hand. The young woman struggled to think of anything besides the feeling of his fingers curling and rubbing hers with desperate fragility. Riza searched for the most off-putting topic she could think of to maintain her composure.

"Has he let you in on his research?" she asked, albeit with genuine curiosity.

"Not in so many words," Roy replied, also thankful for the loaded topic, "but I've pieced a lot of it together."

He paused, turning his gaze toward Riza as they arrived at the door of the pretty pool house. "I haven't told him, but I've been approached about a practical application for his work. It was Grand, the military if you can imagine. He'll be furious when he finds out. Professor Hawkeye's refused their advances several times, so they're recruiting the next best thing: Me." However, well-earned, the young man's words dripped with vanity and inner-conflict.

"Why tell me?" the blonde shot back. She couldn't claim to know what Berthold was working toward anymore than the university that inexplicably indulged his twisted genius.

"Because I don't want there to be secrets between us," Roy explained. "And I'd like to know what you think I should do. Not right now, but after you think about it. It's selfish, but I want at least one Hawkeye's blessing, and you know what it's capable of."

Riza laughed. "Is that what this is about?" She glanced at their intertwined fingers. "My blessing?"

"No," he responded, and they both knew she'd known the answer before she even asked. "But maybe it would be better to think of me that way, like an ambitious bastard who'd do anything to ease his conscious. Would you believe that?"

"No," she said, "Edward would though if it's any consolation." Riza reluctantly untangled their fingers and searched for her keys in a shallow pocket. She made short work of unlocking the door. Her reeling expectations were accompanied by the muddled sound of metallic clinks.

"Wrong blonde," Roy chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Story of my life, these days."

Riza opened the door but paused short of crossing the threshold when she felt the distance between herself and Roy widen. She spun around and leaned against the frame with lust coursing through her veins and questions streaming through her brain. She looked back at him, silhouetted against the brilliant refractions of the pool's clear water. However different, his eyes mirrored hers in every way that mattered.

"Decide what you want from him, and make your peace." At last, Riza obliged.

"Come in," she dictated, leaving no room for doubt or debate.

"Do you know what you're asking," he queried with a raspy honesty reserved for her and only her. "It'll be hell if anyone finds out."

Riza smiled contentedly, despite all the uncertainties and complications that a real relationship presented. "I do," she stated. "Some people are worth burning for."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. If so, you know the drill. Kudos, bookmarks and comments are appreciated. Also, check out my tumblr, flourchildwrites. Send me an ask, a prompt or even an anon nasty message if that floats your boat.

Depending on the feedback, I might do a not-T-rated epilogue at some other time, but I don't want to commit to it at the moment. Plus, I'd like to know if there's any interest for it before I devote more time to this AU.

Until next time!