Author's Note: Additional tags for this story include: Post-Canon, War, Letters.

The order comes through five months after he has been promoted to General. Riza ignored Roy's protests and dressed him the next morning. The baby in her belly kicked softly, and he pressed a warm palm against her stomach, feeling the movement with a wide smile. He kissed her and slipped into his overcoat, holding the door for her.

They walked to the train station together, and waited patiently in the terminal with the other soldiers and their families. Roy runs into Jean, Kain, and Vato; and the four talk about everything but the war. Heymans has run off to grab a quick lunch.

"How can he have an appetite at a time like this?" Kain asked, looking uncomfortable.

"Dunno," Jean commented with a shrug. Roy chuckled, glancing over at Riza. She smiled gently, her hands itching for the pistols she had grown so used to. She wanted to fight. Now, she was breaking her promise, and they both knew it.

The scars on her back twinged as she saw his gloves, the blood red array painstakingly sewn into the flint-and-sulphur lined fabric.

His hands would once again take the lives of countless people.

The bell rang and Roy's expression hardened. He straightened, glancing at Riza before ordering his men aboard the train. She watched sadly as they filed into the cars, most of them hardly older than twenty. Roy was last, not boarding in favor of hugging her tightly. They shared a quick kiss before he stepped back, solemn.

"I'll be back," he said, his voice hard as steel. Riza nodded and he smirked, turning and stepping into the car. The train whistled, and the creaking of the wheels echoed through the station. Riza watched in silence as it departed, and the baby was still as well, waiting.

It had been four months. The seasons had changed; snow was melting and trees budded. Roy wrote her weekly, and the letter always arrived on a Thursday.

He always started with questions, about the Elric brothers and the baby. Sometimes he asked her if she could send pictures, and she always did. After the questions came his stories. He talked about the other soldiers - light, humorous things that brought a wistful smile to Riza's lips. Sometimes he told her about his own mistakes, making her remember him before Ishval; when he had been charming and clumsy, a big dork about everything.

He finished with a report on their current situation, his handwriting shaky when a fellow soldier had been killed in line of duty or he had been forced to use his alchemy for anything other than self defense.

Riza, of course, responded to his letters in much the same format, but the last topic was always a reassurance of her love for him, no matter what sins he was forced to commit.

The baby was born on a Thursday morning. She had wispy black hair and soft brown eyes. They had agreed to name her Valerie.

The letter Riza received that day contained only four hastily written words:

Riza,

I love you.

Roy wrote back again three weeks later, explaining that they had been attacked. The battle itself lasted only a few days, but everything was so chaotic afterwards it had taken him two weeks before he'd had time to sit down and write.

He'd lost 36 men. Riza saw that he'd started to write names, but scratched them all out, ending the letter there with an apology.

She told him about Valerie and sent a picture the hospital had taken of them together.

Then she waited.

The war was over.

The train pulled into the station, and soldiers reunited with their families.

Jean put a shaking hand on Riza's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. Heymans, Kain, and Vato all stood behind him, eyes downcast. Jean raised his other hand, opening his fingers to reveal a dented, dirty set of dog tags.

MUSTANG,

ROY H.

FLAME ALCHEMIST

AB POS

NO RELIGIOUS PREF.

Riza took them silently, nodding slightly at Jean. Hesitant, he began to walk away, but she stopped him.

"He...got my letter, right?" She asked the question carefully, the dog tags heavy in her palm.

"Yes," Jean said, smiling weakly. "He showed that picture to everyone. He's as bad as Hughes," he chuckled.

"Thank you," Riza said, smiling. "For taking care of him."

Jean smiled weakly, saluting her before he walked off.

The funeral was much like Hughes's, but it was raining.

Valerie rested against Riza's chest, quiet despite the frightening noises around her. She watched with intelligent eyes as the casket was buried. One of the soldiers presented Riza with the folded Amestrian flag. She took it with a murmured thank you, uncomfortable with the pity in his eyes.

After the burial, she placed the single flower before his headstone.

"I just want one flower." He'd said that jokingly, but she now took it to heart.

His voice echoed in her ears, even though the world around her was silent - if not for the rain.

It's a terrible day for rain.

Riza returned to work two months later.

Despite the extra pair of dog tags she wore around her neck, she knew he was alive, in her heart. She picked up where he had left off, earning her own way up to General. His office hadn't been touched since he'd left.

She opened the drawer to find a single pair of gloves with a photo resting above them. A small paper next to the two caught her attention. She picked it up, unfolding it.

Dear Riza,

Thank you for the photo. You're both so beautiful; I can't wait to come back home to my girls. It seems like this war will never end, but I suppose I felt that way in Ishval as well. We've received orders to push forward, and despite my insistence that we simply do not have enough men, it's happening tomorrow.

I won't be able to mail this letter, so I'm giving it to Jean, in the event that I am unable to make it out. I sincerely hope that is not the case, but if it is, then I'm already gone.

You're welcome, by the way. It's no coincidence that you're sitting in my office. I bet you're a General now too, aren't you? Like I told you all those years ago, you're the only person I know well enough to write to in the future. The gloves are yours to keep. Do what you want with them.

I love you,

Roy.

Riza wiped away her tears, smiling softly. She picked up the photograph, recognizing it as the one she had mailed him after Valerie's birth. It was rumpled and most likely had sat in his breast pocket, ready to be whipped out for some bewildered young soldier who happened to pass by.

She turned it over, expecting another clever note, but instead found a transmutation circle with a heart scrawled on the back, Valerie's birthday written in the center.

Finally, Riza took his gloves out, looking over them briefly. She set down the letter and photo.

With practiced ease, she slipped the too-large gloves over her hands.

Riza did not need to wait any longer.