Disclaimer: No, I don't own FMA. Is that really so hard to swallow?
Alright everyone, this is the alternate ending, so if you like the ending where Riza dies, stick with that. This is just for all those Riza-lovers out there who would sooner impale me with a rusty spork than see Riza die (I mean, I love Riza just as much as you guys do but it is ever so fun to kill off main characters!) (cackles evilly).
Took me a little longer than I first anticipated…well, to make up for it, it's nice, long and fluffy! You have been warned.
Three weeks had passed since First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had been dismissed from intensive care. She'd insisted upon the rash decision herself, reinforcing her words by simply cocking her pistol and pointing it where it really counted. Well, where it really counted on Roy. What he hadn't realised at the time was that she actually couldn't use her weapon, as her trigger finger was still recovering under a thick blanket of cloth. But Roy, being too wrapped up in his frenzied habitual 'do-what-Riza-says-or-get-shot' phase, hadn't noticed.
Men. How very easy it was to manipulate them.
"Man…how the hell am I expected to finish all this?" Roy grumbled to no one in particular. Correction, how the hell does SHE finish all this?
The seemingly insane man sauntered along the worn path, dragging his feet through the crisp blanket of brittle leaf litter. He stumbled, tripping over the uneven surface and nearly toppled head over heels, fumbling with the massive stack of papers and the several brown bags that he held in his hands. He concluded that, despite his futile attempts at juggling his possessions, he would quite literally bash his head in if he didn't drop them.
So he dropped them. Perfect, he thought smugly to himself. The items would merely plummet straight down to earth, waiting at his feet, while he regained his composure. Then he would proceed to pick them up in an orderly fashion and walk off with his dignity, possessions and ego intact.
Or so it seemed.
The rebellious papers scattered themselves throughout the crowded park, riding the frosty currents that delved through the fibres of Roy's thick jacket, chilling him to the bone and causing him to shiver.
Meanwhile, the paper bags had crashed onto the unforgiving concrete, earning a resounding 'crack' from the contents of the bags.
"Crap."
A young mother whirled around and clapped her hands to her daughter's vulnerable ears, shielding her from the 'bad word'.
"Just because you're in the military does not mean you can go about in public, swearing at whoever you please." She huffed, placing her hands on her hips, "There are young, impressionable children here, who will catch on and learn these sorts of things. And you know what will happen to them when they grow up? They'll become juveniles with no sense of direction in life and they'll get bored. Then, just because they're so bored, they'll start shoplifting or doing drugs. And you know who will be shaping them up? The police. The police will put them in gaol with their poor mothers weeping for them and wondering how it ever came to this. But after awhile, they'll get out on bail. Then they'll get out of control again, this time burning down buildings and torturing little kitties. And do you know who will clean up after them? The mili…"
Roy struggled not to explode from the absolute idiocy of the young woman's accusations. "I'm…" he laughed, hastily turning the snickers into a rather dubious cough, "…very sorry. It will never happen again."
"It better not. Or else I'll loose my husband on you. And believe me, when he's not drinking, burping and sitting in front of the television or getting smashed with friends at the pub, he's very intimidating. VERY intimidating."
Roy nodded quickly and bowed, not wishing to aggravate the extroverted mother once more. God…I pity her husband…it's no wonder he goes and gets drunk all the time…I really don't blame him…
The young lady harrumphed, turned on her heel and dragged her child away, an annoyingly satisfied smirk of supposed triumph fixed upon her features.
He breathed a sigh of relief, still shivering uncontrollably and turned his attention to his missing papers and brown bags, an ugly green tinge seeping through the thin paper.
Just my luck…I trip over a non-existent obstacle in the park…on a WEEKEND, make a complete tool of myself…in front of practically HALF the population of Central, lose highly confidential military documents…that just HAVE to be signed by tomorrow, break Riza's bottle of painkillers…which just HAPPENED to be a green, nasty-smelling liquid, which BY THE WAY, cost a king's ransom that had to be taken out of MY paycheck, cause a stark raving-mad mother to chuck a fit…at ME and practically freeze to death because of the damned cold.
Life just isn't fair.
Riza snuggled further under the grey doona, listening to the howling winds that decimated the remaining leaves on the liquid ambers outside. Just great…someone's going to have to rake all that up…that someone would be me…as usual…actually, I could probably get Roy to do it.
She smirked, the audacious facial expression rivaling Roy's own.
It wasn't her fault.
Really.
She couldn't help it that Roy had grabbed her hand, marched to his home and plonked her on his bed. Mind you, she'd avouched mightily, so he ended up slinging her over his shoulder, as one would do with a rucksack. A rather humbling gesture.
So in revenge, she'd reverted to physical force, kicking him a fair bit…albeit slightly harder than recommended when opposing one of higher rank. He hadn't minded in the least, determined to keep her away from headquarters and the overly stressful amounts of work that awaited her there. Surprisingly, he even steered clear of his usual retorts of insubordination and 'lack of respect for your fellow man'.
Not surprisingly, he'd also vowed to wait on her hand and foot until she fully recovered, a bewilderingly chivalrous oath from a man who was supposed to her superior. Most women of her position would consider this 'sweet' however she suspected that he was only doing this to get away from his monotonous desk job. Not that she objected.
She didn't force him to. Heck, she didn't even ask him to.
So it wasn't her fault.
Not really.
True, it wasn't fair for her to put her feet up while Roy was running himself ragged, attending to her every whim. At first she'd protested…but apparently the great Roy Mustang had befriended the female's worst enemy…selective hearing. This newly forged partnership probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway, since his pig-headed stubbornness and steely determination would've refused to relent.
Besides…she actually did love that fool.
Kinda.
Sure, he was annoying as heck and had the mentality of a four year old at times but she'd stood by him through the years, supporting him and pushing him to the top. Much like Maes…until he'd passed on. She shivered slightly as a breeze crept under the doorway, sneaking into the simplistic bedroom. Maybe Maes had overheard her. Maybe she was hallucinating.
Dismissing all coherent logic from her usually ordered mind, she decided to consult the ghostly aura in the room. "Maes? I know you're there."
A faint chuckle echoed in the dark recesses of her mind, sounding much like Hughes' usual chortle.
"Well…I've got a bit of a problem. You see…I think…I think I might love Roy." She fidgeted with the corner of the quilt, eyes averted.
A gleeful chant of 'I told you so's invaded her brain, the emotion emanated similar to that of an obsessive compulsive fan girl when asked about her idol of choice.
"Stop it with the 'I told you so', already. This is hard enough to talk about and the fact that you're a ghost doesn't help."
The presence stiffened, exuding solemnity.
"I think I love him…but it's wrong. I'll just be holding him back. He…the rules won't allow it." She paused, thinking over what she'd just revealed.
"But you see…how do I know that he loves me?"
A memory of the heated kiss floated back into her mind, the caress of his tongue, the rough battle for dominance …
"I recall that I initiated that. He could've continued it merely for lust…" she interrupted abruptly.
Hundreds of images flashed before her, some honest acts of mateship and honour while others of a more suggestive nature…
"Oh c'mon…"
She gasped, the faint memory of his lips on hers, gentle and achingly sweet, the subdued longing that seemed to surface only with the memory of the kiss…
"Okay, you win. So what if he does love me? Remember that little rule, military officers are not permitted to fraternize with each other. Hmm?"
The image of a drunk Maes resembling a drag queen, dancing in the rain and singing off-key "Screw the rules…we don't need 'em…screw the rules…can't even read 'em…" appeared in her mind, triggering other disturbing memories to rush back including 'spin the bottle' with chopsticks, urinal cakes, thirty centimetre platforms shoes and an undoubtedly unhealthy amount of makeup.
She shuddered involuntarily. How she wished she'd stayed home from work that day…
"Okay…I'll see what I can do. But if you breathe a word of this to Roy, I will personally hunt down every last picture of Elicia you have ever owned and by the time I'm done with them, you'll wish you hadn't taken them in the first place."
The room suddenly felt very empty, no doubt devoid of a certain divine presence.
"'Till next time, Maes." She smirked for the second time that day. Damn…that Mustang's really getting to me…
Mustang sneezed, scattering the pitiful pile of papers he had collected.
"Perfect…" he muttered.
He whipped his head up to check if any mothers prone to epileptic fits were around. Thankfully, the coast was clear.
He stood there helplessly, watching his documents evade him once more.
"Just frickin' perfect."
Riza sat up in the simplistic bed and swung her feet around so they touched the floor. She noted the approximate temperature of the timber and promptly threw herself across the room, avoiding touching the frigid floor.
She landed heavily on her left foot, yelling out several profanities before biting her lip. Regretting her hasty and undeniably stupid solution, she limped over to the couch, recalling the state of Roy's living room on her last visit. Lucky for her, the muted beryl carpet was now free of obstruction, save for a few newspapers and pieces of clothing.
She spotted a woolen jumper on the sagging couch, inviting her to slip it on. Giving into temptation she pulled the piece of clothing over her head, appreciating the warmth that it contributed to her body. The grey jumper had a curious smell to it. Not a good or bad scent. As far as her nose could detect, it comprised of sweat, musk and…was that charcoal? Yes, this was definitely Roy's jumper. Strangely enough, the odd yet familiar scent comforted her.
Feeling content, she flopped onto the couch, settling into the worn leather with an uncharacteristic laziness. She left her thoughts to drift aimlessly as she watched the torrent of leaves whirl in a frenzied dance, pondering everything and nothing.
Suddenly, the fickle logic that had escaped her drug-induced state kicked in. The cold reality that had thwarted her finally hit home.
First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had been living with none other than Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, flame alchemist and notorious playboy for three weeks. Three whole weeks.
She smacked herself across the face. Hard.
I can't develop feelings for my superior…what the heck am I doing? You will NOT let yourself degenerate into a lovesick puppy over your commanding officer. I'm supposed to be helping Roy…I mean Mustang, doing my job as a subordinate. But here I am, letting myself be pampered and putting my feet up while I sit on my lazy ass. Some help you are, Riza.
"Okay." She reassured herself, "I'm getting out of here. I'm going to go home, recuperate and go back to work and pretend that nothing ever happened."
The blonde pushed herself off the couch, incorrectly assuming that her whole body was functioning properly. The agonizing stab of pain that assailed her left leg and bandaged hands disproved this theory.
She flopped back onto the couch, giving in to defeat.
Well…I shall just have to wait until Ro-Mustang gets home. I could probably threaten him successfully again…after all, men are creatures of habit.
The shaking figure bent down once again to reach for a paper. After a good twenty minutes he had painstakingly assembled nearly the whole pile. Nearly.
For there was but one paper that eluded him. It had placed itself in a devilishly tricky spot in the park, the pride and joy of the gardeners. One of the features on the 'picture perfect' postcards that the nearby horticultural centre sold, single-handedly illuminating the glossy paper. Perhaps the very reason visitors came to the park.
That devilishly tricky spot just happened to be in the very middle of the rose bushes.
Roy moaned dismally and clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh bloody hell…could this day get any worse?"
Gritting his teeth, he ran straight into the foreboding bracken with all the grace of a marauding Viking. A long string of colourful curses pursued him as he whipped past the thorns that pierced his uniform and dug into his flesh.
Scrutinising the surrounding area, he glimpsed the troublesome paper, swiped and missed, earning himself a palm full of thorns, drawing a substantial amount of blood with it.
Furrowing his brow, he lashed out at the branch once again and seized the paper. Yet instead of holding the document in his hands, Roy now clutched the rose branch in his grimy hand.
"WHAT THE HELL! My hand…get it out, get it out…ow…it hurts…"
The once navy clad figure crawled out of the undergrowth, clutching the paper bags and miraculously, all of the papers.
He panted, posing as a filthy Black Hayate and recalled his earlier rhetoric.
"Famous last words, Mustang. Famous last words." he muttered bitterly.
The gentle pitter patter of tears hit the ground, refreshing the plants that grew there and dampening the soil. Mustang looked up and quite conveniently received a raindrop in his eye.
Blinking rapidly, he groaned.
Not fair, sky. I'm the one who feels like crying.
The three men awoke to the soothing sounds of rain, patiently tapping against the frosty panes in the darkened office.
Jean yawned and stretched his arms out, carelessly slamming his arms intoBreda's sleepingface.
The victim bolted upright, screaming, "AHH! Get off me, you mongrel! You, beast! JUST…eh?"
The red-headed man blinked in confusion and merely looked at Havoc. Plastering an 'oh you are SO in for it now' look on his face, he plucked the smoking cigarette out of the blonde's mouth, twirled it between his fingers and flicked it into a nearby pot plant, promptly extinguishing it.
"NOOO!" cried the horrified Havoc, "That was my last one!"
Breda grinned toothily. "Check and mate."
"Damn you! Damn you all! There's a conspiracy against me, I swear…"
"Hey, you deserved it. You're the one who whacked me across the face."
Havoc, oblivious to the truth in Breda's sentiments, continued to mourn for his lost smoke while Breda gently shook Fuery awake, ruffling his hair and uniform in the process. The doe-like officer arose reluctantly, rubbing his eyes and patting his many pockets for his glasses.
"Uh…why were we sleeping again? Shouldn't we be finishing that paperwork the colonelassigned us?" The innocent man questioned.
"Well, ah…" Breda began, "We thought we needed some time off. Besides, Riza AND Roy aren't here. How could we resist?"
Havoc abruptly stopped whining and winked slyly at the pair. "I wonder what they're doing…"
The pleasantly plump man turned to glare at the seemingly brainless blonde. "There are innocent minds present."
This time it was Fuery's turn to look confused.
"Huh? Why'd you wink, Jean? And what do you mean by 'I wonder what they're doing'? I'm lost…"
Havoc suddenly realised the implications of Fuery's apparently innocent state of mind and casually slung an arm around the small man's shoulders.
"Oh young one, we were all once like you before we came here. Before we came under the command of him."
"Him?"
"The infamous Roy Mustang."
"Oh." Fuery blinked again, processing a thought. "Ooh…Eew! That's dirty, Havoc."
Breda watched the comical scene with amusement, smiling at the untainted Fuery and corrupted Havoc.
"I haven't finished yet. Anyway, soon enough you will become one of us." Havoc's facial expression changed to sinister. "Join us, my pretty, join us…"
Fuery looked alarmed and wriggled away from the blonde's grasp, signifying his obvious discomfort.
Havoc's arm retreated from Fuery's personal space and placed itself under his chin, propping his head up. "Oh c'mon, you've heard him." He knelt and thrust a hand out towards the ceiling, imitating Mustang's declaration position.
"I will make all women in the military wear mini skirts! God…he's got guts, that man. To try and tame the Hawkeye and get her in a miniskirt…" the aberrantly cigarette-less individual whistled low and glanced at the chrome clock.
"Shit! It's 10 o'clock! I have a date at 8! Shit, shit, shit, shit…" The blonde scrambled across the room, grabbing his coat and fled the room, his skidding shoes on the hallway reverberating throughout the lone building.
Fuery and Breda both stared at each other.
"Well, that was…interesting." He looked at the clock to confirm the time, "Yeah, it is pretty late. I'd better get home. See ya, Fuery." Breda walked out of the room and into the barren corridor.
The ebony haired man straightened and nodded curtly, following Breda out the door. Locking the office with his copy of the brass keys, he muttered to himself, "I wonder what the colonel and first lieutenant are actually doing…"
"OWW! IT HURTS, GODDAMNIT, WOMAN!" Roy yelled, tearing his injured hand away from Hawkeye and inspecting it gingerly.
"Ro-Sir, if I don't take the thorns out, you'll run the risk of contracting tetanus." Riza explained tiredly, pausing with metal tweezers in hand.
"Alright, fine…" he muttered, giving in to the steely barrier that was Riza Hawkeye.
A few stressful minutes later, all the rose thorns had been retrieved, albeit much varied 'french' previously unknown to Riza.
She gave him a motherly once-over and, satisfied with her repairing skills, threw in a quick nod to reinforce her approval.
Smiling, she inclined her head slightly to indicate legitimacy. "Thank you, sir, for letting me recuperate in your home for the past three weeks..."
"My pleasure, lieutenant."
"…and I feel I have intruded on your privacy for long enough, so I have decided to go home."
The raven-haired man gaped inwardly. What?
He attempted to regain his composure. "Riza, it is of no trouble to me. Personally, I have quite enjoyed your stay. Ah…so why don't you stay longer?"
Hmm…because I'm getting more attracted to you everyday that I remain here with you?
"Well, sir…"
"Roy."
"Sir," she continued, ignoring his stern command, "it is highly improper for a female officer to reside in the home of a male officer."
"Riza, you are staying here until you recover and that's final."
"No."
He looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"Sir, when I said no, I meant that I refuse to reside in your home any longer."
"That wasn't a recommendation, you know. It was an order."
"Yes, I inferred that."
"Then why can't you follow it?"
"Because it doesn't go by the rules."
"Screw the rules, does it look like I give a damn?"
"Frankly, no. But you cannot keep me here against my own will."
Smooth, Riza, real smooth. He most likely took that the wrong way…
Turns out, he did. Mustang took a step backward, a primal instinct put into action only when his brain told him to back off.
"Alright, Hawkeye. You have my permission to leave." he uttered coldly, his eyes a cloudy obsidian screen from the pain she had just caused him.
"Thank you, sir." she echoed, unintentionally letting a nearly undetectable tone of regret creep into her voice. The man turned and left the room, striding into the corridor adjacent.
The steely soldier gathered all her belongings with a quiet and almost mournful grace, silently lamenting her harsh words. Roy returned with her bag of clothes that she had prepared earlier and handed them to her, his posture stiff. She nodded once more and placed a hand on the doorknob, turning it and unleashing the cruel winds on the still house.
Do I really want to do this?
Yes.
Really?
No, I'm lying.
But…I don't want to do this.
But you have to.
There's a difference?
Yes. Now leave.
Ok…if he doesn't say or do anything by the count of three, I will.
Wuss.
One…
Only a host of scarred snowflakes drifted across the dusty plateau of their hearts, dancing on to the rhythm of life.
Two…
The sound of remorse hung heavy in the air, thick, choking both Roy and Riza slowly and painfully.
Three.
The apathetic man stood his ground. No response.
Riza closed the door gently behind her, swallowing, in hope of ridding her throat of the large lump of guilt that had accumulated there. The howling gusts were her only solace, callously caressing her cheek, enamoured by the morbidity she exuded.
She felt like crying. The tears of sorrow trickling down her cheek tempted her so…but no, she couldn't cry. She must stay strong. If not for the colonel, for her. Yes…just her.
She walked the length of the verandah and placed her meager possessions beside her, wobbling with each solemn step she took. Sitting herself on the unsteady beam of the banister, she sighed, staring out at the stormy sky with an unending indifferent gaze.
"Now I was once a fool, it's true…I played the game by all the rules…" she crooned, consoling herself through song.
Riza coughed and drew her coat around her, dangerously close to tears.
"But now my world's a deeper blue…I'm sadder, but I'm wiser too…" she intoned, her soft voice lost among the wild winds.
"I swore I'd never love again…I swore my heart would never mend…said love wasn't worth the pain…but then I hear it call my name…" she inhaled slowly, shuddering with the deep breath.
"The trouble with love is, it can tear you up inside…make your heart believe a lie…it's stronger than your pride…" she continued, wracked with pain, pain borne not from flesh but from her heart.
"The trouble with love is, it doesn't care how fast you fall…and you can't refuse the call…see, you got no say at all…" Riza's voice fell to a low, mournful whisper and died, carried far away on the lonesome breeze.
The soldier shuddered, vulnerable to the enormous emotional upheaval that raged within the tempest in her breast.
Summoning what little courage she held, she stepped up to the imposing door and knocked tentatively.
"Ro-Roy…" her voice cracked, "please open up."
She was shortly greeted by her colonel's face, still an unreadable mask.
"What…" he glared at her, "What do you want now, lieutenant?"
"I…I…can I stay with you a little longer?" The normally strong woman lay crumpled before him, a priceless beauty, shattered by his cruelty and carelessness.
Roy's face softened. "Yeah, sure."
Sensing her atypical fragility, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her rest her head against his chest. He began to stroke her hair, trying to quieten her inner unrest. He was now well and truly worried for her welfare…Riza? Fragile? Had hell frozen over?
"Roy…" she breathed, "I want to help you in any way I can. I've dedicated my life to this cause…I'll see you through this endless rain. And I know it's wrong…but…I love you."
He stiffened suddenly but continued to stroke her golden locks soothingly, murmuring words of comfort. She stepped back and stared at him, searching his eyes for a negative response.
"Riza…you need help too."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I don't need help. I'm fine on my own."
He smiled genuinely. "Look at yourself. Even your eyes beg to differ."
She cast her russet orbs down to the floor. "That's not true."
"Look at me, lieutenant."
Riza lifted her gaze and stared at Roy expectantly.
He placed a finger on her chin and tilted it up slightly so that she stared directly at him.
"You are a beautiful, capable woman. You are strong and selfless with flawless skill in firearms. You'd help a comrade in any way possible just to see them smile. Yet…even the most independent woman seeks shelter. And that's why I know, useless as I may be in the rain, that there is a chance of my love to be returned."
She looked stunned for a moment but hastily composed an answer.
"Roy, I'm not all of those things. And…" she trailed off, searching for the right phrase, "even if I needed help…why do you think I need it?"
He grabbed her by the collar and yanked her towards him.
"Because…"
Their lips met chastely in a warm, delicate embrace as the teardrops of the heavens began to rain down once more, cleansing the land of its former sins. The lovers' lips parted slightly, allowing Roy to finish his sentence.
"You're also useless in the rain."
---
Fin.
And without further ado, I declare that Tinge of Jade has come to an end (finally).
(Aren't you guys proud of me? A nice long fluffy ending for the Royai fans. So fluffy that it's killing me, really. Oh yes, if you didn't know that song, The Trouble With Love Is, you should be ashamed.)
Much love to all the reviewers who have encouraged me to continue this fanfic. Also thanks to the people who read this story but couldn't be bothered to review. Anyway, I'd just like to say that I'm genuinely happy that some people took pleasure in reading this and that I was able to cause sunshine and such through mere words.
Peace,
Sable Sword