Checkmate

By Yellow Mask

Spoilers: Heavy spoilers for chapter 56 of the manga.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

"Checkmate."

The word is brief, almost barked, but very final. Wrath has won his game of chess with Roy. Both literally and metaphorically.

"Checkmate."

Such an innocent word, but speaks so eloquently of defeat. The game is ended, finished, done. And Roy Mustang has lost.

"Checkmate."

Roy is a man who plays chess often, and he could almost hear those words hovering on the homunculus's lips that day. The day when everyone loyal to him was transferred, everyone was taken from him. Except one.

"Checkmate."

Except Riza Hawkeye. But Roy holds no illusions about her new role as the 'Fuhrer's personal assistant'. She is a hostage, pure and simple. Her continued presence is a poignant warning of what he can lose, should he cross the line once more.

"Checkmate."

He remembered the way his fingers itched, desperate to summon the flames of his namesake, at the false sympathy in Wrath's voice when he informed him of the transfers. He remembered the relief at the news that Riza would remain in Central, followed swiftly by a wave of horror when Wrath told him her new position. When realisation hit him like a thunderbolt – Riza will be used against him.

"Checkmate."

Roy is not stupid. The analytical part of his mind, the part that viewed these happenings as a chess game, had known what was needed to win. When a piece becomes a hindrance rather than a help, it is time to get rid of that piece. He knew what he needed to do to have any hope of triumphing over Wrath, both in reality and in the game they had just played. Sacrifice his queen.

"Checkmate."

It seemed so cold-blooded, but any chess master knows that pieces must be surrendered for the greater good. Some pieces must be lost to win the game.

"Checkmate."

Of course, this was easy when he was dealing with the game. With a board of timber, with pieces of wood or marble, unfeeling objects. It becomes quite different when chess in only a metaphor. When he is dealing with a board that stretches across the government, with pieces of flesh and blood…with people. Real people, people he is loathe to surrender.

"Checkmate."

And the few, very few, people who truly matter. Who matter so much to him, that he will lose the game before he sacrifices them.

"Checkmate."

He wonders if Wrath is aware of the same thing – that he could have won the game if he sacrificed his queen. But he is hesitant to, even in a setting as seemingly innocent as this. He is afraid, irrationally, that if he makes the sacrifice here, he will be tempted to make it in reality.

"Checkmate."

Roy wonders, sometimes, just how much Wrath knows. Wonders why he chose Riza to threaten instead of Fuery, or Falman, or Breda. Simple coincidence, or something more? Could they have any idea of Riza's importance to him?

"Checkmate."

Did they know he loved her?

"Checkmate."

He thought he had been careful, thought he had buried all signs of it as deeply as he could. But something in Wrath's voice that day told him that they knew, that they were well aware that, of all his weaknesses, Riza Hawkeye was the most debilitating.

"Checkmate."

He had mouthed some excuse for staying in the military, something about his ambition, in an effort not to show him how accurate his shot had been. As accurate as one of Hawkeye's bullets, Wrath had found his greatest vulnerability…and exploited it.

"Checkmate."

He knew he could still win. He could still work against the homunculus, but to do so required, like any chess game, a sacrifice.

"Checkmate."

To win now, required him to sacrifice his queen.

"Checkmate."

To win now, required that he sacrifice Hawkeye.

"Checkmate."

And if Roy knew anything, he knew this. He would lose this game, rather than sacrifice his queen.

"Checkmate."

"You could have won," Wrath observes as he stands from the desk. "If you had sacrificed your queen in the final ten minutes, you could have achieved a checkmate."

Roy's smile does not reach his eyes. "I did not notice, sir."

It is a lie, of course. He noticed; he knew he could win. Just as he knows he can still win against the homunculus.

"Checkmate."

He stares evenly into Wrath's eyes, can almost feel words bubble on his tongue, but he stills them into silence. His eyes say everything.

'I know what you are implying. You know that if it were purely my ambition driving me, then I wouldn't hesitate to make the sacrifice. I wouldn't hesitate to concede her. But it not just my ambition behind me. And I will lose to you; I will crumble and subjugate myself to you before I concede Riza Hawkeye.'

"Checkmate."

Wrath nods briefly, as though the silent message has been received and understood. He leaves the office, leaves Roy to clean up the pieces, to pack away the evidence of the Fuhrer's victory.

"Checkmate."

But Roy does not do so immediately, he gazes at the board for long moments, lost in thought. Wrath was black, he was white – it was almost ironic. The black pieces are ranged around the white king, boxing it in. Roy thinks the imagery is striking – the homunculus have boxed him up in a similar way. He wonders if the white king will grow claustrophobic if left so confined, so trapped.

"Checkmate."

Most of the white pieces were taken by the black and placed neatly on Wrath's side of the board. It brings a bitter smile to Roy's lips, again struck by the similarities. His personnel, his loyal subordinates, are in a similar position, removed from the board, taken where they can no longer aid him.

"Checkmate."

The white queen has been relegated to a corner, alone but safe, with the black pieces positioned far from her. Roy finds the scene bizarrely comforting – the white king may have lost, but his queen is safe.

"Checkmate."

He lifts the white queen from the board, cradling her almost reverently. He brushes his fingers across the plain wood, and for a moment, he can almost see Riza Hawkeye's face.

"Checkmate."

Driven by an urge he barely understands, Roy clears the board, cleaning all the pieces away. All but two. The white king and the white queen. He leaves them alone on the board, untouched, then decides he doesn't like the distance between them. He places them in the centre of the board; side-by-side, so close they almost touch.

"Checkmate."

This time, the smile is softer, more sincere. He likes the image this presents – the white king and queen, the board blank of enemies, their world empty of everything save each other. Foolishly, it gives him hope.

"Checkmate."

He places the white king back in the box, but hesitates when he picks up the queen. He stares at the rich wood, almost as rich as Riza's eyes. Riza Hawkeye, the queen on his chessboard…and the queen of his heart.

"Checkmate."

Roy almost laughs at how clichéd and melodramatic his thoughts are becoming, but he does not place the queen in the box with the others. Instead, he tucks her into the pocket of his uniform, finding the presence strangely soothing. A constant reminder.

"Checkmate."

Some things are too valuable to sacrifice.

"Checkmate."

Like the beautiful lieutenant who happens to be the best sharpshooter in the military.

"Checkmate."

Like the loyal subordinate who has supported him throughout his career.

"Checkmate."

Like the woman he loves.

"Checkmate."