I've been reading the FMA Ladyfest Prompts on livejournal, and that inspired me to whip this out! Too late for me to sign up for this year, alas. So enjoy and review if you feel so inclined!

The first woman to ever touch Roy Mustang's life was none other than his mother. He remembered little of her, but her fingers had shaped her little boy whether he could remember it or not. Mostly when he thought of her he saw golden hair and heard a soft, lilting voice reading to him. He remembered playing games of pretend and her high, trilling laugh. She gave him love. She taught him to love.

But she didn't live long. Not long enough at all. He still remembers that night, snapshots of horror and fear. Him off in the woods, coming home clutching a daisy for his mother as the sky turned dark. Flames licking out of the windows of his childhood home. His mother grasping his hand and kissing his forehead saying "I have to go back in and find Daddy. Wait here, Roy."

That was the last time he saw her.

There aren't any pictures of her that he can find, so all he has is that glimpse of blonde, growing fainter, it seems, with every passing year. And sometimes he will lie awake at night, just acutely missing her, wondering how his life would have changed if she had stayed outside that night, with him. But then he'll dismiss those thoughts because what good is reminiscing on his messed-up childhood? He has too many ghosts to deal with already- but he sighs, then. He doesn't really believe that thinking about his mother could ever be a bad thing.

Her death marred Roy's beautiful, perfect, innocent life, but her being there in the first place was still worth more than he'll ever be able to express.

The second woman that shaped Roy was very different from his beloved mother. Her name was Chris Mustang, and she very gruffly announced when they first met that she was his aunt, and that she'd be taking care of him now. He wasn't really in the mood for introductions at the moment, only eight years old and alone in a police station, clutching a wilting daisy in a death grip.

Chris sighed and knelt down to his level.

"Come on, Roy-boy," she said, and despite his fear and sadness, Roy knew this woman would protect him with her life. He just knew. So he took her hand and she led him out of the police station and into his new life.

She gave Roy many things: sisters, charm, confidence.

When Roy came to her, a steely look in his eye, and announced he wanted to learn alchemy-if I could have controlled the fire, maybe I could have saved them- she shrugged and agreed. The next day there were three heavy books on the end of his bed, and Roy smiled, silently grateful.

He still needs Chris, though he's far from the scared little boy who needed her fierce protection from the world. She gives him information and she not-so-quietly supports him every step of the way towards his goal. Roy knows that if he were to fail- or even think about admitting defeat- she'd be the first in line to kick his ass, and that's enough for him to get out of bed most days.

Madame Christmas, as she's known, may not have been the most conventional foster mother, but in Roy's eyes, she was the best.

The third woman to shape Roy was Riza Hawkeye. The first time he ever saw her, he was still a gawky teenager and she was a wallflower, taught to be polite and to blend into the scenery. She wasn't like his sisters at all, no. She was smaller and quieter but also somehow stronger, and she fascinated Roy. There was someone hiding behind the layers of propriety, and he wanted to meet that person.

But then everything went to hell.

Roy joined the military- because now there were people he wanted to protect- and Berthold Hawkeye died.

Riza was alone, and in a moment of hope, a moment of weakness one of her walls dissolved with her tears and she showed Roy her back. He had no idea what to say to a woman who'd allowed her father to crave her research onto her back, so he reached out and placed trembling fingers on the creamy skin, saying nothing. But nevertheless, he saw something new in Riza Hawkeye, and when he left, he had a strange sense he'd be seeing her again.

He did.

He was not pleased he did.

Because to see a- beautiful, innocent- girl in the middle of a bloodbath like that… He didn't like it at all.

And he felt even worse when he remembered his passionate speech at her father's grave and figured out exactly which jackass had encouraged her to join.

She soon grew infamous- the Hawk's Eye- and he smiled sadly at her over the campfire.

And somewhere deep inside him, that urge- protect protect protect- grew ever stronger.

It was at the end of the war that he saw a yet another side to Riza Hawkeye. She was strong, oh so strong and skilled, but she asked him to burn her.

She was much stronger than he'd thought.

But he'd grimaced and tried to refuse, all the same.

She won, in the end.

And finally it was the day to burn her, to scar her forever, and he shook. She turned her back to him, and he grew dizzy in the red lines for a long while, too long. She asked him what was wrong, and he startled, and he snapped.

She screamed, and it was all he could do to not drop into a dead faint at the thought of another blonde haired woman burning, many years previous. As it was, the thought gnawed at his stomach as he held the weeping woman and rubbed burn salve into her wound.

Riza Hawkeye is now his shadow. He knows her better than he knows himself, and they cling to one another, because apart they are next to useless. They will get to the top, claw their way there, always together, his Queen and her King and all their pawns and knights and bishops and rooks.

Now he has seen all the sides of Riza Hawkeye. And he knows something now that he didn't, back when he just wanted to see past that prim façade. He knows she's his other half, and when he finally gets to the top, he has a question to ask her.

The fourth woman to touch Roy's life was Maria Ross. Roy was not in the mood for forgiveness.
He wanted someone dead, and he wanted them dead now. But he knew Maria was not guilty. So he went to work.

Roy gathered information and made a fake corpse and dental records and carried out the entire act.

The worst part was lying to Fullmetal, who was heartbroken and distraught, to say the least. Roy's heart broke a little when he callously brushed the boy aside.

But that same boy's grin when he found out Maria was alive was worth it.

And most of all, the Lieutenant herself thanking him. Sometimes he questioned whether he could even consider himself human anymore. Saving Maria Ross reminded him that not only was he not completely lost, but that his flames cold be used for good. He, at least, was not as much of a monster as the homunculi, and that was enough to keep him fighting.

They didn't speak much, but Maria Ross, in a few short days, made Roy Mustang feel human again.

The last woman to truly make a difference in Roy's life was Rebecca Mustang.

Roy stands at a grave, old and weathered now. There are bodyguards behind him, but he's been the Fuher for a while now- they don't bother him. No, who he focuses on now is his beautiful daughter Rebecca.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of blonde hair and remembers two women who came before her with that hair he loves so much.

"Father?" she asks. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes are puffy from crying but she's trying to put on a brave face for her father. He smiles sadly. So much like her mother.

"She wouldn't want us to be sad, but you don't have to be so strong all the time, Rebecca," he says.

Her faces crumples and he catches her as she falls into his arms, sobbing like she is a little girl again and not a woman now.

Roy lifts his face to the sky. Once upon a time, he may have done something crazy, tried to follow his wife into death, but he knows his time is soon, and he still has work to do. Soon, soon, he'll see her again. A tear trickles down his cheek, and he holds his daughter closer.

"Riza," he says softly, looking at the billowing clouds. "It's still raining, and you of all people know how useless I am in the rain."

He smiles a little at that, and his daughter straightens, wiping her eyes with a hand. She smiles too, and with one last look at her mother's grave, she takes her father's hand and starts back towards the car.

"The kids would love to see you soon. They love their grandpa," she says, voice still shaky.

"I'd like that," he says, looking forward to many more tomorrows.