Chapter 34: Epilogue

Mustang leaned over the sink in the east wing men's washroom, tipped water from a canteen into one hand and splashed it over his face, careful not to wet the thick wad of bandages shielding his ruined right eye. The clock on the wall read 2:14 A.M.; only twelve hours since the end of the battle and Father's well-earned demise, though it seemed a lifetime ago. He hurt like hell. The field medics had sprayed the burned eye socket with something to numb the throbbing pain, which had barely made a difference, and had him swallow some painkillers whose effects had worn off hours ago. Wrath's energy and advanced healing abilities had initially blunted the effects of his injuries, but now he was stubbornly glad for the pain. There was no part of being Wrath's slave that he missed.

He headed back into the hallway, eerily quiet apart from the buzzing of the few working overhead lights and the steady knock of his cane (scavenged from somewhere in the rubble by one of his aides) on the smooth tile floor. His hair was ruffled by a breeze from farther down the corridor where the wall had fallen open to the outdoors and the wreckage of the north wing, but he was headed in the opposite direction, toward the pool of light and voices spilling from the doorway of his latest makeshift command center. He leaned heavily on the cane, the stab wound in his left thigh also grieving him; he would probably be left with a permanent limp to accompany his halved eyesight. And maybe that was all right, he reflected. He wasn't sure if he could bring himself to ask Marcoh to use a Philosopher's Stone for such trivial disabilities—especially now that he knew how it felt to be inside one. Besides, the entire country was already used to seeing him in an eyepatch.

The command center remained alive with activity from a dozen aides and the crackle of radio traffic as Mustang slid painfully back into his desk chair. After everything, he'd come full circle: back to his old office, the one given to him a year ago when he'd transferred to Central Command as a colonel, still stubbornly standing amid what was left of the east wing. His original subordinates were not among its occupants, however. Hawkeye, though medically stabilized, was still under observation, and the rest of his team remained out in the field with the rescue and recovery teams. He'd at least managed to make radio contact with each of the men to verify personally that they were all right.

Lieutenant Bryant appeared before his desk and stood crisply at attention. "Führer President, the 14th platoon reports that the breach in the northern sewage mainline has been repaired. That's the last of the active operations, sir."

Mustang nodded with weary satisfaction. After twelve long hours the emergency had finally been brought under some semblance of control: the seriously injured had been triaged, ruptured utility lines stabilized, dangerous debris hauled away or secured, crowds of terrified citizens gently dispersed and persuaded to return to their homes. "We've done all we can for tonight, Lieutenant. Notify the troops that everyone but essential medical and security personnel are dismissed," he ordered. Sunrise would undoubtedly reveal a host of new crises, but they would deal with them tomorrow. "You too, men," he called to the other officers filling the cramped office. "Let's close up shop and head home. We'll reassemble at 0700."

While the aides finished up their immediate duties, Mustang leaned his elbows on the desk and slowly massaged his temples. Commanding all those efforts simultaneously had been a massive and complex undertaking that had drawn upon all of his experience as Führer. It had been several hours into the emergency before it even occurred to him that he had never been Führer before—not alone, as his human self. Wrath's possession had been nearly complete, enveloping not just his body but his soul, which meant he remembered every action the homunculus had taken as if it had been his own. The result was that he now had ample experience leading the country, so much that the role was second nature to him. But he had also been left with other memories that disturbed him greatly, ones he was trying very hard not to recall.

Bryant reappeared. "Sir, a car is on its way to take you home, and your wife has been released from medical observation as requested. She'll be waiting for you in front of the East Gate."

"Excellent, Lieutenant," Mustang replied with a tired smile, reaching for his cane as he pushed himself up from the desk. "Now go home and get some sleep."

Making his way toward the gate alone, he felt a flush of pleasure as he anticipated seeing Riza again. His wife: he rolled the strange words over in his mind, considering the implications. Were they really married? There had been a wedding ceremony, of course; they had lived in the same house for eight months, and he knew she loved him as much as he loved her. But it had hardly been a choice for either of them. There was also the matter of the events that had happened during the course of their "marriage." He stifled a shudder as the memory of Wrath's urges came flooding back to him, and forcibly shoved them from his mind.

Outside of the East Gate, its entrance plaza barely illuminated by one sputtering gas lamp, he spotted Riza sitting on a bench, her hands propped serenely on one knee as she looked out over the finally-quieted city. Someone had donated a ridiculously overlarge military jacket to cover her torn civilian shirt; her hair was matted with dried blood on the left side where it had earlier fallen over her stab wound, and she was covered with grime from head to toe. But she had never looked more breathtakingly beautiful.

Alerted by his shuffling approach, she turned and saw him, her face breaking into a grin that mirrored his own. She rose and gave him a crisp salute. "Medically cleared and reporting for duty, sir," she declared, adding drily, "…finally." Above her smile, her eyes were narrowed in a mock glare. "I'll note that I could have resumed my duties hours ago if some interfering higher-up hadn't ordered them to keep me there."

He chuckled. "I stand by my interference, Lieutenant. You look much healthier now that you've had some rest." He drew closer to her, letting his cane fall as he rested his hands on her shoulders. "You're all right, though? Really?"

She smiled up at him. "I'm fine now," she answered. "And you?" Her eyes travelled over his bandaged eye socket. "Are you in much pain?"

He nodded with a rueful smile. "But it's all right. We made it, and that's all that matters."

A warm breeze stirred the air; absurdly, after the chaos and destruction of the day, it was a lovely spring night. The car might arrive at any moment, but they were standing close together, his hands still on her shoulders, and it was too much for both of them. He drew her closer, his lips seeking hers, and she returned the gesture eagerly as her arms slid around his neck. They stood suspended in that kiss for some time, with all the aching passion of the months they had spent apart, and all the years before that. To Mustang it felt as if a long-lost piece of himself had suddenly fallen into place, as if he had suddenly been made whole. He could forget every awful thing that had happened if they could only remain like that.

Reality reasserted itself in due course when his injured leg buckled, causing him to stumble against Riza and nearly send both of them tumbling. Both laughing, they clumsily lowered themselves down onto the bench, her arm looped around his waist to keep him from falling. "I really am useless," he sighed as they settled in, drawing her back into his arms. They leaned against one another, her head resting against his shoulder. He turned and pressed his lips gently against her forehead.

"The car will be coming soon anyway," she murmured contently. She didn't add the unspoken words: coming to take them home, together, to the house they shared as husband and wife. Or did they? Mustang wondered once more. It had been a marriage based on a lie, on threats of violence. How could he expect her to honor that? All at once the uncertainty was too much: he needed to know. He pulled himself from their embrace and turned to face her, his hand reaching up to caress her cheek.

"Riza," he asked her seriously, "will you marry me?"

There was a pause. "I think you're confused, Roy," she replied, a perplexed smirk playing at her lips. "I already did that."

He shook his head, unsmiling. "You married Wrath." He took her hands in his, looked earnestly into her eyes. "You didn't have a choice back then. We may be married under the law, but I don't want you to be my wife out of legal obligation. I want it to be real."

She sighed in annoyance, her eyes narrowing playfully once more. "I had a choice, and it was absolutely real. I married you, not Wrath. He was nothing more than an irritating houseguest." Her arms folded over her chest, one eyebrow arched. "Really, it's been eight months. Were you paying any attention at all? Or are you just an idiot?"

"Well, I—"

"Besides, you were the one who kissed me on the altar, remember? I consider that more than just legally binding. And I certainly hope you agree, because I'm not enduring another wedding—once was more than enough."

"All right!" he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "You win. We are, in fact, already married. In that case…" He lifted her hand in his, kissed it tenderly. "Would you do me the honor of continuing to be my wife? Properly this time?"

"Yes. Absolutely," she replied with a grin. She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him into a long, slow kiss. When they broke apart, she murmured with a sly smile, "We can start by having a proper wedding night."

She had meant it lightly, but hearing those words triggered a sudden rush of memories that made the smile die on his lips. The awful memories he had tried to suppress; what Wrath had tried to do to her in his body—no, what he had tried to do while under Wrath's control. He pulled away from her, avoiding her eyes as shame flooded over him. What had he been thinking, pretending that everything was normal between them? What right did he have to touch her like this? How could she even bear to look at him?

Riza was studying him. "It's OK, Roy," she said softly, understanding his thoughts. "What happened wasn't your fault."

He shook his head ashamedly, still avoiding her gaze. "You don't understand, Riza. He had control of me, body and soul. He took what I felt for you and twisted it into something horrible—and I couldn't make it stop—" He shuddered as the horror of the past eight months finally overwhelmed him. The violation of his free will, his forced participation in Wrath's corrupt plans and desires. The homunculus may have been in control, but Mustang was the one who had been too weak to resist him, who had allowed himself to be swept along and controlled. It was his fault that Riza had suffered—

"You're wrong," she interrupted. "You did stop it. Whatever his control made you do, or feel, you were strong enough to break free and protect me—every time. It's because of you that I'm all right." She took his hands in hers, gently but firmly. Mustang closed his undamaged eye, breathing rapidly as the polluted memories swirled through his mind: the long periods under Wrath's control, the brief moments when he was able to break free and reclaim his humanity, only to lose himself to the darkness again, over and over. Riza continued speaking urgently, seeking to pull him back from the abyss. "Roy. Whatever terrible things you remember doing, those are his memories, not yours. Never forget that. You are the one who protected me from him."

Drawn by her voice, he opened his eye slowly and found her searching his face, her forehead creased with concern as her hands gripped his tightly. His sole awareness in that moment was of how much he loved her. He would die to protect her, would dive into a Philosopher's Stone for eternity without a second's hesitation. And in that instant he was struck by the truth in her words: he had protected her. The homunculus may have forced him to do terrible things—but never for long, never more than a few moments, because his love for her had given him the strength him to break free. He had been far too rough with her in those moments, far too menacing, and he would never forgive himself for those lapses. But he had stopped the creature when it mattered most, and he would have killed himself and Wrath together before he would have ever truly hurt her.

"Wrath is dead now. He has no more power over either of us," Riza continued determinedly, her eyes still searching his. "Please don't let that monster steal one more moment of our time."

Mustang swallowed and managed no words, only a slow nod, but it was enough. She broke into a smile, and he reluctantly did the same as they moved back into each other's arms. "I'll make it up to you," he murmured into her shoulder, his voice tight with emotion. "All of it. I swear."

"There's nothing to make up," she whispered. "All I need is you." They kissed again. It was a moment of release, of grace. Her love was far more than he would ever deserve; but for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace.

In the distance a pair of headlights finally swung into view, the military car rolling slowly down the rubble-strewn street as it made its way toward them. They paused their embrace long enough to note its approach. "Going to take him a few minutes," Riza noted matter-of-factly before her lips sought Mustang's again. He had no intention of arguing with her pragmatism.

But a few moments later they were interrupted once again, this time by the sound of a man's throat clearing. They looked up to find the unexpected sight of Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery approaching them across the plaza. The men were covered in grime, bruises and cuts from their time in the field, but all were grinning. "Sorry to, ah, interrupt," laughed Havoc. "But we weren't about to let you go without welcoming you back in person, sir."

Mustang broke into a smile at the sight of his old team members, suddenly happy for the shock of normalcy. He struggled to his feet with Riza's help, leaning heavily on his cane as the men took turns enthusiastically shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. "We really thought we'd lost you there for awhile, sir," Falman told him with a grim smile.

"So did I," Mustang admitted gravely, not quite managing to retain his own smile. The last time he and Falman had seen each other was at the Main Gate, when he—or Wrath—had been a hair's breadth away from killing his subordinate. He would talk to Falman alone later, would talk to each of the men. So many things to apologize and atone for. "I wouldn't have made it back without help from all of you," he told the men soberly. "I owe each of you more than I can ever—"

"With all due respect, sir, stuff it," Havoc interrupted with a lopsided grin. "You would have done the same for any of us. And you have, more than once. So let's say we're even and leave it at that." The rest of the men were nodding in determined agreement, and at his side Riza was doing the same.

Mustang exhaled deeply. "All right," he finally agreed with a chuckle, feeling himself beginning to relax again. "If you insist. But I'll at least restore you to your old jobs in the morning—with well-earned promotions. And you'll be based in the Führer's office from now on. I'm going to need a team I can count on."

"Now that we'll accept," Fuery replied as the other men grinned in approval.

"That reminds me," Mustang continued, reaching to pull something from his pocket. "This team is going to need a new commanding officer, and I know someone who's more than qualified." He opened his hand to Riza, displaying a colonel's epaulet he had recovered from his old office. "Lieutenant, you've always told me that you didn't want to be a commanding officer. But by all accounts you've done a magnificent job of it these past several months, and I see no reason why that shouldn't continue."

She hesitated for just a moment as she stared at the insignia in his hand. Then she met his gaze and nodded. "I accept the assignment, sir," she declared with a crisp salute, her lips twitching in a wry smile. Grinning now, he gently pinned the epaulet onto her uninjured shoulder. When he finished, the rest of the team responded with salutes and whoops of congratulations.

He had let his cane fall to the ground again in the process of pinning the epaulet, and now he slipped an arm around Riza's waist, only partly to hold himself upright. She did likewise, leaning close against him. Their actions did not go unnoticed. "So Hawkeye," observed Breda, arms folded across his chest in mock sternness as his eyes swept the pair up and down. "A strictly tactical marriage of convenience, I believe you said it was? No personal feelings involved?"

"Really? That's what you told them?" Mustang chuckled.

"I might have said something to that effect," she admitted with a smirk, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

"Oh, don't worry, Lieutenant," offered Fuery cheerfully. "None of us actually believed that."

"No one who's ever met you two would have believed that," Falman added drily.

"Took you both long enough," Havoc muttered.

Behind them, the car had finally crept its way to the edge of the plaza, its driver idling patiently as he waited for them to notice. "Looks like our ride is here," Mustang observed. He cocked his head invitingly to Riza. "Shall we, Colonel?"

She nodded, then turned and threaded an arm through his. "Let's go home, Roy," she replied meaningfully. Her eyes sparkled with promise, not only of the night ahead, but of their life and future to come—together, at last. "After everything we've been through," she added with a sly grin, "…we've damn well earned it."


end


A/N: Yay, the story is finally done! :) Thank you so much for reading it, and I sincerely hope that you liked it all the way to the end.

So many people have said so many kind things in reviews and PMs over the past year and a half that I know I won't possibly be able to adequately thank everyone. But I'll try to recognize those who have been especially supportive and made this experience such a pleasure: aaorangenime, Taethowen, PokemonFreak90 (for your tough-but-fair critiques and good questions), residentasian (thanks for the Tumblr links!), DeathscytheVII (thank you again for the great idea for Chapter 31!), SuperninjaX, Fmalover07, the awesome Xelbie, the amazing Firefly Alchemist (for being there from the beginning and encouraging me all the way through!) and the especially the incredible Antigone Rex (for all your invaluable coaching and support!).THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! :D

Just a final note, now that the story is complete, I plan to go back at some point and do some editing to trim the draggy parts and maybe reorganize a few chapters. (Good intentions: we'll see if it actually happens.) If I do, I'll note any changes I've made here at the end, in case anybody ever decides to come back and reread this ridiculously long story (ha) and is curious to know what changed. Take care, and thank you again for reading! :)