♡

First was her mother’s passing. She doesn’t recall much from back then, her memory hazy from the loss of the only source of warmth she ever knew. She remembers the immense sadness and loneliness that surrounded her four-year-old self during her mother’s funeral, knees wet from the dew covering the meadow where her mother rests now and her own tears. It was the saddest experience of her life, even if she doesn’t remember clearly, but she still wonders if she was maybe too young to feel proper grief. 

Sixteen years later she meets loss eye to eye once again, this time her father’s , and she is utterly ashamed to admit that she did not feel a single thing. This memory is much more clear in her mind — the service took place in the same graveyard on a beautiful, sunny day, a mocking weather for a funeral, really. Riza did not shed a single tear, in part because Berthold Hawkeye did not raise her like that. She’s positive that she felt sad, because losing her father also meant losing her childhood home, the Hawkeye State deteriorating to ruins at the same time as the alchemist did. She also felt overwhelmed, since her life started now and she had to decide what she would do from that point onwards. As inappropriate as it may sound, Riza was grateful that the neglect was over, grateful because she was finally free from her own cage. Grateful because Roy Mustang enlightened her path and guided her to her future, so incredibly grateful that she revealed his father’s (and hers) deepest secrets not a day after his passing. The shame came shortly after, but no grief that she could identify. 

With the war came a crashing wave of guilt that accompanied her everywhere she went. Hot, dry summer days made her remember the blazing midday sun that blinded her back in Ishval. Warm colors that reminded her of the dessert made her dizzy.  Every time a child even looked at her, she would feel her knees wobbly, eyes watering, lower lip trembling. The smells of gunpowder and smoke (embedded in her clothing, her hair and her whole being) gave her nausea until she joined Mustang’s unit and not even the lavender and lemon cologne she diligently sprayed every morning around the office could hide the scent of their sins. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t let herself grieve for the lives that she took with her own hands. She didn’t deserve it; she didn’t deserve closure or catharsis or leisure. She deserved to bottle every tear she felt like shedding for those innocent souls that she took looking cowardly through her scope, carry them with her and find them a new home.

It was difficult to not feel appalled for the Elrics and their tragedy. Two children, one mutilated after trying to bring their mother back to life and the other one was nothing but an empty suit of armor. Riza feels her heart breaking every time Edward talks, his eyes fiery like the twelve-year-old he is, but his words sounding incredibly wise for such a tiny body. She feels shaken when she hears Alphonse speak the first couple times, how his sweet voice gets lost inside the iron giant he’s bound to. Winry talks about them as if she feels the same grief, she shares it with them, and Riza is sure that’s exactly the case. The girl’s back is arched, shoulders slumped as if the burden she’s sharing with the two siblings is weighing on her, and Riza admires this little girl for being so brave to let herself feel. She thinks she has a thing or two to learn about her. 

The years after the Elrics tragedy are a whirlwind of problems, and Riza fondly drags the Colonel and her team to give the children a hand every time. Times are difficult, but they are definitely easier than they will be after Maes Hughes’ murder. Riza Hawkeye is familiar with grief. She has seen people (Father, the Elrics, now Gracia and little Elicia in front of her very eyes) grieving; hell, she has even caused grief for hundreds of Ishvalan families. But nothing quite compares to how her heart shatters and rips at the seams when she sees Colonel Roy Mustang crying at the feet of his best friend’s grave. His grief is almost elegant, quiet but warm at the same time — nothing like Father’s silent years, or Edward’s fiery eyes, or Alphonse’s tiny voice. Roy Mustang opens his heart, lets himself be weak and vulnerable, but only when they are alone and they are not Colonel and Lieutenant, but Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye.  Riza selfishly feels her chest tighten with pride when he seeks her comfort and wishes she could bear that weight with him like Winry did with the Elrics. She thinks this is the closest to grief she has ever been.

Grief has always surrounded her. Maybe because it comes hand in hand with the world, with human nature; maybe because her occupation just calls for it, with the wars and the corruption and the hopelessness. Grief has always marked a before and after in the life of those around her and in hers as well, and yet it is not until the very moment she discovers ‌the Colonel has been murdered by the homunculus called Lust that she feels it in her very bones, in every fiber of her being, her every muscle tensing and tightening, especially her heart. It fills her body with an existential dread unknown to her, and she sees nothing but red until she goes through all her guns, no ammunition left, her will to live abandoning her completely. She falls to her knees, and it’s all black and white, and then she understands. 

She understands that grief is a response to loss, and she’s been grieving all her life. Grieving for her mother, for how different her life could've been. Grieving for her father and their lost time, for how his neglect and indifference made her completely stoic about his loss. For the Elrics, children that could’ve had so much more, just like her, but were abandoned by their father, by themselves and by the Truth. Most of all, grieving for the lives she took during the War of Extermination, for her guilt and because she will never forgive herself. For the children, for the injustice and the corruption. For Roy Mustang, the Hero of Ishval, and for giving him the power to create hell on earth. 

And she realizes that because she recognizes this feeling,  this anguish from all those times, but now is being multiplied by a million and how is this going to be anything but grief when she’s about to abandon herself, her life because she refuses to live in a world without Roy Mustang? It is unthinkable that this is not grief, that she’s not mourning right now, with her cheeks stinging from her own tears sliding on her open cuts, throat raw from screaming and knees buckling until she’s kneeling on the floor. Alphonse is panicking at her ninety degree shift, and he begs her to run away, to save herself, but she has no will to live anymore. She can’t deal with this feeling for the rest of her life, and she knows she is going to grieve for him for as long as she’s breathing, so she’d rather stop it now. 

And then she hears his deep, strained voice, and the world slows down just enough so she can collect and put her pieces back together. She takes a glimpse of him before Alphonse transmutes a wall between them and the Colonel, and she discerns the same relief in his eyes that she feels in her chest. They’re engulfed in the flames that the Colonel directs to Lust, and she doesn’t remember any other moment in her life where she appreciated their beauty and might. 

After what feels like hours, Lust finally vanishes into ashes and Mustang collapses onto the floor. Riza does not know if she has the strength to be his Lieutenant right now, so she drops her usual mask and lets the tears flood her eyes while running by his side. He looks at her and mumbles that he’s happy she’s safe, making her retort that he should worry about himself. She knows what she sees in his eyes because most likely he can see it in hers as well, but neither of them will comment on it. 

After that day, Riza wonders if grief will keep following her everywhere like a curse. She wonders if there’s a limit to it; if the feeling ever disappears, fades, or is just buried in memories and can surface and bring all the despair back. She concludes that there's more grief to come, such is their destiny, and she feels like it awaits her at every corner. Since that day, Lieutenant Hawkeye opened a door to her biggest fear, and it weighs heavy on her back; heavier than her guilt, than her secrets and her dreams and future. Grief is a shadow in every human's life, and understanding it just makes it darker. 

Yes, he just realized, it’s well past midnight and the cold is starting to bite the tip of his nose, his title of Flame Alchemist nothing but a joke against the low temperatures. The barely visible clouds in the sky seem to threaten with snow, but the slushy kind, ugly as can be, but that’s the only type of snow an industrial, contaminated city can offer. It’s the kind that gets one soaked in a matter of seconds, and everyone knows what happens when he gets wet and soggy: not only he feels useless, but he actually is, and that really puts him in a terrible, foul mood. 

And even if it’s in the night's dead and not a soul will ever ask for help right now (he’s also not in charge of night duty today) he panics and rushes to find shelter before the sky falls on him and gets him positively drenched. 

(This would make no sense to a sober man, but Roy is starting to see double and why is that street light so funny?) 

The one thing Roy Mustang is certain of is that he's one lucky bastard, because when he takes on his surroundings, he realizes that the neighborhood is more than familiar, and that he’s standing in front of the most convenient spot for him: the building where his adjutant resides. He’s been there a bunch of times before, more now than he has a reason to visit, since the First Lieutenant Hawkeye is under King Bradley’s orders now, and not his. He lets himself fall into that new routine behind the excuse that his concern is reasonable, and that he has a reason to stay still right in front of Riza’s apartment until the light flickers on or off, a sign that she’s home, she’s safe and he can rest ‌easier.  

Being the cheeky, smug man that he is (and letting the whiskey take action) he doesn’t hesitate to go up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and knocking on Riza’s door, with no insight ‌about how the woman must feel being knocked on at such an ungodly hour. And that’s probably why he’s surprised (if not scared as hell) when she opens the door with her big guns out, and not the type of big guns he’d like, but the type of big guns she’d prefer to shoot any creep that knocks her door ‌at midnight between the eyebrows. 

Her glare is cold as the night outside, and it grows even colder when she recognizes the face of the foolish man that is the man standing at her door. She sighs and opens the door a bit more, but she doesn’t lower the gun and, for some reason, Roy finds that funny. 

“Already had enough of me, Lieutenant?” The flirtatious tone comes to him naturally, and accompanied by a smirk that he’s certain will make her scowl. 

She closed the door behind him, Hayate pawing the floor behind her and waiting patiently for Roy to greet him by patting his head. He kneels down to say hello to the pup. “No, sir. I have been damned with immense patience, believe it or not.” Her sarcasm makes him chuckle. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Colonel?”

Oh. Her tone is even colder than her glare is. 

“Oh, you know. I just thought my Lieutenant might miss me, given that you don’t work under my commands anymore.” Riza rolls her eyes and her gaze warms just a tad. Roy doesn’t miss it.

“Did you want me to drive you home after a night out, sir?” How she knows that he’s been drinking, Roy doesn’t know (he’s as drunk as a skunk and she has eyes, that’s why). “I don’t think that falls under my duties anymore, since I am not your adjutant, but I certainly don’t mind doing you the favor.”

She always keeps the line so clear, separating them even when they’re merely a meter and a half apart. Even when, technically, he’s not his superior in charge anymore. Always so responsible, his Lieutenant. 

“Actually, no. I was going to take a cab back to my place”. Riza furrows her eyebrows at his statement. Roy doesn't allow anyone outside of his team to drive him anywhere. Using cab services has been an extreme measure he’s had to take since his subordinates were sent far away from him. “I was here because it was going to ‌snow soon.”

Riza raises her eyebrow, waiting for him to explain further. “And?”

“And nothing else. It was cold, and I didn’t like it. And somehow I found myself here.” She has that look on her face, the one that screams ‘Roy Mustang, you’re a spoiled man child’, and he knows she’s brave enough to say it out loud, but somehow the silent understanding hurts worse.

“Sir, with all due respect, this is the last time I am going to let you in at these unseemingly hours without a valid reason. For tonight, you may take the couch. I will bring you some sleepwear.”  

“But Lieutenant… It’s so cold…” He’s well aware that he sounds more than pathetic now, and he’s also not sure if he’s talking about the weather or about the way Riza is dealing with him tonight. 

She halts her steps and turns her head slightly, her profile in full view. Even without facing him, he can feel the absolute horrific glare she must be sporting. “Colonel,” she says, tone ice cold, “are you implying that you knocked on my door in the middle of the night intending to cuddle?” She says the last word as if it's blasphemy, the worst thing she’s ever heard. 

He answers simply with a shake of his head, like a child being scolded by his mother. Hawkeye sighs and disappears into her room, bringing with her the change of clothes she usually had for him in the trunk of her car just in case it was needed. She throws them to his face together with a blanket and then says: “I am heading to bed now. You may join only if you are freezing to death here. And don’t you dare come to bed with freezing toes”. 

He smiles sweetly at her and whispers a quiet “Yes, Ma’am”.