tampered | Log :: COMPLETE

Log :: COMPLETE

When; Monday Evening
Rating; PG-13 forpossible violence on Roy's part.
Characters;First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye

guardianed and Colonel Roy Mustang

flameroy
Summary; Roy has realised that after two years of not using Alchemy in any way, shape or form. He's gotten slightly rusty. His sparring match against Elena a few weeks back was enough to prove that he needed to train, and it's only been with the threat of the homunculus Lust that he's realised that he needs to get back into shape. He isn't expecting to be able to do things as intricately as before, although he hopes he'll be able to manage it. He's asked Hawkeye along for moral support, and a little protection should he need it.
Log;

Roy was mulling things over whilst he sat in his flat, on one of the couches in the living room. A part of him wished that he'd not attempted to be so smart with Riza and suggest that they meet here. He wanted to get out as soon as was humanly possible. He needed to be training, and he needed the Lieutenant with him for moral support. Of course she would deny that her presence would be needed, but when would she ever understand how helpful she was to him? Standing to his feet, he made the decision to hopefully meet her on the stairs, or perhaps outside the building. It wasn't as if there was another way that she would be able to get to his apartment. It was nowhere near seven o'clock anyway, and even though Hawkeye was prompt she wouldn't be fifteen minutes early on his behalf.

He hauled on his long coat, and pulled his gloves on, rubbing the fabric of his thumb and forefinger together gently as he made his way out of the door. The stairs were taken at a pace he usually reserved for emergencies, and he checked around outside for signs of any untoward activity. He was far too aware that there was at least one person who was after the opportunity to fight him - but he was hoping that he would be able to oil his abilities enough to defeat the Homunculus before he had to face up to her - as much as he hated to admit that he needed more time - he wasn't stupid enough to throw himself into a battle he would definately lose.

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Hawkeye had used her time since escaping from the Colonel's flat well. Knowing she only had a couple of hours before he expected her back- that thought could be pushed to the back of her mind; she had a task to do that, while not exactly needing all of her attentions, could easily be altered to do so.

She'd cleaned all of her pistols; the four she planned on carrying had been taken apart, polished, reassembled and reloaded.

She'd tucked them back into their holsters, leather clips snapping into place at her sides, back and hip.

She'd splashed water from her slightly battered sink on her face, drying her face with a slightly stale towel, before glancing at the clock. Five till. Time to get going.

She stood, tossing her jacket on over her turtleneck, sparing only a glance in the mirror to make sure she'd fastened everything correctly, before making her way down the five flights of stairs and out towards the Colonel's building.

It wasn't cold outside, a climate he was used to by now, but a kind of warmth hung in the air - alongside an odd smell that he could only blame on the blob thing that had invaded The City over the last few days. It would be suitable weather for training, that was for sure. The air was still which meant it would be easy to manipulate the air around him, and it hadn't rained which meant there would be no problem with burning things - so long as he didn't start a forect fire? Haha. Who was he kidding? He'd be surprised if he managed a spark, nevermind a flame.

No, but he'd get back to that. Of course he would, Hawkeye was here, and he wouldn't let all that go to waste, and he wouldn't have to force her to just be here to protect him - they had each others backs. With resolve, he straightened up and placed his hands in his pockets - waiting. She'd be here any minute.

Ah, he was already out. It would save her the time of making her way to the flat. Stopping some feet away, she saluted, precise as always. "Colonel."

He had wanted her assistance in practicing- such an odd concept- the Colonel from home could never have let himself get rusty. Would never have had the chance to. How exactly she would be able to assist, she had no idea. He'd already learned everything he could from her, and she was no alchemist. She was a sharpshooter. But once again, he'd requested her assistance, and she saw no reason to refuse. "You had a place in mind, sir?"

He noticed her before she saluted, and returned the gesture promptly, just as he would if he were back at home, and greeted by a general. He supposed that the more professional the experience was, the less likely he was to admit his disgusting defeat to her.

"I do." He said flatly, nodding his head in a motion he hoped she'd realise meant he wish her to follow him, and turned on his heel, hands held behind his back as he walked ahead of her. As usual she would keep her distance behind him, at least he didn't know of any reason why she wouldn't have done. With her here though, he was suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn't quite know why he had asked her to assist him in the first place - sure, he'd hoped he'd be able to just her ability as a sharp-shooter to assist him. If he could cause a shell to go off before it hit it's target he woud be able to deflect any attack that Lust sent his way.

"There is a clearing not too far that has sand on the ground, but a few trees here and there that I feel will be suitable, Lieutenant." He told, not moving his head an inch, or changing his stride.

Hawkeye fell into place behind him, just a half step back, unconsciously mimicking the position with hands held back behind her, back straight and tall, ears perked. The Colonel's description of his chosen training ground made sense. With flame alchemy such as his, it made sense to have a clearing; no sense setting the forest on fire. Hawkeye seriously doubted how much the other residents would take kindly to that.

But the idea of practicing the alchemy still bothered her on some level- how could you just forget how to use it? The First Lieutenant could never forget- it was her father's legacy.

He began to slow down as the place he had memorised in his head came into view. Suddenly he felt overbearing nerves that so very unlike him that he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to suppress them. A deep sigh was apparently all he needed, atlhough the minute he rememebered who accompanied him he felt guilty.

Turning round to face his First Lieutenant he dropped his hands to his sides, flexing his fingers through delicate gloves made of ignition cloth.

"... I believe the issue I am encountering has a lot to do with my lack of depth perception." He explained, clearing his throat as he paused and turning his head so that he didn't have to give her eye contact. "An example." He began, turning to find a marker that would be obvious. He was lucky to find a fallen branch just far enough away from them that it wouldn't cause any issues.

This was it then, this was admitting defeat. "I'll demonstrate. I plan to burn the branch." He told frankly. He lifted his hand almost ceremoniously, and directed a braced thumb and forefinger towards his target. His fingers clicked together, in the same fashion as always, but only a flame, possibly a little larger than that which would escape a lighter left his fingers. His teeth gritted.

It was a good thing that several weeks of being the Fuhrer's personal assistant had enabled her to keep her expression perfectly neutral.

Because the Colonel was being unusually antsy. Or nervous. ...Or something. Hawkeye listened carefully to his explanation, but something seemed off- the fact that he was just stating things that were wrong, that he seemed so nervous about it, something. Maybe a combination of both. She was used to him finding something wrong and attacking it-was there something really so drastically wrong?

But he raised his hand to flame the branch on the ground, pose familiar- how many times had she seen it, after all? and waited for whatever the Colonel was trying to explain to her to happen.

A heavy sigh, like a half gasp escaped him, and he lowered his hand momentarily. He couldn't bare to look round at her now - if she had even seen what he'd done. It had been barely visible to himself, nevermind Hawkeye who was a few steps behind him still.

"Didn't see anything?" He asked glumly, raising his hand in front of his eyes as if to examine it, a pained look filled them. "It won't happen..." He growled to himself and turned, almost about to look at his Lieutenant before shaking the thought from his mind - at least now he was turned in such a position that she would witness the extent of his inabiity. Without warning he flung his hand forward, clicking again as he went. Another flame rushed from his hand, but it was hardly any bigger than the one that preceded it.

"Nothing.." He whispered.

Oh.

Well.

No wonder he'd wanted to practice.

And this was the man who'd been so admired on the fields of Ishbal- admired for his reliability. She'd heard the men talking, even if she hadn't been in their unit, hadn't even been out of academy. Hadn't- but she had, she had been the one to give him that power, that reliability- and to see it reduced to such a meager flame almost made her blood run cold.

And the desperation in the Colonel's eyes- eye, rather- was no better.

How had this happened? Was it honestly lack of practice? Or something else? How could you be so out of practice that the once raging fires had been reduced to this?

But Hawkeye would not ask any of those questions. Nor would she allow any more of this to show on her face than could be expressed by the smallest of sighs and a momentary closure of her eyes. What she would ask was this, in the least expressive of voices, no disappointment, nothing. "You said this is from your injury, sir?"

The silence felt endles. Her father had invested his secrets in him, and he had allowed for this to happen? The thought made him shudder with a mixture of pain, guilt and grief. He had been headed somewhere great, he had big plans, he'd had a group of people who wished to help him get there, he had whispers of his name everywhere he went. Reduced to this?

He let out a panting breath, and was just about to turn to leave or something when he heard her speak - it was as if he'd forgotten she were there to begin with.

"My accuracy... is explained by my injury... There is no excuse for being able to produce anything more than a lighter flame." He retorted, rather harshly.

Of course. Accuracy and depth perception had always been linked. It was logical. If she lost one of her eyes, she would not be nearly the marksman she was. It had been a vain attempt to grasp at straws; something definite to which she could ascribe this difference in alchemical skill.

And yet- he'd asked for her help. Riza was still in the dark about how she could do anything. He had burned her father's notes. Burned by the very flames she'd given him. It would be ironic, perhaps, if she'd ever thought about it.

"How did you wish for me to aid you, Colonel?" She was not an alchemist. The second time tonight she'd thought that. She worked with guns. Not her father's alchemy.

He actually turned to look at her diectly for a few moments as she spoke, turning his attention back down to his hands after a few moments of thought. He had to curb this frustration, will himself not to demean himself any further, by taking his rage out on Hawkeye. He had never allowed himself before, and he wouldn't now.

"I... don't know." He told truthfully, turning his hands over to study the arrays on the back of his gloves. He'd always been such a private person, and the only one he'd ever let even close to breaking that barrier...

"I possibly forgot to mention... some things when I explained the differences between our versions of Amestris." He began, instantly wishing he had not started speaking about it. This was not the Mustang she should be seeing, this was not the man he was supposed to be. None of it was right.

"I want to face this head on." He told her, although perhaps it was more of an admission to himself. Sweep away the past before you can move on. "I believe I failed to tell you that I resigned from my post, ad enlisted as a soldier. I was then stationed not too far from Briggs, I stopped myself from using alchemy for months, years even. I admit, I was being irrational. I blamed myself, for Fullmetal, for Hughes, for Ishbal. Those flames brought nothing but destruction." He frowned, and looked back at the Lieutenant again, rubbing his forehead. "You know as well as I do."

Hawkeye had met his gaze evenly, keeping the eye contact until he broke it. Waited for the answer to her question.

Which wasn't what she'd expected. He didn't know.

But that was nothing, compared to what came next. Resigned? He'd been given that option by the Fuhrer, and turned it down, hadn't he? But no; that had only been in her world, only in her world had she stood guard for over a day while he'd been inside, finding more enemies than allies, stood there and gotten the reassignment order that had been absolutely impossible- no, that had only happened for her. The Colonel standing in front of her knew about that only what she had said about it. Very little.

But then he brought up Ishbal, and on that topic she did have something to say.

"Colonel. Your men were exceedingly grateful to serve under you in Ishbal. They admired you for your abilities" -she did not say reliability- "and how many times you saved their lives with your alchemy." It had been common fireside chat. What those human weapons- the National Alchemists- had done lately, how strong they were, frightening in a way, the soldiers were glad they were on their side.

"They admired all the National Alchemists. Yes, it was greatly destructive; I contributed my part to the deaths of Ishbalians. But you saved the lives of your men with it- isn't that worth something?"

"Edward told me once that self-sacrifice is merely a form of self-gratification."

He managed to listen without comment, dragging his one-eyed gaze to meet his Lieutenant's wasn't difficult - but maintaining it was proving a challenge. He knew she was right, and had this been any other occasion he would have been lapping up the compliments to his abilities like a cat would lap milk. His teeth were still gritted in his jaw, however, and to shake the immense feeling of anger towards himself was near impossible.

He wanted to say 'and now look at me' but at the same time, the Lieutenant's comments about the soldiers sparked something inside him that threatened another train of thought.

"I must look pitiful, Lieutenant." He started, forcing himself to look directly at her. He needed this to break free of this stupid rut. He needed he--.

"Savings lives, that's what I'm supposed to be about, saving a country." his eyes were back on studying his hands and he reached out slowly to extend his right. There was no point in remaining back there... what was done was done, and if he couldn't take Fullmetal's advice, whose could he take? Damnit, he was taking advice from a pipsqueak. His fingers clicked.

Nothing.

He actually fell to his knees, hands outstretched in front of him and flat on the ground, holding himself up. This was... disgusting.

Pitiful? Maybe. The Lieutenant couldn't have predicted this bout of self-condemnation. The lack of alchemical power, regrettable, yes. Especially as one such as Lust was so intent on finding and doing as much damage to him as humanly- inhumanly- possible. Lust had nearly killed him last time. Hawkeye did not want that to happen again. The pitifulness was not, therefore, there. The pitifulness lay somewhere else, in his willingness to give up. In his willingness to let go of the plans he'd made.

And then he fell on his knees.

...The hell.

The thought popped through her head before she'd had time to self-censor.

"Get up, Colonel."

The order issued from her mouth before she'd had time to think about how wise it was.

This was not the person she'd promised to follow. But he had been.

"Get up."

She could not allow him to wallow. Could not allow him to sink into this...whatever it was. This was not a time for self-pity, not a time for weakness. If he could no longer use alchemy, he would need to find another way to defend himself.

"I don't know what's happened to you, Colonel, but you cannot allow yourself time for despair. Get up and fulfill your side of our bargain."

The instant he heard the command he felt back to rest with his feet on the floor, an arm resting on one knee as the other hand pressed into the ground beside him. This was too much. The person who had given birth to his abilities would not see them die. Was this the key he needed?

The command was repeated, and he didn't bother to note the lack of rank there. Perhaps she'd forgive him? The third time worked a charm, although it was probably due to the last of her words... fulfill your side of our bargain. He had someone to protect, nevermind himself. Hadn't he realised that when he had decided to return to Central? Ending up here was a tragedy. Shifting his footing, he pushed on his knee to stand up, brushing his knees off slowly. He couldn't look her in the eyes now, not until he could do it again.

"How did I get like this?" He asked, mostly to himself though his awareness of the Lieutenant's presence forced the question her way too, and he made sure she knew it by looking up at her, hands in tight fists at his sides.

She'd told him there was no time for despair, no time for this. He had a Homunculi to burn, goddamnit, and he would be damned if he was going to let her win.

Riza didn't know whether to be angry at him for being so weak, concerned for him that he was, annoyed that he was following her order without question, or relieved that he had.

Probably not relieved.

She didn't have time to ask herself when she'd pulled her pistol out of her hip holster, but she found herself holding it, the familiarity of the steel against her fingers.

"I have no idea, Colonel." Completely honest, completely open, a complete admission at the differences between their worlds, candor making the sentence almost brutal.

His eyes dropped to the gun in her hand, and he realised quite how serious this was. He had to close his eyes for a few moments, feeling completely pathetic for the few moments before she spoke. He had to bite his lip, something he was totally unfamiliar with, so he stopped it almost as soon as he'd done it.

"I'm not going to try again today." He told, stepping the few paces til he arrived in front of Hawkeye, reaching his hand forward and nodding to the pistol in her hand. He wanted to kill the atmosphere he'd singlehandedly built around them. Perhaps he'd get the same feeling of accomplishment that she did after shooting something?

What was he reaching for? Oh. The pistol. Right.

It took a few more seconds before she realized that she should probably put it away. Reholstering the pistol was accomplished in one fluid movement, gun away and clip snapped securely shut with a minimum of effort.

That finished, she turned her attention to the Colonel's statement.

"Very well." She had not moved since her arrival to the clearing. "Am I to assume this is a dismissal, Colonel?"

Her actions were so fluid, and in the moment of admiration he understood something he'd seemed to have forgotten. They were both so talented, and he was letting the side down. It only proved to be more encouragement, rather than something that would bring him down.

He was a little put out that she's holstered her gun, he'd always been so tempted to just take one of them and shoot something. Nevermind, there was always another day...

"Mn. It is." He said simply, turning slightly, though still keeping her in his line of sight for a few moments before he turned back and began walking back to building three, hands either side of him as he walked.

She watched him go, waited for him to be out of earshot.

What had that been? To be asked to help, only to wind up yelling at him, drawing a pistol at him, and then having him leave.

The Colonel was out of sight.

Hawkeye drew the pistol, aimed, fired.

Whatever she had said was lost in the noise of the gunshot, as the bullet buried itself an inch away from the knot she'd aimed at.

She needed practice.

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Log :: COMPLETE

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