022
Title: Libera me Domine
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,560
Pairing: Riza/Roy
Summary: And it's as if his entire future is written out on Riza's skin.
Notes: Spoilers for chapter 61.
Riza watched her father choke to death with one arm around his shoulder, and now she stands there, letting the same man take off her shirt.
She remembers her father's face, his lips wet with blood and eyes hidden in the shadows. She thinks about it because it's easier to deal with than the way Roy's fingers are pressing into her shoulders through fabric, not really sure if he should be slipping off the shirt. It's loose around her because Riza doesn't give him the honour of putting his arms around her waist to unbutton it.
Roy sits in front of the fire and his shadow is thrown gracelessly around her feet, hands grasping at his knees impatiently as she undoes the buttons one by one. With a deep breath she lets her arms fall to her sides, and Roy expects something more. A few moments pass, and he clears his throat.
“Do you want me to do it?” It, he says, because it's much more subtle than stripping a young girl.
She nods, saying nothing because her voice is probably too choked with tears to speak.
And so he stands, method in his every move, and drops his stained-blue jacket that disgraced her father so. He takes a bold step forward, so close that he barely has to move to touch her; she flinches, preparing herself for his hands, but he takes his time. He takes his time and she hates him for it. The fire is roaring and their shadows are almost the same. Behind her he pulls of his gloves, and she knows the touch is going to be so much colder.
At first he places his hands gently on the back of her arms and Riza shudders. It feels affectionate even through the fabric. Realising the errors of his way, Roy quickly withdraws his hands and reaches for her shoulders. The shirt falls down, and he wishes he could see her eyes.
Once the initial shock is over Roy holds her sides, pulling her shirt all the way off. It falls without a sound and he takes a step back.
“Is this it?” he asks breathlessly, knowing it couldn't possibly be anything else.
Riza nods again, and her voice is all whisper. “I trust you...”
He blinks rapidly, not able to take his eyes off it for a moment, and feeling altogether too humble to be worthy of its design. With a shake of his head he rests his gaze on the back of Riza's neck, and lets his eyes linger on it. Her skin is soft and clear with lose strands of blonde hair whisked over it; he never imagined such beautiful horrors could rest beneath the surface.
“Did it hurt?” he asks after some time, and the image of needles thrashes in his mind. It's just another empty question.
Riza bites her lip, because the question doesn't mean anything coming from a soldier.
The tattoo reminds him of nothing less than art, inks weaving patterns with too much knowledge for his mind to take in at once. But he continues to stare, and it's as if his entire future is written out on Riza's skin.
She breaths in so deeply when he brushes his fingers across her back that it sounds like pain. He hesitates, but doesn't stop running his hands over her, almost as if he's trying to feel the lines of the array, as if there's some deeper meaning behind it all. By now he's so close, trying to read every perfectly formed letter, that she can feel his breath against her.
“It hurt,” Riza says quite abruptly. “It hurt and I don't understand.”
Roy places a hand back one of her shoulders and rests his head on the other.
“Riza?”
She looks up, and Roy can just about see the tears on her cheeks.
“Can you understand it?” She asks him, calm and desperate, because she doesn't want it all to be for nothing. Her father can't leave the world without a trace; someone has to understand his madness.
“Do you mind?” he asks humbly, pushing against her shoulders.
With another nod she obligues and leans over, resting her hands flat against the table. It's easier to see in the light now, and she can hear him furiously making notes, one hand still pressed against her back.
“Riza,” he says firmly, not pulling her back up. “I'm finished.”
The relief floods over her and she stands up straight. She hears a rustle behind her as Roy picks up his jacket and gloves, and wrapping her arms over her chest she turns to him.
“Mustang, will you need to come back?”
She looks up to his eyes, and they're so glazed over that she already knows the answer.
“Roy?”
Her words snap him back into reality, and he smiles vaguely at her. No more words are spoken and he sees himself out of her house, closing the door behind him quietly.
Roy leaves her, not knowing just what's she done, half-naked and alone.
*
It's almost the same years later. Almost.
She has to beg him to do it this time, and it's not knowledge and power he's after; he doesn't want any of this. But as soon as Roy consents he doesn't hesitate like he would have so long ago. She barely moves as Roy's arms wrap around her, and she only wishes it was a soft shirt she was wearing this time, not the horribly bloody military uniform.
He pulls off her undershirt too, not pausing to ask if she's really okay to go through with this. There are no second chances now. Her back doesn't tense in anticipation of his touch, and Roy isn't so scared to let his fingers wander. She's older now. They're older now; worn down and aged so much faster than they should have.
Roy doesn't want to see her eyes this time. He's seen Riza Hawkeye's eyes far too clearly, and they're cold and dead. She doesn't cry this time; doesn't blink.
“It's going to hurt,” Roy whispers, because there are no questions the second time around.
“I want it to hurt, if that's the only way to destroy it.” She pauses for a moment, and when her lips part against it's as if she's not talking to him at all. “I can't bring anymore Roy Mustangs into the world.”
Roy does not reply but understands her sentiment all too well. All those years ago, if he hadn't had stripped down his master's daughter he never would have been able to create a sea of fire and crush an entire race to dust. He smiles, and wonders who's to blame.
“Your skin will be dead,” he explains, but she already knows. “You won't be able to feel anything.”
Riza laughs. “It's too late for that.”
With a click of his fingers Riza can feel the flames dancing behind her, already hot enough to make her ache. She thinks he might whisper an apology, but the moment his burning fingers touch her back every thing's drowned out by her own screams. Surely bullets are so much kinder than this.
She grits her teeth and clenches her fists together until her palms bleed, but she endures because she can feel her skin rotting away. It will be gone soon, and the world will be that little bit safer.
The flames die down with Roy's will but the pain is still too new for Riza to realise. It's only when he takes his hand off of her back-the part that's still soft-that she knows it's over. With one more scream she lets herself fall to the floor, not bothering to cover herself up this time.
She's quieter now, sobbing, and Roy crouches down by her side. After all she did to protect him, he repays her with fire; and for a moment, he thinks he sees something spark in those dead eyes of hers. He wants to feel sympathy, but the sensation of something burning in his hands and not dying is still too new to him.
Riza is a first.
He brushes the same fingers that made her cry through her hair and she rests her head on his lap, slowly calming down. She lifts one hand, trying to reach her back, but Roy pulls it away and she does not attempt to touch the raw scars after this.
“You said you weren't coming back,” she murmurs, letting her fingers entwine with his own.
Roy looks confused. “I did?”
“With your eyes,” she starts to explain, but shakes her head to correct herself. “Or maybe not.”
Roy shifts so that he's no longer crouching and leans against the wall behind him. Riza only moves because the folds of his sleeve brush against her back, making her burn again. She holds her breath and twitches, looking up at Roy.
“You trust me a lot,” Roy muses. No question; just the truth. “What will you do now?”
Riza shakes her head; the stench of burnt flesh keeps her lips sealed, but Roy knows she's only lying to herself. She knows just what's she's going to do; she's going to join him.
They've been connected since the first time his fingers touched her skin.
The Queen will make an excellent addition to his set, Roy thinks.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,560
Pairing: Riza/Roy
Summary: And it's as if his entire future is written out on Riza's skin.
Notes: Spoilers for chapter 61.
Riza watched her father choke to death with one arm around his shoulder, and now she stands there, letting the same man take off her shirt.
She remembers her father's face, his lips wet with blood and eyes hidden in the shadows. She thinks about it because it's easier to deal with than the way Roy's fingers are pressing into her shoulders through fabric, not really sure if he should be slipping off the shirt. It's loose around her because Riza doesn't give him the honour of putting his arms around her waist to unbutton it.
Roy sits in front of the fire and his shadow is thrown gracelessly around her feet, hands grasping at his knees impatiently as she undoes the buttons one by one. With a deep breath she lets her arms fall to her sides, and Roy expects something more. A few moments pass, and he clears his throat.
“Do you want me to do it?” It, he says, because it's much more subtle than stripping a young girl.
She nods, saying nothing because her voice is probably too choked with tears to speak.
And so he stands, method in his every move, and drops his stained-blue jacket that disgraced her father so. He takes a bold step forward, so close that he barely has to move to touch her; she flinches, preparing herself for his hands, but he takes his time. He takes his time and she hates him for it. The fire is roaring and their shadows are almost the same. Behind her he pulls of his gloves, and she knows the touch is going to be so much colder.
At first he places his hands gently on the back of her arms and Riza shudders. It feels affectionate even through the fabric. Realising the errors of his way, Roy quickly withdraws his hands and reaches for her shoulders. The shirt falls down, and he wishes he could see her eyes.
Once the initial shock is over Roy holds her sides, pulling her shirt all the way off. It falls without a sound and he takes a step back.
“Is this it?” he asks breathlessly, knowing it couldn't possibly be anything else.
Riza nods again, and her voice is all whisper. “I trust you...”
He blinks rapidly, not able to take his eyes off it for a moment, and feeling altogether too humble to be worthy of its design. With a shake of his head he rests his gaze on the back of Riza's neck, and lets his eyes linger on it. Her skin is soft and clear with lose strands of blonde hair whisked over it; he never imagined such beautiful horrors could rest beneath the surface.
“Did it hurt?” he asks after some time, and the image of needles thrashes in his mind. It's just another empty question.
Riza bites her lip, because the question doesn't mean anything coming from a soldier.
The tattoo reminds him of nothing less than art, inks weaving patterns with too much knowledge for his mind to take in at once. But he continues to stare, and it's as if his entire future is written out on Riza's skin.
She breaths in so deeply when he brushes his fingers across her back that it sounds like pain. He hesitates, but doesn't stop running his hands over her, almost as if he's trying to feel the lines of the array, as if there's some deeper meaning behind it all. By now he's so close, trying to read every perfectly formed letter, that she can feel his breath against her.
“It hurt,” Riza says quite abruptly. “It hurt and I don't understand.”
Roy places a hand back one of her shoulders and rests his head on the other.
“Riza?”
She looks up, and Roy can just about see the tears on her cheeks.
“Can you understand it?” She asks him, calm and desperate, because she doesn't want it all to be for nothing. Her father can't leave the world without a trace; someone has to understand his madness.
“Do you mind?” he asks humbly, pushing against her shoulders.
With another nod she obligues and leans over, resting her hands flat against the table. It's easier to see in the light now, and she can hear him furiously making notes, one hand still pressed against her back.
“Riza,” he says firmly, not pulling her back up. “I'm finished.”
The relief floods over her and she stands up straight. She hears a rustle behind her as Roy picks up his jacket and gloves, and wrapping her arms over her chest she turns to him.
“Mustang, will you need to come back?”
She looks up to his eyes, and they're so glazed over that she already knows the answer.
“Roy?”
Her words snap him back into reality, and he smiles vaguely at her. No more words are spoken and he sees himself out of her house, closing the door behind him quietly.
Roy leaves her, not knowing just what's she done, half-naked and alone.
*
It's almost the same years later. Almost.
She has to beg him to do it this time, and it's not knowledge and power he's after; he doesn't want any of this. But as soon as Roy consents he doesn't hesitate like he would have so long ago. She barely moves as Roy's arms wrap around her, and she only wishes it was a soft shirt she was wearing this time, not the horribly bloody military uniform.
He pulls off her undershirt too, not pausing to ask if she's really okay to go through with this. There are no second chances now. Her back doesn't tense in anticipation of his touch, and Roy isn't so scared to let his fingers wander. She's older now. They're older now; worn down and aged so much faster than they should have.
Roy doesn't want to see her eyes this time. He's seen Riza Hawkeye's eyes far too clearly, and they're cold and dead. She doesn't cry this time; doesn't blink.
“It's going to hurt,” Roy whispers, because there are no questions the second time around.
“I want it to hurt, if that's the only way to destroy it.” She pauses for a moment, and when her lips part against it's as if she's not talking to him at all. “I can't bring anymore Roy Mustangs into the world.”
Roy does not reply but understands her sentiment all too well. All those years ago, if he hadn't had stripped down his master's daughter he never would have been able to create a sea of fire and crush an entire race to dust. He smiles, and wonders who's to blame.
“Your skin will be dead,” he explains, but she already knows. “You won't be able to feel anything.”
Riza laughs. “It's too late for that.”
With a click of his fingers Riza can feel the flames dancing behind her, already hot enough to make her ache. She thinks he might whisper an apology, but the moment his burning fingers touch her back every thing's drowned out by her own screams. Surely bullets are so much kinder than this.
She grits her teeth and clenches her fists together until her palms bleed, but she endures because she can feel her skin rotting away. It will be gone soon, and the world will be that little bit safer.
The flames die down with Roy's will but the pain is still too new for Riza to realise. It's only when he takes his hand off of her back-the part that's still soft-that she knows it's over. With one more scream she lets herself fall to the floor, not bothering to cover herself up this time.
She's quieter now, sobbing, and Roy crouches down by her side. After all she did to protect him, he repays her with fire; and for a moment, he thinks he sees something spark in those dead eyes of hers. He wants to feel sympathy, but the sensation of something burning in his hands and not dying is still too new to him.
Riza is a first.
He brushes the same fingers that made her cry through her hair and she rests her head on his lap, slowly calming down. She lifts one hand, trying to reach her back, but Roy pulls it away and she does not attempt to touch the raw scars after this.
“You said you weren't coming back,” she murmurs, letting her fingers entwine with his own.
Roy looks confused. “I did?”
“With your eyes,” she starts to explain, but shakes her head to correct herself. “Or maybe not.”
Roy shifts so that he's no longer crouching and leans against the wall behind him. Riza only moves because the folds of his sleeve brush against her back, making her burn again. She holds her breath and twitches, looking up at Roy.
“You trust me a lot,” Roy muses. No question; just the truth. “What will you do now?”
Riza shakes her head; the stench of burnt flesh keeps her lips sealed, but Roy knows she's only lying to herself. She knows just what's she's going to do; she's going to join him.
They've been connected since the first time his fingers touched her skin.
The Queen will make an excellent addition to his set, Roy thinks.