'Allo, 'allo! I'm panda__lily , but please, call me Panda. Or Pan-Pan. Or 'Nissa. Or Nii-chan. Whatever. I answer to all of them. Anyhoo! Besides introducing myself, I also bring you a Royai oneshot! w00tness, right? Right. Here it is.
Title: Royai Oneshot?
Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye
Rating: PG, for war time and... I dunno. But it's PG.
"Major Mustang?" If he was surprised to hear a feminine voice, all the way out here in the godforsaken dust bowl that was the Ishballan desert, he didn’t show it. Turning around, the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen- soulful black eyes, she would reflect later- met her gaze. He commanded respect- more like expected it, she would grumble to herself when he was being particularly annoying- and she gave it to him. Her long-fingered hand snapped up to her forehead in a salute.
"At ease, soldier. I’m Major Mustang," he said with a slight incline of his head, as if accepting the weight and responsibility such a name would place upon his shoulders. Pompous ass, she would muse later on.
"Sir, I’m Warrant Officer Riza Hawkeye, of the 34th sniper division. I trust you’ve been informed that your unit will be moving to the front lines tomorrow. I’ve been charged with the mission of watching your back." Mustang nodded again, interest sparking in his eyes as he looked at her. Lovely eyes, he noted. A dark brown- cinnamon, in color, his poet’s soul provided. Blonde hair- a true blonde, not too light, not too dark. Sun streaked. She obviously was pulling her weight in this war. She was tall, for a girl. Five foot eight, maybe. Five nine, surely not. She just stood with a ramrod straight posture, making her appear taller, he noticed. Her lips were full, pale pink, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, after 5 months of nothing but sweaty men and sand.
"Good. Good, great." He ran a hand through his black hair, which was now far longer than military regulation. He hoped he’d be forgiven for not finding the time between keeping his men alive and fighting off the bands of rebels that romanced the desert to cut his hair. He liked it longer anyway. Riza studied him with cool, trained eyes. As a sniper, she was trained to read body language, even the tiniest of movements, so as to keep herself, and the ones she was protecting, alive. He was fairly tall, and almost thin. As he moved to show her around ‘home’, she realized he wasn’t thin, but all muscle. Just from the way he moved, she could see the barely restrained strength- he was a man on the edge- could all but visualize the sinew and ropy muscle that lay under his wind-burned and sun-darkened skin. His mouth was almost feminine, it was so full, his nose sharp, pointed upwards ever so slightly, not unlike her own.
"We’re moving out in a few days," he was saying as she directed her thoughts towards paying attention, "so you won’t be here long. We don’t have any extra supplies, nor do we have any other women, so you’ll have to bunk up with one of the guys." He paused, turning to look at her, ebony brow raised. She understood he was posing a question.
"That’s not a problem, sir. I’m sure I can restrain my own libido." He blinked, before laughing. A genuine laugh, and he clapped her on the shoulder.
"You’ll do, Hawkeye, you’ll do." And so she was accepted. It wouldn’t be until years late that she would realize it was that moment she’d fallen for the snarky bastard. "Kincaid’s got an extra bunk," he said, motioning to a squat, bull-like man off to her left. "Tell him I sent you. Dinner, such as it is, will be taking place in a few hours. Make sure you’re on time, otherwise you’ll have to eat standing up. We’re a bit wanton for space, I’m afraid. Nice to have you aboard, Hawkeye," he said with a salute. Riza snapped to attention, returning the salute. Roy chuckled at something- at her?- and shook his head. "At east, Warrant Officer, at ease," he murmured, and sauntered away. She was piece of work, he mused. He hoped they survived this war. He kind of liked her. Not in the ‘I want to fuck your brains out’ sort of way, he realized, but genuinely liked her. Like he liked Hughes. How strange.
She pulled the trigger, the kickback of the rifle slamming the butt of the gun into her shoulder, where a bruise was quickly forming, despite the extra padding she'd placed there to avoid such a situation. She cursed under her breath, swinging her scope around to check in on Mustang, who'd advanced into the front lines. Somehow, over the sounds of war that raged around her, she could hear the snap of his fingers. She wondered if it would ever cease to amaze her that he had such... poise and control over such an unpredictable element. She figured that was why he carried himself so regally, so confidently.
And now he faced the venerable onslaught of Ishballans and Armestis traitors with a calm front, a solid facade. She squeezed the trigger again, noticing him flinch as the bullet whined past him, imbedding itself into one of the rebels. A father, maybe A brother, a son, a friend. Mustang turned to her position, or at least the general area. She was a blessing. An angel. He’d have her fingers bronzed, they’d saved him so many times this battle. She was quick, precise, calm. A blessing, he thought again, his mind turning back to strategy as his men retreated, regrouped. It was a lose-lose situation. His men were dying, so were the rebels. At this pace, they’d kill each other off. Holstering his weapon, he tugged on his gloves, and went to work.
He died a little inside with each snap, and he would always carry. She would weep for him, later, when they were different people.
I actually intended this to be the start to my Ishballan War-time setting fic for Roy and Riza, but I wasn’t feeling a long-term vibe for it. So I changed it a bit, ended it rather angstily, and call it a day. I’ll write something substantial sometime, I promise… And if anyone read my little drabble I posted before in royai or in royai_fiction , you’ll recognize the two paragraphs that start the second part of the fic. Recycling is good for Mother Earth…