Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ I Skip the Little Ones ❯ Theme 3: Battlefield ( Chapter 3 )

Theme 3: Battlefield

Mama always said that I'd lose my head if it wasn't sewn on tight enough. (Yeah, that's the title)

 

Major Roy Mustang trudged across the recently-vacated battlefield, returning from one of the bloodiest fights in the last two days. Somewhere to his left, the sounds of screaming and explosions met his ears. He supposed it was Kimbley, or perhaps Armstrong, causing the ruckus. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

 

A scuffling sound and a shout alerted him to someone behind him. Instinct took over. He turned on his heel, fingers snapping once.

 

As his attacker burst into flames, he realized something was wrong. His attacker was too small. Dwarves did not fare well in Ishbal, and this person wasn't proportioned like a dwarf would have been. The screaming figure fell, dropping something as her went. It was a small steel knife. Even as he watched, the hilt burned away, leaving nothing but the blade in the sand.

 

Something akin to horror swept over him. He… had… just… burned… a little boy… who had a knife. Suddenly the irony of it struck him. He was the Flame Alchemist - for the people - trying to make this country better… and he had just killed a child.

 

A loud, maniacal laugh reached his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his laugh crackling around his ears. He couldn't stop laughing, but he didn't seem to care. “A boy! ...the people… The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nose. “Flame… It's all burning… burning….” The rocky sand, now suddenly much closer than it had been a moment before - he was sitting on his heels, only he didn't remember falling - pushed in on him; the towering building were caving in around him; the screams of the Ishbalans dying nearby were directed at him. “Mustang!” he could hear one in particular, a horribly familiar-sounding woman's voice. “Major Mustang!” He couldn't bear it anymore! Before he knew it, his hands were clutching the scalding-hot knife-blade, he could smell the cloth of his gloves beginning to burn away -! These gloves! Those gloves on his hand, no, his hands, were responsible for it, for the little boy and for so many others, so many others whose faces were clear and blurred in his mind all at once, separate and together, crowding in his mind. If he could only be rid of them, his murdering hands, he could be free…! They must be gone! He set the hot metal against his wrist.

 

“MAJOR!” The woman's voice screeched at him. Someone tried to rip the blade from his hands, and he fought them, fought them, fought them -. Couldn't they see that he needed to get them off, he needed to get those filthy, murderingchildburninghands off?

 

“ROY!” He froze. The person he was fighting was the owner of that woman's voice, and the note of desperation in it made him actually look to see who was trying to stop him. Short, beautiful blonde hair and mahogany eyes that could eat a man's soul, eyes tainted in fear and worry… Even though he had discovered she had joined the military, had talked to her only two days before, he could not believe that the shy young Riza Hawkeye was here in this hellhole.

 

“Roy,” she said again. “Please.” She looked tired and dusty with her rifle slung over one shoulder. Blood dripped down her arm, mixing with the sweat and dirt; with a shock he realized she had cut her palm while trying to pull the knife blade from his hand. Numbly he allowed her to take the blade.

 

She tucked it behind her belt, then sagged in relief. “What were you thinking?” she asked raggedly.

 

“He… burning… It's just… a child… and…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling ashamed. What must she think about him, the murderer? She should have let him die trying to cut off his hands.

 

Riza gave him an odd look. Next thing he knew, she had gently pulled him into her arms. “It's okay. I know.” With a strangled little sound, he buried his face in her shoulder and clung to her desperately.

 

Then, in the middle of the desert wasteland called Ishbal, it began to rain.