More of a writing exercise than a true fanfiction, this is just something put together in an attempt to understand the relationship of Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang a tad bit better. One of the most important things about writing fanfiction is keeping in character, and so I could think of no better way to practice than to write out the canon. I had to rewrite this piece quite a bit before I got it right, and I would like to thank my editor (not quite beta reader) that helped me perfect this piece after many a struggle. Her help was indescribable important.

A good accompaniment would be The Sounds of Silence - by Simon and Garfunkel. I find it fits this scene very well.

Without further ado, enjoy.

Chapter One: Sin and Humility

Riza Hawkeye had never been afraid of the dark as a child. When hiding from children in her childhood school, she would always pick the darkest place to find her concealment. As she grew, so did the darkness. As she learned to harness her namesake as a sniper, shadows had always been silent and constant, coming short as an ally but infinite as a resource. She was accustomed to the shadows and their chaotic patterns. But she never thought to be betrayed by them.

She could see them lurking just out of sight, a faint flutter of darkness ominously moving through her peripherals. Skulking with malevolent glee on the edge of her awareness, it caressed the door that lay before her, dancing around her desperate attempts to ensnare it with the faintest glimpse. But even such a pitiful victory eluded her, as it unfalteringly teased her, moving across the floor or under the hinges only to slip away like water in a sieve when she jerked with sweaty brow to the place she knew it had been. It teased, danced, and laughed its arrogance as her legendary sight failed her, insignificant against the seemingly omniscient force of darkness. In a simple demonstration of power, it was like Riza had been robbed of the final sanctuary none ever think to lose; her very name.

She put her key in the lock and twisted it sharply, opening the door against the malicious cackling at her pathetic show of strength. The whine of the worn hinges became the shadow's boast, its high creaking tearing against her soul. But she couldn't take it any more. She wanted to go home.

But the shadows waited for her here too.

Upon finally seeing the gleam of two eyes in the smoky black inside her apartment, Riza stiffly gasped despite herself. As the image resolved however, she easily distinguished the white stripes of Hayate's coat where he tore free of the inky black, his pink tongue lolling out of his canine mouth as he shot a curious look at Riza from oblivious brown eyes.

Something small and delicate broke inside of her as she collapsed against the door, slamming it firmly against the torrent of snickering taunts. Yet they continued past the thick oak, wafting through the doubts and fears that spiderwebbed across her mind. She brought her hands up to cradle her head, and realised she was trembling through sweat soaked fingers.

It had been almost two months since her reassignment from adjutant to hostage by personal order of the Führer. Since then, Riza had found it increasingly hard to find herself even the slightest semblance of comfort. Her routine visit to the hospital in which Havoc was staying had become one of her only anchors to remind her that she wasn't alone. It was a poor foundation to base her sanity. Every day she visited, she watched the false smiles and listless looks mar the face of a man who she had once considered to be the most genuinely happy she knew. She knew there was hope for him, that once his own incarceration at the hospital ended so would most of his depression. Till then, they kept to pretence like the lines of an over-rehearsed play that would never see a performance. Despite the smiles, they both knew. He was a broken man.

Her other methods of keeping in contact with the world were stretched thin as well. Her outings with Rebecca were infrequent at best as Riza found herself under the sudden weight of work that came with her involuntary position as the Führer's secretary. And though she chided her childlike behaviour, her everyday route to the Führer's office always included a detour past her old workplace. And when she was lucky, she would be rewarded with a second's glimpse of an untidy mop of hair as its occupant hunched over the day's pile of paperwork.

A sharp high-pitched noise startled Riza from her thoughts, and she rose to the now distinguished ringing telephone. Mutely she considered the possibilities of who would want to call a military Lieutenant this late at night. Adrenaline flooded her veins in her desperation to find an answer mundane enough to be deemed desirable, but none arose amid her frantic thoughts and fears. The shadows writhed violently in renewed laughter.

She hesitated a second, then another before she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Riza spoke quietly into the cold handset. For the smallest fraction of a second she hoped that the caller would apologise, say they had the wrong number, and hang up.

She would later be glad for her mistake.

"Hellooooo there, madam! This is your neighbourhood florist speaking!" A sudden bright and animated voice chirped as Riza's despairing expectations were harshly dashed away in a flood of exasperation. It was almost disappointing.

"What are you talking about, Colonel?" She groaned agitatedly, her exasperation jerking her out of the stupefied state his jubilant words put her in. It was an expression she was certain she'd never live down if he ever saw it.

"Huh, sorry." A rueful reply came through the line. It was a strange epiphany, but in that moment she realised just how much she had missed his deep baritone. "I kinda got drunk and somehow bought a cartful of flowers. Want to do me a favour and take some off my hands?" His tone wasn't an apologetic one, but it was familiar. The most familiar. Unwittingly, she found herself relaxing.

It was definitely a strange day she was having, she decided. To think originally her only concern of a personal nature was what to expect when interacting with Mrs. Bradley and her son, only for that same day to hold the identity and threats of the living embodiment of arrogance, and the Colonel to spontaneously call her in his typical offhand manner.

"What's wrong?" Came his voice again, and Riza blinked. Suddenly the offhandedness was gone, given way to the sharpened steel professionalism of the Flame Alchemist. With a familiarity that worked both ways, he had seen the worries she held as easily as she saw his own.

"Did something happen?" He prompted again.

It would be easy. So, so easy. To relay what she had learned and work as a team again. Everything that occurred over the past two months demanded she explain everything, that he do the same back, that they work together. The King and the Queen, back in the game. It was the opportunity she had quietly wished for in the monotonous days she served the murderer King in his pretend office, every instinct in her body all but ordering her to get out. And now it was here. And she knew she could do nothing.

"No, sir. It's nothing." She said after a moment, keeping her voice level. The shadows did not move, and yet this time she knew she had every reason to fear them. For while there was every possibility that Pride was not watching, there were twice the reason that he would be.

"Are you sure?" He pressed, his smooth voice contorted in every expression of worry, disbelief, and fear.

She felt her heart twist in regret at the lies she told so unabashedly despite the obvious transparency of her tale. It was hardly the first lie she made for his sake, but in that moment, she prayed it was the last.

"Yes, sir. Everything's fine. And I'm sorry to let you down, but I don't even own a flower vase." She paused, listening to the soft pulses of his breathing that was kept too steady to be natural. "Thanks for thinking of me though". He gave a grunt in response and she smiled.

When she was finally put the phone down, it was not with regret. The shadows retreated and the taunts were silenced. Just like that, Riza was home once again.

Turning around to the sound of Hayate's footsteps, she affectionately embraced him.

"It's amazing how uncanny his timing his." She murmured through the thick warmth of his fur, stroking to Hayate's content purring. Riza had every reason to be frightened in the coming days ahead of her. Cut off from her friends, no immediate family she was even close to, she had already been clearly informed of her precarious position. Tonight's abrupt altercation with Pride had done well to emphasise her insignificance in the eyes of her captors, a reminder of how little she need toe over the line for them to strike her down as casually her new wounds. But despite the surprising amount of effort the Homunculi put into trying to cow her, Riza wasn't alone. That despite the fact the two of them were under constant surveillance, from concealed microphones and dark-clothed strangers to the very whispers of darkness itself, the Colonel still found a way to call her with every semblance of nonchalance he usually showed. Despite everything, her Colonel was still determined to look out for her. And as if by the power of alchemy itself, it was as if all the fears and worries melted away, transmuted into a warm flame of hope that smouldered gently inside of her. A fire of hope transmuted by Roy Mustang himself.

So she kept it warm inside of her, and held her best friend close as she poured out the gratitude she wished to give to the man who saved her once again.

Thanks for taking the time to read this (: if you could please leave a review, that would be marvellous.

Also I'm happy to take on suggestions on what scene to do next, so please don't hesitate!