Crossfire

-Alternate Ending- …or maybe "crack" ending, if you think about realistic situations and whatnot.

Author's Notes: Dailenna. You kill me. Seriously.

See, in the original version of Crossfire, as punishment, Hawkeye was slated to kill Mustang. For some reason, I told this to Dailenna because she asked me why I chose to write this the way I did. She said to me, that I should have written Hawkeye doing it.

So…

Damnit. And she gave me another idea—so now I'm running with it because….because I can't help it. Picks up at the actual jury sentencing!

(I can't believe I'm actually posting this...)

"The punishment for the crime will be death by firing squad." The juror continued reading from his notes, tight-lipped and struggling to get the words out properly. "Riza Hawkeye will be the sole executioner of Roy Mustang—"

And she almost screamed, her eyes widening so much they looked like saucers, nearly bugging out of her head in a state of shock. Her lips were moving just slightly, but didn't produce a sound. He was no better. It was bad enough that they intended to kill one of the best sharpshooters in the military by a firing squad—but to force her to actually shoot him crossed the border into cruel and unusual punishment.

Finally, something slid from her mouth. It sounded more like a choked gasp mingled with tears, and then a plaintive, "no," before she sank back in the chair, her palms pressed firmly over her eyes. He watched anxiously as she did everything in her power to remain quiet, but he was certain he heard a sob.

He was angry with her.

Surely he had every reason to be angry with her. But she wouldn't speak to him. At first, they were housed in a single prison cell, sharing the space. Two days into the stay, he found her impossible to deal with. She sat in silence, didn't speak a word to a soul, instead staring blankly out the barred prison window.

And so three days into the stay, he was moved to the cell directly beside hers.

He thought it might have been more comfortable, away from his seething Lieutenant, but it only felt worse when she started crying quietly at night.

Mustang never thought that the barrel of a gun could ever look so menacing as it did right then. It was a weapon, used to kill, and he had seen it used countless times by the woman currently holding it. But he had never felt the chill of death so close to him that he could almost touch it—and death by the hands of a person he cared for only made the moment more disturbing.

There were shackles around her ankles. Of course, Hawkeye was a woman of honor and he knew she wouldn't run. The remaining military officers, however, didn't seem to think so, and chaining her to the ground seemed to be the best solution in their twisted minds.

It was hard to look her in the eye. He wanted to, so desperately. But she was long gone, he had noticed. Long gone. The woman he had known, once so strong and dependable and steadfast, had since vanished from the woman standing before him now. No, all that remained were the killer's eyes of a defeated soldier. It left a burning pit in his stomach.

Both hands supported the weapon forward, aimed between his eyes. Mustang stared anxiously. The gun was so close, he would have sworn he could feel the cool steel resting against his skin. He gulped for air, tempted to close his eyes, and halfway through the process when he realized her hands were trembling, violently. To the point where she could hardly hold the weapon steady, at that.

He was waiting for the sound of a gunshot. To be the last sound he ever heard, to pitch forward into the ground, dead. He was prepared for that, prepared for the end and prepared to be done with the situation. Prepared to not need to deal with her death, to be able to simply die and not suffer a moment alone on the face of the planet without her.

"I'm sorry, Roy," she whispered, tears in her voice.
His eyes widened as her hands turned. She couldn't do this. This had to be what she was planning, what she was hiding from him, why she wouldn't speak to him. "No, don't—"

He hardly managed to formulate a sentence before she pulled the trigger with the barrel of the gun resting firmly against her temple. He started ripping at the handcuffs, unable to fight himself free. She was already dead, and there was nothing he could do but fight back the urge to vomit as he watched her crumple to the ground, the gun clattering to the side, blood seeping through the cracks. He could feel stickiness on his knees as her warm blood soaked through the pants of the prisoner uniform.

His entire form slid forward, and he rested his head against her still form. His ears registered that her heart was not beating, the position of his head revealed that she was not breathing. And by all definitions of the word, Riza Hawkeye was dead.

Roy cried.

It wasn't a loud cry. It was subtler, softer, weaker. She wasn't supposed to turn the gun on herself. Years ago, he had told her to shoot him if he ever strayed for the path of wanting to help his countrymen. She agreed. But she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger when the time was right. When she was told to. Instead, she killed herself in lieu of killing him.

Over the sobs of the broken Colonel, an order was heard. "Ready."

Her face, bloody and bruised, was still warm. He slid his head closer to her cheek, until it was close enough to feel her still.

"Aim."

He could feel her blood smearing across his skin, but couldn't bring himself to respond. He desperately wished his hands were free, so he could touch her, cling to her, protect her from whatever he could. He knew that those men planned to shoot him in a moment's time, to end his life the way she had been told to. He knew he was facing the firing squad instead of the trustworthy hands of his Lieutenant.

It made it that much easier to stare into the eyes of his killers.

"Fire!"

Dailennaaaa you have corrupted my brain! I can't believe I wrote this. I can't believe I even posted this. Gosh. I'm depressed now, because…it's still sad.

Not nearly as well written as the first piece, in my opinion, but…well, this didn't come as easily to me. The logistics did, but the wording didn't. Since I wanted Riza turning the gun on herself to be a surprise, I couldn't have anything coming from her point of view—since it's presumed that she made her decision long before the day of the execution.

Tell me if you like the alternate/crack-ish ending?