I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, Koomson, Hammer or any of the music I listened to while writing this.

Boookwrm389 - beta extraordinaire - is the reason this makes any sense at all

Prologue– That Day

This is when her life begins.

Not thirty-four years ago in a creaking, old house in Hammer. Not thirty years ago when she sat hiding under a table in the very same house, waiting and waiting for daddy to come find her. Not twenty-two years ago when she tentatively reached for the small tin box – once the home of her mother's old sewing kit and now the home to every last cen a twelve-year-old girl could save – in order to buy a rifle for a boy who couldn't afford it. No, her life did not even start nineteen years ago on the day she sat at her mother's vanity table, the skin of her back raw and stinging from a freshly inked tattoo, the face in the mirror wondering why she was still alive. It did not start the day she went to Ishval, nor any of the days after. Nothing could possibly have started after those days because those days marked an end. To everything."

And yet as the memories come rushing back, one after the other without mercy, unfolding into her consciousness as though they have been there the whole time, merely waiting for the right moment to strike, she remembers.

This is when her life begins.

Ten minutes ago

The sky outside is unusually cloudy for the East, and while most soldiers take it as a bad omen, Captain Hawkeye doesn't feel either way. She rolls her eyes discreetly as she makes her way to the elevator, returning the salutes of a few young cadets who, despite their cheery banter of a moment ago, have straightened up remarkably quickly as she comes into view. If the Captain had thought saluting awkward at the beginning, all notions of such a formality are gone as she returns the brisk action and proceeds on her way, leaving the soldiers to their devices. It hasn't been all that long since Captain Hawkeye resumed work, yet already she has fallen into a routine. One that she has been following for years, judging by how competent she is at it. Her feet automatically take her in the direction of her division, leading her on at a brisk pace that makes quick work of the empty hallways.

It is a morning like any other. The blonde officer expects to be the first one in once again, unless Officer Falman beats her to it. The coat hanger by the door is bare, no grey sweater, black leather jacket, navy blue jumper or the shadow of a long black overcoat, which she knows will be there in maybe fifteen minutes, its owner grumbling at the clouds outside as he removes it from his person. And the empty space next to the overcoat is where she hangs her own beige knee-length coat, even on the days when she is the last one in – a rarity indeed. For some reason that spot beside the dark overcoat is always reserved for its pale twin.

Five minutes ago

It is the smell of coffee that reaches her senses first, even as she moves to turn on the kettle. She prefers tea in the mornings, be it at home or work. By the time the others usually arrive with their various vices – donuts, bagels, caffeine – her desk is already playing host to a steaming cup of tea and the blonde captain herself, immersed in the itinerary for the day as she wishes her coworkers a distracted good morning and pencils in her own notes and reminders.

It certainly doesn't take much time to get her up to speed on things at Eastern Command, but then again no one expected her to take much time. Retrograde Amnesia or no, Captain Hawkeye is anything but a slow learner. The absence of her commanding officer the first few weeks had made her job marginally easier, allowing her to learn without fear of error. The fear, she has noticed, is always on his behalf, this unknown stranger from Central who first brought her to the hospital after her injury.

But today is different. Before she even reaches her desk, before she even has a chance to put the kettle on, the smell of coffee has pervaded the room, making her heady because somehow it feels wrong. Both the smells feel wrong because a coffee cup would only ever smell right when placed right beside her own steaming cup of tea, and that joined scent is what mornings are made of. Either of the beverages alone don't make sense, don't feel right…

Three minutes ago

"Good morning, Sir."

The words are instinctive as the owner of the black overcoat enters, placing his own paper cup on Fuery's table while he shrugs out of the offending garment. Their office is a covered zone, at least among them, so no salutes are necessary. And yet she cannot resist the urge to raise her hand and touch it to her forehead because it's a rainy day and the cup of coffee is from a café that makes very good pancakes. Most disturbing of all, she knows this despite having no memory of ever having been there.

In lieu of a response, he directs another glare towards the window, which brings the tiniest of smiles to her lips, an instinctive reaction which she only has a split second to ponder before General Roy Mustang hangs his coat up beside hers, echoing her previous actions with such mirror-like perfection that it causes a strange wave of dizziness at the back of her eyes.

One minute ago.

"Captain, are you quite well?"

The words don't make sense because her rank isn't Captain, it's Lieutenant. First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and she's twenty again, promising to follow him into hell in an office similar to this one, in a uniform similar to this one, pledging her life to a man she had loved and a monster she had made and a broken shell that wanted to desperately to atone for his sins.

"Will you follow me?"

"Even into hell, Sir."

"My f-flowers," she manages, the word stuttered so quietly that if it had been anyone else in the room, they wouldn't have heard it. But her superior doesn't need words. He understands what she means. He knows that he is supposed to fill the empty vase in her house when he drops by to collect the embroidered white gloves. He is supposed to bring flowers, and she is supposed to point out she has no vase to keep them in, prompting him to bring one along the next time.

"Captain Hawkeye! Captain!"

Once again, the ground is rushing up to meet her and her sense of balance is off. Where she stood perfectly steady not a minute ago, her tea cup is now loosening from her grasp and the last sound she hears is not the clay hitting the tiled floor and smashing into a million pieces. It is the sound of her own name, spoken right for the first time in three months.

"RIZA!"

This is when her life begins, with the realization that the biggest part of it has been missing from it until now. That Roy has kept it from her until now. It's funny how apt her brain is at connecting the dots as she sinks deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, everything erased save the knowledge that he did not tell her.

That he did not want her to know.

And in that same instant, just when her life begins, it comes to an end.

End Note: Reviews are very much loved.