He laid the moist cloth on her burnt skin. She breathed heavily, laboring as her body trembled. Covering her gently and whipping away collected sweat, Roy Mustang began to truly wonder if he had become a monster.

Relaxing against the wall of the compound, he let her alone. She was in pain. God, she must be. He had just burnt a third of her back, scarring her beautiful skin for life. Skin he had worshipped, admired, studied but never spoiled. Now, he had managed that too.

"I asked for this."

Roy wasn't sure at first, if she had really spoken the words. Yet, the vibrated in the thick, war ridden air. She had asked for it, yes. She had asked him to break the back in which he had discovered the secret to Flame Alchemy. Yet, he had not wanted too. Despite all the sin which had come from it.

"Rest, Riza." he croaked, afraid tears would break out of their confinement. He willed his lids to close.

"I do not want you to feel any guilt, sir."

"I am not your commanding officer."

"You're still higher rank, sir."

"Stop it, Riza." opening his eyes in annoyance, he saw she was attempting to sit up, upsetting the cold wash rag he had laid over her back. Blood began to ooze and she stumbled.

Like fire, anger burned in his gut. Rushing back to her, he forced her back down on her abdomen.

"You do not need to be moving around." He said firmly. His brows crossed, fingers shaking, he held her down as she tried to struggle. He would win; she was too weak.

"Yes sir."

Readjusting the cold cloth, he spread another layer of ointment on her wound. She flinched with every pat of his fingers. She had asked for him to burn it all off, the symbol, the rune of flame alchemy. But, he could not do it. He had had to stop after only two large burns on the left hand side of her back. He could not hurt her anymore.

She didn't know yet. She had lost consciousness. She would be angry when she saw the reflection. It didn't matter. The rune was unreadable now. He was still quivering inside, seeing the image of her nails clawing into the wooden post she had used for support. What had happened to this woman…whom he had tried to protect? What had she done to herself by joining the military. What had she done to him, to make him do such a thing?

Placing the cloth back onto her swollen body, he let his fingers dance in her cropped, blonde hair. It was still soft, how he had remembered it. It felt cold in his hands, almost moist in its silky substance. She was still beneath him, eyes half closed. She was remembering. He was remembering.

"I must return to my barracks by dawn, sir. Or my commander will know." Her voice was serene, expressive, sorrowful.

"I will wake you an hour before. Try to rest for now." He couldn't seem to pull his hand from her. She was like water, and he was so damn thirsty.

He lay his head next to her own. She no longer smelled of those florid perfumes she wore in adolescence. She smelt like sand, and dirt, and blood. She smelt like a soldier.

He didn't care. He had his own demons.

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A memory from Ishbal

Those words stroked the Colonel's mind as he hazily rose from his bed. He had managed to dream another dream of the past while he attempted sleep in these anxious days. However, he was glad it was no nightmare soaked in blood, but something a bit less damning. The feeling of Riza's chapped and worn out body next to him: That wasn't so bad to remember.

So much time had passed now. The burns had aged, leaving distended scars which managed to only enhance that beautiful arch of female back. He loved her back. Every miniscule inch of skin which held so much memory, so much beauty, and so much reckless need.

He wished he could reach out and caress it as he had done so many years back. But those days of feckless misbehavior were indicative of youth. Now, so much was changed.

And Riza belonged to the Fuhrer

"Like Hell!" he said to himself, rising quickly from bed. He made a B line for the shower.

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He knew he was being watched. That inveterate instinct that settled between his scalp and baseline neck told him so. Someone was watching him. Should he go up? He paced the sidewalk outside her apartment window, momentarily glancing up to see if she would pass by, but the place looked deserted.

Could he risk endangering her further, by this impulsive visit? No. Yes. No. Yes. He couldn't decide. He had tried to disguise his appearance with tattered, commoners clothing and a large hat…but no good, he knew he was being watched.

Like a pup humiliated by its master, he began the long trek home.

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The air of his apartment was dank and depressing. He flung his keys back onto the table and thundered angrily through the hall. He was so frustrated, so helpless. He felt like a coward and an impotent beast. Unable to see her. Unable to touch her. Unable to know where she was.

"Fuck this shit" he kept muttering.

"Whatch the language, sir."

He about jumped his skin, and in an instant Roy had pulled out his pocket gun. But he knew that he wouldn't need to fire it. His pants began to tighten even in those short seconds of realization.

She had come to him.

She was sitting in his room, on his bed to be exact. Her hair let out of its usual knot, her legs crossed in an unusual position. Her eyes were shining. She was crying.

Neither had to say anything. He didn't need to know how she had managed to make it here without being spotted. He didn't care. All he knew was relief. She was finally back in his bed where she belonged.

When he finally got her clothes off her, he turned her back over on her abdomen as she had been in his dream. He began to feverishly kiss every inch of her skin from nape to graceful hill of her buttox. His hands sculpted the flesh which wrapped her being into matter. Every physical sense was overwhelmed in its proximity. Every second beat on his ear drums like death. He had to be inside her. He had to become one with her. He would die, if he didn't.

They hadn't done this in years. Afraid of the ramifications if discovered, they had avoided physical contact. But, he couldn't do it any longer. It really made no difference now. They all knew how much she meant to him. They were already damned.

She was panting again, but this time her moans were saturated with pleasure rather than pain. He had forgotten about the sounds. Those heavenly, euphonic sounds. She flipped her body back over so she could touch him, peeling away the lawyers of his own clothing.

"Roy." she mumbled against the nape of his neck, biting the delicate skin.

He grunted when her hands found his belt buckle. She yanked and handled his pants roughly, becoming almost animalistic with the mercurial need which gathered in her belly. He could feel the heat of her skin, he could feel his own heat.

And before he had really gained a new awareness, his body had independently entered her. From then on, he could barely string two thoughts together. His hands clamped down on her breasts, his mouth began assailing her neck, and his hips began to move as they had longed to move for years.

He could never forget this dance. This dance was his soul's freeplay. It had yearned for this moment.

He breathed out her name, milky in the dark room. Spilling out into her, he cried out an incoherent sentence, which he had meant to say "I love you."

She chuckled, shaking their bodies from underneath his deflated flesh. He was never moving again. This felt too wonderful. Perhaps it had all been forgotten. Ishbal, the military, the Homunculus. Perhaps it had all been a lie. They were 18 again, satisfied and foolish.

Her hands were drawing circles on his back. It felt divine.

"I dreamed of you." she whispered. "It's why I came."

He smiled against her skin and squeezed.

"I dream of you every night." he returned.

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Selim debated on whether or not to stay longer. He doubted they talked after such foolish volleying. Actually, he wasn't really worried. He felt particularly gracious today. They were human after all, and their bodies were weak. Sure, she had violated her promise…but, in the grand scheme of things, this moment of weakness on their parts would turn out to make things much easier for him. The deeper they cared for one another, the easier it would be to use Mustang. Selim smiled. Things were all coming together perfectly.

He walked out of the apartment building, smiling devilishly. He'd let the lovers enjoy their last moments together. Things would be much different from here on out. The shadows went with him.