Disclaimer: Somebody out there owns Fullmetal Alchemist. But alas, it's not me.

Author's Note: Boo. It's me. So I've finished mah first Fullmetal Alchemist fic :D Aren't you proud? No? Oh, fudge ya. Anyway, please forgive any sappiness contained herein. I've just been needing to get it out of my system. And forgive any out-of-character--ness, too. I just can't get a good grasp on Roy's character.

Blame Arielle for this. It's all her fault anyway XPPP


It makes him think of those scruffy wildflowers that pop up at spring's first thaw and stay until snow covers the ground, regardless of the gardeners' best efforts to exterminate them. Love, he thinks, is something like that. Ugly, unruly, poignantly beautiful.

He has never liked wildflowers, disorganized untidy things. He was always a man of militaristic discipline, possessed of uncommon self-control. One has to be, when one is the Flame Alchemist, and fire runs through one's veins in place of blood.

Perhaps this was why nothing in his life had prepared him for the night he woke with the boy's name on his lips, and staring up at the moon, realized that against all odds, all reason, all better sense, he had fallen in love with Edward Elric.

Of all people, why did it have to be that scrawny, diminutive alchemist? Ed despises him, and with good reason. Yet Roy cannot get through a day without thinking of him, cannot fight the feelings that rise through him at the thought. It has all the pain and beauty of a rebirth; the world is made of honey and razorblades, and the moon an sun and all the planets revolve around the single figure of Edward Elric.

In short, it is utterly maddening. And Roy would not trade it for anything in the world.

"Colonel, sir?"

Roy looks up, startled. Riza Hawkeye is there, looking at him with a curious expression on her face. He hadn't noticed her come in, occupied as he was with…other things. Hopefully she hadn't noticed the stupid little smile that crosses his face every time he thinks of -

"Edward Elric is here," she says. Roy's heart leaps into his throat, but he pushes it back down with practiced ease. "I see," he mutters, turning back to the paperwork spread across his desk.

The First Lieutenant, however, is not so easily fooled. "You love him, don't you?" she says.

Roy sighs. Trust Riza Hawkeye to strike right to the heart of the matter, whether on the battlefield or in daily life. Lying is utterly futile, he knows, so he answers with the simple truth: "Yes." He folds his hands, grits his teeth, and in a businesslike tone continues, "I cannot eat, cannot sleep, cannot concentrate for long on anything other than him. My work is suffering and so is my sanity. In addition, I am plagued by butterflies. In my stomach." He grimaces at his words, but Hawkeye, to his complete astonishment, bursts out laughing.

"Of course, of course," she says, wiping her eyes. "It's for someone like you to realize your heart is beating in someone else's chest."

Roy frowns. "Love is nothing. Biochemically equivalent to eating several pounds of chocolate, stomachache included.

Hawkeye gives him a strange look. "Funny, there's nothing biochemically equivalent to the look in your eyes every time someone says his name."

Roy simply stares at her. He has no reply to that.

Hawkeye sighs impatiently. "That's your problem, isn't it? Your mind works in laws, rules, concrete sciences. But love is none of these; it operates only according to itself. And until you realize this, you will never have a chance at happiness. There are things reason cannot explain."


There is a vase full of wildflowers on his desk. They've been growing on him, those little things; he's actually beginning to like them. He touches one with a finger, and a rain of sun-gold petals and scent cover his paperwork.

He hears a noise, and looks up. And there is Edward, surrounded by light and glaring stonily at Roy from across the room.

Roy turns his face back to his work to hide a smile. "You're late," he says, though he isn't really surprised; he knows Ed well, perhaps better than he knows himself.

Ed scowls and crosses his arms. "I wasn't aware I was on a schedule," he mutters irritably. "But I wanted to ask you something." His footsteps seem to echo as they approach Roy's desk. "For a notoriously strict officer, you're surprisingly lax with me. You're always letting me go off looking for the Philosopher's Stone, when you know perfectly well what I'm going to use it for. And you don't even get mad when I screw up. Why? I want to know. Are you plotting something? Trying to get me in your debt? I've told you, I'm no dog of the State!"

(A certain image involving Ed and a dog collar drifts up from the depths of Roy's imagination, but he determinedly ignores it) Well, the kid is certainly working himself up. But beneath its placid surface, Roy's mind is clicking and whirring and repeating its favorite mantra to itself, the principle upon which the world was made, the law of Equivalent Exchange: What have you given for this? What have you gained? Over and over again.

Then he lifts his head and looks into Ed's eyes. And for a moment there is no thought or fear or reason. There is only love.

Distantly, Roy hears himself say, "Really, I'm surprised you even needed to ask. You made me whole; I'm only trying to return the favor. You see, I'm in love with you."

Silence. Neither of them moves. The world itself seems to hold its breath.

Wordlessly, Ed moves around the desk, clasps Roy's face in his hands so there will be no chance of escape, and kisses him.

Despite himself, Roy smiles into the other boy's mouth. Or course, this is the way it is with Edward; no half measures. This is the way it should always be.

(What have you given?)

(Only a heart I didn't even know I had.)

(What have you gained?)


After that there are no words. There is only touch and taste and the feel of Roy's hands in Ed's hair, sun-golden and sweet as wildflowers.