Hello, new fandom!
This is the first FMA fic I have completed and posted, so if it's crap tell me and I won't attempt more. Just try to be kind about it, please.
All right, so… I had to wait about an hour for my Technical Documentation class and this idea just… presented itself. Haven't seen anything like this around before, so I thought I'll write it down. For you:).
Er… FMA does not belong to me.


Dream come true


Roy Mustang had just singed the last document from the originally enrmous pile only to reveal a copy of last-week newspaper, overseen and forgotten until he had completed his work.

It obviously hit a cord. The usually cool man growled. It was a low, dangerous sound from the deep of his throat, a sound that would have sent anybody with a bit of self-preservation running in opposite direction. But there was no one in his office – just Roy and old newspaper.

How dare they!

He reached inside his pocket, trying to ignore the chill that was spreading through his body. He was the Flame Alchemist, there was no place for chill inside him.

They know nothing! They understand nothing!

Crumpled recycled paper landed in the dustbin as he stood up.

The situation was comepletely different! It's not a bit like Ishbal!


The door opened just as the bin exploded. A petite blonde young woman in a blue knee-length skirt yelped and cowered from the fire. It had been him personally who promoted her, him, who requested her transfer and offered her the position of his assistant. Based on the colour of her hair.

Riza never cowered. Sooner she would have shot me…

Memories hurt, but they were the reason why he had a blonde female assistant. It was his reminder – kind of wretched alternation of Edward's watch. She wasn't the first, just as she wasn't the last; they came, thrilled by the man and power, and went, disgusted by the man and treatment.

At least he was true with himself and didn't sleep with them.

He slowled watching her recover from the shock as though it was her fault he had been behind with paperwork, her fault that the nespaper lay forgotten on his desk, her fault what the reporters wrote and gow it affected him…

"Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Elric is waiting outside."

Fullmetal waiting? She really is new here…

"Shall I-" The door behind her crashed into the wall and the blonde-

What was her name again?

-yelped for the second time. It annoyed Roy to no end, but he was the gentleman and wouldn't show it. Rather, he gestured her to leave, returned to his place at the desk and sat down to face his subordinate.

A pair of dull amber eyes was scanning the room, obviously searching for something. When they failed to find it, Lieutenant Colonel's gaze lowered to the smoking dustbin. Disinterestedly, he clapped and fingered its rim.It fixed itself within a sphere of faint blue glow.

What's happened to him? He doesn't act like-

"I think…" Edward spoke quietly and Roy felt, despite his concern, a smirk spreading on his face.

"Really? Who would have thought that possible?" The seventeen-year-old looked at him. Looked. Not scowled. Not glared. Just looked.

And his eyes were empty, emptier than ever before.

"I think I understand you now, Fuhrer." He carefully, gently laid a stack of papers on the spot on the desk Roy had recently cleared. A report. Edward's report from the battle.

"What do you mea-" attempted Mustang, now seriously worried, though the mask on his face most certainly didn't let it show.

"I understand how you felt. What drove you to change the world. To become the Fuhrer."

Roy watched transfixed as the golden-haired teenager stepped closer to examine a large map of the Amestris, covering almost the entire wall. A metallic index-finger, hidden in a white glove that went nicely with the blue uniform traced a curvy line, finally coming to a halt at a spot marked by a red paper flag.

In one swift movement the Lieutenant Colonel pulled it out and threw it into the restored dustbin. Then he turned on his heel and passing the Fuhrer's desk on his way to the exit placed something on it. A stack of 'out'-marked documents blocked Roy's view.

He arose, glaring at the back of the short, blue-clad figure as it rested its hand on the doorknob and spoke.

"You have become Fuhrer. But has the world really changed?"

Roy never saw him walking out; he was gaping at a silver pocket-watch on his desk.

A/N: So? What do you think?