When she was gone, he hit hard.

It wasn't just forgetting and moving on, like the old Roy would have done. With any other woman, he would have simply been sad for a moment, if she was good-looking, or good in bed. Anyone else, she would have been forgotten.

This one, this one was different. She was his everything, even if she didn't know it. Even if she thought he loved his girlfriend. Even if he told her that he did love that girlfriend, wanted to make her jealous or just didn't want to admit to her, to himself, he loved her. It would make things difficult, working together, seeing each other every day had he told her and it didn't work out or they just drifted apart. And even worse, if she actually did love him back. Because then, how could they work in the military under the Fraternization laws?

He thought he'd wait it out, keep his feelings hidden until he reached Fuhrership. Have girlfriends to fill his heart halfway until he could hold her at night. Kiss her troubles away. Push her hair out of her face when she concentrated.
Simply hold her hand.

He was wrong, though. There was no filling her place. And he realized it a moment too late. Shoving her door open, running through her house, frantically wanting to call for her but unable to choke it out of his dry mouth. Comforting her frightened dog. And shoving the door open as the gunshot crackled in the hot summer air and her gray and red thought process was splattered on the wall to his left. Her eyes were shut, she never saw him coming. The gun dropped to the floor loudly, skittering in front of Black Hayate, who had begun to howl.

Maybe if she hadn't died in front of him.

Maybe if her note hadn't said it was his fault.

He'd heard that people who wrote notes wanted to be saved from their suicidal selves. But he was only seconds too late from that. He hated himself.
He wondered how long she'd sat in front of the oak table contemplating whether she should do it.
How long ago the note had been written. If it had been changed from the first time she wrote it. He could tell by the erased date she had wanted to use it multiple times.

His tears had dripped down slow and sad as he sat by her, silently cursing himself. Curling his arm around her lifeless, slumped shoulders. Holding her limp hand, hoping it would hold back but knowing it couldn't.

He picked the note up and read it in a low voice. Unlike the movies, her voice didn't float around him and narrarate the words.
Somehow, that made it worse.

"To whom it may concern:"
She always had been very formal.
"I'm writing this note on the date of....What the hell is that smudge mark? Damn it, Hawkeye.... The only numbers I can see are from two years ago..... I've decided life isn't worth it. Due to my unrequited feelings that cannot legally be returned for someone I have personal feelings for, I have decided suicide is the only intelligent decision. Since I could never ask him to quit his job due to his lifelong pursuit of it, and he would not permit me to resign from mine, this will serve as my letter or resignation. I'm very sorry, but this was the only plausible way. Please do not circulate this letter. I want the only eyes resting on it to be those of the investigation committee and whoever finds me. My posessions are to be donated. My dog is to go to Colonel Roy Mustang. He is NOT to see this." He let a single tear drip next to her.
"......Damn right I wouldn't let you quit. But of course you had to follow your own mind. You're so stubborn, Lieutenant. Giving me a dog I don't know how to take care of." He'd mumbled through the tears. "And you didn't even want me to see this."

Later, the funeral had been just as or more sad than Maes Hughes'. He stood at the foot of her fresh grave, mumbling words to the tombstone. Laying a rose on it. Watering the grass ineffectively with salty tears. Havoc had tried his best to comfort the man standing there on the packed dirt, but he wouldn't budge. The only thing he heard come from the man's mouth was "It's going to rain today."
He'd never seen the sky shine brighter, it seemed as if she was actually shining the sun on them. Havoc simply gave Roy a sad pat on his back, and walked away on the brink of tears himself.

The man stood there for hours. He couldn't really bring himself to accept that she wasn't going to grab his shoulder and pull him away. Tell him to accept it. Ask him if the person in the grave really wanted him to be crying and stepping on them.

She wasn't going to. Hughes tried, but Roy, knowing he was an illusion, just shrugged him off.

"My good looks really do kill, don't they, Hawkeye?" He asked the dirt.

As the Colonel pulled out an umbrella, rain began to pour around him. He held it over Riza's grave and let the raindrops wash off what little shame and sadness they could from his red face.
"Yes, Sir. Your good looks kill."