Hohenheim Elric did not like the color of this first son's eyes. They were like his, gold and unnatural. It was strange to see them when they first opened after sleeping. He didn't think they belonged in a child's body.
Gold: a soft metal, good conductor. Forbidden by law to be created by alchemy.
With eyes like those—like his—Hohenheim knew his son would grow to be a great alchemist. He took a strange pride in that, but feared it as well. With gold eyes, his son was marked. Marked by a forbidden alchemy.
Marked just as he was.
That was it. She couldn't stand much more of it any longer.
"Second Lieutenant Havoc."
Clear blue eyes lazily met her stern gaze. "What seems to be the problem, First Lieutenant?"
Riza Hawkeye stilled the urge to roll her eyes.
"You should really stop smoking."
"Oh? Why's that? Don't tell me, the usual excuses: 'it's bad for your health' or 'the smoke stinks up the office'..."
"Because..." Closing her eyes, she leaned over and gently touched her lips to his. "I'd do that more often if you did."
His carton of cigarettes soon found its new home in the trashcan.
Were Riza to choose, she would be the shield rather than the sword. Shields guarded and protected, and if strong enough, could fend off any enemy attack. Swords were obtrusive and had to be wielded. Shields were no weapons.
Colonel Mustang was the kind of man who knew how to wield a weapon. He knew strategy, was skilled in battle, and had a sharp tongue to match his razor-sharp mind.
He was the kind of man in need of a shield, and Riza knew she was the person to provide one. She did this without question—her allegiance to him.