All the hope that I lost, you have found - Pikkulef (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

A wave of static energy. This is a feeling Roy knows well, only it's situated behind his eyes, instead of leaving his fingers.
His heart pounds in his ears, his breath is short in anticipation, in apprehension. His fingers dig into his thighs, crumpling the thin fabric of his hospital pajama pants, and he doesn't even register the pain screaming in his palms.

Marcoh asks him to open his eyes. He does slowly, holding his breath. He knows Hawkeye is somewhere in front of him, behind Marcoh, who shuffles impatiently on his side.
He can't wait to see her.
Safe. Sound.
Not covered in blood.
Maybe a smile in her eyes.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Nothing at all.

He searches through the darkness that surrounds him. Nothing. Nothing has changed.

"...Colonel?"
Marcoh's voice is tense, he can hear it, even through the blood rushing in his ears and his hiccuping breath. There's a current of fear in it.

Roy would like to feel that fear. To feel something. But he feels nothing. Nothing at all. Just like he sees nothing.

"Colonel Mustang?"

He has to talk. He has to say it. He has to tell them.

"Sir?"

Hawkeye knows. There's a backdrop to her voice that is almost like a crystal on the verge of shattering.

Of course she knows. Somehow, it’s a relief.

Roy can't speak. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Once.

It's one thing to prepare for the worst, it's another thing entirely to live through it.

He turns his head aside when Marcoh's hand lands on his shoulder. He waits for him to leave.

Then a small, cold hand slides over his, and stays there.

"…hereby decided, considering the sustained injuries resulted in a permanent disability incompatible with the pursuit of a military service, to dismiss Roy Mustang from his position of Colonel and State Alchemist in the Amestrian Army. He will be awarded the rank of Brigadier General as an honorary, in acknowledgement of his key role during the events of the aforementioned attack on the Amestrian Army headquarters. He is entitled to a veteran's pension relevant to this rank…"

Hawkeye's voice betrayed nothing; at least for someone who had not become attuned to it, with years of practice. To Roy, she was straining, fighting to keep it even and cold. Roy's ears had always been keen — now that he only had them to get most of the information he couldn't get through his hands, he had become quicker to analyze and interpret the almost imperceptible changes he could pick up in people's voices. That was neither a comfort nor a relief, and it certainly didn't compensate for all that he lacked, now. But it was something, and he clung to these little things like a drowning man to a lifebelt.

And he knew Hawkeye's voice better than he knew his own. In the past two months, he had become even more attuned to it.

She wasn't feeling right.

Roy felt an ice cold shiver run down his spine. He'd rather focus on her wellbeing. On her. He didn't want her to feel bad. She'd done so much for him, already.

She finished reading — administrative stuff, date and place, Furher Grumman's signature — and a pen was pushed in Roy's right hand.

The pen was Grumman’s. Hawkeye wouldn't forget Roy was mostly left-handed, especially since the Promised Day.

Roy passed the pen from his right to his left hand, and just as he was going to ask, a small, cold and slightly clammy hand took his and showed him where to sign.

He held his breath, bit into his cheek, and signed.

That was it. It was the end of his chase. The end of his dream of trying to fix the damage he's done in a grand, meaningful way.

The silence in the office was deafening.

Roy had trouble opening his fingers to let go of the pen, and it wasn't entirely because of the still healing bones, muscles and tendons in his hand.

He bit into his cheek again.

It wasn't the end, and he was not going to let this stop him. His true goal had never been to make it to Furher. It was simply a means. He wouldn't be able to make Amestris better from the inside anymore, and his (their) atonement would probably have to wait, or be forgotten altogether, but it wasn't the point, it wasn't important, they weren't important. And there were other means. Other routes. Other ways.
The point was Ishval.

He would find a way to help. He had tried to think everything through, to occupy the long hours of physical therapy he'd been forced into, to busy his sleepless nights. He knew that moment would be coming, and he had tried to prepare for it as much as he could. He tried to be prepared for anything. He could of course not foresee everything, but he could try to, and it was better than wallowing in self pity and doing nothing.

Forward. Always forward. He couldn’t allow himself to stop.

Roy was brutally pulled out of his thoughts by Grumman's oddly soft voice.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye. If you need it, there's a private bathroom in the corridor, second door to the left."
"I… I don't…"
Roy couldn't help the reflex that had him turn his head to the right, intent to glance at Hawkeye. Hawkeye never hesitated. She never stuttered.

Two months, and he still forgot. Two months, and he still regularly woke up in a panic, trying to put all the lights on, pawing at the walls, knocking around the furniture. One morning, right after they'd been discharged, Hawkeye had found him half stunned in the middle of his living room, covered in blood, after he'd rammed his head particularly hard into a doorframe. She'd helped him get up, helped him clean, called Knox, and never talked about it again.

He was nothing without her, he'd never been, and being forbidden and unable to do anything for her in return in this moment — when she was collapsing because of him — was torture.

"Go and splash some water on your face, Lieutenant," Grumman added. "That's an order."
Hawkeye clicked her heels and her steps, muffled by the thick carpets of the high office, exited the room. The door didn't slam, but it was close to.

The following silence didn't last long.

"I am starting to understand you might not have been behind her coming to plead with me, am I right, Colonel? Or, should I say, Brigadier General."
Roy, already tense, breathing hard, almost jumped. A part of him was startled by this revelation. Another part bitterly noticed it was probably one of the last times in his life he would ever be addressed to with a military rank. And one that already implied so much grief to him, he wasn't sure he could bear it.
"What? I’m sorry, sir?"
"Indeed." Grumman sighed, and didn't continue immediately.

Roy couldn't stop his shoulders from tensing up. What now?

"Lieutenant Hawkeye wanted me to find a way to keep you. She even went as far as to acknowledge our family relationship — something she had always avoided to comment on until now."
Roy heard Grumman push his chair and get up. The old man started pacing, it seemed. Roy was burning to do the same, to just get up, and walk around the office.

To find the door, and walk out. It wasn’t his place anymore. He had to pull forward. Do something else. Anything but staying sitting in this chair, anything but hearing that Riza was that desperate for him to keep a job he wasn't fit for anymore.

"I thought you were pushing her to do so, and while I really didn't like that you were using her for this, I thought I could at least understand. But it's now apparent you knew nothing of her visits to my office."
"No, I…"
If he hadn't known better, Roy could have sworn Pride's hand had gotten its grip on his throat. He brought a hand to his face, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids. When he took them off, he felt them slightly humid.
He shook his head, at a loss.
"I didn't. I would never–"
"I believe you." Grumman's voice was now distant, both in physical and emotional ways.

The Fuhrer's office was gigantic, Roy remembered. The old man was probably somewhere by one of the windows. He did that often, back in his own, way smaller office.

"I wish I could have done it. I wish I could keep you. You will be sorely missed."
Roy bowed his head, but couldn't let anything go past his lips. Grumman went on.
"I have no idea what will happen. I am old. I need to think about who could carry on after me, and you were my best bet. You were my hope, and you were the only one. I do not doubt your capacity to rebound from this, but the country… Now, I–"
"General Armstrong," Roy cut him, forcing the words through the knot in his throat. He wouldn't let Grumman himself be emotional about it. He had thought this through. He had thought about a replacement, about who would be the most fit to carry on what Grumman — and himself — had planned to build after they had come into power. And there was one. Maybe two, but only one was high enough in ranks already to pull it off.

Sometimes he wondered if Armstrong was not actually more apt for this than he was himself.

"She's your best choice."
"She's extremely competent, but she's a ruthless woman. I do not–"
"She's ruthless, indeed, but we need to be ruthless. She has kept Briggs safe from Drachma attacks for the longest in decades. She might have a tough exterior, but she is extremely devoted to the safety of this country and of her men. And I think she would understand our– your goal of wanting to restore power to the parliament and fight for a real democracy in Amestris."
Shifting the conversation away from him was a relief. Roy breathed a little better. And he did believe everything he just told Grumman. The only thing he wasn't sure about was if Olivier would actually accept to leave Briggs to someone else's command while she came to Central to be Grumman's little protégée. And he doubted she would easily be convinced to reinstate a powerful parliament. But that–

Knocks on the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and closed again on perfectly silent hinges.
Grumman talked again with this soft, surprisingly caring voice: "Feeling better, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir."
Roy turned his head again, consciously this time. Not for himself, of course, but for her.

Maybe she looked like she did, but she wasn't feeling better.

Grumman made him turn back. He'd walked back closer to him — maybe closer than before, even.
"I will think about it, Mustang. I trust your judgment. Anyway– are you still against an official ceremony for your promotion?"
"Yes."

He'd made it clear. The less he had to deal with other people, the better. Medals, officials, whatever they usually did for this, acceptance speech, all this would have felt horribly misplaced, and he would have felt worse than he'd felt in weeks. Before, he'd have loved something like that, if only because it would have allowed him to make new connections on his way to the top. If it'd been a real promotion. If he was to continue on his path.

He thought briefly of Hughes and his posthumous new rank. It was the same, the same damned rank, except Roy would have had to be there to witness something akin to his own funeral.

The thought made him shudder. He hoped nothing more than a blink was visible on him.

"Alright. Your choice. And I won't keep you much longer. But there will be an official announcement, however, as is mandatory."
"I don't really read the papers anymore, sir. That won't bother me."
"Right,” Grumman answered hastily, “Right."

Roy regretted his words. His dark humor was getting yet darker, and it seemed it made people more uncomfortable now. And he didn't really want to make Grumman uncomfortable. He knew he'd tried. He thought he'd better say it.

"I know you tried, sir. I just want to thank you for it."
Roy stood up, after retrieving the cane he had put on the ground next to his seat. He extended his other hand towards where Grumman was talking from.
The old man took it, and shook it firmly.
"I hope at least I am not losing my chess adversary, uh, Mustang? I do hope you'll stop by for a chat and a game from time to time."
Grumman wasn't letting go of his hand. Roy smiled.
"If you can fit me in your busy schedule, it'll be an honor and a pleasure."
"Oh, we'll find a way."

Not only Grumman had not let go of his hand, but he placed his other hand on top.

"I'm sorry, son."

Grumman stepped away while Roy tried to register that last sentence, and the way he’d addressed him. He felt Hawkeye’s arm brush against his, and took it, thanking Grumman and leaving his office like an automat, the Lieutenant's arm being his only anchor, and only finding his footing once out of the office, out of the building, once he could breathe fresh air.

"I'm sorry, son."

Hawkeye had not let out a single word and was walking in the stiffest way he'd ever felt, next to him.

They sat in the car — his car. Keys clinked as Hawkeye started it, still without a word. Roy leaned towards her. His hand found the wheel, and he searched down from there to find her hand still on the keys. He forced her to stop the engine.
“You can say what you want to Grumman, but you’re not better, and I doubt you are especially fit to drive.”
“Do you want the wheel, sir?”

Hawkeye dealing this type of low blows was a sign she was especially on edge. She would never.
Usually.
But it wasn't a usual day, was it?

If she, out of all people, was on edge…

No, come on. You know her better than that.

Swallow it. Don't let her see. Don't let her fall. If you fall, she falls. You have to go on for the both of you. You have to go on for her.

What had been his mantra for two months now had rarely echoed so much about the situation.

Her voice was hollow; her hand, under his, tense and still incredibly cold. He gently but firmly pushed her hand away from the keys, forced her to open her fingers and let him slide his own against them. Her calloused palm was still clammy.
Roy shifted closer to her on the car seat.
“I have nowhere to be. We can talk.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Hawkeye’s voice wavered, and her hand closed into a fist on his, crushing his still tender scars. Roy tried to suppress a wince, but she saw it. Her hand disappeared from his as she gasped: “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”
She didn’t manage to stifle the sob that suddenly shook her enough for Roy to feel.

And with that, she crumbled, hiccuping and sobbing uncontrollably on the car seat, obviously trying to stop herself, trying to regain control, but only managing to hyperventilate and cry some more.

The knot in Roy’s throat tightened again. At a loss, he slid a hand against the backrest until he reached Hawkeye’s back, and caressed her there, not knowing if he could really go further.
“I’m sorry,” she said again between two hiccups. Roy placed his hand tentatively on her nape, feeling the small strands of hair that had escaped from her bun, the heat of her skin — too hot — and the incredible tension in her neck.
“Sorry for what?” He tried to keep his voice even, to forget about the itching at the back of his own throat and on the corner of his eyes.
“This! All this– everything– I shouldn’t– you’re the one who–”
“Hush.”
Roy pulled her to him, already leaning awkwardly against the backrest so he could hug her.
At first she tensed, then she relented, nuzzling his chest, and he buried his nose in her hair.

He'd become more acquainted with her scent, lately, but not from this close. He breathed her in, the strong notes of bergamot and lighter ones of jasmine of her perfume, a tad of patchouli mingling with her sweat, feeling his tight throat loosen a little.

Her. Her hair felt silky against his face, and he wondered if he had ever touched it before.

She was still shaken by sobs. Her hands slid under his coat, her fingers digging into his sides through his shirt. Roy tried to hide his jump at her touching him there. He caressed her nape, her back, her neck, making his touch lighter on the scars he knew were there and could feel. He was painfully aware it was the first time he could feel her so close, touch her this way.

Why was it so that they allowed themselves this only when they were at their worst? He knew the answer. But still–

Hawkeye pushed him away, suddenly breathing heavily, her voice trembling.

“Sir, we can’t be seen–”
Roy managed to keep his hand on one of Hawkeye’s wrists.
“You’re parked as usual, aren’t you? Back alley behind the mess kitchen’s exit. I smelled tonight’s stew as we walked by.”
“Yes, but–”
“Then no one’s going to see us, and–”

It dawned on him at once.

It didn't matter if anyone saw them. Not anymore.

Roy stood breathless for a second, then couldn’t help it.

He burst out laughing. His chest, his side, everything hurt from this sudden bout, yet he couldn't stop — the pain wasn't only from the laugh. His whole body shook, his eyes watering.

He was almost hysterical.

Almost.

He was the one shaking them both now. He let go of Hawkeye’s wrist only to trace her arm, up to her neck, her jaw, and he placed both hands on her face, first a little askew, but he quickly set them symmetrically on her cheeks.

She had a small recoil.
“Sir? What–”
“We’re free! We’re free, Hawkeye! Riza!” He choked on something that was half a laugh and half a sob. “I really, really want to kiss you now, and I can! Please! Please let me kiss you.”
“Sir, I don’t–”
“Enough with this, Riza,” He couldn’t stop saying her name, feeling the way it rolled on his tongue, getting drunk on it. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, wet with tears. “The frat laws don’t apply anymore. I signed. I’m dismissed. I’m a civilian.”
“Oh…”
“Yes. Please, no more sir.” She — Riza — shifted on the seat, and he felt her getting closer, felt her breath on his face. But still — as much as he wanted it, as much as his emotions were all over the place, he wanted it to be proper.
“I want to kiss you, I’ve wanted it for years, and the last two months… but I need you to tell me you’re okay with it. That you want it, too.”
“I think…"
She was so close, now. So close. Her bangs were tickling his forehead. Her voice was still trembling, and he heard her sniff.
"I think I do. Yes.”

Roy couldn’t tell who had moved first. Their lips met — hers were wet and salty with tears, but he had cried too. Maybe the tears were his. It didn't matter. He tried to stop himself from going too fast, from crushing his face against hers. Her lips were soft, a little hesitating, but hungry at the same time, and feeling this sent a shiver to run down his spine. He was afraid to get his hand off her face — afraid to be unable to stop, afraid to cross the line. But Riza — Riza, Riza, Riza — Riza grew bolder with each of her touches, on his arms, his back, sliding her hand in his hair…

He had to break the kiss. He had to.

Out of breath, out of his mind, he laughed again, his voice wavering, leaning his forehead against hers.
"It's the saddest first kiss I've ever had." He laughed — a high pitched, ugly laugh.
"You're hysterical, sir." Riza sighed."Roy."
"Oh, if I wasn't already, this would for sure make me so," he chuckled.

Another thought cut his laugh short. They were allowed, on paper, yes. But did they really deserve it? Did he? He had no right to love. No right to fulfill his one wish of a peaceful life. He had lost this right long ago, burnt among the corpses of his victims. Equivalent exchange.

Equivalent? Equivalent? Nothing would ever be equivalent. Whatever he'd do to himself, whatever torture he went through, that would never atone for his crimes. And it was not his place to decide. It was the survivors'.

In the meantime, he'd just lost his sight, his job, his goal, everything he'd worked for, for years. Before he found a way to give himself to the Ishvalans, pay the cheapest price with his life, maybe… maybe he could take what little he had left.

If she was alright with it, he would take it, he would love her, make her happy. He couldn't make her forget, but he could keep her hopeful. Hell knew they both needed that right now.

Roy dived towards Riza again, clumsily, and kissed her with renewed passion and, most of all, rage. A rage that was twisting under his ribs, made his hands grab at her, pulling her closer, closer yet. They didn't deserve it, but they would take it. They would carry on, together, until they found a way to pay.

At first, she followed in his passion too, but then she calmed it all, pushing him slowly, gently away from her. Riza put her hand on his face. She caressed his cheek, his brow. The tenderness in her touch sobered him.
"I admit it's sad. But…" She kissed him again, gently, her lips only almost just brushing his. "Since I… you… I'll take what I can."
"Me too."

They hugged. Tight. His nose found the crook of her neck. The smell he had learnt to know, that of her skin, from afar, and now so close he could taste her, filled him with a need he had not experienced to that level in years.

"We should go home," he whispered, intentionally letting his lips brush against her skin.
"We'll go to yours." Riza's voice was stern, as she pushed him away so she could start the engine again.
"Classier?" Roy smirked.
"More practical for you."
The smirk turned into a scowl.
"Right."

Roy knew. During the drive to his place, he tried to crush that little sliver of hope that had lit up somewhere, a faltering small one next to the one he kept and nourished for his plan, the new one a lot smaller and a lot less steady, but oh-so-much sweeter and warmer. He knew that wouldn’t be so easy. He knew Riza — Riza! ,— would need time. He knew what she said was not half felt, but it was also spontaneous and driven by the circ*mstances, a spur of the moment, and when she’d have had the time to think, she would not see it from the same angle. He knew she wasn’t the type to keep hope. He knew he had — had always had — to be hopeful and stubborn for the both of them, because the only thing she had ever had hope in after they left Ishval was him. His stubbornness. His plan. His abilities.

No wonder she’d collapsed. Worse than him, in fact — he had, too, of course, but he had to carry on. His stubbornness might be frowned upon, it might have driven his aunt and, later, his superiors and subordinates alike crazy, but it was also what kept him sane. What kept him moving.

He had to.

He had a plan, and he was set on it, whatever happened. Whatever he would have to go through, whatever he had to let go of, whatever he had to grieve for. He just simply couldn't fathom anything else. He had to keep going forward, or else–

People would talk. But weren't they talking already? They must be. Riza, as was her task as an adjutant, was still his shadow. Constantly. She had taken to helping him go about his day right away, and he had agreed to it on the condition that she would let him help her as he could if she needed it. They'd left the hospital just as they'd carried their last fight, her guiding him, him supporting her.

In plain view.

Riza was at his home in the morning, to pick him up. She was there in the evening, to bring him back. They ate together — he never was a cook, so ordering was his go to anyway, when he was home. Which wasn't often, before. They spent the evenings together. She read him reports — now she wouldn't have to anymore, and she wouldn't be allowed anyway — or the news, or books he'd asked for. Alchemy books. History books. Chemistry. Geology. At first he had not dared ask her. And she was the one who had offered. Some evenings, she didn't read. They talked. Their evenings, whatever they did, were the highlight in his painful, frustrating days.

Even if they never crossed the line. Never spoke about anything else than work, alchemy, or the news. Never touched more than was absolutely necessary.

That was already so much more than they'd allowed themselves prior.

And now…

Just, don’t hope too much for this, Mustang.

Don't.

He knew it wouldn't be as easy as this first kiss.

And he was right.

When they stepped inside his flat, Roy took his coat and shoes off — but he could hear that she didn’t. He heard the door close, and nothing else.
He turned back towards her.
“You’re not staying.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
“I could try to order you,” he said, pulling a half-hearted smirk.
“You said it yourself. You’re a civilian now.”
“Right, thanks for reminding me.” He frowned, then smiled, and walked the small step that separated them. The entrance of his flat wasn't exactly a big room. He found her hips easily, and she allowed his hand to settle there. “Thanks for reminding me.”
He hid his face against her shoulder, and was happy to feel one of her hands on his back, the other sliding into his hair. There was nothing of her hungry touch of earlier though.

They stood this way for a while.

Roy tried to be just content in their hug, in her gentle hand in his hair, in her scent that surrounded him. But he couldn’t push off from his mind that she was going to leave, leave him alone in this cold and empty flat, with nothing much else to do than sit and wait for his awful routine of alternating orientation lessons and physical therapy for his hands to start again the next day. She’d leave, in just a moment, and he knew he shouldn’t stop her if he wanted her to ever come back again.

“Doesn’t it feel at least a little better? That we can do this, now?” he asked against her neck. Riza pushed gently against his back, tightening the hug.

“If I knew it could give you your sight back, and your position back, so you could carry on, I would never, ever touch you again, s– ”
Roy’s throat tightened again for a short second.
“Riza…”
Then he realized, and he couldn’t help but smile. It seemed all of her sentences would end on a cut “sir” in the future. He tried to focus on that.
“Wouldn’t work. And thus, now you’re absolutely forbidden to ever take your hands off me.”
“Will you ever be serious?”
“Never. Not when I can tell you’re sad.”

Roy pulled his head back up and allowed himself to plant a very chaste kiss on the corner of Riza’s lips — he’d aimed for her cheek, but would not admit it to her.

“I’ll wrap all our files, and I’ll resign.”
“What? No!” Roy immediately stepped back, holding Riza by the arms. “No, you can’t do that.”
“Falman is in Briggs. As of last week, since you broke the news to them, Havoc has already announced that he was not coming back to the army. Breda lurks in the office like a ghost that leaves bretzel crumbs everywhere and is considering following him. Fuery is crying behind his radio every time I look up.”

Stern voice, cold report. Facts. Hawkeye was always only about facts.

Roy’s mouth opened, without any sound coming out of it. He hadn’t visited them in long, with all the rehab work he’d been doing, and had only met them from time to time. It was Riza who took care of his appointments, of driving him here and there, of making sure he fed himself properly. Riza took care of him, as she’d always done. It had stirred ugly feelings and pulled vicious comments from his mouth — and she didn't deserve them. He had tried not to question her help. Decided not to. She'd just been doing her job.

If she quit because of him…

Somehow, the thought of his team giving up made him irrationally angry.

“Holy sh*t! Get a grip, y’all. I’m not f*cking dead!”
“But the team is, sir.”
Riza obviously didn’t even register her own slip.
“The team is not–”
“We’re going to be reassigned. Do you really see someone like Havoc being a lieutenant to another colonel?”
“Havoc is a great soldier, and–”
“His every action flirts with insubordination– you keep telling him that.”
Roy let go of Riza’s arms.
“True, but–”
“Breda will only partake in spying and scheming for the army if it’s to serve the goal of upturning the military and giving power back to the parliament. You recruited him especially because of this.”
Roy nodded, scowling.
“And before you tell me you trust Grumman, Breda told me he trusted only you– not Grumman, not any other person. You.”
“It’s–”
“The team is done. When you signed that paper, you killed it for good.”
“Don’t, Hawkeye. Don’t.”

Did she think he had a choice? Roy let go of her arms and balled his fists, breathing hard, scowling some more. Pain crept up his wrists, all the way to his elbows. Hawkeye was silent. After a short while, Roy closed his eyes and sighed, opening his hands, bowing his head.

The words escaped his lips against his will.

“Grumman told me.”
Hawkeye stayed silent. He pictured her looking at him with this intense stare she had.
“He told me you went to see him several times to ask him to keep me in the army. He told me you pleaded for him to do so.”
“I did,” she just replied surly.
“Why? And why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“You know why.”
“I'll find a way to set the plan in motion again. I don’t need to be Fuhrer, or to be behind it for it to happen. It was just the easiest way. Grumman–”
“Grumman is an old man, and does not especially care about Ishval.”
“And I am a blind man. You think I’ll last a day as Fuhrer?”
“I would be there to–”
“They won’t even keep me as a Colonel or a Brigadier General, and all I’ve ever seen people of this rank do is push papers all day. I’m finished as an army official, and that you’d be there to help or protect me is irrelevant.” Roy’s voice got softer, and he smiled. “Even if you always do one hell of a job. But that doesn’t mean everything is over. We discussed it.”

He held out a hand. A truce.

They had discussed it all. Vaguely. Dancing around the idea, even when they'd known this was inevitable. Prodding at it, just as they'd done to their own skin once they first got rid of the bandages, on his hands for him, her neck for her.

They would heal, but the process had just begun. They had to be gentle.

Maybe they'd been too shy. They'd just talked about Ishval restoration as if it was something that would happen in a decade and not immediately once the country found a relative balance again. Of how they would like to help. In theory.

Riza took his hand. Hers were always so cold… Roy didn't remember them this cold. He worried about it, about her health — if she was anything like him, she was in worse shape than she ever let it slip. But once again, they very rarely touched before all this happened. Maybe she'd always had cold hands.

“We need someone in the army, to keep an eye on all this. To have easier access to everything. To carry out the kind of stuff Grumman would only ask of someone who knew the plan. Someone close. Someone I trust more than myself. And there’s only one person that fits this. Especially if the team is no more. We need you to stay in the army, Riza. I need you. Part of the goal is Amestris. This will be in Grumman's hands, now. But the other part is Ishval. I think I could still be useful to them, but we need to be careful and to monitor how the rest of the army — not Grumman, not our allies — feels about all this.”

She pressed on his fingers, lightly this time. She seemed to mull it over for a while.

“Alright. I’ll stay.”
Roy smirked.
“Do you mean in the army, or do you mean here and now?”
“I mean in the army, Roy.”
“Eh,” he winked, hoping the effect wasn’t too lost. “Doesn’t cost anything to try.” He closed the distance between them again. “Can I get a goodbye kiss, then? Or a hug?”

He was expecting her to say yes, or more probably no, not for her to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. He closed his eyes, and his arms around her, reveling in the feeling of her body against his.

Her voice came up, muffled by his own clothes.
“What are you going to do, now?”
He caressed her back.
“I”ll still need you to help me finish the rehab courses. I’ll need to get better at many things before I find a way to get to Ishval and help there. Or. From near. I don’t really want to show my face around.”
"You're planning to leave?"
Riza stilled in his arms, tense again.
"Not in the near future. Maybe not for long. I still need to figure out all that. The logistics are going to be awful to plan, now," he winced.
"You can't leave alone. You can't do that. You're–"
"Hey, one step at a time. I said it needs figuring out. I won't keep you out of it, if that's your fear."
"But how do you expect me to follow if you want to keep me in the army?"

Panic. It was panic in her voice, in her hands pulling at his suit jacket. If he was more prone to lose his balance, now, she was more prone to this. The Promised Day aftermath wasn't all visible scars. He'd had to calm her down a number of times since they exited the hospital.

His side of the deal. They helped each other. He brushed her hair, pressed her against him, held her tight.

"We'll figure it out. It could take years. It will, probably. I don't know, yet. We'll figure it out. You think I'd let go of you just now, when I finally can hold you?"
It seemed to calm her. Her breath slowly eased, and became regular again. Soon her factual tone was back.
"For now, I won’t be able to drive you everywhere like I did when I was appointed to you.”
“I know," Roy shrugged. "I’ll just walk.”
“Sir. You can’t just walk anywhere!”

Roy scowled, his already weakened pride wounded by the fact that Riza, out of anyone, would say something like this, after all the work he was putting to pull himself forward.
“Uh, yes I can? You’ve seen the progress I made, I mean, I haven't tried for real yet, but–”
“It’s not only about you,” and Roy could almost, almost hear the “you idiot” there. Oddly enough, it soothed him. “Even if I won't forget you fell down on the street just last week. You’re an alchemist. You’re an ex-Colonel. You will be an ex-General as soon as the announcement is published. You're the hero of Ishval. You still… mean something. You’re still a valuable bargain chip for whoever would want to ask something of the state. And you can’t defend yourself. You can’t just wander around without any–"
"You worry too much, Riza."
"And you don't worry enough."
Roy shook his head, amused. Maybe she was right.

It dawned on him at once.
“I have an idea, though.”
“What idea?”
Riza’s tone turned suspicious. She stepped away from their embrace, leaving her hands on his shoulders, and he could have sworn she was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Like she always did when she took that voice.
“You won’t be free during the day...”
“No, I won’t.”
“Well, I know some people who are.”
“I don’t–”
“Chris. The girls. And they're inconspicuous enough, too."

Riza took some time to answer.

"That's… actually a pretty good idea."
"Of course it is!"
"They know how to handle weapons. I could lend them a gun or two, just in case."
Roy frowned. He had never seen his sisters get close to a weapon and would have it stay at that.
"What do you mean they can–"
"I trained them. They asked me, what, years ago."
Roy was baffled.
"You did? And you didn't tell me?"
"It had nothing to do with you. It was to protect themselves."
"Bite me. You've been conspiring with my sisters behind my back."
"You're not the center of the world, Roy Mustang."

"Say it again."

"What? You're not–"
"You know what."
"Roy."
He smiled, the warm feeling in his heart radiating in his whole body. He would never get tired of hearing his name in her mouth.

"Are you reassured if I tell you I'll call Chris right away to set it all and see who's free when you start your new assignment?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Now you better run away before I decide that I don't want to let you go."
Riza didn't answer anything. She took his hand and squeezed it — gently — and kissed him. A tender kiss, just intent enough, that promised more. Roy closed his eyes. He'd keep the memory of this kiss.
"See you tomorrow. Roy."
"See you tomorrow, Riza."

Roy closed the door behind Riza, straining his ear to follow her footsteps along the corridor, until he couldn’t hear anything anymore. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door.

Get a grip, Mustang.

He took a deep breath. He was going to turn around, undress, shower, and go to bed. That wasn’t too hard, was it? One foot before the other. Keep your mind set on what you're doing, focus, and you'll be fine. Count your steps, remember the layout of the flat, don't forget where you put the towels, the soap, where your clothes are, where you fold and put away the dirty ones. You've already done that alone enough to know it'll be okay. Don’t think further ahead than the next action. Don't think. Don’t–

He was finished.

He’d known for weeks. This kind of announcement didn’t come out of nowhere. And before he’d known, he was expecting it.

Truth’s toll wasn’t a death sentence, but it was severely close. Everything. Everything he’d fought for. He’d lost everything.

“The team is done. When you signed that paper, you killed it for good.”

Another long, shaky breath. He was standing on the very edge of the deepest, darkest abyss he’d come close to in years. Blind, and ready to lose his balance at the slightest breeze.

Worse than killing children, Roy?

Is it worse?

But we won’t get trialed. We won’t pay. Neither Grumman nor Armstrong will selflessly give enough power back to the parliament for that.

Could be worse. They could decide not to execute a blind man, and you’d be left to witness Riza’s death.

And you'd deserve it. Because she'd be there because of you. It's your fault. Without you, she wouldn't have been through all this. You wouldn't see it, but you would feel–

No, no, please–

He pressed his hand to his mouth to stifle the first sob, feeling the wet tears that had already settled on his cheeks. He kept his other hand on the door, pressed on it with all his strength, his weight on the mangled flesh causing pain to surge all the way up his wrist, each badly muffled hiccup pushing more against it, his straining breath pulling at the now older wound in his side.

Oddly, it helped.

The pain cleared his mind. Told him he was there. He was alive. He’d fought for this world, for the Elrics, for his life and Riza’s and they all came out of it. Was what he’d told her just then all a lie? Hell, no. He was going to keep fighting. He had to.

What else could he do, anyway?

He had to. Now, Ishval was his sole goal. He'd cling to it. And before that…

She needed it. She needed him. She would have hope, as long as she’d have hope in him. He had to carry on.

She kissed you. She’s coming back.

He tried to calm down his hiccuping breath, trying not to wail against the hand on his mouth. Stifled a dark, hollow laugh when he thought he didn’t need to try to stop crying, because that wouldn’t help sh*t with how he could see.

Think about her. Her lips. Her smell. Her touch.

There’s a future, there. Maybe not a vision. Surely short termed and nothing like a happy ever after. But a future, surely.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

"I don't get it… it should have worked… we should try again–"

Marcoh won't leave. He can't admit defeat. Roy wants him out of the room. Now. If he doesn't get out he might attack him. Throw himself forward, grab whatever body part ends up under his hands — he isn’t far, Roy can hear him — and bite him, strangle him. Injured hands be damned. He can deal with pain.

But he only replies: "No."

"I must have done something wrong. I just healed your lieutenant, and it worked. He's perfectly fine. There must be–"
"No."

Roy's hand curls around Hawkeye's, his Hawkeye. She's there and she's safe. That's the only thing keeping him sane right now. He forces the words one by one out of his mouth. "We're not trying again. It won't work."
"But how– why–"
"It is what it is. Now please, doctor Marcoh. I think I need… some time. Alone."
The cold hand starts leaving his.
"Not you, lieutenant. Please. Stay."

She stays.

“You really are letting yourself go, Roy.”
“What? No, I’m not!”
The girls had crowded him as soon as Chris had taken Roy into the bar. He couldn’t count how many hands were currently smoothing his lapels, adjusting his vest, tugging at his tie. There were too many of them, and he had trouble figuring out who was who.

“Gray tie? Who wears gray nowadays?”

They reminded him of when he was a little boy. Which was, he’d have to recognize that, probably not what most men would have felt in his place.
It was a little overwhelming, and not in a good way.

All their hands, their strong perfumes, all different and mingling — they were all talking at the same time. It made him feel dizzy. He couldn't focus on one of them, so he focused on nothing.

It had taken a week for Roy's idea to be set in motion. Chris had picked him up a little earlier, and they'd stopped at the bar. Vanessa would take him to the rehab center. It was unsettling, and not the first time nor the last Roy felt a bitter taste at the back of his throat, for depending on them all, for being so slow at learning. For everything.

Today, Riza had her first day under Colonel Smith.

Riza, his ever faithful Lieutenant — regardless of his now open feelings for her — being transferred under someone else’s command stirred things in his mind that he’d rather have buried.

Roy hadn't told her. He might be blind, now, but he wasn’t deaf, nor stupid. She had avoided him as much as she could since she got her assignment last Monday, and when she couldn’t, she was tense, fidgety, and her words were scarce.

He’d have thought that it was his fault; that Riza was against the very idea of trying to start a relationship. That she didn’t really want it. After all, they didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve happiness, nor joy, nor love, as fleeting as it could be — and it would be.

On the other hand… what would it change? They had, in practice, been living together for the last two months. Worked as a tandem for nearly a decade. What would it change if they were to touch a little more, or kiss, or–

But, that last week, when Riza had to be there for him, she kept coming to him. She was trying to tell him it wasn’t on him. It wasn’t his fault. She held his hand — that was how he knew she was that tense — and even hugged him every night before leaving. Something she absolutely had never done before. Roy had trouble keeping his countenance the first couple of times.

Just yesterday, the hug had lasted a tad longer…

“Gray tie and black vest. Roy boy. My dear. No.”
“Let him breathe, girls!” Chris growled from somewhere behind him — and probably behind the counter. The girls burst into giggles, but stepped away from the barstool he sat on, effectively giving him some welcomed space. “You’d think you haven’t seen him in years. He was here last week.”
“With Elizabeth! How is she?”
“She’s fine.” Roy waved the subject of Riza away. He didn’t want to talk about her with his sisters or Chris. Not yet. They'd visited to arrange the way the girls would take him to and from rehab, and for Riza to show them how to guide him properly, as she'd been taught herself. That was it. No revelation. No change in their behaviour.

Nothing more had happened. Roy would have started to feel nothing would, if not for Riza’s lingering touches. He longed for more, to taste her lips again, to feel her body against his again, he burnt for it, like one of those hidden, low fires that could consume wood and bodies over days without flinching. Slowly, slowly melting everything inside without being visible on the surface, only until everything under it had been reduced to scalding ashes.

“What’s wrong with a gray tie and a black vest?”
“That’s so last year.”
“You mean last decade.”
“You need to keep up. I’d say you need to be extra fancy now. Make head turns, since you can’t really look for beautiful women yourself. Make them girls come to you instead of the other way around.”
“Vanessa." The hand smoothing his hair was unmistakable, she always did this. Roy bowed his head for her to take it off, thinking he'd rather have another hand there. "They already do this, you know?” He smirked. “And you’re taking me to rehab so I can practice reading Braille. I got a teacher, not a date.”
“Who knows!”
“We’re all blind there, Vanessa.”
“Not a good excuse to look sloppy, Roy boy,” Vanessa had the last word, and poked him on the nose.

“You do look a little off.” Chris’ concern was making her words heavy. Roy tried his most charming smile to veer her off, turning towards where she was talking from, to no avail.
“Oh, do I?”
“Do you get enough sleep? Those circles under your eyes get darker every time I see you.”

Roy shrugged.

He slept when he should be doing his physical therapy. He slept on his Braille books when he was supposed to practice. He slept in the car when Hawkeye picked him up. He slept when she read him the papers in the evenings — this brief thought warmed him: maybe now those evenings would be yet longer, maybe she would stay — she had not, for now.

He slept at night too, sometimes.

He had pills, but they left him feeling muddy and off all day — worse than the lack of sleep did. And he had things to do.

But when he slept at night, there were nightmares. As usual.

However, now, Ishval had taken the back seat to Promised Day. Bradley, Pride, Envy. Hatred burning his innards. Blades piercing his palms, dark tendrils pulling at his arms, Hawkeye ready to shoot him as he was on the edge of losing himself. Her eyes above her gun. Truth. Being helpless, only able to watch her — his Hawkeye, his Riza — die, her blood slowly pooling around her, staining her skin, her hair, his hands, until everything went dark.

He could see all of that very well and in abounding details in his dreams, thank you very much.

No, he didn't get enough sleep. He dreaded sleep. He would even admit he kind of missed the way he slept on his first days of rehab, when everything was hard and disorienting and awful and frustrating. Back then, he collapsed on his bed every night, his brain and his body equally exhausted from having to work in ways that were unnatural for him, and he would be swallowed into oblivion until Hawkeye shook him up in the morning.

It was surprising how fast he'd found a new strength. He couldn't say he got used to it, but he'd learnt quickly, at least. He was less disoriented, more confident as days went by, and it fueled him, fueled his hope, fueled his resolve, pulled him further forward. The other side of the coin was that he wasn't as exhausted as he used to be, and sleep was awful.

"Roy boy?"
"Mh. I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Roy welcomed the fact that the girls were still debating his fashion choices on the side.
He picked up on one of them sighing:
“At least he’s not wearing the brown suit."
Roy thought it could be Madeline, but he wasn’t sure. Nevermind. He jumped on the change of conversation.
“What’s wrong with my brown suit?”
“Makes you look short.”
“Shorter.”
“Yeah, and stocky.”
“Great. Apparently I came here to be absolutely wrecked, thanks, girls.”
"They want to make sure you look impressive," Chris said, her voice warmer, as she slid a glass of something cold in his hand. "As a General should."
"Ah, so it's out, then," Roy sniffed his glass — orange juice. He'd have liked something a little stronger. But Chris wasn't the kind to serve him — and just him — anything else before lunch.
"Yeah."
"Doesn't change sh*t, now. It's for the money."
"Sure it is."

Roy registered that the girls had gone silent.

"Girls? Madeline? Vanessa?"
"Yeah, Roy boy?"
"Thought you disappeared for a while."
"No, we're here."
"Something wrong?"
Silence. Roy drank his glass with a frown.
"What are you gonna do, now?"

Roy sighed. That question again. He wished he had a clear answer, something to tell them, and especially Chris, that would stop them from worrying — that tone she had. The one she had when he was preparing dangerous sh*t. But there was nothing like that ahead… yet.

Judging by how Hawkeye had reacted to his thoughts of leaving for Ishval, he'd rather keep his ideas for himself.

"Well, right now, Vanessa, we're going to walk to the rehab facility and you're going to keep roasting my looks — and I hope the looks of everyone who walks by, out loud, so I can be in on the fun."
"Sounds good."
“Let’s go, then, lead the way.”

No. No. No no no no.
He ought to be healed.
He ought to open his eyes, glance and smirk at her, and jump down from that table Marcoh had him sit on, ready to go back to his usual shenanigans.

Riza feels like she's going to faint. A common feeling since she woke up with a slash in her neck and an incredibly low quantity of blood left in her veins. But it's not physical this time.

The colonel’s eyes search the room, left and right, their movements growing more frantic as the seconds pass.

This is not how it should happen. This is not what should happen.

Marcoh says something, the colonel replies, but she doesn't get anything they say. She’s in pain. It’s all she can do not to double over. She tries to keep her breathing steady.

She can only see that the colonel has finally closed his eyes. That there's a muscle spasming in his jaw. That he's tearing at the hospital pajamas on his thighs, his badly mangled hands moving in brief jerks, shaking.

She doesn't know what to do. But she knows she can't just stand there and watch.

She reaches past Marcoh, and takes the colonel’s hand in hers.

The tearing stops.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye. The Hawk's Eye."
"Colonel."

That word had a bitter taste in her mouth, now.

Better get used to it, though.

Riza stood at attention in front of Colonel Smith's desk. Her new superior.

Colonel Smith was old, gray, mild mannered, and his office was spotless. A couple of family pictures adorned his desk, but it was nothing like the overly cozy atmosphere in Grumman's office — Grumman had always been trying to make his office a home. Smith seemed more business-like.

Roy — Mustang, keep thinking of him this way, you don't want to slip — kept a healthy level of mess and piles of paperwork in every corner.

Riza. Stop.

"I would never have dreamed of having such a soldier as you under my command. Fuhrer Grumman spoke of you highly when he told me he was assigning you to my team. I have not managed to reach Mustang, but I am certain he would, too. You served under him for so long."

Smith seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Seven years, sir."

Longer. We've known each other for longer still.

"You've been his shadow for most of your military career, I see."

Riza stood motionless.

"Well, it will probably be a little unsettling at first, but we'll try to make your transition easy. You’re due for a promotion soon, this goes without saying, but I asked a favour from above considering the amount of work that has suddenly landed on us all, here. It seems you won’t be staying with us long, only time for the Fürher’s office to find you a more suitabl place. In the meantime, your efficiency will be of great use.”
He paused, then had a little laugh.
“Judging from your files, you seem not to have taken too much from your previous superior, am I right?"
Riza had been waiting for him to take a jab at Roy, they all always did — this was a relatively mild one. Riza thought about his reaction to it when she would inevitably tell him. He'd be disappointed.

She froze when Smith continued.
"That's probably why Fuhrer Bradley made you his aide. It's sad that it didn't last longer, didn't it?"
Riza replied with only a second of delay. She hoped it wouldn't be noticed.
"I go where I'm sent, sir."
"That's a brave little soldier."

Smith brought her to the team's office, Riza following, trying to keep her footing as sure as usual. Who was Smith? Was he a Bradley supporter? Was he a simple soldier who didn't question things? Was he in on the homunculi thing and intent on getting revenge?

Riza was getting paranoid. Grumman would never assign her to someone who could be suspected of such.

Or would he?

Her head was still reeling a little when Smith presented her to the team.
Adjutant Karr. Second lieutenants Leclerc and Orville. First Lieutenant Enfield.
They all saluted properly — even Enfield, who was the same rank as her.
Karr was a young, slender blond boy still covered with traces of acne. Leclerc was the oldest, somewhere in his forties, probably. He was tall and broad, balding, and had drooping eyes. Orville was a long haired, brunette woman in her thirties, with an engaging smile and laughing eyes. And Enfield was a tall, dark haired man, thirty something too, with striking blue eyes, and a closed expression.
A team. Her new team.

Not the one she felt she belonged to.

As much as she had told the col– Roy, that their team was dead, it was only then that the realization hit her.

There would be no more late evenings working under the office neon lights with the smell of Havoc's cigarettes and Breda sharing whatever snacks he had hidden in his desk. No Fuery tinkering with random bits of electronics on duty. No enriching conversations with Falman. No Colonel gazing at them from his desk with this hint of a smile on his face while he was avoiding his paperwork. Or falling asleep on his chair and jumping up denying it whenever someone let something fall too hard on their desk — on purpose. No–

"Coffee, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"
Leclerc was incredibly soft spoken, for someone his size.
"Yes, thank you."
Riza took the mug she was offered — standard office one — and looked around. Just another office, with nothing different from hers.

It didn't smell like cigarettes.

Smith had left, leaving her in the hands of the team. His office was down the corridor, not next to theirs.
"We cleaned Lieutenant Mori's desk for you. She left a couple of months ago, it was full of dust, but now it should be okay. I hope it'll be fine." Leclerc took her to a desk near the window, with plenty of light. A nice location.
"It's perfect, Lieutenant. Thank you. I'll go fetch my things, I've left the box at the reception desk."
"Do you need some help?"
"No, thanks. There's not much to carry."

Riza carried the small cardboard box to her new desk. It indeed didn’t contain much. A small leather case, with a couple of pencils and a small, metal fountain pen. A couple of dating stamps. Spare enveloppes, paperclips and various other office supplies, anything that was in her desk at her previous office and that wasn't containing sensitive information.

The last thing Riza took out from the cardboard box was a coffee cup. It was roughly the same size as the standard issue military cups they all had on their desks, and the same shape, except with slightly more rounded angles, making it look a little fancier, if the word could be used for such an object. Instead of the standard white, though, it was a deep blue, and the rim was bordered by a delicate line of stylized white and yellow flowers.

The cup was a present from the colonel. Roy. It was nothing special; the colonel had forged the habit of getting a small thing for each one of his team members' birthdays, over the years. He’d even thought of doing so for the Elrics, at first, but had decided against it in the end. They wouldn’t have taken it well, he’d thought.

A lighter for Havoc. Cooking books for Breda, with a note on the cover asking him to take them with him the next time they went on a hideout. Expensive transistors for Fuery (one might have thought he was his favourite). Books on silly matters for Falman. That one was a little mean, for he knew Falman was unable not to recite whatever he read about at the slightest push. The colonel was hence ensuring the team to hear funny anecdotes whenever, and it delighted him.

For Riza, he seemed not to know what to settle on. The pen in her case was from him, too. One year, he’d gotten her a scarf. That was the boldest he’d ever been, and they’d both been so awkward afterwards that he didn’t reiterate, and had kept to office supplies from then on.

That cup was his last present. They’d been alone when he’d given it to her, that day she had come to gather her things, after being transferred under Bradley’s command. They knew what they were getting into, but Riza doubted they suspected that would be the last time for real.

The colonel had had an offhand comment on how the floral decor reminded him of jasmine flowers, his eyes twinkling and with the hint of a smile on his lips.

Just like the jasmine that grew wild and covered the southern wall of her childhood home, and which filled the whole estate with its fragrance every spring and early summer.

“That’s a nice cup,” Orville commented with a smile, pulling Riza out of her reverie. “Kinda classy. Sturdy, yet pretty, it fits a military woman. I should find myself one of those, too, I'm tired of the standard stuff. Get a little fantasy in here.”
Riza thumbed the flowery border, feeling the faint lines under her fingertips.
“Thanks. It’s a present from my…”

Your what, Riza?

The colonel was so many things at once. Her boss. Her friend. Her fall. Her anchor. Her guide (oh, he would laugh at that now, the bitter idiot). But he had always been proper, and kept a respectful distance between them — hell knew that distance wasn’t really from hierarchy.

And now what? He’d lost it, and kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. How could she have not, when she’d been dreaming of it, no matter how much she tried to avoid it, to suppress it, for nearly a decade?

He’d always been so proper, until then, that she’d easily have striked it as a one time mishap, the result of a meltdown, the desperate reaching of a man who’d just had to confirm officially that he’d lost everything he’d been fighting for all his life at once.

He was, after all, hysterical. Rarely had Riza seen him cry, or laugh, for that matter, so openly since Ishval, or even before. It was as if his carefully crafted mask, his fake persona had suddenly been blown to pieces. And the first thing he’d done then had been to kiss her.

Hysterical, yes, except he wanted to do it again.

Except once he’d calmed down, retrieved his wits, and even some hope, he had not retreated, and he’d shown he would do it again. And again. And again, should Riza agree to it.

He was so eager, in fact, that she’d almost given in. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t let go of years of pining and restrain all at once like him. She couldn't let him lose sight of his goal, even now. She couldn't allow herself, and him, to go further, to touch each other in any other way with their bloodied hands.

One of them had to stay sane.

Yet…

“Lieutenant Hawkeye?”
Enfield’s deep voice shook her, and she found his unsettling gaze on her. Orville showed her concern with a frown, one step behind the first lieutenant. Riza had drifted away, holding the cup in front of her, for God knew how long.
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I was saying, it’s a present from a colleague. A friend, in fact.”
“Oh.” Orville’s frown smoothed, contrary to Enfield’s. She seemed to get something that he didn’t. “From your team?” She said softly, while Enfield turned away, leaving the two women alone. “I hope the… last events have left them unscathed.”
Riza licked her lips, thinking of a reply. She finally decided to tell the truth.

“No, they haven’t.”

Riza put the cup in a drawer, out of sight, and set to work.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The Colonel has just left, taken by a nurse, and the room suddenly feels at once too small and too big. Empty. Riza feels empty, too. She looks at the bright sunlight on the Colonel’s bed, and thinks that just yesterday he had told her he was happy to feel it on his face.
Her eyes fixed on the bed, her brain full of white noise, she tries not to think about much. About what’s next.

She jumps when the door opens wide immediately after a short salve of knocks.

“Hah! Hi, Lieutenant.” Edward barges in, his right arm — his, not an automail — in a sling, his loose ponytail swinging behind his head.

“Where’s the human matchbox?”
“The Colonel is seeing the surgeon, for his hands.”
“Seeing?”
“Edward.”
“Right, right.” Edward pulls a chair next to her bed, with a noise that would have the Colonel wince and shout, and Riza winces too. “In fact, I’m happy he’s not here. I like our talks.”

Riza smiles, but she remembers the last time they talked together had not been spent talking about much more than awful memories.

“Oh, and what do you want to talk about, Edward?” She strains her voice to ask, while Ed slumps on the chair with a sigh and massages his left thigh.
“How are you, Lieutenant?”
“I’m fine. The Colonel–”
“f*ck the Colonel. I’m asking you how you are doing.”

Riza is tempted to repeat her automatic response — I’m fine — and to add a frown, but she crosses Edward’s gaze. The intense, golden eyes are not laughing, and they’re looking directly into hers like he can scan her soul.

He’s just a teenager, stop that.

He’s a teenager who fought a god, and came out of it with a body part said god had stolen. Don’t underestimate him.

He’s also the only one, aside from the Colonel himself, who has asked about her. Who has deliberately stepped into this room, and looked at her, and asked about her, and not about them, or the future, or how the Colonel was doing — and what he was going to do, now.

Riza’s throat itches, and she looks away.
Back to the sun on the Colonel’s empty bed.
She shrugs.

“I think I’m getting better. Less dizzy.”
“I hope the bastard’s taking good care of you, after the scene he made for you to be in his room. You should have been there. In retrospect, it was pretty funny.”
“He doesn’t have to take care of me.”
“But he should.”

Edward’s tone is harsh. Riza thinks about that moment, some days ago, when the Colonel offered to brush her hair for her — granted he could hold the brush — when she admitted to him she was frustrated with how matted it was. And he did. He came to sit behind her back, and tried to do as gently as he could with his injured hands, while telling her about how his sisters asked him to do the same when he was a kid, and how he’d offer to braid her hair for it to stay in place if only he could move his fingers properly. When she’d felt dizzy, he’d pushed her to lay against him, and they’d stayed that way for a short while. They had not talked about it then, not remarked anything, and they still had yet to.

Laying against his chest, his arms around her, his slow breath on her neck, it had felt so right, and yet so utterly wrong.

“Lieutenant?”
“Ah. Yes, Edward. He does.”

Edward must have seen something on her face, because he has a smile that she has rarely seen on him, and doesn’t really know how to interpret.
“Good. Because, blind or not, I’ll be kicking his ass if he annoys you too much, you know. Just call me. I’ll do it for you. He deserves a good kicking, anyway.”

Riza laughs, and Edward smiles brighter.
He starts telling her about Al and his progress

"Riza! Hey, Riza!"

Rebecca had spotted her from the other side of the street and was running towards her.

The new team had pushed her to go early. Apparently she looked tired, and they wouldn't give her anything to do at five in the evening. At least they were nice people.

Hayate shuffled happily as Rebecca crouched to pet his head.
"Hello cutie! And hello you," Rebecca got up, and kissed Riza's cheek. "It's been a while. How are you?"
"I'm okay. Lots of changes, lately."
"Tell me about it! You've been transferred under Smith, I heard!"
There was an unmistakable glint in Rebecca's eye, and Riza thought she knew exactly what she was going to say. She felt tired in advance.
"Yeah, I just started earlier this week, so I'm learning…"
"And meeting the team…"
"Yeah, they're nice."
"Look, there's a little cafe just ‘round the corner. Why don't we sit there and you tell me everything?"
"I… I have to pick the Col–"

Colonel. General. Mr Mustang.

Roy.

Get a grip, Riza.

"I have to pick up Mustang from the rehab facility at seven."
"Him!" Rebecca growled. "You're not appointed to him anymore, Riza!"
"He needs the help."
"All I see is him taking advantage of you being too nice, as he always has. He should hire a nurse and try to woo her, just like he does to every girl he meets."
"He doesn't need a nurse. He's not sick. He just needs help getting around and doing things, time for him to learn and adjust."
"Pah!" Rebecca took Riza's arm and pulled her in the direction of the cafe. "You still have time before seven. Come, sit down."

Riza relented. It had indeed been a while, and hearing Rebecca's banter would bring a little layer of normalcy to what her life had been lately. Riza was a creature of habits, routine soothed her, and everything had been turned upside down since the Promised Day. She wouldn't mind Rebecca trying to push her in the arms of any guy around if it meant she was also drowning her in babbling, allowing Riza to just forget about her own life for an hour. She wouldn’t have time to go back home to drop Hayate and take the car — Mustang’s car — but she didn’t think he would mind walking. Even walking together was something they avoided most of the time. Now they could do it.
And if he minded, he would just complain the whole way. Riza was used to it.

“So!” Rebecca had ordered cappuccinos for the both of them and a bowl of water for Hayate, while Riza had found a nice little table in a corner. The cafe was calm and full of light, decorated in pastels and with dried flowers, making it look more like a tea house. Riza felt slightly out of place in her uniform and combat boots, but the small crowd at the tables was diverse enough for her to blend in.

Rebecca sat down opposite her with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’m so happy to see you, but you look tired. I hope the new team will treat you well.”
“They’re nice.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Well,” Riza could play this game too. She knew exactly who Rebecca wanted her to talk about. “Smith sounds like a just and proper boss.”
She wasn't sure yet of his posture towards Grumman, Bradley, and everything, though.
“Not like some.”
Riza waved Rebecca’s dig away.
“Karr is a kid. Hasn’t talked to me. Orville looks very friendly. Leclerc is friendly, too, he’s the one who helped me set up. He seems like a soft guy.”
“Riza. How is Enfield?”
“Tall.”
“Riza, have you seen his eyes!”
“They’re blue.”
“I hate you.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He’s perfect! Tall. Dark. Handsome. Have you seen his jaw? With a jaw like that…”
“Hm?”
“You’re so f*cking lucky. Why can’t I be in your place?”
“Do you want me to talk to him? About you? He hasn’t really talked to me yet, but I’m sure I can find a way–”
“No, you numbskull! You! You should talk to him! Finally, there’s a man who–”
“Have you forgotten the frat laws, Rebecca?”
“To hell with the frat laws, you’re the same rank. That would work. Smith is lenient enough to turn a blind eye to it until it gets official. Then either of you can be transferred again somewhere.”
“Wow.” Riza drank from her coffee. “You thought it through.”
“Of course I did. Once I find the right man I will NOT let these dumb frat laws get in the way. Do you know–” Rebecca leaned towards Riza, narrowing her eyes in an almost comical way. “I did my research, just in case, especially now with how unstable the country is — that the army makes it so that if you get married, you can ask to be transferred where your spouse works? Even if he’s not military, depending on if the job is an important one or not — of course they won’t transfer you if he’s like, say, a butcher, but someone with a little more official status would work.”
Riza, eyes fixed on the white foam on her drink, asked absentmindedly:
“You’re planning to marry a mayor or something?”
“That’d be nice. Think of all the occasions to wear nice dresses and all — you’re trying to derail me, aren’t you?”
“Never.”
“Why don’t you try?” Rebecca poked her hand. “I’m sure Smith will leave you way more free time than that arse. Mustang was always asking you all to work after hours. A nice change. And don’t tell me Enfield is not handsome. You can’t say that.”

Riza decided to humor Rebecca. Enfield was not a model, but there was a lot of charm in his features. He was very tall and broad shouldered. His eyes were indeed striking, a pale, piercing blue. He had really short, jet black hair, a slightly hooked nose, and, yes, a very nice, strong jaw. He looked every bit like the idea of the perfect Amestrian soldier they were all fed since childhood, up to the small, thin and almost invisible scar that cut his cheek and his lip at the corner. Riza wasn’t called the Hawk’s Eye for nothing — she had immediately wondered if it was a battle scar. Could be.

Enfield was, indeed, handsome.

But Riza couldn’t help comparing him to a smaller, more slender form, with unruly hair that was just as black, and lips that curled into a smirk when she said the right thing — and even when she didn’t — that were not as full as Enfield’s were, but that were, now she knew, very soft.

Very soft.

“Oh, Riza, you’re blushing! Enfield did catch your eye after all! Hah, I knew it!”
“No, it’s–” What to do? She really didn’t want Rebecca going around saying she had a crush on her co-worker, just now, when she had just started. Better to be honest.

Only…

Could she really say it? At least Rebecca would leave her alone. But she’d want to know who — but she would, eventually, right? They couldn’t hide… especially if…

Riza. Coward.

“I’m…” She could feel her cheeks getting hot. She must be crimson. She hated herself for that. “I’m actually… seeing. Someone. I think.”

Not that they had talked about it. Roy had been very tactful, clearly trying not to push her, yet showing her he was… he wanted something. It was… weird, and exciting and scary and exhilarating. She'd tried to show him she did want it, too. Just didn't know how.

Would it have been easier if they could still communicate with a single glance?

“WHAT?” Rebecca almost let her cup fall on her knees. She hastily put it down on the table and leaned again towards Riza, half curious and half furious. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I said I… it’s complicated.”
“Oh, of course it is. Damn, Riza, when is something uncomplicated for you on this matter?”
Riza shrugged.
“So. Who is it? Is he more handsome than Enfield, then? Oh my, that both means Enfield is free and that I could have found better, now I’m jealous.”
“I don’t… think he’s your type.”
Careful, Riza, careful. She hid behind her coffee cup, trying to think. But Rebecca would not let her.
“Is he in the military? I don’t see you with a civilian, I must say.”
“He’s… He…”
“Gosh, Riza. You really must be smitten,” Rebecca laughed. “I’ve never seen you as red, and stuttering like that. I can’t wait to meet the guy. How come you’re not with him right now?”
“I –” Riza looked at her watch. “I should go, actually. I’ll pay for the next coffee we share. Mustang’s gonna be waiting for me and I don’t want him to–”
“To hell with Mustang! And what does the new guy think about you taking care of him? I’d be incredibly jealous if my boyfriend was always out with someone else than me.”
“Rebecca.” Riza managed to calm down. She had something to do, and she was late. Her mission was to fetch Roy, and it was the most important, there. It helped her clear her mind. She stood up, put her jacket back on, and Hayate jumped onto his feet, ready to go. “He’s blind.”
“Yeah, I guess it somehow makes it less threatening, for another guy.”

Riza shook her head, thinking about Roy's potential reaction to this sentence. She was ready to leave.

“Threatening or not, he needs me. Thanks for the coffee, Rebecca. See you later.”
“Later– wait!” Rebecca had caught Riza’s sleeve as she walked by. “You didn’t even tell me his name! I’m not letting you go until you do. Mustang can eat sh*t, I don’t care. If you want to do your duty to him or whatever you call it, you have to tell me his name first, or you’re not leaving this place.”
Riza bit her lip, and looked Rebecca right in the eye.
After all, …
She was allowed, now.
Why lie? Why hide it?
Riza closed her eyes and sighed.
“You know him, Rebecca.”
Riza detached Rebecca’s fingers from her sleeve, one by one.
“I do? Who is it, dammit?”
“It’s Roy. Roy Mustang. Who else?”
Riza took advantage of the predictable gasp from Rebecca’s and her shock to flee the little cafe, with Hayate at her heels.
"WAIT! RIZA YOU CAN'T DROP THIS ON ME AND JUST LEAVE–"
Riza let the door shut behind her and started at a brisk pace, hurrying Hayate.

She was late.

Riza's stomach turned.

She'd reached the hospital that hosted the rehab center quickly. Dusk was falling.

Roy wasn't there. There was no one at their usual meeting point.

Cursing herself and Rebecca under her breath, she looked around frantically. The street was deserted. There was no one around, no one walking anywhere, and night was falling. Not that this part of the city was dangerous, but Roy had been coming and going from there like clockwork for two months now, and someone watching him ought to have noticed.

What if they — someone, whoever — snatched him from the street while he’d been waiting? She was the one who had lectured him about not going out alone, and he’d complied by asking his sisters — wait, his sisters. Maybe they had picked him up?

They had no car.

They would have walked.

But it was past seven now, and the bar was open at this hour. Which was exactly why it was her, Riza, who was supposed to pick Roy up in the evening.

Not the sisters, then.

Riza bit her lip, frowning. Her fingers were itching, itching for something to do instead of standing there thinking, itching for the simple, sleek metal of a weapon — something to ground her, to keep her mind from picturing Roy being kidnapped by whoever would find him useful — Drachma, Ishvalans, anti-Ishvalan terrorists, the list was long when you were a public figure that also doubled as a weapon of mass destruction.

The pale light of dusk was extending shadows all around, that got darker as time passed. Riza’s breathing became labored.

Stop. Stop and think.

Hayate was pulling on his leash, whining. She’d been frozen, standing there — that wouldn’t help anything. Hayate wouldn’t stand in place — he always needed to–

Oh.

What if Mustang simply got bored and left?

That was the simplest, most obvious answer. He’d told her he could do it and she had not given it any thought, but she ought to believe him. He’d been practicing it for two months, after all.

Maybe he even was eager to do so.

Maybe he didn’t wait that long for her.

Maybe he didn’t wait at all, that idiot, and she’d not crossed his path because she was coming from the cafe and his flat was opposite from there. He'd always been reckless. He never thought about himself. He probably decided he needed to get back on his feet as quick as he could, and that learning to go back home by himself was a first step he could take.

Yes, yes, that sounded like Roy alright.

Half scared still — she still had to keep that eventuality in mind, that he had waited and someone had caught him — half furious — because she had to face it, he was an idiot — Riza started to jog in the direction of Mustang’s flat.

She heard it before she turned a corner — a rhythmic tap. Shoulders tense — it could be anything else than his cane tapping the ground in front of him – she slowed down and walked past the wall.

She sighed and let her shoulders sag.

Of course he had not waited. It was Roy Mustang.

He was pacing at a street corner, back and forth, a scowl on his face, wind playing in his hair and his suit jacket.

Riza's insides churned when she saw him stop, curse loudly, then press the fingertips of his free hand against his eyes.

He was lost. He didn't know where to turn.

That idiot had presumed his capacities. He'd only been training with the cane for a short time, and he was here trying to get home through the labyrinth of old Central streets by himself.

She felt for him, the incommensurable frustration he must be dealing with.

But she was still angry, the last remnants of her fear turning to irritation. For a split second, she pondered making him taste a little of his own medicine; frightening him, so he would think twice before doing his little disappearing act again. But it’d be awfully mean.

Hayate decided for her. He barked, his tail wagging.

Mustang shifted a little to the right, probably knowing he was in the middle of the sidewalk. He wouldn’t recognize Hayate’s bark just like that.

“Colonel!”

Out of all the names — and insults — that were swirling in her mind, that’s the only one that could get out of her mouth.

Mustang froze, and tilted his head a little backwards. Riza joined him.

"Are you. An idiot?"
She couldn't help it. She couldn't. She hated how her voice trembled when she said — yelled — this. "Sir?"
Mustang — Roy, damn it, Riza! — startled, and had a step in the opposite direction from her, his eyes wide open, colour drained from his face.
Then he winced.
"Hawkeye?"

"Yes, it's me, and you were supposed to wait for me at the damn hospital!"
"Yeah, I…" His right hand shot for his hair. "I got bored. Figured I'd meet you halfway. I don't practice enough, I fell earlier again–"
"What did we discuss! Sir, you can't just walk alone. At night!"
"How would I know that? And I can," he pouted, and a slight pink colour crept up his neck. "In fact, I wanted to… show you I…" He sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Alright. I got lost. But I'm sure with a little more training–"
"I know you will!" Riza kept yelling. She couldn't help it. She realized she'd been more scared than she'd thought. Realized she was, in fact, terrified. Terrified by the possibility of losing him. And that made her furious. He made her furious. "That's not the point!"
"I know, I know," Roy talked louder. It was escalating. "But if I can't try for once, try and be proud of myself for at least trying, who will–"
"I am! I am proud of you, you don't need to prove anything to me, I know you work hard, I've seen you fall asleep in the car in less than five minutes, I've seen you cutting your cheek when shaving, and see you don't do it anymore, I've seen all the progress and how fast you're getting better and better, I don't know how you do it, where you find this strength, but that! Is not! The point!"
Riza stopped, breathing hard. Roy's expression went through different stages to finally set into an embarrassed frown. His whole neck was red, and it was threatening to reach his face.

Riza blinked tears away, and she felt awful for being relieved he couldn't see that. She had to breathe deeper. To calm down.
"I'm sorry." Roy held a hand out, his voice obviously consciously made deeper. "But I guess I punished myself enough. I didn't think–"
"No, you didn't," Riza replied, trying to calm down, too. Her eyes kept darting around, checking that the street stayed deserted. They might be allowed to date, but arguing in public wasn't really something she'd looked forward to. "You never do." She took his hand, and was only half surprised when he pulled hard on her arm to bring her against him.
So hard in fact, that Hayate got stuck between their legs, and let out a little yelp when she stepped on his paw.
"Oh no, sorry, Hayate." Riza shifted, and Hayate went to lean against Roy's leg only.
"Oh, so that was Black Hayate."
"Yes."
"Sorry, Hayate."
"He's alright."
"But you're not."
"Don't."
"I'm sorry. You are right. It's dangerous. See, if you hadn't been here–"
"You're an idiot."
"I'm an idiot."
They were face to face now, and so close. Roy frowned. But the corners of his mouth twitched.
"You're not getting a kiss."
"Oh, come on! I'm sad and lost and I said it! I'm an idiot! I admit it. It's true. Here you go."
Riza stepped away from him, only keeping his hand in hers.
"Let's walk. It's late."

They walked in silence. Riza, for once, had not offered her arm to him. Not out of her anger, but to see if he would ask for it, as he tended to. He didn’t. However, she couldn’t tell if on his side, their little row had a play in it or not. Their silence wasn’t the comfortable silence they tended to fall into. She kept her eyes on him, just in case, but he looked fine.

Hadn't he said he'd fallen earlier again?

And he took getting lost a lot more gracefully than she'd have expected. Maybe it was her lashing out at him that made him focus on something else than what was obviously a failure. But he was, indeed, an idiot. He needed to give himself more time.

After a while — Roy’s flat was getting nearer — Riza noticed he was scowling.

“Are you pouting, still?” She couldn’t help but be amused, somehow. Her irritation had started to fade. She was happy to walk side by side with him, happy to see that maybe he got lost, but he didn't need to hold her arm at all times anymore.
“Am not.”
“Oh, yes,” Riza couldn’t help a dry, slightly sour laugh. “You are.”
“Fine.”
“Stop being a child.”
Roy huffed and silence fell again.

Night was fully there now, and only a few cars drove by under the street lights. Riza noticed each of them, committing them to her memory, out of habit. A big, fancy black car rushed past them, and she almost didn’t hear Roy speak, in a lower voice than usual.
“Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you’re proud of me.”
They turned right into the street where they’d reach their destination.
“As if you need to ask.”
A little glance to the side showed Riza that Roy had stopped pouting. But instead of his usual smirk, he had a small smile, surprisingly wistful.

“Roy, I need to tell you I–”

The car. The black car was parked right in front of Roy’s building, idle. She could hear the engine from where they were.

“What? What do you want to tell me?”
“It’ll wait,” Riza said, curt. She stopped, placing one hand on his shoulder so he stopped, too. “There’s a car parked in front of your place. Civilian. Big. Black.”
“Oh. Hm. Black car… Fancy?”
“More than yours.”
“Hey! My car is fine–”
“Shut up. If you could walk slightly behind me–”
Riza didn’t need to speak more. Using her hand on his shoulder as a way to feel where she stood, Roy stepped behind her smoothly, and placed his own hand on her shoulder, freeing both her arms, but allowing her to guide him still, and him to keep her pace. She had him practice this for a while. It wasn’t that far from how they would seamlessly fall into a battle stand, before.

“Let’s go.”
They started, her leading, hands ready to draw her gun, eyes jumping from the car to scan the rest of the street and back, Roy following one step behind.
It might not look natural at all, but Riza didn’t give a damn. Her job– no, not anymore; her purpose — but it had always been so, right? — was to protect him, whether he was Colonel, General, or simply Roy, and she would do so.

But as they reached the car, a familiar silhouette got out, getting up from the driver’s seat.

Riza stilled, and her hand went to rest on Roy’s fingers, that gripped her shoulder a little too tightly. His face, however, was unreadable. He could hide his emotions as well as she could, when needed.

“It’s okay, sir. It’s Major Miles.”
Time for her to say this, the passenger door slammed and an ice cold voice rose:
“And General Armstrong. Lieutenant Hawkeye," an almost imperceptible pause. "Brigadier General.”

Riza stepped to the side and saluted. She saw Roy begin to do the same, then think better of it.

Armstrong circled the car swiftly to stand next to Miles, her piercing eyes scanning first Riza, her uniform, then Roy and his civilian clothes. She showed no expression.
“I thought you were under Colonel Smith, now, Hawkeye. Who assigned you to babysit Mustang?”
“No one, General,” Riza started, loud and clear. “I am here on personal matters.”
Armstrong's eyes widened slightly under her almost silvery blonde bangs. She tilted her head backwards to bark a laugh that sounded like a short salve of a machine gun.
"Of course. I see."
Roy was again scowling, pink returned under his collar.
"I don't need babysitting."
"You always needed that, Mustang, your current condition has nothing to do with it." Armstrong waved his comment away. She kept eyeing Riza, and Major Miles stood still and silent.
“What do you want from me, General, if I may ask?”
"As much as I would like to ask for you to be transferred under my command, lieutenant, we are here for him.”
Riza was only half surprised. If they were coming for her, they’d have done so officially at the headquarters. Roy voiced the exact same question.
“What do you want from me, then?”
“In the car, Mustang. Your flat could be monitored.”
Roy frowned, but didn’t move. He had left his hand on Riza’s shoulder.
“Permission to speak, General?” Riza couldn’t help it. Was it the scare she’d just had, or lasting trauma from the Promised Day, or had it been there all along, she couldn’t have told. But she just couldn’t let it happen again.
“Given.”
“He's not going anywhere without me.”
A sharp, shark-like smile flashed on Armstrong’s face. She planted her icy eyes in Riza’s.
“You’re not assigned to him anymore, and we're going to discuss sensitive matters. This is new from you, Lieutenant. You're getting close to insubordination.”
“General Armstrong.” Roy had one step in her direction. His hand was still on Riza’s shoulder — and had almost imperceptibly tightened on it. “I’m a civilian, now. You have no rank power over me.”
“And?” The General’s face showed she was already fed up with this discussion.
“And I will not go anywhere without Hawkeye.”
Armstrong had a loud sigh.
“Fine, I don't care. You both get in the car. Now. But not one word of this to whoever you’re working under, now, Lieutenant. And this filthy thing stays on your lap,” she relented, pointing to Hayate, and before Roy could even open his mouth: “If you make one joke about this last sentence I’m pushing you out of this car at top speed. Understood?”

Riza guided a silent but smirking Roy to one back passenger door and went through the other herself, making Hayate curl up on her knees. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Roy pass a hand on the leather seat with a slight frown, and murmur: “Classier than mine, indeed.”

Miles started the car and drove smoothly around the streets of Central. They weren’t going anywhere. The conversation would happen in the car itself.

“First,” Armstrong started after a couple of minutes, not even bothering to turn from the front passenger seat. “What the f*ck, Mustang?”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, here, General. I do a great lot of things that provoke this type of reaction.”
“Did you really recommend me to Grumman?”
“I did.”
“How long have these shenanigans been taking place?”
“Long enough.”
Armstrong finally turned, eyes narrowed, to give Roy a long death stare. Utterly lost on him, of course, who just sat with a neutral, slightly content expression on his face, waiting. Riza turned her head to the window to hide her smile. He was winning a contest he didn’t even know he’d entered. She would not let him know, but it was somehow a little funny.
Armstrong turned back again, folding her arms.
“Why me?”
“I think you’re the most competent for this.”
“Why would Grumman trust you on this?”
Roy sighed.
“I was supposed to become Fuhrer. And to carry this out myself. You understand this is not an option anymore.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“I guess Grumman trusts my judgment.”
“I could be the wrong person. I could be a Bradley supporter. I could have you all exposed for treason and killed.”
“You were there. You sided with us. You saw.”
Armstrong’s piercing blue stare flashed through the rearview mirror.
“I did.”
“Will you take on the offer?”
“I thought you were a civilian, now, Mustang. That doesn’t concern you anymore, does it?”
Roy frowned, then shrugged.
“I guess not.”
“I’ll give it a thought.”
Silence fell again.

Riza pet Hayate’s head, playing with his ears. Did Armstrong come all the way here just to have a battle of wits with Roy? That was unlikely.

Just as the thought formed in her mind, the General spoke up again.
“That brings us to the real reason we’re here. You said it. I saw. I saw many things on this day.”
Armstrong glanced at Riza this time, through the rearview mirror. She sustained her stare.

Roy shrugged again.
“Eh, good for you. Tell me about it sometime.”
“I saw you, idiot. Your alchemy. Something happened to it.”
“Many things happened to me.”
“We need it. In Ishval.” Major Miles’ deep and calm voice rose for the first time in the vehicle, silencing both Roy and Armstrong. “The General told me you managed to do a great lot of things both during and right after the battle, to secure some crumbling building parts quickly, and efficiently. And not only — especially not — with Flame Alchemy.”

For a while, only the engine sound filled the car. Armstrong apparently wouldn't ask, and Roy wouldn't answer. He was good at this game, and the General grew impatient.
“What did you do, Mustang?”
“I was forced to trade something very useful for this.” Riza glanced at Roy. Any playful expression had disappeared from his face. He’d closed his eyes.

Armstrong turned back at once, a furious horror on her face. She roared through gritted teeth:

“You traded your f*cking sight for better alchemy?”

“I said I was forced.” Roy, on the contrary, spoke lower. Slower, too. “That means against my will, General.”

Riza dug her fingers into Hayate's thick fur, keeping her eyes fixed up front. She could see Roy's frown relax. But she was afraid of what was coming.

"That I got more powerful is a pleasant leftover, I must say. If surprising."
"Don't let it get to your head." Armstrong growled, turning back once again, and seemingly changing subjects. "Major Miles here has been delegated to Ishval rebuilding efforts by none other than Fuhrer Grumman himself, and with my permission."

Riza saw Roy’s eyebrows shoot up with interest. She dug her fingers deeper into Hayate’s fur.

"I know. He told me about it, in passing."
"Then you also know we are in desperate need for any help that could come our way in rebuilding infrastructures, restarting agriculture and overall just rebuilding an entire country and community from scratch."
"From whatever ruins we've left there, you mean, Major."
"Indeed, sir. But here's the thing. We lack money. We lack public support. The country is still very hostile towards Ishvalans and the whole rebuilding efforts. The people of Amestris have been fed propaganda for decades–"
"You know we know,” Roy winced, just like Riza. “We know."
"What I mean, sir, is that the help of a powerful alchemist would prove invaluable to Ishval. I have carte blanche to enroll or hire either army or civilians as consultants and aides, in our effort to rebuild."
"Miles wants to hire you, Mustang.” Armstrong cut straight to the point, freezing Riza’s insides for good. “I have warned him you were… difficult, but he only sees your alchemy."
"Difficult? Me?"
"Shut up."
"I go back and forth between Central and Ishval every other month or so. I'm leaving again next week, only for a couple of days, to meet with my contact there. And if you're interested, I would like you to come by to assess the work that needs to be done. On site."

Hayate yelped. Riza had pulled on his ear a little too hard.
“Sorry. Hush, Hayate.”
Roy tilted his head into her direction, one hand on his mouth with that exact expression on his face that he had when his mind was running fast, exploring many possibilities at once.
Riza looked away.

"You two know I'm blind, right?"
"Irrelevant."
"I could act as your guide, if you're alright with it. Any accommodation needed, we will try to make as we can. We’re on the field, so things could be a little hard to come by, but we’ll try.”

Riza couldn’t help it. Fingers fidgeting with Hayate’s collar, this time, she burst out:
"What about his safety? How do you guarantee it? You, out of all people know you can't parade the Flame Alchemist, so called Hero of Ishval, around in these parts without risking an attack. Or worse. An uprising."
Roy turned his head slightly in her direction, his expression unreadable.
“You know my contact in Ishval,” Miles simply stated.
Roy’s eyes narrowed.
“Scar.”
Roy was fast. Too fast to follow. Too fast for his own good.
“Scar. He’s in on my idea, and supports it. All this,” the reflection of the streetlights on Miles' glasses flashed through the rearview mirror, right at Riza. “Plus a section of Briggs soldiers, detached by the General. That officer that was in your team, Falman. He volunteered.”

There was an itch at the back of Riza’s throat. Scar, and a section from Briggs. Falman. She couldn’t complain. It was more than needed.
No, only one person was needed, and it was her, and she couldn’t go. She wasn’t assigned to Roy anymore.

She looked at the back of Miles’ head, still driving smoothly. At the silvery blonde hair of the General, glistening every time they passed a street lamp. At Roy’s pensive expression next to her.

He was already there. He was already in Ishval. He was already planning. Being useful.

Leaving her behind.

“My brother has voiced his interest in helping Ishval, too,” Armstrong let out. “He could go there and back with you. So you won’t have to stay the whole time Miles is there. We understand you have not completed whatever you’re doing, spending your days at the hospital.”
“Rehab. Physical therapy. I’m bored out of my brain. I’ll come whenever, and resume when I'm back. I’m sure they’ll be able to reschedule me.”
Riza gulped, and her hand left Hayate’s collar.
Roy kept talking, but she didn’t hear nor register what he was saying.

He was already gone.

The car went to a stop shortly after, and Riza was pulled out of her thoughts — empty, dark thoughts — by Armstrong.
“Here you go. You’re back at your flat, Mustang. We’re setting you free.”
They all exited the car, Hayate happily jumping down from Riza’s lap to gambol around her legs. She immediately joined Roy's side.
“I’ll contact you soon to plan the visit,” Miles addressed Roy, then turned to Riza. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’ll take good care of him. This first visit will not last long, and we’ll stay in the outskirts.”
“I trust you will, Major.”
Riza saw Roy frown and blink a couple of times. Very uncharacteristic of him. Maybe he heard the bitter taste that had settled at the back of her throat.

Major Miles had sat down and started the car again, but General Armstrong was still standing next to her open door.
"No big celebration for your promotion, Mustang, then? I'd have thought you'd have wanted to go out with a bang."
"Then you were mistaken, General. Retirement at my age isn't something to be celebrated."
"Of course not. My comment was appreciative. You might not be a lost cause, after all." The scowl on her face said the contrary, but it morphed into the same shark-like smile she had before when her gaze fell on Riza.
"I guess congratulations are in order, for you two," she flicked her hair and finished as she finally sat down in the car. "I should have known, though. You really do have a thing for blondes, don't you, Mustang?"
The car engine roared, and they drove off on these last words, leaving a puzzled Riza and a deeply frowning Roy at the side of the road.

Riza watched as Roy tilted his head to follow the car as it drove off. She felt as if a lead weight had settled in her stomach, a weight that felt heavier as she saw Roy’s face slowly light up.

He caught Riza’s hand — she was close enough from him for her shoulder to brush his — and dragged her against him, going so far as to begin to pull her into a kiss. Riza tensed. She wanted it, she wanted him, his mere touch on her skin lit flames in her stomach, made her yearn for his embrace, for more than anything they had dared until then, yet, she couldn’t. They were in the street, she was in uniform, and he was going to leave.

He was going to leave her.

Maybe sensing something might be wrong, Roy gave up, but seemed unable to depart from his smile.

“I can’t believe it! Riza! This is unhoped for!”
Roy slid his hands on her cheeks; they were extremely hot. As usual, it seemed the fire he could produce came from within him, not from mere alchemy. From his burning drive to go on, whatever happened. It would have warmed her, on any other occasion. Now she felt like her insides were freezing.

“We might not be able to realize our full plan, but the most important thing is there.” He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. Riza was paralyzed. She didn't know if she wanted him to continue, to hug her, to try and make her feel his bliss, or if she wanted to push him away, curl up and cry. His hands on her cheeks burnt her, the sensation both unpleasant and arousing. “The most important is to rebuild Ishval. And I’ve just been asked to do exactly so. I can’t– I can’t believe it! It’s happening! And so much faster than I thought it would!” Roy laughed.

But his laugh fell short. Riza felt his thumbs caress her cheeks, spreading the tears that had started falling from her now screwed shut eyes.

She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t saying anything. She couldn't.

“Riza?” Roy swallowed, his momentary happiness suddenly blown out. He frowned, and Riza opened her eyes to see his own eyes searching, jumping left to right. Riza closed her eyes again. Seeing him do that never failed to remind her of when Marcoh–
“Riza, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, sir.” Riza sighed. “Roy.”
“I might be blind and an idiot at times, but I’m not that much of an idiot, you know?”

Roy let his hands fall to her shoulders. Riza didn’t reply. She was afraid to say too much and too little at once.

“Why don’t we get up to my apartment? Settle down. And talk.”
“I should go home. Hayate–”
“Riza, please… We need to talk. I can clearly see something’s wrong. Whatever, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t want to spoil your evening.”
“You’re– you’re not spoiling anything. I’d rather you stayed.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “Please. I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I…” He sighed. “I can’t read your face anymore. I need you to tell me.”
That was the last straw. Riza opened her eyes, trying to stifle the noise that had come out from her throat, before she spoke.
“Don’t do that.”
“Are you coming?”
“No, Roy… I…”
“You need some space.”
She nodded, before catching herself.
“Yes.”

Roy had a step back, and passed a hand through his hair.
“Is it… Something I…”
“No.” Riza only needed to push herself a little to walk that step back and hold his hand. “No, it’s me. I’m just… That’s a lot happening at once.”
“You don’t say!” Roy had a low chuckle. “Alright. Walk me to my door, then? And I’ll let you go.”
“You’re still bargaining,” she said, but she was relieved. He understood.

Of course he did.

They quickly walked to his apartment building, up to his front door. Before he opened it, Roy turned around.
“Still there?”
“You just let go of my arm. I’m not going to run away that fast.”
“Good. Let me catch it again then–”
“Roy–”
But he’d already found and caught her arm, and pulled her against him. She didn’t resist — she found she needed it. The way her head fell perfectly on his shoulder, the way his arms held her. His smell — the expensive, refined after shave that barely concealed the smell of smoke, whatever happened. For the first time of the day, of the week, maybe, she felt truly safe. She let out a long sigh.

He kissed the top of her head, then his hands were cradling her cheeks again.
“Good night, Lieutenant.”
He’d rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes. She could see his neck had turned red. As red as her cheeks would be.

On a whim, she tilted her head, and pressed her lips against his. They were soft, warm, and a little dry. He didn’t try to deepen the kiss, simply replying to it.

Riza stepped back. Roy still had his eyes closed, but a small smile had appeared on his lips.
“Good night, Roy.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Hawkeye's legs buckle once as she walks him back to their shared room. Roy is too close not to notice and he reacts quickly, battle reflexes kicking in, and stops her from falling, catching her clumsily under the arms, letting her rest most of her weight against him.

Pain flares in his hands and in his side with the quick movement, and he's almost grateful for it, because he can feel it. It's there, icy hot, numb fingers tingling. That weird web-like, weak electric current in his palms and arms that tells him nerves have been butchered. That awful tearing in his side, his skin thick and twisted and far less pliable than it used to be. There's something. There's a trace. A reminder of what once was healthy.

His eyes bring him nothing. Not even pain in this moment.

He fears for Hawkeye, even if she's there, telling him she's okay, telling him to let her go. But he can sense she's still wobbly, so he doesn't let go of her just yet.
He feels that, too. Fear. For her.

That's something. The rest feels as barren as the Ishvalan desert. Pain and fear. That's all that's left. The rest is sand quickly drifting between his fingers, seizing his feet, his legs, trapping him, pulling him under, filling his mouth, his lungs. What's under sand? More sand. Dark and silent. He's already suffocating.

A cold hand presses against his cheek. Slurred words rise in a weak voice.
"Colonel. We should go to our room."

He barely nods, and lets Hawkeye guide him again, reluctantly opening his arms to let her walk. He's both very heavy and slow, and too light. He barely registers anything past her arm under his hand and her body next to his. He's floating behind her, trusting her fully with himself, to the point he dissolves at the point of contact between them. She takes small, almost tentative steps, and walks this way until they reach their shared hospital room.

She sits him on his bed, and he collapses on his side — the right, pulling at the left in the process. He knows he's facing the window, Hawkeye has told him. He'll have his back to her once she's in bed. He has trouble letting go of her hand. What if she falls?

She takes her hand away.

He's exhausted, but he won't fall asleep. He wants Hawkeye to. If she can't see him, his face, maybe she'll think he is sleeping.

His voice sounds hollow to himself.
"Are you safely in bed, Lieutenant?"
Hawkeye's behind him is raspy.
"Just now, sir."
"Good. Rest."
"Yes, sir."

She doesn't add anything.

He doesn't stop to dissect her voice, her tone, if she is really going to. Instead, he strains his hearing to check on her breathing, and he waits. He puts all of his focus on it, all his might. Her breathing is his lifeline. It's a little laboured at first. Then after a while — how long? — it slows down, becomes regular, and harder to hear.

She's asleep.

He's alone.

Without her, without her presence, he might as well still be in the tunnels.

He's done. He's finished.

Blind.

He’s got nothing left.
The first hiccup takes him by surprise. His own body is betraying him. He quickly presses one hand to his mouth. He's not going to wake Hawkeye up, he's not going to collapse in front of her. He can't do that. Without him, she'll–

The bandage is scratchy against his lips, and the smell of antiseptic assaults his nostrils. His cheeks are humid already.

f*ck, had he started to cry without noticing? Had Hawkeye seen that?

No, she's sleeping.

He presses his hand tighter as a sob threatens to escape his lips, and curls further up on himself on his small hospital bed.

It's the end. There's nothing past this point.

Nothing.

Nothing left.

"I didn't ask last time you came to the bar, but I'm curious."

Vanessa had longer legs than Riza, but her strides were shorter. Probably because of the high heels Roy could hear hit the pavement. Vanessa would never go out in flats.

It made their walk very different from what he had grown used to, even if it’d been some time now that they had started their little back and forth with his sisters. Roy was disoriented, but tried not to show it.

"Shoot."
"Your hands got a lot better, lately. And when did you start learning to use that cane? You'll have to show me how it works."

Roy's hand instinctively tightened on the long cane he was carrying in front of him — but not using, he'd rather let Vanessa guide him.

Not that he didn't know how to use the cane — in fact, he'd been practicing before his hands were healed. It was a lot easier and faster now. But he found it more convenient, and easier to rely on a sighted guide. Some of the guys he was in rehab with hated being led by someone else, but Roy liked the company, and all the extra information the guide could give. He was used to relying on others, after all. Even if he had to admit he'd have to get used to people who were not Riza. With her, it worked almost immediately. Her stern and factual demeanor got rid of any awkwardness. She made him feel just the same as he'd always been. With others, his own vulnerability hit him, and sapped his self-confidence. He tried not to let it show.

Forward, always forward.

"It's been a while. But yeah, it's easier now." Taking advantage of a stop at a crosswalk, he let go of Vanessa's arm and held his hand in front of him, closing and opening it a couple of times, to show her. The move still asked for more intention than before, and he could feel the stiff scar tissue pull, but he could use his hands and feel around without much pain.

"Those Xingese doctors really did a good job. It was hindering the rehab courses. What's a blind man without his hands?"
"Yeah, Chris told me. Xing sent them to help rebuild?"
"Moreso to help get the injured back on their feet faster so they could do so, yeah. I offered to wait until they'd healed people who could really help, but… I admit I'm pretty happy they insisted on letting me try alkahestry among the firsts. Now, it seems they'll be staying to start teaching our doctors and alchemists. It really is the dawn of a new era for the country."

They crossed the road, Roy paying attention to everything he could hear around them. Indeed, any place you went to in Central nowadays had the sounds of works and rebuilding as a background.

It felt good.

It was far from being a priority, now, and he had a lot of other things to learn, or rather re-learn, but Roy would kill to try some alkahestry himself, one day.

Later.

Vanessa stayed silent for a while, until Roy felt her hand coming to rest on his.

"And Elizabeth?"
"What about Elizabeth?" Roy hoped his tone didn't get too defensive. He knew Chris and the girls had suspected something — something that didn't exist until last week — for years. And that whatever secret that'd fall with them would be well kept. But since he didn't know himself where he and Riza were going, he wouldn't let anyone else make assumptions.

"Chris told me she practically came to live at your place."
"She didn't."
"Come on, Roy-boy," Vanessa chuckled. "Not insinuating anything, here, but you gotta admit–"
"I couldn't do anything by myself, so they wouldn't let me out. Yet I was occupying a hospital bed for no reason. We found a way for me to be allowed out and her to avoid being sent back behind a desk before she could rest properly. That's all."
"You're telling me that girl fed you and helped you dress up in the morning, and nothing happened?"
"Vanessa. You overstep." He tried not to be too harsh, but the intrusion in his — and Riza's — intimacy felt wrong. He was perfectly aware that his strong reaction would lead to yet more speculations about them. But what they did — nothing! Nothing had happened! — and how they felt when they just got out of the hospital and tried to adjust and get by were theirs, and theirs only. "If you think we thought about that then–"
"Sorry, Roy." The disappearance of the nickname helped sooth his mood. Vanessa got it. She was truly sorry. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
“No hurt. You know me, you need a little more than that to hurt me for real.”
“Oh, tough skinned, uh? And if I say your suit is a little… baggy?”
“Is it?”
“Of course not. Your suits always fit perfectly. Has Elizabeth helped with that, too?”
“She has. Helped me sort everything properly. But to be honest there wasn’t much to do in this area, I’ve always been quite neat.”
“Chris can be a tyrant when she wants.”
“You’re just very messy.”
“Am not!” Vanessa giggled. “You know, even if I’m glad to do so, I wonder why she has us taking you places. It must be taxing on you. Can’t you learn self defense? You’re still… ah. Pretty fit. And now you have a staff.”
“Thank you, Vanessa,” Roy smirked. “It’s not a staff. It’s a cane. And if I was to hit someone with it with enough force, it would break. It’s made to break before my wrist does, should it get stuck somewhere.”
“Oh. Not useful, then.”
“Incredibly useful. Just not for fighting. As for self defense… Ah. We’ll see about that later, I guess.”

Once again, they fell silent. Self defense. That was an idea Riza could have. He’d rather avoid this altogether and keep her close at all times, but…

The good thing of having a sighted guide was that he could let his thoughts wander. And of course he just kept thinking about Riza. The time she spent at his place, the time she was still spending there. They’d stepped aside from the world for a while, but surely the world would catch up on them. How many were already suspecting things?

Did the frat laws contain a retroactive clause?

And self defense. He didn’t plan on going to front lines ever again, but he would have to go to Ishval, now that it was planned that he’d help for the restoration. That ought to set Riza on a loop.

He almost didn't hear when Vanessa asked, with a small voice, bringing him back down to Earth all at once — and it felt like crashing to the ground for real.

"These Xingese doctors. Couldn't they have healed your eyes?"
Roy sighed, and stopped the hand that held his cane from climbing to his face to press on his forehead. Chris had asked the same question, if only on a more sneaky way.

He eventually shook his head, and smiled. It was because they cared. He had to keep that in mind. And he'd have to explain this over and over again, he knew it.
"There's no healing from this. Now I have to keep going and learn, and make up for the time lost because of my hands. Find something useful to do, also."
"I hope you learn fast, Roy-boy. I want you to come and visit us by surprise like you used to."
"Oh, you know how smart I am," he answered, tilting his head with the charming smile he knew always made her happy. "I'll be the fastest student they have. Promise."

Forward, always forward. Don't think. Do.

Vanessa had not been gone for five minutes when the bell rang. Roy carefully walked from his seat in the living room to the front door, remembering at the last second what Hawkeye had tried to drill into him.

Do not open your door. Ask first. It could be anyone.

She was so afraid he’d get mugged, it was almost endearing. Would be, if it wasn’t showing how hard she’d taken everything since the Promised Day. She’d always been a cautious and very thorough bodyguard, but it was verging on paranoia, nowadays.

Or maybe he was just too reckless. He’d been told so just today by his instructor as he’d gone ahead and rushed all the steps he should have taken at once to get from one point to another. Now, with his hands healed, he felt like everything was so much easier. His little stunt had worked, even if he’d been told off, and he was proud of himself for going out of the way and making progress that fast.

On the other hand, Roy felt perfectly stupid, standing behind his closed door and asking a loud “Hello?”

“Brigadier General Mustang, sir,” a feminine voice replied, with an unmistakable layer of venom in the last word, “Lieutenant Catalina. Furher Grumman summons you.”
“What?” Roy opened the door in a hurry, fumbling with the locks.

Of course, apart from a less muffled voice and sounds of fabric when the lieutenant moved, it didn’t change much.

“You know I have been dismissed two weeks ago by Grumman himself, right, Lieutenant Catalina?”
“I read the papers, Brigadier General. Fuhrer Grumman is the one sending me, sir.”

Silence.

He knew the lieutenant Catalina and Hawkeye were close friends, but he had rarely interacted with her. He knew, however, that she wasn’t too fond of him, and it especially transpired in her voice.

“Right. Okay, let me, uh, take my stuff.”

He closed the door again, time for him to put on his shoes, take his coat and cane. He swore under his breath when he misjudged the location of the cane and tipped it to the ground, where it fell with a very loud clack.

Way to look cool and collected, Mustang.

He opened the door again, and declined Catalina’s polite offer to guide him — that’d have been too awkward, and he felt that she actually relaxed when he said no. He followed her closely, listening to her footsteps and focusing on his knowledge of his apartment building, through the corridors and stairs, up to the car. Finding the door still proved to be a small challenge, and Catalina impatiently took his hand to show him the door handle. He’d be seated at the back. Okay. She was playing chauffeur.

He sat, his cane between his legs and resting against his shoulder. He massaged his hands, while the lieutenant drove. What the hell did Grumman want of him? He was going to ask, when Catalina talked, venom back in her voice.
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“I know you have done whatever you do to women to Riza Hawkeye.”
Roy frowned.
“What? What is that supposed to mean?”
“She told me you two were dating.”

Roy couldn’t help but be startled. So Riza went straight to the point. He was there pondering, and she'd gone and told the loudest mouth in Central. He guessed that made it official, then. It was a warm feeling, hearing that in someone else’s mouth — yes, they were dating, now, even though it had changed little in how they behaved with each other. And Riza had still yet to stay for the night. But they had time.

Yet the way Catalina said it wasn’t exactly a good sign.

Roy felt cautious.

“Yeah? And?”
“What did you do to her? How did you woo her, after all these years? Or were you just waiting to be free of the frat laws to add her to your little collection, like the predator you are?”
Roy blinked.
“What?”
“You’re blind, not deaf.”
Catalina seemed to remember she was talking to a Brigadier General.
“Sir.”
“You think I coerced Lieutenant Hawkeye into having a relationship with me?”
“I think you did what you do to all these women we see you with, and I thought she was immune after all these years, and yet last week she dropped the bomb on me, out of nowhere.”

Roy had heard enough about Lieutenant Catalina to know that “out of nowhere” meant she’d pried the information out of Hawkeye arduously.

Catalina parked the car, killing the engine.
“We’re at HQ, your door opens on the great stairway.”
“I have no idea what you think I am doing to women, but the relationship I have with Lieutenant Hawkeye is between me and her.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
That sounded like a threat, which was confirmed when she opened the door for him to get out. “I’ll be watching you.”
“Great, Lieutenant. Do that for me. How’s my tie?”
“First Lieutenant Weddigen here will take you to the Furher’s office, sir,” Catalina replied before leaving. "And your tie is crooked."

Roy, feeling warmth creep up his neck, set his tie straight and let the officer guide him, trying to hide his scowl. He hoped Rebecca Catalina wouldn’t prove herself a nuisance, but considering this conversation, he had little hope.

After an awkward silent walk by Lieutenant Weddigen’s side, of whom he could only get that they were relatively short, Roy learnt that she was probably a woman when she announced the Furher’s office with a high pitched voice. He thanked her, and was going to knock when the door opened.

“Ah! Mustang! Perfectly on time, as always,” Grumman exclaimed. “Please get in.”

Roy, unsettled by the use of his simple last name, didn’t know if he had to salute, or hold out his hand to shake Grumman’s, or bow. He just stood awkwardly when Grumman took him by the shoulders to guide him to one side of the room, Roy's back stiff and his jaw clenched.

Of course he was on time. He hadn't really been given a choice. Nor was he right now.

Roy didn’t have many memories of being there, bar the awful one from a few weeks ago, and was certain the new head of state had a different taste than the last, anyway. There might be a lot more furniture and trinkets around. Starting with the lush, thick carpet he could feel under his feet. Better to let him lead, in Riza's absence.

“Here, here, son. Take a seat.”
“Uh. Thank you, Furher Grumman,” Roy took the seat he was presented with, pulled it, and sat by what his hands told him was a small, square table. Did Grumman summon him out of nowhere just for a game of chess? “I, uh–”
“You’re a civilian, now. Here on a courtesy visit. No need to be all flustered. Unless you want me to call you Brigadier General?”
“No. No, thank you, sir.”

Roy cleared his throat. That rank really didn’t sit well with him — nor was the fact that people kept addressing him like he was still an active member of the military. If he had to leave this part of his life behind, let it be for good. He didn’t like to be reminded of what could have been done with such a rank.

Roy placed his hands ostensibly on the table.

“So, you found a moment for a game, I guess?”
“You’re just as observant as you used to be.” Grumman chuckled, then left his side, and kept talking, going somewhere to the left, then coming back. “Indeed, my informal late afternoon meeting with the Eastern Agricultural Board was cancelled, something about rescheduling so we can have a little tour — I love to visit places, that’s something I look forward to now as Fuhrer, you see — and I happen to have received something this morning that I wanted to show you.”
“Eastern Agricultural Board, you say?”
“Yes.” Grumman set something on the table, something wooden and hollow. Things clacked inside with a flat noise. Wood pieces? “They are a little wary of that Briggs unit’s endeavours with Ishval.”
“So you know they came to see me.”
“Of course I do. I have eyes and ears in the whole country, you know that. Anyway.”

There was the click of a small lock opening, and the sound of Grumman taking the loose pieces out from what Roy now understood was a box. He got it, and Grumman must have seen recognition on his face, because he confirmed it.
“A new travel chess board. This would have been my present to you for your promotion. It’s marquetry work, with walnut burl and ash tree. I admit it’s a very classy object, and I know your taste for fine things. I’d ordered it long ago — I knew you were due for a promotion." Grumman paused, which was unusual for him, then cleared his throat. "I had it… customised, when I learnt your condition would be permanent. Here. See for yourself.”

Roy stood speechless. It wasn’t the first time Grumman had given him something, but it had always been under the guise of passing intel. He tried to hide his unease at the idea — Grumman wasn’t celebrating his promotion, his honorific, he was thanking him for landing him at the top with his shenanigans, and probably mourning the loss of one of his most efficient and useful — hah — chess pieces. Grumman might sound like an old bumbling grandpa, he had an iron grip on what he wanted for himself, and the people whom he knew would make him look good, or help him last. Roy was all of this. Grumman already knew Roy was cunning and smart; of course, he had been well trained by Chris and Grumman himself alike. He also served as great PR, as the Hero of Ishval. And now he was among the Saviours of Central, the one who had protected the Fuhrer's wife from those evil traitors, who had paid with his sight the price for wanting to keep the country’s status quo, and all the bullsh*t Roy and his team — Breda especially — had fed the papers during and right after the Promised Day.

That was why Grumman would have liked to keep him by his side as a General. It wasn’t charity.

But still, the present moved him. It did even more when he gingerly explored the board and pieces, and found what Grumman meant when he said he had it “customised”. The board bore small holes in the center of each square — Roy could feel the different essences thanks to the absence of varnish — and the pieces had matching knobs that would secure them on the board, and allow him to avoid knocking them all when he felt around. The pieces themselves were made in the same essences than the board: he couldn’t tell which one was black or white, or rather here probably darker and lighter, considering the wood, but he could separate them between smooth and more veiny wood. He could even guess, with his little knowledge of the matter, that the smooth one would be the walnut burl, hence the darkest. But he wouldn't bet on it.

“That’s a very nice present, sir. Thank you."
Roy bowed, and when Grumman grumbled his answer, he felt the different pieces, finding the queen last. It was a little hard to differentiate them all by touch only.
“Well, why don’t we use it, then?”
“I feel I should warn you that it’ll take longer for me to play, now, sir.”
“It’s fine. If a war breaks out, we can still set it aside for later.”
Grumman started setting the pieces on his side, the wood pieces clacking into place. Roy felt what he had given him; he had sorted the two colours, and gave him the smooth pieces. He set them on his side, too, taking his time to check the differences between the smooth pieces. Grumman had to correct him a couple of times. Roy tried not to take it badly, and to rein in his frustration. Hell knew he had to do this often. He was getting better at it.

“Are you planning on going to war, sir?”
“That is classified information, Mustang,” Grumman had one of his usual giggles. “You know I would rather avoid wars. Wars are bothersome, always take longer than predicted, and leave a lot of mess to clean up. I’m for trade and peaceful harmony of the people, because I am a very lazy man who likes to take his time to play chess. This is why we got on so well together.”
“Indeed.”
“Ah, I gave you the black ones. It seems I shall start.”
“Go ahead.”

They did a few rounds without talking much, as Roy was trying to map the board in his mind, and felt the pieces regularly. He estimated he would get faster with time, when his memory would have kicked in. Indeed, each turn seemed easier than the previous one. He was thankful for the fixed pieces, for he would have ruined the game several times when trying to feel the difference between a bishop and the pawns.

“Peaceful harmony of the people. Does that count for Ishval?”
“You, my boy, have a one track mind. I just took your rook in A5, by the way.”
“What’s the problem with the agricultural board? Is that your bishop?”
“It’s a pawn again, I’m sorry. They are afraid a restoration of Ishvalan agriculture would ask them to give land back, and create competition on the market.”
“Why not integrate the Ishvalan production to the board? That way they could–"
"Focus, son. You're trying to move my own pawn."
Roy frowned, and corrected his mental image of the board. The questions piled up in his mind, but he had to play well, for if he lost too fast, he wouldn't get answers to his questions.

Grumman had always loved to destabilise him, and make him pay for the information he extracted from him. It seems he was just as ruthless now.

Roy couldn't help but smirk. If he'd been afraid to be pitied, he stood corrected. Good.

Roy focused, and managed to take both of Grumman's knights without losing much more than a pawn. Trying to tame his pride, he took advantage of the old man's reflection to ask again.
"Wouldn't adding the Ishvalan producers to the board be a positive move for the local economy?"
"Surely, surely…"
Grumman was deep in thoughts. Time to fire.
"On top of that, pleasing Ishval while kicking their economy would make them more keen to lend some land for the Xing railroad. I don't see why–"
"No, you don't." Rustling fabric. Grumman had struck at once. "Bishop in B8. Check."

sh*t. Roy'd been sloppy. He was so proud of his last move, he'd forgotten he'd left his flank open. He felt the board, asking confirmation to Grumman of which pieces were his or not, and the old man graciously complied.

Roy stroked his chin. There might be a way out, still.

"It's too fast." Roy first thought Grumman was talking about the game — indeed, it would have been the quickest loss in his playing career. "We can't just now reintegrate Ishval at once. The general public is not ready."
Roy hummed, trying to keep Grumman talking, and to listen to him, while he was planning his next move. Really, differentiating the pieces by touch was getting bothersome…

"I know you've jumped on the offer as soon as that Ishvalan Major–"
"Miles."
"You said yes as soon as Major Miles has opened his mouth, haven't you?"
Roy shrugged. Maybe, if his queen…
"I will not stop any of this. I just cannot openly support it, you know that.”
Of course. The queen. Roy couldn’t hide his smirk as he placed it in front of Grumman’s king.
“Check. And it’s a shame. General public might never be ready, but I’m sure Creta will greatly appreciate the present you’re giving them, delaying railroads that would compete with their marine routes.”
To Roy’s dismay, Grumman cackled.
“Getting reckless, son. It seems you might need to stop trying to do several things at once for the time being. Checkmate, your king is surrounded. You forgot the bishop, again.”

Grumman and his goddamned bishops. Roy tried to hide his disappointment and wounded pride. Not only had he lost that first game a lot more quickly than he would have before, he had consequently lost the opportunity to either gather more information, or push Grumman in the right direction. He had to train himself back into chess. One more thing to learn again.

Grumman was tidying the board, putting the pieces away with the dull clack of wood against wood. Roy tried to keep himself from scowling. Lamentable. It was lamentable.

“What do you suggest?”
Grumman, however, still sounded bouncy.

“About what?”
“The agricultural board.”
“You’re asking me?”
“I might not always agree with you, but I trust your knowledge. I hear Lieutenant Hawkeye has borrowed a great number of books on agronomy and other Ishval related subjects at the state library in the past couple of months. I had no idea she had such an interest in agriculture and politics.”

Roy had a small smile, but avoided commenting. Jumping on the offer, he replied:
“I really think showing our will to let them be part of the board could do wonders, for everyone. After all, they are the ones who know best how to deal with their arid land, and make it produce the most it can. Rebuilding the economy of Ishval through agriculture would also help Amestris’ own economy, and might even be a way to win the heart of the public. How long since the bourgeois of Central haven’t had these sweet oranges they used to like so much? We can win them with delicacies, I’m sure, if we don’t win them with logic and statistics. And of course, there’s the Xing railroad, which would only bring more. Whatever happens, if we want to keep Amestris on top, we’ll need to tackle this. And we need Ishval in our pocket for that. We need them to determine the best routes, and lend us the land.”
“That would be considering we would be ready to give them their whole land back.”
“We have to. The Ishvalan don’t care about the Homunculi. They care that we, Amestris, have destroyed their country, and eradicated their people. The reason why is irrelevant. They don’t give a sh*t that we kicked the bad apples. As far as they’re concerned, we’re all bad apples, and they will keep on fighting if we don’t offer an olive branch.”
Grumman sighed.
“I’m still amazed at how idealistic you can be, after all this. This is a dream, son, I hope you are well aware of that.”

Roy felt his good mood plummet. Had Grumman asked him to tell him his thoughts, just to immediately placate him?

Come on, Mustang, you're not going to give up so easily. You've been through far worse setbacks.

“Sir, you know it’s not. We have– you have all the power in your hands to make this–”
“My power is still fragile. I’ve only been… catapulted here, for lack of a better word, two months ago. Thanks to you, partly. And you ask me to make my first big move an official rehabilitation of the very people most of the East and Central, if not Amestris as a whole, have been carefully taught to hate for decades? I have to deal with Aerugo, and Creta. I have to deal with that Southern General — what’s his name, ah, nevermind — who wants to keep on waging that dead end war, I have to deal with the whole country. I’m sitting on a powder keg, and you want me to pour some oil over it? I admire your drive, son, but my hands are tied, here. You and Major Miles can do what you want with what General Armstrong deigns to allow you. I’ll try to smooth the Agricultural Board and tell them not to fear Ishval, for the restoration will take time. That's all I can do.”
Roy swallowed.
“It will take time. I didn’t mean that Ishval would restart its fields and orchards in a month. We need to clean the land and reconstruct first, and it could take years. But you could maybe prepare–”
“Clean and reconstruct to your heart's content, and come back to see me after a while. You, above many, know how slow politics can go. I trust you to do whatever you feel right for Ishval. Trust me to not interfere, but don’t ask more of me.”
Roy screwed his eyes shut, almost against his own will. It’d been a long day, and he had not been prepared to have to stand his ground on political matters. Ashamed of his reaction, he let his head drop. But he couldn’t just let go. He had not expected to have to deal with Grumman's thoughts about Ishval, but now that he was there, he had to ask. He had taken the idea of restoring the land at heart, already, dived on it. So now that it was on the table, he would fight for it. He grit his teeth.

“Sir. It’s a matter of keeping peace. The Ishvalans just want their home and dignity back. We will need some funding. Materials. Sending more of the army would be unwise, very unwise, but supplies–”

Are you pleading, Mustang? Are you f*cking begging?

Grumman grumbled. Roy heard him get up and pace, his feet almost silent on the thick carpet. After a while, the old man relented.
“Fine. Fine, I’ll fund some supplies. Through back doors and hidden networks. I’ll send some men and trucks. Let me find a way. For peace in the East, and because I am way too fond of you. But do not ask me more.”

Roy kept his head low. Had it worked? It wasn’t a calculated move. He was just tired. He opened his mouth to reply, when Grumman cut him, his voice back to his usual bumbling mood.
“Now, case closed. When would you like to play again? You need practice, son, to get back to your usual level.”

"You're not fit yet for this, Lieutenant."

The Colonel is getting dressed in the bathroom they share, the door open but closed enough to hide him. Riza has to pull on her throat to be sure he hears her, and yet, only a reedy, scratchy voice gets out.
"But I want to help..."

"The best way you can help me, now, is to help yourself first. Rest. Heal."

"That's rich, coming from you. Sir." She says, a little lower, as he pushes the door and exits the bathroom, slowly, his bandaged hands held low in front of him. He wouldn't take the time and fuss about buttoning shirts, so he'd asked Fuery to bring him a sweater and regular trousers. It's the first time in years Riza sees him in something else than his uniform or his usual fancy three piece suits, and it hits something in her chest. He hasn't shaved in days, and a patchy stubble is shadowing his cheeks.

Roy finds the foot of Riza's bed, and sits on it.
"It's, hum, your bed I'm sitting on, right? I tried to aim to the right, but…"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Wouldn't like to talk with you with my back turned," he has a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You'd miss my face."

She wants to tell him she's going to miss him while he's out of the room — the person from the rehab center should be there to pick him up any time, now. She can't help it. What if something happens to him? What if the person from the rehab center is not who they pretend to be? What if–

"You're going to be fine," she says instead, when she sees his fake smile disappear and his sombre expression come back.

She can't let him know.

Orville set a new bunch of files on Riza’s desk.
“Sorry to burden you yet again. These need revision, it seems they don’t comply with the new A-340 directive, and since I see you’re almost done with the truck forms…”
“It’s alright,” Riza brushed it off. She’d rather busy her brain. She had not slept that well the night before, and would rather focus on work while she was at it, than think about the Colonel. Roy. Whatever, don’t think about him now.

Riza had noticed whenever she thought about Roy, lately, she got flustered, and easily overwhelmed.

It made her irrationally angry. Especially since she still looked forward to her evening visits to him. They had dinner together, and she read some for him. Treaties on agronomy, lately. She admitted it wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but just being in his company was soothing.

In her restless sleep, she'd lost him in a maze of cereal crops she had no idea how to identify. It was the silliest dream she'd had in years. And incredibly anxiety inducing.

Orville smiled at her over the reports. She was visibly relieved.
“You have no idea how much you’re helping, here. You’re new to it, yet it seems you’re already as fast as me, and as thorough as Leclerc. You’re a blessing for this team.”
“This means Orville wants to keep you, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Enfield had appeared out of nowhere, setting his piercing blue stare on Riza. Orville stepped to the side, blushing.
“Well,” Riza replied as she took the pile of files in front of her, not really happy with the tinge of exasperation she now felt at Enfield thanks to Rebecca, “I have no immediate plans for transfer, yet.”

She set to review the files, scanning them quickly. From the corner of her eye, she could see Enfield had not moved. He was still standing idle in front of her desk.

“Yes, sir?”
Riza looked up.
“Nothing. Just checking that efficiency Orville is all about.”

That wouldn’t help with Riza’s mood.

The office phone rang, and she was freed from Enfield’s looming shadow. She got back to her files, trying to push her bad mood away and keep her mind as blank as possible, to work properly.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye.”
She looked up, surprised to hear Enfield, who had barely hung up, suddenly address her with such a curt tone.
“You are summoned immediately to the Fuhrer's office,” he went on, his eyes as piercing as ever, now with an underlying current she couldn’t pinpoint. “The secretary has also specified that you will be gone for the rest of the evening, hence to take your stuff with you.”

Riza’s insides twisted.

“Did they specify why?”
“Not at all.”
“Alright. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Setting the files aside, Riza hurriedly gathered her purse and jacket under everyone’s surprised gaze. Leclerc held the door open for her with an encouraging smile, to which she tried to reply the best she could.

Something had happened to the– to Roy. There was no other explanation.

Riza checked her watch. No, he should be back home now. No one from the bar had come into contact with her, so that meant everything had gone smoothly. Roy was able to call her if he had any problem.

But maybe he didn’t have the time. Maybe he got raided–

She needed to calm down. She was practically running in the HQ corridors, and people were looking at her. It didn’t help that the one who had helped her through this since she had started having these moments of panic was Roy himself. If anything had happened to him…

Riza measured her steps and her breathing. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Last week, it was Roy who'd just decided to try and go alone. Today wouldn't be different.

You know Grumman. He’s an eccentric old man. He could have phoned to trap you into taking tea with him.

That sobered her a little. Indeed, when she had repeatedly come to meet him to try and speak in favour of keeping Roy in the army, the old fox had managed to have her acknowledge their — if severed — family ties, and used them to have her stay and chat with him.

Riza wasn’t in the mood for a chat.

She arrived in front of the door to the office, and saluted the guards.
“First Lieutenant Hawkeye. I was summoned.”
The guard on the left looked at her, then turned and opened the door, announcing her name for her.
“First Lieutenant Hawkeye, sir.”
“Ah! Hawkeye! You are quick.”

The guard motioned for Riza to enter the office, which she did, to find not only Grumman, but also Roy himself, sitting safe and sound next to a chess board, with a half sullen, half shameful expression on his face. Grumman was putting a square box in his hands.

“I figured, considering the hour, that you could be set free, and help our common friend home in the process.”
Riza could see Roy’s scowl deepen from the corner of her eye. She clicked her heels. That was somewhat a weird request, considering she had left this obligation behind a week before, but she felt her chest ease.

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“No, unless you might both want to share an evening tea with me.”

Before Riza could answer, Roy did.
“You’re honouring us, sir, but I think I have wasted enough of your time for today.”
“Of my time maybe, of the state money probably more. I’ll see directly with Major Miles for the supplies, so you won’t have to find a way to deal with the amount of paperwork that it’s sure to produce. If I understand well, you are still unofficial.”
“I am indeed so, and it might stay this way. I’d rather neither my name or face appear too much in Ishval.”
“Of course. Well!” Grumman clapped his hands, and winked at Riza. “I’ll leave you two to go. Until next time, Roy.”
“Sir, it’ll be a pleasure.”

Riza led Roy out of HQ in silence, the small travel chess set tucked under her arm. She glanced a couple of times at him. He looked pensive. His fingers tapped on the handle of his cane — Riza was sure if he didn’t have to hold it, that hand would be on his face, stroking his chin and lower lip.

“I parked your car a little far, I’m sorry.”

Roy shook himself out of his thoughts, and smiled.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s always a pleasure to walk with you.”
Riza smiled in return, and let out a low hum to tell him so.
“It’s a nice day for a walk, indeed. Summer is getting near. The tree leaves are getting darker and bigger.”
“And I can smell blossoms, yes. What are those?”
“Central City streets always have plum trees, sir, you know that. The pink ones.”
“Nice, nice.” His thoughts seemed to have returned to somewhere else.

“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Is Fuhrer Grumman planning to help? He said he would send supplies–”
“I’m afraid that’s all we will ever see of his help, sadly.” Now the frown had turned into a scowl. “He’s afraid helping Ishval will stain him. He’d rather keep the status quo to avoid weakening his good image.”
“He’s not wrong.”
“You think so? You?”

Roy looked genuinely surprised, to the point his gait slowed. Riza pulled him forward.
“I don’t think he’s right not to help. I think he’s not wrong when he says helping Ishval will not be well received by the people. Here’s the car, sir.”

Riza guided him to his seat, and she resumed once she’d started driving.

“You need to find a way to show him he could circumvent that.”
“That’s what I’m trying to think about. There must be a way to make him look actually stronger if he helps Ishval, rather than weaker.”
“Xing railroad.”
“I tried. That was my first and main argument. But he says–”
“You know Colonel Smith’s team works on Xing import-export.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Roy tilt his head to the side and turn his face towards her with a smirk.

“Oh my. Am I rubbing off on you? That’s cunning.”
“Careful. You’re implying you’re making me smart.”
“I’m not. I’m the idiot here, for not thinking about it sooner.”
“Mh. That’s still pretty insulting.”
“Sorry, sorry.”

Riza risked a new glance towards him, and noticed he was beaming. A new smile pulled at her lips and warmed her below her ribs. She went on.

“I could make it official. With Smith’s permission, compile what we know of Xing commercial exchanges, of how it has changed over the years — and lately, since we seem to have seen a slow but steady increase since Promised Day. Either they feel better with Grumman at the top of the country, or…”
“Or the Elric’s Xingese friends have gone their way.”
“I think both could be true.”
“Indeed. Grumman has that nice, unthreatening image that Bradley sorely lacked.”
“Tell me about it…” Riza suppressed a shudder. That was the past. She was with Roy, and both of them were safe.

She couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror, before shaking herself. She tensed when something brushed her thigh.

Roy's hand. When she didn't say anything, he let it rest there, warm and heavy through her uniform wool.

Grounding her.

“Then, I would compare the time and money it takes for commodities and supplies to be shipped back and forth through Creta, calculating the taxes we would pass on, all of this. Make a big file. Everyone knows we would definitely benefit from this railroad and bypassing Creta, but with a solid report, with proof… And I think Smith would let me do so, because it would make him look good, and probably allow him to expand his team. They’re overworked.”
“This is such a perfect plan, Riza. I bet once you hand this to Grumman I’ll be calling you Captain. And if he doesn’t promote you I’ll go and shake him myself.”

Riza blinked. She’d started parallel parking, which she had never had any problems with, and had to stop for a couple of seconds. She didn’t know if what made her feel so warm was the way Roy had said this, the smile she’d glimpsed on his face, or what he’d said, but she couldn’t focus on anything else than the texture of his voice.

She forced herself to go back to parking, then turned the engine off. She kept both her hands on the wheel.

“Riza?”
“Yes.”

Roy had already left the car, and was standing, puzzled, next to the door.

“Coming. We’re not in front of your building, I’ll get you there.”
“I, uh. If you direct me, I can go myself. But are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She exited the car, absentmindedly taking her purse with her, along with Roy’s chess set, and took him to his front door.

“Here you are.”
“Thank you. I look forward to you telling me about this report. This is going to help tremendously.”

She looked at him, really looked at him for what felt like the first time in weeks. Save for his unfocused gaze, he was the very image of the Colonel she’d followed for years. And had longed for, for years. His unruly, jet black hair, his now once again round cheeks, the ghost of a smile on his lips, the resolute expression. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

Almost.

And it striked her again. He was set on going to Ishval, set on throwing himself into danger once again.

She felt as if she was choking at once. He was there, and they could almost, almost settle, almost touch something that they’d both longed silently for, for years. They’d been through so much, so much grief and loss and guilt, and he was ready to just…

Leave.

But what about the guilt? What about Ishval? What about what you've done?

She gasped for air, and her eyes still fixed on his face saw his smile morph into a frown.

“Riza?”

He gestured to try and catch her, and instead of leaving when she could, she threw herself into his open arms.
“Hmpf. Riza? Riza, what’s wrong?”
“I– I just– I can’t–”
He closed his arms around her, tight, pressing his body against her. He kept her still, this way, until she managed to breathe again.

Then he murmured in her ear.
“Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some tea.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Another day, another doctor. Why did they want to keep on trying was beyond Roy.

It feels like the Lieutenant’s hand on his grows colder with each new confirmation, each time they say there's nothing to do.

Roy knows. Only the philosopher's stone could have worked. And it didn't. Yet the hospital kept trying to send him renown ophthalmologists, who could only certify that there was, indeed, nothing to be done. To Roy, it had become background noise. He was trying to think of things to do. Trying to think ahead. But Hawkeye seemed to take it at heart every time, still.

“Lieutenant. You should go back to bed. I shouldn’t have had you stand for so long here.”

Roy slides down from the table. His legs are wobbly. But Hawkeye must be worse.

“I wanted to be there.”
Her voice is so strained.

She'd insisted. She won't leave his side. He wants her to rest, and nurses could have taken him there, but he's relieved she came with him. It soothed his own anxiety about leaving her alone.

“I know. Thank you.” Roy presses on her hand, clumsily, but it’s still too cold. It worries him.

He’d rather worry for her than for himself. He’s not as weak as she is, right now. Only his resolve is. Only his hope in the future is – it's sitting there broken into pieces, but now, days after, he’d rather walk over those shards if it means Hawkeye is fine. And she’s not.

As if she reads his mind, Hawkeye asks:
“There’s no hope, then?”
“No.”
“Unless you give up your alchemy, like Edward…”
“I guess it’s a possibility. I am afraid the choice is a hard one to make. From what he’s told me, though… I think he used a trick I have no access to. But it’s not a conversation for now. You are going back to bed, Lieutenant, it’s an order.”
“I am not leaving you here.”
“Then I’ll follow you. Come here, and lead the way, I'll support you.”

Hawkeye's hand, her body next to him, it never fails to make him feel at least somewhat better. He can focus on her. Feel like he's still useful to her – supporting her weight when she can't.

He both wants her to feel better and dreads the moment she will, for he will have lost all purpose.

Just as Roy had stated, he’d made two cups of green tea when they entered his flat – his way was a little unconventional, as he warmed the water in the mug directly by clapping his hands, but it was faster and safer for him to do so.

He’d started to incorporate his use of alchemy into every mundane thing he could – sometimes going a little overboard with it, as Riza had commented multiple times, like when he'd just transmuted that door's hinges instead of finding some oil to stop them from creaking – but if it was making his life easier, why not?

Riza informed him she was taking the biscuits from a cupboard. Roy had them sit on the sofa.

“Now. Tell me.”

There was a long silence. So long, in fact, that Roy started to doubt himself – had he really asked the question or was he so intent on asking it that it had only happened in his head? But after a while, Riza spoke, and he almost spilled his tea on himself.
“You’re leaving me behind. I won’t be able to follow you.”

Roy extended his hand to the right, feeling around until he found her knee.
“Riza, I –”
“You're more vulnerable than you’ve ever been. Going where people want you dead –"
"With reason –"
"And I won't be there. I won't be there to protect you. I won't be able to follow."

There was so much in these words. So much left unsaid. Roy wished he could see her face, wished he could look her in the eye properly to soothe her better.

"We'll find a way. I wasn't expecting it to go this fast. I –"
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Please. I'm the one who's sorry."
"I can still resign..."
"Don't. Riza, please. We'll find a way. You need to stay in the army. I don't want you to resign because of me. I'll be okay. I promise."
"I dont… I – how will I manage to stay here, and work, when I know you're in Ishval making a target of yourself?"
Riza's voice had wavered almost imperceptibly on the last words.
"Because you're just that good." He flashed a small smile, then went serious again.

Roy caressed Riza's knee, a small part of his mind once again marveling at the idea that he could touch her, now, he was allowed, nothing could stop him if Riza agreed to it. And she did. And it was a relief, because he had no idea if he could have survived not seeing her and not being allowed to touch her to compensate. Oh, it didn't compensate anything. It was something different, something new. Something he could look forward to.

"And because you will know it will only last a couple of days, and I'll be with Alex Armstrong, Scar, Miles, and a section of the best soldiers in Amestris."

Riza sniffed.

"I will not stop you. But if you are to go back there a second time, I want to be warned, I want to find a way to be there. I can't take a leave right now – "
"We'll find a way." Roy finished his tea, located the coffee table with his foot, and put the empty mug there. He squeezed Riza's knee, then shifted on the sofa so he could get closer to her, sliding his hand on the backrest until it brushed against her hair and he let his fingers find her nape.

He got closer yet, and went to kiss her cheek, miscalculated, and kissed her temple instead.

Nevermind.

"We'll find a way."
Riza hummed.
Roy took it as permission to continue, and slid his arm further, closing it around her and pulling gently until she rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair was tickling his cheek, and he could feel her breath on his neck. He pressed a kiss at the top of her head, both his hands drawing soothing circles on her arm and leg.

He closed his eyes. She was here, alive and safe in his arms, and they didn't need to fight against their hearts anymore. They could just be. Together.

"I can't lose you." Riza talked, burying her face in his suit jacket. Her hands had slid to his sides, securing her body against his. Her touch was light on the scar in his side. "I almost did. I keep seeing you, when you disappeared through that… circle… door… thing… That fear and pain on your face. The last look you gave me. I'm filled with dread whenever I have to leave you somewhere. I barely sleep at night. There's still so many who would jump at the occasion to kill you or hurt you. I can't – I won't let it happen again. I know we don't deserve happiness – I know I deserve the misery I'm in. But it's gotten to a point where I literally can't function. I need you, and I need to know you're safe."

Roy let her talk, his hand sliding into her hair. His lips burnt to tell her he felt the same.

He did. And on a level she wouldn’t ever feel – at least, he hoped so. He needed her to function, too. Like she did herself, he couldn't see his life without her in it. They're been working together for so long, and before that, that there was no way he could imagine her not at his side.

But he also depended on her, now. If he had been able to go back to his own place, allowed the least of autonomy and intimacy, it had been thanks to her. Because she was there to help.
Some days, he resented this. The fact that his disability had skewed their relationship further than it already was because of his rank. But had it, really? When she’d been exiled under Bradley’s surveillance, he’d fallen back into habits he’d thought he’d shaken off after Ishval. He’d forget to eat, slept even less than usual, and when he tried to, he had to drink himself to oblivion for it to work. Now wasn’t really different. She was just insuring he didn’t walk into walls, instead of walking into more immediate danger. Same thing, really. That was probably why he rarely thought about it, now. They just had fallen almost seamlessly into place.

He needed her, and he had always needed her.

But he was also consumed by the idea of being useful, of making a difference, of carrying out at least a part of his plan – their plan, their straightforward, spotless plan, that ended up being twisted and maimed at the hands of the hom*onculi, amputated from many parts that would have meant so much. That plan, now, was crippled. Like him.

But the most important part remained.
Ishval. Not them. Not Amestris. Ishval.

Aside from Riza herself, it was the only thing that kept him going, that pushed him forward. He had no other purpose, now.

And he’d been offered this, he’d been sought out for this, just now, when he’d thought it’d take years and he’d have to move heaven and earth to be even allowed to think about it. Maybe, yeah, maybe he wasn’t ready yet, maybe he still tripped on his own cane a couple times a day, maybe he still got lost sometimes, maybe he was basically illiterate for now. But he still had his alchemy, a now incredibly powerful set, and it could still be useful. He could still be useful. And he would work twice as hard now to get better. He was already pretty fast. He thought he could get faster.

And there was no question that if he was allowed to help, allowed to rebuild, once this would be done and Ishval was set on a course of budding life instead of death and desolation, he would kneel in front of them and surrender himself to them, be it to their justice or the immediate knife of their executioner. If Amestris wouldn't trial him – and he doubted it would ever happen, now – then he would place the matter into Ishvalan hands. That was only justice.

This, he understood Riza knew.

But, until then…

He squeezed her against him, and buried his nose in her hair.

"I'm sorry. For earlier. I'm sorry for all this. But I – Riza, you know I –"
"I know." Riza shifted against him, and her lips found his, cutting his breath.

She gave him a kiss that was not entirely tender – there was intention behind it. One that he felt himself.

Ishval disappeared from his mind altogether.

Only Riza could do that.

“I think I’ll stay.”
She kept her voice low. Roy felt her breath on his lips.
“You’ll stay?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh, please. Please, stay.” He murmured against her mouth, hugging her tighter.

Somehow, his hand had left her knee and cradled her cheek, while the other pulled her closer, always closer. He felt her cool fingers slide into his hair, and the other hand – was she pulling at his tie?

Unable to stop himself, he crashed again against her lips, this time a lot less chaste in his kiss, and the way Riza replied wasn’t going to make him slow down.

His hand let go of her cheek to find her thigh, her side, to slide under her uniform jacket - that damned uniform. It was pleasant to imagine her curves under it, from afar, but the thick fabric left nothing to draw from, once you took out the image and had to go by with your hands. He smirked against her lips when he found that she was wearing her usual close-fitting turtleneck under the jacket – black, it was black, it had never been any other colour, and black suited her so well. This he could work with.

Riza’s fingers grazing against his neck as she fully took out his tie only made him eager to get rid of her jacket, and he tried to do so, his mouth never leaving hers.

Damned buttons. His hands weren’t all that healed, but the way they were trembling didn't solely come from his injuries.

“Let me –”
Riza let go of him, pushed him away – his hands fell on her thighs, both hands, and he started hating that wool with all his might.
There was a sound of shuffling fabric.
“Here. Took it off.”

There was another sound, something heavy being placed on the table. Roy frowned until he understood. Her guns. She’d taken the holsters off, too. Roy let his hands climb back on her waist, then higher, only for now allowing his fingertips to brush against her breasts. He caressed her arms, feeling the muscles shift under her fine skin as she moved, arms up – he didn’t really know what she was doing.

“Only the jacket…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, s–.”
Roy stilled, and smirked.
“Roy.”
“That’s better,” he sighed and went on to kiss her yet again, taking his time, enjoying the feeling of her wet, eager lips against his, her smell – he had never felt it so intoxicating as now, that mix of light citrus from her soap or shampoo, mingled with sweat, metal and gunpowder. It was just so perfectly her.

He was also pretty proud of himself for his relative good aim whenever he kissed her. But then again, this was one of the few activities he was used to do in the dark. Just… not with her. Even though he had wished that for years, pushing the idea at the far back of his mind, but never managing to erase it completely. It'd come up in feverish dreams now and then, the kind he'd have thought he'd left behind with his teenage years, that left him with a bitter taste and blurry images in the morning – and shame. Now, he was going to take all he could. This was so unhoped for…

She had brought her hands back on him, and was pulling at his shirt. Roy chuckled.
“Who’s getting ahead of herself, now?”

He kissed her neck, careful to make his lips gentle against the thick, still tender scar there, and was surprised when a curtain of hair brushed against his face. So that was what she'd been doing with her arms up.

He went to touch her hair, to feel its silkiness under his fingertips, and that reminded him of its shine under the sun.

Roy’s throat tightened yet again, to the point of choking. He was taken by an irresistible need to see her, to dive into the warm brown of her eyes, to detail the colour of her skin under the moonlight that must be shining through the windows now, or whatever light Riza had put on. Whatever. He wanted to see her, to really look at her, now that he could since there was nothing left to jeopardize. He’d suppressed his longing for this on too many sleepless nights.
And now… Now that he could…

“Roy?”
Riza’s hands left his shirt and cradled his cheeks.
“Roy, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, and went to bury his face against her shoulder.
“Nothing.”
That felt wrong. He couldn’t just leave it at that – she knew he was just refusing to talk. It would be insulting her, to just say this.
“Nothing you or I can do anything about, anyway," he spoke, his face still hidden in her shirt.

Riza stood still for a short while, then she pushed him gently off her, and got up. After a couple of seconds, an inconspicuous click rose, and she came back to him – pushing him against the backrest and sitting across his legs, facing him, her hands on his shoulders.
“What did you –”
“Turned the light off.”

No more words were needed. It was stupid, it was silly, but it did make him feel better.

They’d always been on equal footing, no matter the difference in their ranks. No matter what people thought.

He had a tinge of guilt, too. He knew of her fear of shadows — she had only alluded to it, but he wasn’t stupid. He could only hope the room was now pitch black. No shadows in full darkness.

He didn’t thank her. There was no need, and she didn’t let him, silencing him with her mouth, her tongue on his lips. This time, he let his hands roam free on the tight-fitting top - and under it. He felt her unbutton his shirt, then do the same, her cool hands slowly warming up against his own, burning skin. Feeling her detailing his chest, his abs, her fingers growing lighter on the scars she encountered, it almost stopped him in his tracks – almost. But her own skin under his fingers, her toned body, her curves, everything her, was too enthralling for him to stop exploring.

The grain of her skin was so much finer than he'd have ever imagined, her lips so much softer.

He pulled her top up, enough for him to bend and kiss her just under the ribs, tasting the soft skin over hard muscles there.

He had a smug smile when he felt and heard Riza shudder. Of course, he continued.

Riza’s touch grew somehow hesitant. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Even if she had never touched him in this way before, he knew her, and this uncertainty wasn't usual for her.

But he had other things to think about. While she was busy with her hands on his chest and her mouth on his, he managed to win a short struggle against her belt, and slid his hands in her trousers, brushing over her underwear.

Riza paused her caresses. She was close enough for him to notice she was holding her breath.
“Co– Sir– Roy, I–”
Roy would have laughed, but something told him not to. He took his hands out of her trousers, to place them on her hips.
“Yes?”
“It’s just… maybe I should warn you I–”
“If you’re not feeling good we can just stop, Riza.”
“No, no I want to– it’s just– oh, bummer.”

This time Roy couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. Riza swearing was a rare occurrence, but this? This was hilarious. Maybe it was just the exhilaration of all this, but–
“Don’t laugh! Roy,” Riza scolded, then sighed. “I– I never…”

She let the sentence die without finishing it, letting him piece it all together.

The eagerness she wouldn’t fully act on, the growing hesitation in her gestures, her reaction when he’d so much as brushed her underwear.

Roy opened his eyes wide, unable to stop himself from tilting his head up at her.
“Never?”
“No.”
“How… how come? I mean, you’re…” He gestured around her, forgetting she had turned off the light.
“I can’t see you, Roy.” She sternly replied. But she knew what he meant. “And it’s not a matter of people not being interested, you idiot. There just… never was an occasion.”
“Are you suggesting I was overworking you?”
“Of course not! I have managed to keep a personal life outside of work. Not like you.”
“Ouch.”
Riza rested her elbows on his shoulders, sliding her hands in his hair.
“I just didn’t feel like it.”
Her voice was warm. Tender.
“Until now?”
Riza moved.
“Did you just shrug?”
“Yes.”

Roy, his hands on her bare waist, realized her top was still pushed up. He pulled it down, in an attempt to cover her more, to put back some distance between them.

“Riza, we can stop. As much as I… want you, right now,” he felt so stupid having to say it out loud. “I don’t want to force you into anything.”
Now warm hands slid from his hair to his cheeks and pulled him to Riza's lips. If she wasn't going to say it, this kiss was languorous enough to make him understand no one was being coerced into anything, there.

Coincidentally, it also served to remind him of how tight his civilian slacks were.

"You're not forcing me. I'm just… out of my usual area of expertise."
"Ah, well. I hear it might be mine," he quipped. "I have a reputation to uphold, after all." He was going to resume his thorough exploration of Riza's body, when he thought.
"Maybe we should go to the bedroom. Make it, ah, make it more proper."
Riza huffed.
“Ever the perfect gentleman, are you?”
Roy grinned.
“Told you. I have a reputation.”
“Alright.” Riza got up, catching his hand and pulling him on his feet to follow. “But you lead the way. It’s pitch black in here.”
“Sure thing.”

Roy’s flat wasn’t that big that it would take more than a quarter of a minute to get to his bed from his sofa – sometimes that amount of time and effort felt too hard to get to, now between his lack of sight and occasional flare ups of his side wound, but overall exhaustion had already been a regular contender way before. Right now, however, it went in a flash, even if he still had to keep his hand on the wall, and he found himself sitting on his bed. It was tightly done, as Chris and then the army would have him do. Letting go of Riza’s hand, he pulled on the sheets to open it.

“Don’t overdo it,” she said, shutting the door.
“Oh, so it’s not as pitch black as you said...”
“No, not in here. I — I put the light on. Want me to–”
“I’m just making fun of you. Come here,” he said, opening his arms, and trying to soothe her. Riza joined him, sitting next to him with a relieved sigh. Her thigh brushed against his.

A bare thigh, he noticed, unable to stop himself from running his hand over it. Riza had somehow found the time to take her trousers off.

Roy briefly thought that he'd rarely seen his Lieutenant with anything shorter than knee length skirts, and immediately imagined how milky white her skin would be above that limit. How it must contrast with the slightly darker complexion of his own hands. How he'd like to kiss that soft expanse of skin, graze his teeth against it, and hear her breath hitch. His touch became heavier, feeling how firm she was under his fingers, reaching towards the tender skin on her inner thigh–
Riza shifted and let out a small sigh under his caresses, and he reluctantly let go of her. Not now. He had to take his time.

He cleared his throat.
“So, you are committed.”
Riza had an embarrassed chuckle.
“Guess I am.” To underline her affirmation, she tugged on his shirt so that he’d take it off, which he dutifully did before pulling her own top over her head, and throwing both garments away, immediately remembering that it was a mistake.

Eh, it was a problem for later.

His hands went back to her waist, her chest, her back, pulling her tight against him – she followed his pull with a sigh.

Her skin against his. Her warmth. He could feel her breathe, feel her heartbeat blend with his. This was delightful.

His fingers tentatively brushed the scars, testing what her reaction would be. When she didn’t show any discomfort, he placed his palm over the burnt marks, hugging her yet tighter. The last time he had touched her there, it was to tend to these wounds, right after he inflicted them on her.

He remembered waiting, keeping watch over her in the dry heat of the desert. They were sheltered from the sun, but a few rays had managed to seep through the windows he’d blocked in their hide. He’d watched the dust dance in this light for hours, monitoring her feverish sleep, layers over layers of guilt settling slowly in his mind like falling ashes.

Roy only realized he’d been lost in bitter memories when Riza moved, kissed him gently on the cheek, and pressed her forehead against his temple. Then she managed to push his hand a little lower.
Roy smirked.
“Lieutenant Hawkeye. Always perfectly clear in her demands.”
She once again silenced him with her mouth, and went to work on his belt while he untied her bra – oddly, that was easier than her uniform buttons.
Once he’d thrown her bra away, he pulled her along with him as he let himself fall on the bed. He restrained himself from touching her breasts. If he did now…

Riza had untied his slacks, and he took them off swiftly. Now, lying on his left side, his head propped up on his elbow, the scar in his side was pulling, but not to unbearable levels. He could feel Riza's left hand on his hip, her fingers playing hesitantly with the waistband of his underwear.
He felt the need to state again : “We can take our time. One word from you, and we stop. Promise.”
“I know. Thank you.” Her hand left his hip and went to trace his abs, and the contours of the scar. “I want to continue, for now, but… and you? If we stop–”
“I’ll survive.”

If barely. It was already a torture to stop himself from pulling her closer, to get to know what she was like, fully naked, to discover how the tender skin of her breasts felt, how it did feel, too, on her stomach, her thighs, between her legs… he needed to stop thinking about it. His erection was getting almost painful. Almost.

A brief thought rose – would he be able to keep stalling, if he could see her? If he could detail all of her body just in one look? Would it satiate his hunger for her, or would it increase it, make it unbearable?
He pushed it away.

He did pull her closer, feeling her nipples brush against the skin of his chest, which had him holding his breath for a couple of seconds. His right hand trailed down her side, his featherlight touch making Riza shudder. He put his hand flat against her skin, feeling goosebumps, and felt a little proud of himself.

“But if you want to continue,” he said as he pulled the bedsheet over them both, “I’m all for it.”
“Good. Let’s do that, then.”
“Let’s do just that,” Roy went to kiss her, smiling, and allowed his hand to finally cup her breasts, feeling their weight, the soft and warm skin there. He marveled at how perfectly each fit in his hand – Riza, it was her that he was touching right now, his lieutenant, his Queen – tracing their shape with the tips of his fingers, letting his thumb brush then push gently against her nipple. Riza exhaled a content sigh under his touch, and her hands on his chest became less light, her touch lingering. But she kept shifting her hands, obviously not really knowing where to place them.

Roy replaced his thumb on her nipple with his mouth, sending his hand to trail down to caress her hip, her thigh. She arched her back, voluntarily or not, pushing her hips against his. He secured her hips there, pressing his hand on her bottom. He'd let his other hand brush lightly against her face, and he felt her as she bit her lips under his thumb. Between all this, all he felt, her skin, her smell, her whole body, her hands on his chest, on his hips, the way she occasionally grinded against his throbbing erection, just her – Hawkeye! Riza! in his bed! – he thought he could lose it. Lose control and stop stalling, start touching her where he really wanted to, take her hand and place it on–

Focus. Focus. Don’t do that to her. You owe her that. Be good. You’ll get what you want sooner than you think. Take your time. Enjoy it. Above all, make her enjoy it.

But he didn’t really have to take her hand. Slowly, hesitantly, Riza’s fingers slid down from his hip, to touch him through his underwear, trailing down his length, all along keeping her touch so light it was almost infuriating.

Roy almost told her, and went so far as to break their kiss, but decided against it and went to kiss her clavicle, then her breast again instead. He mirrored her tentative move with his own hand sliding between her legs, measuring out his touch so it wouldn’t be as light as hers, but not too rough either – not too fast. He stilled when Riza had a small gasp, waiting for a sign that he went too far.

But there were none. So he kept going, caressing her, feeling the fabric of her underwear getting wet, putting a little more pressure when her hand left his groin to grasp at his hair.
Riza’s breath got short, too short, and he stopped, tilting his head back so he could kiss her on her neck, then on her lips. His hand went to her hip, resting there.
“Would you mind if I took off–”
“No. Yes. Please.”

It was almost unsettling to feel Riza – Lieutenant Hawkeye, always so composed and measured, always so (falsely) cold – being so flustered. But also endearing. The way she talked, how her touch grew shyer whenever her hand got closer to his dick, but she was obviously still eager to touch.

Roy had a question he thought he should ask her so that he knew where to take things, but he had trouble wording it right. However, he couldn’t really wait anymore, so he talked, against her lips, letting them brush, and this sole touch would have been intoxicating enough, if there wasn't the rest.

“Have you… hum… have you tried this? By yourself, I mean? Like, do you know what you–”
“Well that’s none of your business, is it?”
Riza’s quick and stern reply surprised him so much he stood speechless, mouth open, for a couple of seconds. Then his usual wit came back to him, and he couldn't help but smile widely. It was Riza, indeed.
“Oh, I see. Thinking about me, then?”
Riza huffed, and one of her hands came to cover his mouth. But she didn’t deny anything. In fact, she did better than this.
“And what if I did?”
And she finally slid her hand in his boxers, grabbing him.

Between this and what she’d just said, Roy lost it. It was all he could do not to rut against her hand, not to let it go and let her touch and the sole idea of her presence with him unravel him.

Chess moves, Mustang. Think about chess. Now.

He took a couple of seconds to cool down, as much as he could with her hand now working him, before he pulled her underwear off, letting her wiggle out of it, and throwing it away. He tried to keep his touch not too rough, to slide his fingers gently enough between her legs, against her cl*t, feeling the satin-smooth, wet skin of her labia.

A jolt of pain at the angle how wrist was in reminded him his hands weren't in good shape, but he took it in stride – if anything, that'd help him keep his head cool. He needed that.

All the while, Riza was panting, but she also was stroking him, and if she was shy earlier, she had quickly stopped being so. She kept kissing him and kissing him, nibbling at his lower lip, her tongue brushing his, and he eagerly replied every time. His own hips rocked against his will, following her strokes, pressing against her hand. His usually silent lieutenant was moaning, groaning under his touch, and he briefly wondered if she was forcing the trait just for his benefit, or if she did sound this way, too, when she touched herself. After all, she'd admitted it.

Either way, it worked.

He was afraid it’d be too much for her, but he wouldn’t have thought he’d be the first to need to slow down. Riza wasn’t the only one who was panting, now.
“Riza– Riza, please.” He stifled a laugh. Now was not the time to make her uncomfortable – she was doing great. Too great, in fact. “Slow down. If you keep going this way I– I might not– contain myself.”
Riza's hand stilled, but didn't let go of him.
"How is that a problem?"

He was tempted to just go with it. Very tempted. The way she said this–

Think quick, Mustang, if you want to keep going the way you intended.

Instead, he pulled her hand out of his underwear and pulled her arm, and her, with him as he rolled onto his back. He clumsily got rid of his boxers before she slid one leg on either side of his hips. But she didn't settle there, instead hovering above him. Her hands caressed his chest, his shoulders, indecisive.
"Are you sure? I'd have thought you would– that you'd rather–"
Riza left the sentence trailing again, and Roy couldn't help but raise a hand to touch her cheek, expecting her to be quite hot there. She was. He pulled her face closer so he could lay his lips on hers, tenderly this time. He caressed her cheek, then spoke softly, leaving his hand there.
"You need to be in control. If you want to continue, I can guide you, or I can follow, but this position is the most, ah. Appropriate. You know best what feels good or not for yourself. You need to be the one to set the pace. Or to decide when to stop."
Was it him, or was her cheek getting yet hotter under his fingers?
Riza was out of stern retorts. He heard her lick her lips.

"Okay."
Her voice sounded a little hoarse, and turned into a whisper when her lips brushed his ear.
"I'm not stopping, though."
These words traveled all the way down his spine. But instead of acting on it, he had to say, with a wince:
"Bedside table drawer."
"What– oh."

It was a quick affair though – yet again, it was one of these things he was used to do in the dark – and Roy's hands returned on Riza's body just as fast, caressing every inch of it, feeling every expanse of fine skin, detailing every scar he knew of – and some he didn’t. There still was a part of him that couldn't believe she was there, that it was her skin under his fingers, her hands on his chest, her lips on his. How her body responded to him, how he could feel her firm muscles roll under her skin. He couldn't help but leave a hand on her thighs or bottom at any time, feeling them work, digging his fingers in them, feeling how hard it made him each time she moved and he felt it under his palms. He didn't think anything had ever aroused him so much before. He pushed the idea that he’d give anything to actually see her now, over him, her hips rocking under his touch, far, far away at the back of his mind.

Riza was still hovering over him, obviously unsure of what to do with herself, but there was no denying she was also enjoying his caresses. Roy let his fingers find their way between her legs once again, brushing gently against her cl*t, his other hand on the higher part of her thigh. He heard her breath getting shorter, felt her hips moving along.
"You tell me," he only broke their kisses to whisper into her ear. "You decide."
Riza didn't say anything and let him continue for a short while, her own hands going through his hair, sometimes tugging a little. Her lips never left his, even when she whimpered as he made his touch slower, pushing a little harder on her cl*t before reaching further down, further inside. One, then two fingers, at a leisurely pace, feeling her silky walls clench, reveling in the slick sound her wetness produced.

That sound…

He was glad Riza's hands were on his shoulder – planting her nails in – and in his hair, because if she'd been touching him –

"I– I think–"
Riza caught his wrist, stilling his hand with a grip a little stronger than necessary. She was out of breath, fighting with words.
"Please. Roy. I– it's… I want…"
As soon as she let go of his wrist, he placed his hand on her hip, mirroring the other, his damp fingers caressing her. He pushed her hips down, slowly. It was as if Riza was taken by a faint but constant shiver, and he wondered if she’d climaxed already, knowing how silent and reserved she tended to be most of the time. But the shaky breath she let out when their hips finally met told him she had not. Not yet.

“I’m fairly convinced you’re supposed to get, hum. Inside. Sir.”

Roy stifled a laugh and only huffed, but the short contraction of his abs was enough to grind their hips further against each other, and the huff turned into a shaky breath of his, this time.
“Slow down, Lieutenant,” Roy mock scolded and smirked, planting kisses on her jaw.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for years.” Her tone was serious. So serious, it made him melt. There was no teasing, no joking, there, only truth. A wave of warmth washed over him when she added: “I don’t want to slow down.”
Roy’s smirk grew wider, but softer, still.
“Alright,” he murmured in her ear.

He made his grip on her hips firmer, pushing her down against him, his touch guiding her to grind against his co*ck, slowly. Riza was tense at first ; he could feel the strain, the tension in her hips. She was unsure, too shy to follow his lead. She’d stopped kissing him, her hands nowhere to be felt, probably on the mattress. She pressed her temple against his, her breath short in his ear, crushed her chest against his. But as she rocked more and more against him – so very wet, and her whole body moving against him – he could feel her relax, her breath and movements become more languid. She let out soft moans, each of them increasing his own heartbeat.

When she started getting faster – she got it, she was starting to lead, now, and Roy felt an odd sense of pride – he let go of her upper thighs, for one hand to push her face against his so he could kiss her, deeply, a long, intent kiss. His other hand pushed her to change the angle of her hips, detaching them from his. Then, his right hand still cupping her face, he used his left to glide the tip of his co*ck against her cl*t and down from there, up and down, slowly, smiling against Riza’s little gasp on his lips, and stifling his own in the process.

Roy kept doing this, his heart pounding in his ears, his lower back on fire, his hips following the rhythm he was giving to his hand against his will – the rhythm from Riza’s hips. His breath was short, as was hers, and while the sensations were immensely pleasurable, he also knew something else made him… flustered. He hoped he could make it work. Riza was overwhelming, making him feel just as lost as she ought to be, just as new to it all. Because it was her.

But he had to keep control. He had to.

Just as he tried to do just that, Riza’s hand wrapped around his left wrist, stopping him yet again, and before he could react, he could feel her, tight, warm, around his co*ck, just the tip, but it was enough to have him pull in a breath, and her to stop breathing altogether.

They stayed like this, immobile, for excruciatingly long seconds – Roy had to call all his self control not to follow the howling desire to thrust his hips upwards, that crept up his spine like a raging fire. Until Riza finally breathed again and kissed his temple, then his cheek, then his lips, then he could focus on her again. Her lips trembled a little. Roy caressed her back, let his hands come back to her breasts, for he couldn’t trust them to stay on her hips. It was her call. No matter if she was driving him insane by the slowness of it.

She rocked her hips, gingerly, and he murmured into her ear to relax, to be gentle, to take it slow, even if his own body screamed for more, indescribable heat pooling in his lower back, fingers almost tingling. He could feel his dick throbbing hard, and he hoped it wasn’t too uncomfortable for her, that it didn’t make the all new sensation too weird, too overwhelming. But she kept going, humming under his words, her breath hitching as she went down further on him, until she took it all, their hips locking, in a long, shaky release of her breath in his ear.

Roy lost his train of thought and his words, stopping in the middle of whatever encouragement he was whispering in her ear, to suck in air, to close his eyes and pull his chin up in a low groan.

Riza pulled herself up on her arms and pushed damp hair off his forehead with shaky fingers.
“You okay?” Roy asked, opening his eyes to commit Riza’s face to memory, and closing them again immediately. Commit her touch. How she feels against you. Around you.
“I’m good.” Riza’s low, husky voice made the bitter taste that had risen at the back of his throat vanish, and caused him an involuntary thrust.
“This is… a little… strange–” she gasped.
“Sorry–”
“But not unpleasant. Now… I guess you can allow yourself to move again…” She shut him up by kissing him before he could argue, and he felt her lips stretch into a smile as she started rocking her hips again, tentatively at first, then with more intent.

Roy’s hands returned there, right where her thighs met her hips, moving along them, feeling her work. He couldn’t wait anymore, he couldn’t stall anymore, she was there, on him, he was in her, deep and warm and it was only making him more eager. He finally allowed himself to follow her moves, but kept her hips firmly set against his, mirroring each of her rocking movements with a thrust now, pushing a little harder every time. He kept his mouth on hers, each lick of her tongue on his making him burn higher and clearer.

One of his hands climbed to her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index, while the other found its way down, his thumb pressing against her cl*t. He felt her still for a split second, then her hips jerked forward, apparently against her will, and he stroked her harder, thrusting deeper, all the while trying to keep the pace she’d started with – slow, too slow, too f*cking slow – until she sped up, and he followed.

Riza’s lips left his, to go suck at his neck, right under his jaw, her teeth grazing, while her hands, returned to his shoulders, sinked their nails into his tender skin. She was not in control anymore, she didn’t control anything, neither her hands nor the jerking movements of her hips, nor her voice – she let out low, hoarse cries, muffled against his neck, her cheek pressing against his so hard he had to consciously push against her to keep his head upright. His right hand left her breast to pan across her back, to feel it arch and shake.

The imperious need to see her, to look her in the eye right at this moment struck him again, and this time his scattered brain didn’t let him push it away, bringing tears to his eyes before he really could understand what was happening.

No. Not now. Not. Now.

Riza was shaking, breathing heavily against his neck, oblivious, and he focused on her, on the spasms in her legs, and the ones he could feel along the length of his co*ck.

He thought she would collapse. Anytime, now.

But she didn’t. She almost immediately started kissing his neck, softly, repeatedly, her hands caressing his chest, his face, with such tenderness it could as well be the reason he had tears in his eyes. She was grounding him, taking him back to the here and now and what was important – her – did she know? Had she seen – felt – anything? But it didn’t matter.

“Riza…”
The three words that followed in his head didn’t go past his lips. But he knew she would hear them.
“Roy.”
Her voice was still hoarse, but the tone with which she’d said his name… Oh, that was enough to bring him fully back.
“Do you mind if I–”
“No. Of course not.”

In one same movement, they rolled so that he was on top of her, showering her face, her shoulders, her breasts with kisses, his lips tracing the way, his tongue drawing against her skin.
“Riza. Riza. Riza.”
Her chuckle was music to his ear.
“Please tell me if–”
“Roy.” Two hands came to rest on his cheeks, pulling his head up from her chest “I will. Stop this.” Her lips met his and he found his way inside her again. He slid his arms under her back and pulled her against him, closer, always closer, feeling her breasts crushing against his chest with each thrust, harder, deeper. Her hands danced on the skin of his back, leaving trails of static on his body. At last, a slow brush of her tongue on his lips ended him, and he came with a last number of hard jerks from his hips, moaning against Riza’s lips.

Riza.

Maybe she didn’t collapse on him, but she was the strong one. His arms and legs suddenly weak, he fell down on her, his mouth breathing against her neck, one hand sliding into her hair.

Riza pulled on that hand, brought it to her face, and kissed the tips of his fingers, the knuckles, the scar on both sides. Then she kept it in her own hand, pressed against her lips. He buried his face in her neck and his other hand in her hair with a sigh.

Time stilled.

Nothing could have separated them. They were one, and would stay this way. Roy drifted, feeling the lightest he'd ever felt in years, or maybe ever, safe in Riza's arms.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

“You’re okay. Colonel.”

He isn’t. The sword had flashed, and without a single sound, blood had poured from Hawkeye’s neck in a crimson river, her eyes wide with surprise. Roy is still held by…

… sheets. Cotton sheets. A pervasive smell of disinfectant is tickling his nose.

“You’re okay. It’s just a nightmare. You’re in the hospital. I’m in the bed next to yours, to your left.”

Roy stills, sitting upwards, his chest heaving under a ragged breath, blood pounding in his ears.

Hawkeye is still there under his eyes, her face, her hands, her honey hair tinted red.

Hawkeye is dying. Hawkeye is–

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes. I’m here. I can’t reach you, but I’m here.”

Her voice is feeble, raspy. He turns his head towards it, his eyes straining to see, but of course there’s nothing.

“I’m right here. You’re looking my way. I survived, and you did, too.”

Roy had not slept that well in months.

Hell, in years.

He rolled over in his bed, stretching. Why was he so sore? And what–

His arm fell on something that was not his bed, and it all came back to him.

No wonder he’d slept so soundly.

Hoping he had not awoken her, he felt around to understand how Riza was lying next to him, keeping his hand as light as possible. Once he understood she had her back to him, he shifted closer to her, spooning her, sliding his arm over her side, burying his nose into her hair. The feeling of warmth and plenitude that took him as he once again realized he was huddling against her, that it was her hair, her skin, her smell, almost brought tears to his eyes. He nudged his head closer against the base of her skull, his nose breathing against her neck.

Riza brought her shoulders up with a shudder.
“You’re tickling me, Roy.”
“Sorry.”

Ticklish Riza. That was something new. But instead of acting on it, he stored it in his memory for later. For now, he just wanted lazy cuddles. Just her warmth against him.

“Didn’t want to wake you up.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been awake for a while.” Riza took his hand and intertwined their fingers, and Roy let out a sigh. “In fact, I was wondering if I should wake you up.”
Roy nudged his nose along her neck, placing a kiss behind her ear.
“Mh. You should have, indeed.”
Riza huffed, let his hand go and turned around in his arms, until she was facing him.
“Not for that, idiot. We… need to talk.”
“About last night,” Roy purred, adjusting his head on his pillow.
“Yes, but judging from your face we’re not thinking about the same thing,” Riza’s tone was far from wooed.
“What’s wrong with my face?” He frowned.
“Smugness. You’re so happy with yourself, it’s… frightening.”
“I’m not happy with myself. I’m just happy.” Roy let his eyebrows shoot up, keeping his eyes closed, the very face of innocence. At least he hoped so.

Riza let out a sound that said she was not convinced. But she indulged him. A hand slid against his face, fingers tracing his brow, thumb caressing his cheek.
“I’m happy, too.”

There, she sounded frightened for real, her voice clashing with her words. Roy opened his eyes.
“Riza?”

He could hear it in her change of breath, feel it, as she was so close, when she opened her mouth and closed it.
Several times.

It was his turn to cradle her face and caress it gently – he tried to use his hands and his memory to paint a picture of Riza's face in his mind, but he couldn’t really say that was successful. However, he could tell she was frowning, the crease between her eyebrows perfectly easy to feel, the tension of her lips under his fingertips almost calling him to place his mouth over hers. To steady her. But he didn't, and resorted to comforting strokes on her cheeks, her neck.

When Riza finally spoke, it was with a reluctant, thick voice.

“It's just… I know I'm repeating myself, but now… it's… it's worse. You’re going to leave, just as we–”
“Riza.” Roy immediately pulled her closer against him, resting his head atop hers. Her breath warmed his chest. He had to deal with so many new sensations at once, with her so close, and so many feelings, the warmth growing in his chest every time she said his name, every time she touched him. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

She wasn’t, either. Sometimes he felt that she had been hurt just as much, if not more, than he'd been, during this fateful day.

But he couldn't say not thinking straight was a bad thing. Anything to silence the dark thoughts in his head, and hers, he wanted to silence hers, too – and what silencing! Inside, he wasn't dark and cold anymore. He was warm and soft. It was so strange how everything seemed to click into place, so fast.

It could have been scary. If he wasn't, well, himself. To him, it was exhilarating. He felt ready to tackle anything, now with Riza closer than she'd ever been, and with a clear goal in mind.

Oh, how he wished to make her feel the same. They'd be unstoppable.

“It’s just a couple of days. We’re not even entering Ishval territory for real. We’re meeting Scar and other officials in Dar Mouhed and assessing the damage there first. I think they might want to test me and Armstrong. To evaluate if the help we offer is worth the risk to hire us. To judge our character, maybe.”
“And after that?”
“If they deem us worthy, yeah, I’d probably have to go back. Multiple times. And stay longer. But let’s not get ahead of–”
“We should get married.”

Silence.

A car passed somewhere on the street, far, far away. It could have been on the moon, for all that mattered.

Roy blinked. He had not understood what he thought he had understood. No.

He brought his hands back on her cheeks, and spoke in a low voice, as slow as he could, to delay her answer. Just in case.

“Excuse me, what?”
“We should get married, Roy. I know–”

Something got a hold of his chest, something that pushed him to chuckle stupidly. She couldn't be serious.

“Oh my. Really? You’re joking, right? Granted, I know last night was–”
“Shut up.” Riza pulled out of his embrace and shuffled next to him. When she talked again, her voice was coming from higher. She’d sat up. “I’m not joking, and you know it. You want me to stay in the army. I’ll stay. I think you're right about that. I need… I need the steadiness it gives me. Even if I'm off balance at work, right now."

Riza paused, and Roy had an embarrassed smile. It was good that she felt like sharing this with him, but he also felt bad for pressuring her. He did think she would fare better if she stayed. She was extremely good at her job. And that was important for her, he knew it. But he couldn't do more than that painful stretch of his lips, right now. Something had started brewing at the back of his mind.

"And I have found a way to follow you. Spouse dual assignment.”
“Spouse what?” Roy narrowed his eyes.

He’d never heard about this. His brain was still trying to process the fact that Riza had just asked him to marry her. For real, apparently.

Of course, that wasn't Riza's kind of humor. He should have known.

But it was his turn to feel it was too fast.

It just wasn't right.

This wasn't how it should go. Not how it should happen. Not this way. Not from this.

He needed time, he had questions to ask, so the weird bitter taste that had appeared at the back of his throat would disappear and the beating of his heart in his ears subdue – but Riza was on a roll.

“It’s Rebecca who talked to me about it. Soldiers can be allowed to follow their spouse, including not military, if the State deems their service worthy to the community. If you’re hired by Miles for his Ishval reconstruction project, I think we can be assured that–”
“You’re–” Roy closed his eyes again, frowning. He felt strangely hollow. “What you’re offering here, is a marriage of convenience."

There must have been something on his face, for Riza immediately laid down next to him, her hand reaching to his face. Her caress on his cheek did nothing to soothe him.
“No. Well, yes, but – think about it. If I’m, even if I’m only sent back to East City, I’d be far closer. I could follow you. And what if – what if I’m assigned to Major Miles? It’d make everything so much easier. For me, to follow you, but also for you, for – maybe your disability could be taken into account, somehow–”
"Riza, I, I don't want–"

He couldn't help it. His fingers dug into her upper arms, a little too hard. But before he could find the words to express the conflicting feelings that almost made his teeth grind, Riza spoke again. She rarely spoke as much at once, and that was enough to silence him.

Didn't stop him from grinding his teeth, though.

"You don't get it. I need you. We already talked about it. Since the Promised Day – and, and before, too – I know. I know I just can't–" Her shaky breath warmed his cheek. She murmured : "Don't make me say it. Please. I know you know."

Roy swallowed, and let out a long, shaky breath.

He knew. Of course he knew, he could see it, bright and clear. He'd witnessed it, and she'd told him. She wouldn't live on without him, plain and simple.

Roy's palms on Riza's arms were sweaty, and he let go to wipe his hands against the bed sheets before bringing them to her face again, pulling her closer, resting their foreheads against each other. He hoped she wouldn't see he was trying to keep his eyes from watering from the way he closed them, but he knew that was probably a wasted effort. That was too much to deal with, now. His chest felt constricted, and a warm knot had formed right under his ribs, twisting.

Promised day had broken way more than he'd thought, in them both.

Then Riza delivered her final blow, in an almost inaudible whisper.

"I love you, Roy. And I won't stand to be parted from you ever again. I wouldn't be able to bear it. Our lives are too entwined. They've been for a long time, but now…"

Roy swallowed again, and forced his eyes open. His thumb felt that her cheeks were wet. Again. He'd hurt her. Again. He was responsible for her – her health, her wellbeing, her life – he just couldn't let her down. She was there by his fault. He had to take care of her.

Equivalent exchange.

"I've been an idiot again, haven't I? I wish I didn't make you cry. I'm sorry–"
"Please, sir, stop apologizing."
Was she offering him a way to defuse the situation? Conscious or not from her, he took it.
"So I'm sir again, then?"
"No." Riza had a trembling huff. She was so close that her nose brushed against his. "Roy."
"Better." He smiled. "I love you." He let the words sink in. It was so Riza to think about the practical before stating the obvious. But he'd stalled, too. "I… I think you're right. And I'm actually surprised you managed to be the first one to say it, because it's been burning my lips for a long time."
He planted a small kiss on her lips, and said it again.
"I love you."
Riza hugged him, pressing her cheek against his.

Roy was still trying to swallow the bitter taste at the back of his throat. And his objections.

And what if it was a marriage of convenience? What if it was just so they stayed together, because they literally couldn't live without each other, now? It didn't make it any less real. It didn't erase what they felt, and had felt for each other for years.

It could still magnify it. Even if it happened this way.

But still…

Don't think about it now, Mustang. You'll get plenty of time to disentangle this later. Enjoy it, for f*ck's sake.

After a while, Roy realized one of the things she'd said, that had been occulted by the enormity of the rest.

"Wait. You've told Rebecca and she told you to get married? Are we going to get married thanks to Rebecca, out of all people?"
Riza huffed again, her nose tickling his neck.
"No. Well, yes, but she doesn't… well, yes, she does, now…"

Riza stilled.
"Does it mean you're considering it?"
"What? I'm not considering it. I want it. Of course I do. But Rebecca?"
"We need to talk about it seriously."
"We do. But don't derail. Rebecca–"
"She knows. I told her."
"I know she does, she practically jumped at me yesterday. Why?! Why did you tell her, everyone is going to know–"
"She was certain I had a crush on Lieutenant Enfield."

Roy was stopped in his tracks again. He frowned. Lieutenant Enfield. Worked under Colonel Smith. Enfield. Good element, if a little too attached to the old ways. What did he look like? He didn't remember. And why was Rebecca convinced Riza had a crush on him? And how had she reacted when – maybe he didn't want to know that.

"Roy?"
"Is he… handsome?"
"Roy!"
"Well, is he? I have a right to know. He's military, he's the same rank as you, you work together, and he –"
"Roy. We were talking about getting married."
"But if–"

Riza silenced him with a kiss.

If she was going to make a habit out of it, he wouldn't mind it. When he felt her lips leave his, he chased them, prolonging the moment, tasting her again. It felt as good as the first, as good as the second, as good as any kiss they'd had the day before. He wanted to keep kissing her all day, and start again tomorrow.

Riza pulled back.
"Satisfied?"
"I need a little more clues to–"
A finger stopped his lips from going back to hers.
"I need to go and take care of Hayate. Do you want to come?"
"Are you coming back, after?"
"Do you want me to come back?" She kissed him on the forehead, and pushed his arms away so she could get out of bed. Roy let his head fall on the pillows with a sigh, then smirked.
"Do you even have to ask?"

He stayed in bed. Following Riza would be a hassle, and he had to prepare for a yet bigger one.

Ishval. Wedding. How had things turned insane so quickly?

It also meant that he would stand in the way in her flat, which he had never been to since they'd moved to Central, an eternity ago. A whole life.

One in which he would never have dared to hope that, one day, Riza would talk about marriage. While laying in his own bed.

He still felt a little dizzy about it.

Granted, it would be a marriage of convenience, still. Even if he did not doubt the sincerity of Riza's feelings, for he would never doubt her on that (he would still have to ask Havoc about that Enfield, though, just in case).

But he'd have liked for them to take their time, and he'd have wanted to make his proposal – a grand gesture, take her out, eat fancy, do something big, he had no idea, since he had not ever allowed himself to think about it before.

But somehow… It still felt… good? That Riza had asked him? Bittersweet, but he'd have to get used to that. They had to get used to that.

Riza had left after coming back to the bedroom to place a last kiss on his forehead, and he'd stayed in bed, his hands under his head, daydreaming about how everything would happen.

Riza was right. They needed to talk about it seriously, later.

He was imagining her in a dress he would anyway never see – and maybe indulging a little too much, because Riza would never wear something like that, especially for her wedding – when the phone rang.

Roy felt around the bed for his shirt, finding nothing, and resolved to just get to the phone in his underwear.

He needed to work on being less messy in these circ*mstances.

Just as he was thinking about that, he tripped, tried to find his balance for a split second, but fell on all four. Blindness didn't help, but he also lacked some core strength since his side had been injured. Cursing loudly, he felt around to catch what had made him fall, and realized it was his trousers from the day before. At least he could put them on before walking to the living room and picking up the phone – four steps to the right of the bedroom's door. But he wasn't in the best of moods.

"Hello?"
"Colonel!"
Roy sighed. How many times a day would he have to correct people, now? And for how long?
"And who would it be?"
"You don't recognise my voice, boss?"
"Havoc." It wasn't the voice, it was the tone, the drawl, and "boss". "Hello, lieutenant. And it's just Mustang, now. Or if you really want to, Brigadier General."
"Yeah, yeah, alright. Well, in fact, I'm calling for a couple of things, and… maybe you can stop calling me lieutenant, too." Roy frowned, but Havoc didn't grant him the time to think more about what he'd just said. "But that's not the most important thing," suddenly, Havoc's voice sounded excited. "Is it true?"
"Why should I stop calling you Lieutenant? Didn't you plan to reincorporate in the army?"
"You answer first. Is it true, sir?"
"What is true?"
"That you and Hawkeye –"
"What? How–" sh*t. Rebecca. Damn this woman! Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. The cat was out of the bag, then. Soon all of Central, hell, all of Amestris would know about them. He sighed.
"What did Rebecca tell you, Havoc?"
"Oh sh*t! It's true then! Boss! Congratulations! You need to tell us all about it! Since when–"
"That's none of your business." Roy's hand tightened around the receiver. Pain crept from his palm, up to his wrist, then his elbow. That was not helping him to stay calm.
"Wait until I tell Breda –"
"You're not telling Breda!"
"Of course I will, he needs to know! Tell me, boss, how did you manage this? I mean, Riza is one–"
The insinuation that would follow managed to make him lose his temper even before Havoc uttered any word.
"That's none! Of your business!" Roy barked, and hung up, throwing the receiver rageously.

Rebecca was lucky he was unable to spot her in the street now, because if he'd been, he'd incinerate her on the spot the next time he'd cross her path.

And he'd forgotten to ask about Enfield.

The new week started, Roy went to rehab with Vanessa or Madeline, came back with Riza who told him about her day under Smith's command. She was buried in work, but didn't sound too unhappy about it.

Once again, Riza, factual Riza. Only when she panicked did she let emotions slip. Or, he hoped, when they would do more than just share a bed again.

As usual for the last two weeks, Roy was practicing reading, stopping every paragraph or so to massage his hands, when Riza, freshly back from work, walked past him. There was something in her gait that made him prick his ear, something he couldn't pinpoint, but didn't like.

His hands stilled in the middle of a sentence on the basics of combustion – that was all he could get his hands on that was at least a little relevant to his interests while he waited for the custom transcriptions he had ordered. School level chemistry. As if he needed that. Over his laborious progress through the book, he had even spotted numerous factual errors.

He let his ears follow Riza's steps to the kitchen at the other side of the room. What was bothering him was still there.

He rationalized it. She was tired. Reports piled on her desk, she'd told him, and she didn't see the end of it. Every morning the pile looked higher than when she'd left in the evening. She hadn't had the time to start researching or even taking notes properly for her report yet, and he knew that made her angry. So, a difference in the way she moved or held herself wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.

She stopped. Roy held his breath, straining his hearing to try and catch hers. Nothing, until – two quick inspirations, shallow, but resounding enough that he could hear them. Not good. Roy put the book down and got up from the sofa.
"Riza? Are you okay?"
"Yes." She was trying very hard to hide that she was out of breath. "Just getting ready to make dinner."

She was good. But she couldn't hide this from him. And she's been digging her own grave : she'd talked. He located her easily, and slid an arm around her waist. It helped him judge her posture. She was leaning on her arms on the kitchen counter. Leaning heavily.
"What are you doing, Roy?"

Up close, there was no way he would miss it. Her voice was breathy, almost panting. It tugged at Roy's guts. Every time it happened, it brought him back to that day, to her limp form on the tunnel ground, the blood on her jacket, on her hair.

He could still see it.

Standing behind her back, he placed his free hand on hers. It was freezing.

He took his softest, lowest voice.
"Remember when you'd look up from your work, and I already had my eyes on you?"
Riza hummed, and tensed.
"This is me still keeping watch over you. I miss these exchanged looks. I have to make do," he ended in a whisper, and cleared his throat before he started again, louder. "And I don't think so. You're not making dinner, Riza, you're going to lie down."
"I'm fine."
"You're out of breath. I could hear it from the other side of the room."
"It's okay, I'm used to–"
Roy grasped Riza's hand and waist tighter. He could feel her shallow breathing. He spoke in her ear.
"This is an order, lieutenant."
She turned at once, trying to get out of his grip. She wasn't as weak as he'd had expected, but he knew that didn't mean much. He didn't let go of her.
"And how are we going to eat, General?"
"I'll take care of it. Come, lie down on the sofa."
"No, Roy, I'm–"
"Your hands are freezing. You're out of breath. I won't have you fainting again. I'm not letting you stand up here and cook. Lie down, please."

Riza huffed and puffed, but followed his pull, and walked to the sofa, with Roy in her steps, his arm staying around her waist until she dropped on the seat.
"You can't cook. You never could, and–"
He pushed her to lie against the backrest.
"I recently had to suffer cooking lessons. I am technically trained."
"Doesn't mean you can cook."
Roy huffed – she was oh so right.
"You don't trust the rehab training?" He bent over her, nudged her cheek, then rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't trust you with food. Just let me do it, please."
"I know what to do, Riza, don't worry."

He pulled away, and with a smirk, walked to the telephone instead of the kitchen.
"So. Aerugan or Xingese?"

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

"...the destructions are mostly concentrated around Central, and especially Army Head Quarters. General Grumman calls for all potential alchemists to come to help for a swift reconstruction, and promises compensations for those who would show up. However–"

Riza is cut short in her reading of the Central Times when someone knocks on the door.

Ever expecting the colonel to take things into his own hands, she turns towards him. He's sitting in his bed, propped up against pillows, just like herself. His head is tilted to the side, and he jerks it, a blink and you'll miss it move, towards her, before he straightens it again. She sees him close his eyes slowly and sigh. Then he calls out.
"Come in."

Riza would have expected Breda or Fuery. But it was only a matter of time before the tall and broad woman would come.
"Hello, Roy-boy," Chris Mustang says softly as she walks in, in a cloud of cigarette smoke. She nods to Riza with a smile that is oddly fond. "Hello, Lieutenant."

"Hello, Madam." Riza doesn't really know what to say, but she knows what to do, and acts accordingly immediately. "I'll leave you two be and go read in the gardens."

The reply from the colonel is curt and dry and doesn't suffer any answer.
"You fainted this morning in the bathroom, Lieutenant. You're not going anywhere. We have nothing to hide from you."

But maybe I don't want to witness that, Riza thinks. She knows what Roy is going to have to tell his foster mother. But an order is an order. Besides, and as much as it costs her to admit, he's right. She's still dizzy and has trouble standing.

"Yes. Sir." Riza says, and takes a book, pulling her eyes away from the colonel and the madam, who is trying to convey without words to her that no, really, it's okay.

It's not. Riza tries to immerse fully in her book. Tries not to hear.

"... just got in from the exile you imposed on me and the girls. From what I see, you were right once again."
"Once again is a big word. But yes. This time I was sure sh*t was going to happen. And it did."
"Uh-uh. At least we've been lucky, I've found an establishment just on the corner of the same street. Business and premises. I'll be sending you the bill." She pauses, and Roy has a low huff. "There's a nasty rumour about you in this hospital, however. One I don't like one bit."
"Which one? There's a lot of them. Might have started a couple myself, too."
"One that says… Roy-boy, is it true? Did you already try–"

Riza wants to tear off her ears. There's suddenly so much softness in the madam's voice, a stark contrast to the usual dry and slightly rough tone.

And sorrow.

Part of Riza wonders if her father would have had the same tone, had something like this happened to her while he was still alive.

But sorrow had always been lurking in everything he said. A very different kind of sorrow. More subdued, more permeating, not as raw as the one she can hear in the madam's words.

Riza shouldn't be there, and she shouldn't be witnessing this.

"Yes. That one's true."

The reply is very in character for the colonel, on the other hand. The tone is, too. Soft, but final. It doesn't call for any follow up comment. It is what it is. But Riza can't help but hear something else in it. She glances up from her book, quickly, and from the corner of her eyes she sees he has an apologetic, sad smile. One he sports very rarely.

The madam sighs and raises her hand to pass it in the colonel's hair.
"What have you gotten yourself into, this time?"

Riza returns her eyes to her book as quickly as she can, willing to forget everything she's just seen and heard.

It'd been a busy week for Riza.

Busy at work, because even if she was professional and highly adaptable, taking care of overseeing foreign imports was something she'd never been asked to do in her carreer. It was however very interesting, and she had started taking notes on the side and searching for material and arguments that would help her expand the first lines of draft that she'd put down on the Xing railway report. Now more than ever she was set on writing it, and Roy was all too happy to help her on it.

Orville, who was always down for a chat, had informed her that the number of exchanges with Xing had tripled in the last month, and was expected to rise to even bigger heights as time went on and the relationship between Amestris and Xing grew stronger. Good news for the country, excellent news for her report, but bad news for Smith's team, who was assigned to monitor Xingese imports especially, and who’d seen reports pile higher than ever on their desks. Riza thought she had a little idea why this had happened all of a sudden, but kept it to herself.

But it was also busy at home — or rather, at Roy's, since she was still fetching him from various places in the evenings when she could, and eating dinner with him, as they already used to.

Except she was sharing his bed every night now.

Not that way, no — they had yet to renew the experience. They were both pretty much exhausted when they reached the bed at night, and while the desire was there — on both sides — night after night they had decided against going further than feverish kisses and wandering hands, and rather settled for falling asleep in each other's arms.

That wasn't bad. It wasn't bad at all.

Though Riza couldn't help but go back to that night from time to time.

After longing for him for so long — even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, she had, of course she had — after that first, sloppy, awful kiss and her pushing him away, he’d reached for her again. And now… That by itself had been meaningful, but the rest…

His tenderness, his lips, his hands had awoken something inside her she had not been aware existed. After all these years together but apart, never touching, never speaking what they could both feel in each other, the sudden intimacy had felt almost too much, at first. His fingers had burnt her skin, his lips had consumed hers. And yet she’d discovered she’d been yearning for more.

Was. Still. Ready to self combust at the lightest of touches.

Yearning for his embrace, his arms around her. She was content with that, her heart full and warm to return every night to him. To fall back into his soft touch, to have him whisper silly things in her ear in a sleep heavy voice she had rarely heard before, to find the smell of smoke under his aftershave in his neck. The look in his eyes — yes, even that was there, still there.

Every night, everytime they touched, she managed to push the guilt away, to silence it, to ignore it. She was a little horrified. It was easier and easier as time passed.

And if there was to be more, she wouldn’t be shying away from it either. She'd never had another man before, but as she had implicitly confessed to him, she was no stranger to taking care of herself. Sex was something very selfish in her mind, not in a bad way, just something she had never felt like sharing with anyone else. But now…

She wouldn't say she'd been wrong. She didn't think she'd been. There was only one person that could ever have worked with, and it was Roy. And now, that had been confirmed for her.

She’d been tense about it — she remembered Rebecca telling her about the disaster that had been her first time. But it was only logical that it wouldn’t be for her, right? It was Roy. And Riza, as inexperienced with this type of intimacy as she was, was an adult, and not a teenager. And… it was Roy. Gentle, considerate Roy.

Riza shook her head and focused on the report from one Major Müller about the detailed cargo of a Xingese shipment of wood, which had to cross multiple borders and was entering the country through Aerugo.

She had to try and not let her mind wander at work. That was a new problem for her. She had always been very easily focused, on her reports just like on her targets. But since the Promised Day, her mind felt scattered, harder to gather and point towards a specific goal.

But thinking about Roy's touch, the adoration on his face, was far better than all the anxious thoughts that had derailed her before.

It was just. Not very appropriate.

She very deliberately drank the disgusting coffee from the cafeteria cold, to keep her mind running, and went on. She also had a notebook open in her drawer, where she jotted observations for her very own report about Xing. The pages were filling up, even if she still didn't know how to organize it all.

But she knew who could help.

At home, they'd also started getting Roy ready for his approaching visit to Ishval, on Riza's orders.

Miles had phoned him regularly, settling the date and time of their departure, and giving him all the information he could through the line Fuery had secured long ago, in other circ*mstances — even if they should be safe, one was never too safe. The more sensitive intel — who would be there, what would be discussed and expected of the alchemists — had been passed through other means, and landed in Riza's hands for her to read to Roy.

Roy himself was angrily focused on his alchemy and how slow the process of transcribing the useful books he'd need was, already sure as he was that reading them would take an awful lot of time as well, not even starting on how he could ever manage to take notes. In the meantime, Riza helped him research and read aloud, and took notes for him, which would be read by Miles or whoever if need be. Riza also added her own notes in the margins for Miles, and hoped some of them wouldn't be read out loud.

Roy was also all about politics — not that he would dab in there much for himself anymore, but it was essential to know where Scar and Miles stood regarding Ishval as a whole, and the respective leaders of each different branch of the population. Blind or not, Roy had strategy in his blood, and he'd rather be on top of everything before getting a single toe on Ishvalan ground. He paced around the little living room in his flat while Riza read the files Miles had sent, and asked her to quizz him about their content regularly. His memory was phenomenal, and he was rarely wrong.

He knew about only one of the three Elders they were supposed to meet. Ari Lowe. Son of Rog Lowe, the very head of the Ishval people. How had such an important member of the community they were supposed to obliterate survived, that was beyond both Roy and Riza, but Roy seemed happy about it. Rog Lowe had had the reputation of a great leader, just and considerate. Roy hoped his son would walk in his steps.

He'd spent the evenings of the last week asking Riza to read again various notes, his hands on his face, barely touching the food she had to shove into his hands. And to say he'd made some progress about that since the Promised Day.

Riza herself was only concerned with one thing: Roy's safety in her absence.

Which led to a heated discussion one evening, three days before his departure, as Riza helped him start to pack.

"I'm not carrying a knife."
Roy refused to even lay a hand on the small combat knife Riza presented him. She suspected she knew why, but she couldn’t let him win this round. He had to have something with him.
"You can't carry a gun–"
"I'm not carrying a gun either. I can’t use them properly, even the knife. And no weapons on me. Not in Ishval."

Roy wasn’t angry, but he looked set on this idea. Riza looked at him, despair mingling with irritation. They were standing in his bedroom, in the dim evening light, various items of civilian clothing spread on the bed — Roy wouldn't bring one of his usual suits, but couldn't let go of his dress shirts — waiting to be folded and put in his old army duffle bag. Roy was standing next to her, arms crossed and eyes closed. He kept a leg against the side of the bed, even if he turned towards her, to keep the location of it surely. Riza couldn't help but notice all these little things, and she didn't know how she felt about it.

Riza tried to reach through to him — she placed a hand on his arm.
"You can't wear your gloves. They'll recognize you faster."
"I won't.” Roy shook his head, keeping his expression and his eyes still closed, adding a frown on top. “I've told you. No weapons. I'll have the gloves in my pockets as a last resort. That's enough."
"That's not enough, Roy."
"My gloves, my alchemy, and a full detachment from Briggs, Riza." Roy finally opened his eyes and arms at the same time, his hands brushing against her, and climbing to her shoulders. “And Alex. And Miles. I firmly intend on not leaving Mile’s side ever, only for the ride back. Which I’ll make with Alex.”

Riza shifted from one foot to the other. Roy, his hands still on her shoulders, tilted his head to the side.
"You don't trust them?"
"I do. I do…"
His hands still on her shoulders, Roy had a small smile, his eyes half closing.
"You don't. You only trust yourself."
"After what happened, I'm not even sure I trust myself. I– I don't."
"Riza…"

Since their first kiss in the car, and that moment he realized he could call her this way, he had taken to say her name, with this very specific tone, whenever she expressed anguish or sadness. She knew it wasn't to silence her — quite the contrary. It was a way of saying "I know. I'm sorry. I hear you."
And, these last days, it'd helped.
But not today.

Today she could only look him in the face, her heart aching that he would never be able to give her back her stare anymore, aching that he still wanted to jump into the lion's den in this state, aching that he had to go without her.

And unarmed.

But, even blind, it seemed he could still read her mind to a degree. He knew she wasn't placated by his tone.

"I'm not taking your weapons. I'm the weapon. Told you. I've always been. As much as I'd like to forget it, there is no turning back from it. I shouldn't even set foot on this soil, when I've been instrumental in its curse."
"Yet, here you are. You're going back."
"I am. Look, Riza…" He trailed off, thinking.

The frown on his face eased at once, and his eyes opened wide. He raised a hand, slowly, his fingers brushing his lips — Riza knew this gesture. He had an idea.

That wasn't necessarily good news.

Roy stepped back.
"I won't take these weapons. You can't make me. But I can give you something," he said, almost as if talking to himself, and he turned around at once and walked out of the bedroom. "It won't be much, but… this way, maybe you…"

Roy had his flat mapped in his head since the first days, and only had to readjust his direction once when the hand he kept in front of his hip brushed against the doorframe. Riza forced herself to think this was proof he could handle himself in Ishval, as insane as it sounded.

She followed him to the kitchen with circ*mspection, and watched him, only lit by the orange glow from the street lamps outside, as he opened the first drawer he found, checked its contents, then closed it and counted two drawers to the left.

He never finished his sentence, too absorbed in his task. She heard him rummage in the cutlery, saw him lift a fork, pass the tip of his fingers on it, frown, then dismiss it. He did the same thing twice again until he seemed to have set his heart on a teaspoon. He placed the spoon on the kitchen countertop, and crossed his arms, obviously thinking.

Riza walked closer, curiosity taking over. What was he doing? She reached the counter, far enough from him so she wouldn't hamper whatever he was planning, but close enough to have a good look at him from the side.

After a little while, he closed his eyes, clapped, then took the spoon, cradling it between his hands, closing them over it. Blue static ran over his fingers and a strong light crept from between them. So strong, in fact, that his hands glowed red, illuminated from inside.

The light ebbed, and he opened his hands. The spoon had disappeared. Instead, there was something tiny in his right palm, that he felt thoroughly with the fingertips of the other hand, frowning. Riza couldn't see what it was from this angle, but Roy seemed content. He had a small smile, satisfied, yes, but a little different from his usual proud smirk.

When he spoke, his voice was low and soft.
"Where are you?"
"I'm right here."
Riza stepped closer, and brushed his arm while she talked. He opened his eyes wider, surprised, but he quickly found his composure, and turned to face her.

And then.

Roy kneeled in front of her.

"I, uh. I guess I should do it properly, then."
He reached towards her, his hand feeling its way up her thigh to find hers and take it. Even in the low light, Riza could see how red his neck had turned.

Riza's body and mind were frozen. She couldn't think, she couldn't speak, she couldn't move. Even her hand in his felt stiff, as if a simple move would break her into a million pieces. It seemed Roy felt it, too, for his hands were incredibly gentle on hers.
Or maybe it was because they were shaking.

"Take this." Roy slid a small thing on her ring finger, then kept her hand and kissed her knuckles, keeping his face up, his eyes seemingly searching for hers. "So you'll be sure I'll come back. And, hum, even if it's for convenience, even if it's rushed, I want – I want our wedding to be a real one."

On her hand shone a very simple, thin ring, made of shiny metal, on which stood a single, tiny, rock. As tiny as it was, it sparkled in the low light, white and strong.

Riza's husky voice surprised her.
"Roy, is it–"
"A solitaire. It's a diamond. I, hum," Roy rubbed the back of his head. "I just isolated the carbon from the stainless steel in the spoon. What's left is an alliage of chrome and iron, so it's not very fancy, and could be pretty brittle, but it should be shiny, at least. I hope you don't mind–"
Riza pulled on his hand so that he stood up.
She had no idea what to tell him, so she said what you were supposed to say in this case, even if it was obvious, even if he knew already, even if it was absolutely not a conventional proposal.
"I don't mind at all. Yes. Yes, Roy."
The small smile came back on his lips, and she saw their corners tug into his smug smirk, slowly, as she slid her arms around him and pulled him in a tight embrace. She seemingly would never tire of the way their bodies fit against each other so perfectly.

They couldn’t have done anything, for so long, avoiding the matter, not even knowing this would be possible one day. Maybe it was just balance that they'd have to rush everything at once now.

Roy slid a hand against her neck, pulling at her turtleneck to kiss her under it. She closed her eyes, fully into the feeling of his soft lips brushing her sensitive scar.

Until he had to be an idiot.

"You wear this also when you're off? I don't remember that. Do you have a dressing only full of black turtlenecks?"

He was trying to defuse the emotional moment because he couldn't handle it. And he had, more than he probably thought.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Oblivious of how she had suddenly stilled, he smiled against her skin. His voice was teasing, but his hands were soft on her waist, and he kept kissing the newly healed skin tenderly. Riza sighed and opened her eyes. His touch was gentle, and it felt almost not too weird on the scar.

She hated to say this, when they'd just had such a good moment. Her eyes fell on the ring, the tiny diamond shining in the low light.

"I don't want to see it. I don't want to remind people. I don't want to be reminded of what could have been. Of what we've — you've lost."

Roy stilled, but did not let go of her collar. He breathed a warm sigh against the scar, and kissed it again. When he spoke, his voice was very low, almost a whisper.
"It's a reminder of what could have been, indeed. But I love this scar. It's also a reminder that you're alive. You pulled through." His lips pressed against the scar, gently, once, twice. "You're with me."
Riza opened her mouth, and he must have felt it, for he spoke again.
"We can't go back. There's no changing the past. You know as well, we've known for years. What counts is what we do now." With a final kiss, he stepped back, and his hand slid to hers, holding it up. He toyed with the ring.
Riza looked at the minuscule stone, sparkling between Roy's fingers. She sighed.

"It's a good reminder, Riza. We can still do so much. Together."

Riza sighed. Her throat itched.
"You're impossible."
Roy scrunched up his nose.
"I'll take that as a compliment."

Riza's eyes fell on the duffle bag, the civilian clothes, the knife she'd left on the bedside table.
To hell with all this. The only thing she wanted was to hold him tight and never let go. But she had to.

She looked at him, at the ring.

Less than a year ago, could she have expected they would be there now?

Never.

Take what you can. Anything can end so suddenly.

You should know it. You're a soldier.

You've just been proposed to, Riza thought, and a wave of warmth rushed to her stomach.

"Why don't we clear the bed?"
"Oh, and what do you have in mind?" Roy raised an eyebrow, his insufferable smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled her back tight against him. Riza chuckled.
"You know what."
"I know." He pressed another kiss in her neck, his hands sliding under her top. "I know and I agree. Let's do that, future Mrs Mustang. Maybe you'll be less mad at me afterwards"
Riza chuckled again, and pushed him away to effectively clear the bed.

That was done quickly. Roy was obviously restraining himself from just taking all the clothes and shoving them in the duffle bag quickly, and instead trying to properly fold them before placing them in with measured moves. Riza couldn't help but smile, watching him, and she wondered if he wasn't putting on a show for her. He'd started to do that, at times. Old habits died hard, it seemed, but also, he was mostly doing so for her own benefit now. He was trying to make her smile. And just the idea that it was what he was aiming for both warmed her more and made her throat tighten.

She was standing idle with one of his undershirts still not packed when he came back to hug her.
"Oh, you're not done yet," he said, as he felt the shirt in her hand.
"I just got lost in thoughts. That's the last one, the bed is cleared."
"Good, let's get rid of this one–" Roy took the shirt from Riza's hands and nonchalantly threw it over his shoulder.
"Roy!"
" –and of that one too," he smirked, his now free hands already pulling up the hem of her shirt.

This time, they didn't take long getting undressed. There was none of this back and forth and hesitations of their first.

It was no different from how they tackled life together, how they had for years.

For Riza, it was reassuring, a relief even. It felt as if all her — their — pieces came into place. It felt simply natural. She wondered how she or they had managed not to cross the line for so many years, and at the same time she understood. They were different now. Life was different.

Roy, on all four over her, kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach while she raked her fingertips through his thick black hair, enjoying how his hands roamed all over her with urgency. He went to kiss her thighs, had a little pause, then rested his head on her hips, his hands sneaking under her thighs.

She thought she knew what he was thinking about. But she wasn't ready yet. Last time had been great, but still a little overwhelming — the sensations weren't totally new for her, but sharing them was a first. The fact that she opened to Roy — Roy — let him touch her, and touched him, was almost more unsettling than the very act of penetrative sex had been. Not in a bad sense, for either. She had indeed had a good time. But she still needed him not to rush things.

She pulled Roy back from her hips to her chest, pressing her lips against his, letting her tongue trace them, darting in when he opened them slightly.

She still wasn't very sure of what she was doing, only trying to touch here and there, testing the waters. On the other hand, she noticed that Roy seemed more driven, less restrained in his touch, more intent on showing her his… adoration. That was a word she had never had in her vocabulary, pertaining to herself, but there was no other one for how Roy behaved with her right now.

And she was all for it. First because it allowed her to learn by watching him, second because — who wouldn't?

That such an incredible man would one day lay his hands on her and show her such devotion. Granted, she did too, and she knew every little thing that made the public painting of Roy Mustang not so great, not so perfect. Tainted.

Human. As much as he would have stated the contrary, a year ago.

Roy kissed her neck again.

"Is there anything you'd feel like?"
His voice was so low and soft she almost didn't feel his breath.

Before she answered with a negative — I don't know you are the one who knows, show me, teach me — she paused and thought about it for real.

She realized that even if she didn't want him to rush, she also didn't want him to restrain himself.

"Don't… don't do it like you know I'm inexperienced. Do it like… like you do it with other partners."

No matter how she tried to turn it well in her mind, it sounded dreadful in her mouth.

Roy pulled his head from her neck, to face her.

He could really do without it. He didn't need to bother — not for himself, at least. But he always did make a point of it when he had important things to say.

He paused, his gaze resting somewhere between her nose and her mouth, a slight frown on his brow. She reached a hand to his cheek, slid it into his hair, pushing it back.

Her handsome colonel.

Friend.

Soon husband.

"I can't."

He didn't move, didn't change his expression, simply stating a fact, his voice taking an odd pitch at the end of the word.

Riza winced. How stupid–
"I'm sorry, I didn't think–"
"No." Roy had one of his low chuckles that shook his chest more than the rest of his body. He shook his head. "No, it's not that. First, there weren't that many. It's just. I can't do that. These people… they weren't you."

Riza stilled, not knowing how to reply to that. Luckily for her, Roy was the kind to develop his ideas. His neck was red.

"You have no idea… I never allowed myself any thought about you… Not this way. Not when I was fully awake and conscious. But–" He'd gone back to kissing her here and there, interspersing his speech. "There were– dreams– I just couldn't– avoid them–"
"I know. Me too."
Roy stopped, and raised his head, the smirk on his face forewarning that something idiotic was going to cross his lips.
"Oh, more than just dreams, on your side, wasn't it?"

Riza huffed and pushed his face away. Roy started to bring his attention to her breasts, while his hands roamed on her thighs.

Riza let her head fall back on the pillows. The fact that Roy was clearly intent on getting his way this time, and that it obviously included worshipping her body, wasn't to her displeasure. She realized she was exhausted, anxious, and needed him to make her feel better. She was happily letting him do whatever he wanted, enjoying his touch, his lips, the weight of his body over hers.

She whimpered when he caressed her lightly at the junction between her hip and her leg, not yet reaching her core, and he replied with a kiss.

He followed the same steps he'd done the first time — caressing, teasing, slowly getting bolder, closer, closer still. He caught her hand that was trying to touch him, too, with a smirk, at the same time as the fingers from his other hand brushed exactly where she wanted him.

She let out a low moan, her hips bucking — it felt so good, because it was him, his hands, his lips.

He praised her before laying his tongue flat against her nipple.

Roy went slow, but it wasn't hesitation, not anymore. It was him deliberately pushing her as close to the edge as he could. And it felt so good she didn't try to stop or scold him for it.

She didn't even have to utter a single word; he knew exactly when to go further.

He held her tight as they shared an exhale, and they quickly fell in sync. It was easy, after all. Easy and great. The feeling wasn't as strange as the first time, but it was still almost overwhelming. Almost.

She didn't count how many time he'd whispered he loved her into her ear. He didn't have to — the way he held her and moved said as much.

It didn't take long for her to climax, and Roy seemed to try to keep himself from following, but he unraveled quickly after her.

At no time had they let go of their tight embrace.

Riza had no idea what woke her first. The scream of horror and pain, or the frantic shuffle next to her. Her first reaction was to reach for the gun she kept at all times under her bed — her hand encountering nothing but the wood of the floorboards and dust balls.

She wasn't home.

She wasn't home, her gun wasn't there, and someone was screaming and thrashing–

Roy.

She was at Roy's, and it was him who was screaming.

She turned at once, her brain finally clicking into gears. She caught the arm that was flying into her face and was immediately surprised by the strength with which Roy tore it from her.

The scream stopped. His head jerked into her direction, and she froze for a split second when she saw his snarl.

She had the time to identify the glint in his eyes, fixed on something that wasn't there — terror. But she didn't have the time to stop him from tackling her, and she could only brace herself before he caught her, clumsily, his hands crushing against her before grabbing at her with a ferocious grip, nails digging into her skin.

But she wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

"Roy!"

She caught his wrist and pulled it in his back, her other hand snaking around his neck, while he kept squirming, thrashing about. He managed to hit her in the shin with his heel. But she wasn't going to let go. Her leg caught his, and she kept it locked.

Contrary to him, she had gotten back to full training as soon as she'd been cleared by her doctor. Roy himself had barely found the time and most of all the energy after his days in rehab to do much more than a set of pushups a day once his hands had been in a good enough shape, and maybe a little more on weekends.

She was way fitter than him. Heavier, too. But he wouldn't let go. He was still caught in his nightmare.

She pulled on his arm again, carefully. She could easily break his wrist, and she was very aware of this.

"Roy. Roy. It's okay. You're home. You're safe. I'm here. Riza. It's Riza."

He was pushing against her, arching his back, his free hand pulling on the arm she had curled around his neck. She pushed back, and he ended up with his face buried in the bedsheets.

He struggled again for a couple of seconds, then relented. The only part of him that still moved was his chest, heaving rapidly. Riza could feel the frantic beating of his heart in her own chest, crushed against his back.

After a moment that felt extremely long, she let go of his wrist, slid her arm off his neck, and pulled him, securing his back against her. Her hand went to his burning forehead, ungluing the hair from his skin, wet with sweat. He let her do everything without moving, still catching his breath, but she could feel tension in his muscles, and occasional tremors.

"Roy?"

"You're not real."

His voice was hoarse. And sad.

"I'm very real, Roy."
She kept her hand on his forehead, and slid the other around his waist, feeling around until she brushed against his fingers. She held his hand in hers.
"I wish. You're not. I'm going to wake up and–"
"Do I have to remind you what we did before you fell asleep?"

Roy didn't answer at first, and then, he had the opposite reaction to what she'd expected. His chest started heaving fast again.

"Roy?"

His hand left hers, and she pushed on her elbow to see him rub hard against his eyes.

He was crying. Her colonel was crying.

Swallowing the tight knot that had caught her throat, she held his shoulder, pushing and pulling him gently to guide him to turn and rest his head against her chest. He kept his hand on his face, but followed her hints, moving only when prompted, like a human ragdoll.

She cleared his forehead, kissing him there while he breathed shakily against her neck.

"I'm not a dream. Promised, Roy."

It took a while for him to curl his arms around her, tight. But once he did, he was clutching on her for dear life.

His answer was almost inaudible, a whisper muffled against her neck.

"You should be." Then, lower still: "I don't deserve any of this."

Riza had a hard time disentangling the raging emotions that threatened to make her chest implode. Her heart was racing, torn by how Roy seemed to be doing so well on the surface while being so broken under it. Silly Riza. You knew that. You blinded yourself.

Her throat was tightened by the anger she felt at him for hiding it, and at herself for not seeing through his bullsh*t.

She felt like planting her teeth in him. Bite, and not ever let go, and hurt him in the process.

He was driving her insane.

Calm down, Riza. You're just like that because he's unwell. But that won't help him.

She held him closer, her nose in his hair, breathing in the musky smell of his sweat, where there always was a hint of something else, a dry smell of ashes, almost imperceptible, but enough to cling to the back of her throat.

"You don't, I don't. We're even."

They stayed for a while in this position, and Riza could feel the tension leaving Roy's body, and hers, too. She was falling back asleep, lulled by Roy's now steady breathing, and calmed by his now familiar scent.

But after a while, he rolled out of her embrace to lay on his back. He rubbed his eyes with one of his hands, then let it cover them again. His other hand was on his chest, his fingers curling against his t-shirt.
"You keep saying you can’t live without me.”
It came out of nowhere. His voice was low, thick. Husky. Riza didn’t think she’d ever heard him talk this way.

“And every time, every time, it–” he took a sharp breath. “What should I say?”

A pause. Riza stayed on her side, looking at him in the dim night light, his hand on his face, the way his chest heaved with each of his breaths. She slid her own hand on the one he kept there, and saw his lips curl downward, his chin tilt up, for a split second. Then he took in a shaky breath, and it was as if it never happened.

“I’d be nothing without you.”
Riza tightened her hold on his hand, feeling a knot in her chest.
“It’s always been true. Nothing. But now…”
Another deep, hissing breath.
“I’ve trapped you. You’re stuck with me, and I–”
“Roy–”
“You do everything for me. You stayed, and I’ve trapped you, because now I truly can’t live without you. Since the first days, you feed me, you helped me shave–”
“You do this alone pretty well, now.”
“It’s not–”
“Yes, yes I think it’s the point. This is what you’re saying, right?”
“I… I…”

He slid his arm so that now it was the crook of his elbow that covered the top of his face.

“This wedding. It’s just. Tying you to me, tighter yet. There’s no escape. And I want– I want it. I want you. But I–”
“I shall remind you that it was my idea.” Riza shifted closer to him, pressing her body against his, her hand leaving his chest to curl around his other side. She pushed his hand away, angling his arm, so she could nudge his neck. “Roy. You’re tired. You’re scared. You just had a nightmare. Don’t question everything right now.”
“But–”
“Quiet. I’m here and I’m not going away. Tied or not.”

Roy sighed. He didn't move, his arm stayed on his face, but his other hand slid into Riza's hair, combing through it. Then his hand shifted again, fingertips brushing against the line of her jaw, caressing her cheek.

"You're right. I'm scared. I'm scared sh*tless."
Riza pulled on his t-shirt to touch his side under it. She was extra gentle on the scar tissue there, feeling the roughness of it, exploring its extent in a way she'd avoided before. She hoped her touch would help him as much as his did for her.

Roy didn't seem to mind. In fact, his breathing got slower with time. So she kept going.

Three days.

He was going to leave in three days.

She knew him well enough. Now that he'd admitted he was afraid, he would be even more intent on going. There was no turning back.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

"Will you be alright?" Riza stands in the doorway, ready to leave. She has a headache, and it feels like she's floating. She fought so they’d let her go at the same time as him.

She's set him up, they've eaten together — the Colonel wouldn't try to cook, but she also knows if she wasn't there he wouldn't even bother to try and order anything — and now she's ready to go home, but she doesn't want to.

"You're coming back tomorrow morning, right?" Roy is holding the door, his other hand on the wall, drumming his fingers. It could be that he's impatient to go back inside, but she knows it's mostly a show of anxiety. He doesn't want to go back inside. Alone. But she can't stay, can she? She can't. He wouldn't let her, anyway.

His eyes are focused somewhere on the wall behind her.

She still has to adjust to that. She hates the idea of getting used to it. She doesn’t want to.

He looks sad and tired and so vulnerable right now, she refuses to turn around and leave, because she's afraid he'll shatter.

She wonders if she looks like that herself, because she is certain she might shatter too. Once she's home alone, and he's not there to witness it.

"With breakfast."
"So I really don't have to do anything."
"You've never really been quite the cook, sir."
"True." His smile does not reach his eyes. "I'll be waiting for you. I'm going to m–"
He pauses, and his eyes drift to the side. As if looking away.
"Sir?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Nothing. I'm just tired. Go home and rest.” Another pause, and his voice gets softer. “That's an order, Lieutenant."
"Alright. Good night, sir."
"Good night. Please call when you get home. Letting the phone ring once will suffice. I just want to know you're home safe." He starts closing the door, then reconsiders. "Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Thank you."
This time, the smile, as small as it is, is genuine.

Unlike East City's, the train station in Central was always buzzing with various crowds.

Just as Riza had feared, it was the case this Sunday afternoon, with numerous people coming and going everywhere, through which she tried to make the shortest route towards the quay where they were supposed to meet Major Miles and the small party of the Ishval Restoration project team. Riza knew Roy could tell the station was crowded. Riza herself could hear the sound of the multitude of different steps and chatter echoing against the iron wrought high ceilings in a headache inducing hubbub ; but mostly she could tell because he had crept closer to her, almost hiding behind her shoulder, his hand on her arm tightening slightly.

That was not helping.

He'd insisted on carrying his duffle bag on his own, rendering himself totally dependent on her, since that meant he couldn't use his cane properly. Usually, she wouldn't even notice, she'd grown accustomed to that, and it wasn't much more different than when they would just walk side by side, but today it felt different.

That was not helping at all.

The last three days, Riza had hidden how irritated she was by the over the top bravado Roy had shown whenever they would talk about his trip. As if he'd not admitted to her he was scared. As if he'd not attacked her in his sleep, and cried on her chest afterwards. He was trying to make her feel better about it, and it backfired. And just this morning… better not think about it. Now she almost regretted when he was telling her she worried too much. He had not opened his mouth more than once or twice since they'd left his flat.

Until now.

"Riza."
He stopped walking, with the effect of yanking her back right into him.
"I–"
Riza couldn't help it. The way it poured out of her was probably more mean than necessary, but she had to say it.
"Don't say it. If you say anything right now, I'm turning around and bringing you back to your place."
She stepped back, taking a good look at him. There was no hiding he was not at his best. His ever increasing lack of sleep had carved dark circles under his eyes, and made him pale. His usual frown had come back over the last few days, leaving him with a continuously pensive, slightly aloof expression, amplified by the fact that he kept his eyes closed most of the time – just like right now.

She'd rather keep in mind the face he'd had the first time they'd woken up next to each other. That awfully satisfied smirk.

Riza wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, right now, or more, to just turn him around and push him back to safety.

They should climb into bed and not move from there, ever. If he needed to prove to himself he could do things, she'd be happy to let him take the lead there once again–

But they couldn't. She had understood as much. Roy wasn't the type to live a sheltered life. If he wouldn't be allowed to partake in politics and various strategies anymore, he'd rather get hands on. Help. Above all, be useful. It would never make him feel better about what he — they — had done, but that wasn't the point, they were not trying to feel better. The point was to be useful. She couldn't take that away from him, when she in fact was dying to do the same.

Ever the bodyguard, he eyes kept darting here and there, scanning for potential danger, without her really thinking about it.

There were a bunch of soldiers in uniform around, probably returning from permission, and she spotted a couple of them slowing their pace and giving an odd look at Roy. Neither he nor she were wearing uniforms, but Roy wouldn't let go of his coat. And boots. Not that the result was ugly or ill-fitting. Roy had this ability to just make anything look good on him, even now that it was mostly just from memory. But with those tell tale signs, it was probably not that hard to recognize Colonel — Brigadier General — Mustang, even in a sea of people, even with the cane. Especially with the cane, the papers had been all about it not too long ago.

Riza gave a stern look to a corporal who'd been staring a little too intently.

"Riza?"
Roy had finally opened his eyes, and was smiling, a small but fond smile, that he kept only for her and she saw rarely — at least until the last couple of weeks.
"I'll be okay."
"You better be."

She saw Roy open his mouth to answer, his features slowly relaxing, when a booming voice covered the noise of the station from further down the quay, making him immediately wince.

"HERE THEY ARE!"

Roy took in a sharp breath and Riza, too, braced herself for impact, her hands stilling on Roy's upper arms.

Enormous arms engulfed them both, crushing their heads against each other – Riza had the time to see Roy's eyes open wide before her temple crashed against his.

"I'm so happy to see you both!" Major Alex Armstrong's bass voice was quavering. "And when I learnt that you had finally found solace in each other, after all you've been through…"

The major's arms curled around their necks like constrictor snakes. Riza tapped on the prominent biceps to make him let go, but Alex was on a roll.

"It is such a sad thing you had to be dismissed–"
"Alex," Roy's strangled voice rose on Riza's right, "if you don't let go we'll both be dismissed for being very dead–"
" –but love overcomes all obstacles–"
"Major!"

Finally, Roy had resorted to pulling rank. For some reason, it made Riza's stomach churn. But it worked. Armstrong let go of them, standing immediately at attention and saluting.

"Apologies, Colonel."
Roy sighed.
"Major. Please." Riza saw him crack his neck, while she passed a hand on hers. "I'm happy to see you, too. Perhaps you could take us to Major Miles?"
"Right away, Colonel — I mean, Brigadier General."

Riza saw Armstrong reach for Mustang's arm, and stepped in the middle.
"We'll follow, lead the way."
She hoped Miles had a better grasp on how to help Roy properly ; that didn't make her feel better about leaving him in their hands.

Shut up, Riza. Roy is a grown man, he'll explain to them.

Major Armstrong turned around, the people on the platform parting left and right quickly in front of his massive silhouette. Riza brushed Roy's hand so he would take her arm again. They followed Armstrong, Riza searching for Major Miles' spikes of white hair among the crowd.

"Major?" Roy called out while walking. "Who told you?"
Riza held her breath, guilt gnawing at her guts. Rebecca would hear about her…
Armstrong turned his head slightly, and answered with an apologetic tone.
"My sister."
Riza breathed out. This time, it wasn't her fault.
"I won't tell you exactly what she said, for it was rather derogatory."
"Oh, don't worry," Roy snickered. "I think I know exactly what she said."
Riza couldn't help but look at Roy with a frown. She would need explanations later.
Later.

They finally met Miles on the right platform, the train already there, puffing clouds of smoke. Riza's insides twisted again. They didn't have much time left. Her hand climbed on Roy's, that was resting on her elbow. She couldn't help it. She only brushed her fingers against his, and took it off again, but she saw him blink in response.

"Major Miles is here."

Miles, smiling apologetically, probably because of Armstrong's antics, stepped to the side, revealing a nice surprise. Riza was a little comforted by seeing who was going to accompany them. Only a little, but it was something.

"Brigadier General Mustang !"

Roy frowned, ready to correct whoever had not noticed he wasn't exactly fit nor dressed to be a colonel anymore. Riza was ready to tell him, but when she opened her mouth, he had already recognized the soft voice and slightly slow accent.

"Falman!?" Roy went from frowning to beaming in a couple of seconds. "Of course, Briggs. It's been a long while, Lieutenant."

Falman looked beside himself with joy to hear that his former superior remembered his new rank.

"Indeed, General."
"Don't call me General, please, Falman." Roy let go of Riza's arm to hold the duffle bag's shoulder strap, and extended his right hand in his direction. "No more military salutes for me."

Riza could tell Falman was definitely put off by Roy, in the way he looked at his hand, then him, without moving. After all, he had not seen him much since he'd left for Briggs. But, after a quick side glance to her, he took Roy's hand and shook it firmly. Roy was still smiling.

"How's Briggs?"
"It's getting very nice this season. I don't have to wear gloves anymore. I hope summer allows me to ditch the winter coat."
"Don't hope too much," Miles said sternly, opening his mouth for the first time since they got there. "Mustang. Lieutenant Hawkeye. I thought traveling with a, ah, known face would be a nice touch. And the lieutenant here will also prove pretty useful."

On Miles' cue, Falman explained, straightening his back almost as if he was at attention, as was usual for him when he was explaining whatever he had found in his neverending intel gathering. Riza was taken by a sudden bout of nostalgia for her team. She was sure Roy felt the same. He was listening to him with his eyes half closed, nodding – a posture that was far from unfamiliar from him.
"I'm no bodyguard, and I'm not Lieutenant Hawkeye. But as soon as I learnt we'd be working with you, sir, I researched all the ways I could help you get around. You'll have to tell me your needs, of course, but I spent a lot of time on the phone with your rehab facility, so I know how you've been training. I'll be your guide and helper for the trip. I hope you're alright with that."
Roy's smile changed, somehow. It was still there, but there was something different to it.
"Thanks, Falman. That's very thoughtful of you. And reassuring. Especially for the Lieutenant, here."
Riza's cheeks heated up. She was not going to let him get away with this. She tilted her head towards Roy.
"He refuses to carry any other weapon than his gloves. Good luck for keeping him safe, because he won't listen to you."
"Riza, I–" Roy seemed to register he'd slipped, and paused, while Falman raised an eyebrow. Roy closed his eyes, scowling for a couple of seconds, then went on. "I can't aim!"
"Why the gloves, then?"
"The gloves are a last–" Roy's reply was cut by the train whistle.

The high pitched call tore through Riza's ears, and her chest. She was used to keep appearances, and managed to only throw a side glance at Roy, to no avail, of course.
But his hand pressed her elbow. He knew, no matter the circ*mstances.

Miles looked at Riza.
"We should get going." His eyes darted towards Roy, then back at her. He had a small smile, and nodded. "We'll keep him safe, Lieutenant."

Roy's hand gripped her elbow yet tighter, and pulled her closer. But neither he nor Riza could do anything else.

They were in public.

Riza's lips burned to meet his, one last time, because anything could happen. He was going back to Ishval. He was running right into the lion's den.

But they were in public.

Even if Miles and Armstrong knew, and Falman was no idiot, years of propriety, years of restraint, stopped them from going further.

And now they couldn't even look each other in the eye.

Roy closed his eyes – it was becoming a sign of nervousness in him, she'd noticed – and the hand on her arm tightened yet again, to the point it was almost painful. He suddenly let go, and his hand climbed to his neck, pulling at his tie, then his shirt collar. Riza wondered what he was doing, until he mimed pulling something from around his neck.

He had no dog tags anymore. But she did. And on them, she'd sled his ring. She didn't want people to know yet. But she’d told him. Let him feel it under her uniform jacket that morning, watching him blush and frown.

He was telling her to remember what he'd told her. The ring meant he would come back.

“Okay.” She simply said, and he replied by a short nod, keeping his eyes closed.

“Sir?” Miles slid a hand on Roy’s shoulder, the one that didn’t hold his duffle bag. “Last chance to turn around.”
“We are glad you’re coming with us, but none of us will ever keep it against you if you decide to stay,” Armstrong added, keeping his voice low. “You can always help from here.”
Roy had a weird smile again, that morphed pretty quickly into his usual smirk.
“Are you kidding me? We’ve been preparing for a week, and I’m sure the Lieutenant here has had enough of me being impatient. I’m coming. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Right, then !” Armstrong seemed to have found his jovial demeanor again, hitting Roy in the back hard enough for him to have a step further. “Let’s go!”

Miles stepped back, letting Falman stand next to Roy. He had not taken her arm back.

Riza had a hard time taking her eyes off him, but she jumped again when the train whistled a last time.

Roy smiled to Falman who was telling him something.
Whatever it was, Roy took his arm.

They were ready.

He was leaving.

Riza’s chest was torn, but she refrained from grabbing Roy’s arm and pulling him against her, pulling him home, where he’d be safe.

“See you on Thursday, sir,” was all she could manage, and she was glad her years of practice stopped her voice from sounding too croaky.
“See you then, Hawkeye.” Roy replied, eyes closed, his face unreadable. Hell, did she hate when he made that face.
“See you, Lieutenant,” Falman had a little wave, then turned to Roy. “Okay, let’s go, sir?”
“Let’s go, Falman.”

Riza stood there, occasionally jostled and pushed around by travelers in a rush to get aboard on the train, but kept straight, her eyes fixed on the unruly hair of her Colonel– her General– her– her–
It would jinx them to think about it now.

She looked at Roy until Falman helped him climb into the wagon and the door closed behind them. And then she looked at the train until it left, trying to get a glimpse of them through the window — she didn’t. They must have taken seats on the other side.

She had to go home and take care of Hayate.

Once Hayate had walked, a way, way longer walk than usual, and been fed, and got pats, he left Riza to go and nap in his basket.

Idle in her now empty and barely used kitchen, Riza considered going to the shooting range, but quickly gave up on the idea. If it was to discover her hands were shaky, it'd do more harm than good.

Then she remembered the notes for the Xing report.

They had put it aside for the last few days, her attention fully set on Roy and his departure, but he had helped her organize her thoughts earlier this week. With his help, she'd written down a plan to follow to write it all up, save for the eventual last minute addition. She could start typing a first draft, or at least a more stuffed out plan than the notes jotted down on her notebook.

Hopefully, it was in her handbag, because she didn't really feel like going back to Roy's apartment. She sat down at her kitchen table after finding a peace of paper in a half opened cardboard box that was still lying around — thankfully she had not brought Roy there ever and would not — and started making a clean plan with all the ideas articulated.

It was a conjoined work from her and Roy. Where she was able to write solid factual reports, he could bring a twist to it, a spark of his suave talking transpiring through the paper. He had a way with words and manipulating people, and knew exactly how to use the right formula to pack a punch, or how to string ideas that would inevitably bring a rewarding conclusion to the reader. How to start, too, how to build expectations. He had only pushed her here and there, and mostly told her how to direct the flow of information she had collected, but she knew that he'd help her later to make the result shine. It made Riza furious, in fact: that he was so good at this, and yet, had so often neglected his duties before. But she knew why. It was boring. When he wasn't bored, he could write the best reports. But so much of the army work was tedious that he wouldn't bother.

Roy wouldn't admit he'd helped, though, and she was sure he would refuse that she ever mentioned he had. Now that being the center of attention wasn't going to bring him anywhere, he didn't look as eager to be there as before — or maybe because he was the center of attention whenever he went, now, but for unwanted reasons. Besides, as he said a countless number of times while they were exchanging ideas about it, this report would more than probably grant her a promotion, and he didn't want his own shadow to loom over it.

He was, however, very proud of their work when she had read him the last draft of the report's plan. And she was, too.

Riza sighed, smoothed the pages of the notebook, and kept her pen flowing on the paper.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to ask. What are we going to do, now?"
"Good question. Carry on. Until…"
"Until?"
"Until I get to retire with honours, I guess."

Hawkeye doesn't reply anything. She doesn't need to. Roy might have chosen his words carefully, she perfectly knows he won't retire due to age. It's a matter of weeks, time for the new government to get on its feet, time for the city, the country, to pull its head out of the rubble.

"Until then…" Roy clears his throat. Swallows.

It's not harder than he thought it'd be, and he had plenty of time to think about it. But it's still hard to say. Better focus on one thing at a time. Focus on what's right in front of them. One step at a time.

"For the time I have left being your superior, I'll see that you get appointed as my personal assistant. That'll keep you out of the frenzy. You need rest. And I need a guide."
"How– how would I go about it? I've helped you around the room and such, but outside?"
"You did perfectly, on that day."
"It was… different."
"I've trusted you with my life then, as I did for years, Lieutenant, now is not going to be any different. I wouldn't trust anyone else."

The narrow and crowded space wasn’t the best place to try being guided by someone new — new for Roy and new to the concept of guiding too — for the first time.

Roy bumped into a couple of passengers, probably hit a couple others with his cane even if he tried to keep it close to him. He kept muttering apologies, feeling warmth creep up his neck.

He was pulled up by the collar by Armstrong — who was walking behind him and Falman, and had tried to warn him — when he tripped on a luggage.

It was the first time he was thrown into such a crowded place, since losing his sight.

With Riza by his side, on the quay, he could manage.

Now he felt dizzy and lost, thrown here and there against walls and people, sometimes unable to differentiate the two. His ears rang. His balance was off, fragile. His mind was racing, trying to take in and analyze everything at once, and failing, because it was also focused on one thought: Riza wasn’t by his side anymore. Her absence, the lack of her overall presence next to him, her smell, her body, the strange feel of Falman’s arm under his hand, all of this clutched at his throat, threw him off.

Roy was aware that he was clutching Falman’s arm too hard. He knew it wasn’t the second lieutenant’s fault. The train to East was full, people were in a hurry, Roy was too used to Riza, Falman was new to his duty.

He was also too tall. Roy needed to adjust, and now wouldn’t do.

“Turning left. That’s our compartment.”
Roy followed Falman to the left, and suddenly could breathe a little better. No one was pushing against his sides or talking too close to his face. Even Falman, bless him, stepped a little further away.

There was a poke on his shoulder.
“Sorry, Mustang, could you please–”
Armstrong. Roy was in the way. Before Roy could react, Falman moved again. He showed him a seat.

“You’re going to be seated by the window, sir.”
“Maybe someone else would enjoy the view better, don’t you think, Falman?” Roy tried to joke, but he felt his smirk might have looked rather grim. He did sit, however, leaning his cane against his shoulder, and feeling the cabin wall on his left side until his hand reached the cold glass of the window. He left his hand there. The cold grounded him.
“Security reasons, Mustang. You know the deal.” Miles’ voice rose. Falman sat to Roy’s right, who snickered.
“I bet Hawkeye has kept harping on about this to you all week.”
“She did call, once,” Miles answered. He seemed to be sitting directly in front of Roy. “We do not take this lightly. There are quite a number of threats looming over your head. The news of your injury and consecutive retirement will have reached the whole country by now. There ought to be people who still might want to get their hands on the Flame Alchemist, and think now's as good a time as any.”

Roy hummed his agreement, but didn't reply. The window under his fingers felt wet and cold. Just like his insides. Somewhere on the other side, maybe, Hawkeye was watching. He hoped the torsion in his guts didn't show on his face when the train finally shook, and set off.

"Mustang." Armstrong's melodious bass rose. He was sitting next to Miles. "Take this."
His enormous hands took Roy's, opening his fingers and closing them around a metallic square.

A hip flask.

Roy frowned, trying not to scowl too much. He opened the flask, and unceremoniously sniffed the contents.

A strong smell of smoke jumped at his nose. Whisky. And not a bad one.

He raised the flask in the direction of Armstrong's voice, then took a swig.

The burn of the alcohol was welcomed, even if his throat was already raw.

Riza had found him that very morning, shaking, kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting the few things he had eaten the night before, his empty stomach still trying to expel even if nothing was left, as if his whole body tried to tear itself inside out. She'd made him jump, and he'd almost lashed out at her. But he knew better. And the only thing he managed to do was to pull an apologetic smile and mutter that at least he'd managed not to miss. She hadn't replied anything, but had crouched by his side and slid her cold fingers on his forehead.

Roy focused on the taste of the whisky. Better not dwell on this less than glorious moment.

He was terrified. Going back to Ishval while blind and obviously far from being adjusted was the most insane move he'd ever pulled. And he had a few stunts under his belt already.

We must all die sometime, was the thought he kept having. It was one he'd had for years — it used to keep him sane. It even actually kept him alive, too, once or twice, in Ishval, and later. He was never looking to die — simply accepting the possibility. It helped assess the risks without much fuss.

But not anymore. Because now, it was followed by another thought, an insidious one. A little acrid voice rising from the back of his mind. Then who's going to keep an eye on Riza Hawkeye? Who's going to take care of her if you take a sniper's bullet in Ishval? All this to redeem yourself?

Shut up. You're one of the most powerful alchemists left in the country. Not helping would be criminal. The rest…

Roy held the flask back, not wanting to extend his arm too much, to avoid disclosing the fact that he wasn't really sure where exactly Armstrong was, and worse, that his hand was shaking.

But his voice was not.

"Thank you. It's a good one."
"An Armstrong will only have and share the best, you know that," there was a smile in Alex's voice, and Roy found it easier to reply with one of his own.
"By the way," Armstrong went on. "We will not be addressing each other using our ranks, I hope you will be alright with that. You are the highest ranked of us all, but we understand–"
"I'm dismissed, Alex. My rank doesn't mean anything anymore. You can call me whatever you want, all of you," Roy replied with a sigh, passing a hand through his hair. "You can even call me Roy."
"Mustang will do. You still deserve us being proper."
Roy smirked.
"Thank you, Armstrong."
"If I may add, sir," Falman said, "like you, none of us is wearing a uniform. We are all in civilian clothes. We want to be inconspicuous until we get there."

Roy wondered how inconspicuous they could be, considering they were traveling with Armstrong. He suppressed a wince when the fact that he himself was also pretty known and easy to recognize among the Amestrian people came to his mind.
At least he wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb against a sea of uniforms in his casual civilian shirt and slacks.

He’d decided to wear his combat boots, however. The thick sole wouldn’t look nice with the rest of his clothes nor be ideal to feel differences in terrain –– which he’d been taught to pay attention to — but he’d rather that than slip and make a fool of himself. And they were comfortable. If the army had taught him one thing, it was to take care of his feet.

Silence fell in the compartment, and Roy closed his eyes, trying to empty his head, trying not to think about what laid ahead, about the reaction of the Ishvalan representatives, about Riza. He drew one arm around his chest, resting the other’s elbow on it, hand on his face, pressing his thumb and forefinger on his eyelids. He hoped Riza would manage. He had not exactly reassured her with this morning’s event.

He might have dozed off, for he picked up a conversation between Miles and Armstrong seemingly out of nowhere, but didn’t understand what they were talking about, at first.
“... not only about finding materials to pull from or transmute. It’s about knowing the terrain, finding the right materials for the climate and soil of the region, and of course, fitting with the overall architectural style. We wouldn’t want to build something that would scream Amestrian imperialism in the middle of Ishval.”
“Indeed. We’ll have a look around, and later a longer visit so you’ll be able to immerse yourself better, get to know more about the culture, and of course see the Ishval way of building. Scar will be coming along with at least one of our surviving master builders.” Miles lowered his voice. “Now, for Mustang, I don’t know how–”

Roy stood still, not revealing he was listening. Partly because he felt bad about it, for a number of reasons, but also because he was curious about what they would say.

“I thought about it. I think a good way could be to find ourselves different roles, and for him one where he wouldn’t have to know about how things are supposed to look. After all, artistic alchemy is the specialty of the Armstrong family. I ought to be the one taking care of that part. Even then, I have been considering making small models that he could touch. It’s not as if he has never been to Ishval…”
Roy refrained a smile. He rubbed his eyes and finally spoke.
“Models sound fine. But I agree we should adapt the missions to our best capacities. I’ve been thinking about it, too. I think I’m more suited to assess land pollution and help restore a sound agriculture, than for architectural prowess. I can work on structural works, but for the rest, Armstrong is right. He’s the one in the arts. I’m more into chemistry, myself, you know that.”
“We’ll need to discuss this at length once we’re back from this first visit. For now, you know we’re just testing the waters.” Miles sighed. “I will not lie to you. We have warned the representatives. Scar has had a lot of work to do, and managed to get us this visit. But for the most part, they are pretty hostile to your offering of help. Especially–”
“Especially from me,” Roy finished the sentence, folding his arms. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He winced. “I’ve been thinking of asking… someone to be my eyes on the field. To make my visits more scarce. I don't want to impose my presence on them. I can stay behind most of the time, study. Not that I don't like being out and about, but…"
“Now that Hawkeye’s been reassigned, you mean?”
“As much as I wish I could have asked for her to be sent here with us, it’s not my call anymore…” Roy briefly thought about a spoon, transmuted into a small ring in the cradle of his hands. Maybe it was. Partly. He couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, the thought of the ring on Riza’s dog tags gave him more strength. But indeed, he had not been thinking about her. “No, I was thinking about someone else.”
“You’re not telling us?”
“I’ll need to contact them first. Once we’ve tested the waters, as you say.” Roy thought they probably knew already. There weren't that many alchemists left, that would potentially be ready to just travel anywhere to help for a soldier’s pay. But he didn't exactly need someone who could do alchemy. He needed eyes and a quick brain, mostly, someone who understood.

They kept chatting, sometimes interspersed with long silences. Miles tried to keep them up to date on some of the representatives names and functions, but he didn't know who exactly would be there and had never met them in person, and Falman added his comments on various events Roy had heard from the news — either through the radio or Riza reading him the papers.

He also dozed on and off again.

Falman had to wake him up in East City for a change of train. They had no time to stay, and basically had to jump from one compartment to the other. Roy would have liked to stand a couple of minutes on the quay, to breathe the air of the east, to try to catch some known smell to trigger his visual memory. Instead, he was pulled and pushed around, to the point he felt nauseous when they sat on the wooden bench of the new train — this one would not be as nice to sleep on as the first.

But, somehow, he still fell asleep.

"Sir? Sir, are you sleeping?"
Roy startled, taking a defensive stand on his seat, holding his breath.
"It's okay, Mustang." Bass voice. "We're on the train. To Dar Mouhed."
"... Alex?"
Roy smoothed his frown and lowered his arms, registering the train lurch, the wooden bench under him, feeling the wall on his side, then the window.
"Himself. We're approaching. Better get a hold of yourself."
Roy relaxed, but didn't lower his guard fully. There was a tension in Armstrong's voice that had not been there before he dozed off.

Roy kept falling asleep, and he didn't like this one bit. It was probably having to stay seated without much stimulation, especially when the others were silent. At least they could look at the landscape. But that also came from not sleeping well the night before — and today didn't promise a good night of sleep either.

And this time, Riza wouldn't be there to keep him grounded.

Alex might have seen Roy's scowl get deeper, though, because he offered something that sounded almost like a justification.
"I rarely travel so far East. Especially not through this route."
In the silence that immediately followed, Roy could hear a lot more.

He wondered how he himself would feel if he could see through the window. He tried to remember what the outskirts of the small town looked like. As a Colonel in the East, he had been there relatively regularly, contrary to Armstrong, who’d stayed based in Central most of his career.

Dry earth, white walls, square buildings with few, tiny windows.

Colourful paintings on wooden palisades, and festive fabrics held around. Faded. Torn. Dar Mouhed had always felt more like a ghost town than anything else to him. It was mostly populated by Amestrian soldiers working at the base, and their families.

Roy wondered if the Ishvalans had come back, if they had started reappropriating the place, now. But the base was still there. It was where they would be staying.

He shook his head. No need to make himself feel bad in advance.

Just you wait, Mustang. Images don't print themselves that well in the brain. But smells… just you wait until you take your first whiff of that dry, pale dust.

He could almost taste it on his tongue already.

The train came to a halt, and none of them spoke. Only Falman's voice rose occasionally as they exited the — now relatively empty — train, only to Roy's benefit, and only to state things, warnings that couldn't be conveyed by his posture. Obstacles, stairs, nothing else.

As soon as he stepped out on the platform, his hand tensed up on Falman's arm. A dry, warm wind played with his hair, feeling rough against his cheeks.

Yes. The smell.

Roy wasn't able to separate what he was really smelling from what his memory was throwing at him.

Empty desert. Desolation. Death. The sickly sweet of melted skin and fat.

He refrained from asking Falman to describe their surroundings, not wanting to break the solemnity of their silence, and tried to patch up a painting in his mind, from memory. But he knew it was tainted. He knew Dar Mouhed didn't smell like burning corpses, and had never done so. He tried to blink away the images of torn, charred limbs, the blackened, melting flesh on exposed bones. But he had nothing to replace them with. Not this time. It had rarely bothered him much when he came there on inspections. But now…

A military car was waiting for them at the station, and Falman helped him climb in. The roar of the engine didn't cover the screams of agony that rang in his ears.

Speak. For f*ck's sake, please, anyone speak, say something, anything, or else–

"Mr Mustang, sir? Everything alright?"
"I'm positively jolly, Falman, thank you." Roy's own voice sounded hollow to his ears. "Are we there yet?"
"Just five minutes, sir. Motion sickness?"
"Some kind, yeah."

Roy jumped as an enormous hand landed on his shoulder. Alex had not uttered a word since their last exchange in the train. Somehow, it was reassuring to know he wasn't the only one who felt bad about being here.

Why now, when he had come to Dar Mouhed countless times, though?

They were relieved of their bags by a couple of soldiers, and told to go directly to the mess hall for a quick dinner. Roy was still nauseous, and the following event didn't really make him more hungry.

"Brigadier General!"
A chorus of voices rose once they went through the mess hall doors, followed by clicking heels — how many men were in there? Fifteen? Twenty? Roy remembered a relatively small room with the usual green and beige walls, with three rows of long tables. He doubted they had changed the decoration in the last two years or so.

"The men are standing at attention, sir."
Falman himself had straightened, and Roy had done so too as soon as he'd heard the soldiers' heels, instinct and habit kicking in.
He didn't reply, and kept his expression neutral, tilting his chin up. If they wanted a general, he'd give them a general. Even if he didn't feel like it.
"The Dar Mouhed detachment is honoured to have a visit from the Hero of Ishval once again, sir."
Roy didn't even blink. He was used to it. Even if everytime it felt like pushing further on a blade planted somewhere under his ribs. In Central, the Hero of Ishval had been replaced by the hero of Promised Day. Now, Roy just wished to be forgotten. He wasn't playing this game anymore. Whatever he'd been playing for, the carpet had been snatched from under his feet. He wasn't, in fact, allowed to play, now.

"At ease, uh…"
"This is Major Winters, sir."
"Thank you, Falman. Major." Roy nodded.
"You probably don't remember me, sir," the major said. Roy indeed didn't. He refrained from telling him he had a pretty bad memory of people's faces. "I was only a Captain last time you visited, but Major Renault was promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel and called to East Command, and here I am, now."

"Follow me."
Falman followed the major, and Roy followed Falman. They sat at a table that Falman informed him was at the far end of the room, and a plate was sled in front of him. Falman gave him a fork.

And Roy, already nauseous, suddenly realized it was the first time he'd have to eat in front of people who weren't either Riza or the team, or people he was in rehab with. Feeling the fork shake in his hand, he put it down and pushed the plate away.
"Thanks. I'm not really hungry."
"You sure, sir?"
"Yeah, I — is there a phone I could use?"
"Of course, Brigadier General," the major talked again and got up in precipitation, his cutlery clinking against his plate, table shaking. "You can use the one in my office, it'll be quiet. I can take you there–"
"I'd rather follow Lieutenant Falman, if you don't mind, Major," Roy held up a calming hand. "And it can wait until he's done eating, Winters, sit down, it's alright."

He didn't really have to wait too long. He tried to make casual conversation with Winters, but the major only had questions about the Promised Day, and while Roy graciously answered them, it made him even more uncomfortable, more conscious of the absence of Hawkeye by his side, more conscious about what he lacked.

Something akin to a part of himself. If it was possible, he felt more blind without her by his side.

Falman finally took him to the office, without talking much about their surroundings. There obviously wasn't anything to say: army barracks looked the same everywhere.

Before the lieutenant respectfully closed the door behind himself, Roy called him.
"You needn't hurry, Falman."
Falman didn't reply immediately.
"I didn't. You don't remember I usually don't really eat a lot, sir?"
Roy smiled and nodded. It was true. Falman was as frugal as Breda needed constant snacks.
"Thank you. I'll come back towards the mess by myself when I'm done, I've noted the way, it's not too complex. No need to wait for me here. You can go and chat with Armstrong or Winters all you want."
"I'll just sit with a book, sir. Thank you." He closed the door.

Roy sat at the desk, keeping his hand on the phone, where Falman had directed him. His other hand was slightly shaking, and he kept it gripping the desk edge. Now was not the time to spill the major's ink bottle, or whatever could be lying around on his desk.

Roy's hand had stopped shaking when he gave the operator Riza's home line number. The tune soon rang in his ear. Once. Twice.

"Hello?"
Roy let out a sigh, feeling his shoulders go down and something stir under his ribs.
"Elizabeth?"
They had not convened to use her codename; there wasn't much need anymore. But it had jumped from his lips. Maybe it was because they were talking on the phone, maybe it was stress.

There was a split second before she replied. Her voice was suddenly lower. That change in tone — it was enough to send shivers down his spine. Good shivers.
"Yes. Hi."
"Hi. I think we saw each other this morning, didn't we?"
"Yes. But I — nevermind. How was the ride?"
"Can't feel my arse anymore, if I'm being honest. Didn't remember the wooden benches of the East local trains."
"Short memory. Central has spoiled you. Next time you won't forget to take a cushion."
"Ah yeah. Should have. You won't catch me forgetting again," he said, exaggerating his wince in hope she would hear it. The small chuckle that came up from the other side of the line told him it worked. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. Doing a — a bit of cleaning."
You sound tense, Roy thought. But he knew better than to remark on it.
"Alright, nice. I won't — I'm not going to keep you from it for too long."
"Yeah, you should rest," she said, and he almost heard "after the last couple of nights".
"You too, you know." After the last couple of nights.
"Who's the head of the Dar Mouhed detachment now?"
"Major Winters. He said he remembered me. I don't. Do you?"
"Everyone remembers you."
"Yeah. I know."
"I don't seem to... Hm. I think he wore glasses. Short, mousy hair. Really, I think he's kinda hard to commit to memory, if I'm not mistaken."
"Are you trying to find excuses for me?"
"Hasn't it been my job for years?"
It was Roy's turn to chuckle.
"Touché."

There was a pause. Roy didn't feel like hanging up, but didn't know what to tell her. His left hand fingers were tracing the various asperities in the wood of the desk, all the nicks, scratches and bumps that came with decades of use. It made him feel real. That desk was real. That phone was real. He was really in Dar Mouhed, at the gates of Ishval.

He didn't want to burden Riza with his anxiety, his misplaced vanity that had stopped him from eating — she would yell at him, surely — or his fear that he would be useless the next day, when things would really start. He felt Falman was going to pull him around like a dog on a leash and he would just have to follow, without a real purpose.

But he'd been a dog for years, hadn't he? He should be used to that.

"Roy."
"Hm?"
"Be careful. Please."
"Promised. I'm not going to let go of Falman's arm, ever."
"Wait. Is he with you, right now?"
"No, of course not. I can still have some privacy. I'm in the major's office. Alone."
"Good." She had a light chuckle, but it felt… halfhearted. "Then why did you call me Elizabeth?"
"Uh. Force of habit, I guess."
"Did they give you that guest room again?"
"Hah. Yeah. They only have one and I'm… virtually… the highest ranked. Even if I don't command anyone. I tried to tell them–"
"Maybe they're just tactful."
"Hm." Roy wasn't convinced. "Okay. Not complaining."
"You shouldn't."

Another pause.

Why was it harder, now? Talking with Elizabeth had always been so easy.

But now Roy had nothing to say. He wanted to touch and taste and smell, feel her by his side, fall asleep holding her. Talking on the phone felt like a setback.

Also… he was afraid, and she was his anchor. Always had been. He missed more than just his lover, right now. He missed his lieutenant. His right hand woman. His other half.

Maybe he should just say this.

"I miss you."
"Roy…"
"I mean it. I know it's been less than a day, but–"
"Me too. I miss you too. I just…"

Riza let her sentence trail off, and there was a knock on the door.

"Sir? It's midnight. Lights out."

"sh*t."
"Roy?"
"I didn't remember Dar Mouhed was that strict on schedule."
"It's a small base. In what was still an insurrection zone not too long ago. Go to rest. You need it."
“Lights out. I don’t really care about that, do I?”
The expected huff didn’t come. Instead, Riza scorned him — and her voice was tense again.
“Go to sleep.”
"Only if you do, too."
"Fine."
Roy dropped his voice.
"... Elizabeth."
"Yes?"

"Sir?"

Roy laid on his back on the narrow bed, in the room the base reserved for high-ranking guests. He’d already “slept” there — a Colonel was already high ranked enough to be granted this small, austere room with a bed, a desk, a chair, but, and that was where the luxury lay, a private bathroom. At least he wouldn’t have to strip naked in front of the other soldiers. And he didn’t really mind the austere part anymore.

He’d tried to pull a better visual memory of the room, but only got something that was barely anything more than an idea of starkness. The whole base had the same dusty and sandy fragrance, and he found nothing but fuzzy feelings of sleepless nights, reading and filing reports. His usual.

Riza had been there, too.

A slight nausea was still gripping the base of his throat, but he was hungry, now, and regretted his vanity of earlier. He wasn’t that messy anymore — and it could equally come from his blindness than from his hands, which were visibly scarred. Soldiers could be surprisingly comprehensive and tactful about that… Or they could be the worst. There was no middle ground. But as much as he hated to be called the Hero of Ishval, he knew it served him still to be respected by the army. He didn’t want to lose that last bit of power, and in order to keep it, he had to show as little vulnerability as he could.

But he also had to eat. He’d have to cave in the next morning, or he would collapse.

Talk about showing vulnerability.

He didn’t check his watch, and exhaustion — it felt like he'd been pulled weeks back, when he'd collapse like that — finally got the best of him, pulling him into a surprisingly calm sleep.

Falman banged on his door at 5:30, startling Roy awake from a weird dream without any image.

All his dreams had been full of colours — red, mostly the red of blood and the orange of flames — and known faces — Riza’s, lying on the ground, her eyes blank — until now.

There was something dizzying in realizing that. Was he already starting to forget? That fast? How long until he wouldn’t remember his friend’s faces? Riza’s? His own?

The undershirt he’d slept in felt too small at once, and he tugged at the collar. Not now, Mustang.

He tried to compose a good natured expression as he opened the door — Falman didn’t need to be inflicted this. Roy was only wearing the undershirt and an old pair of sweatpants, but he figured Falman had seen worse in his life.
“Hello, sir. Falman, here. You’ll excuse me if I’m not saluting properly, I’m carrying your breakfast.”
“My breakfast?” Roy was surprised. He’d never been offered to eat his breakfast anywhere else than in the mess hall before.
“Fits a General, doesn’t it?”
“Falman, I’m not–”
“Yes, sir, you are. And you need to eat. May I?”

Feeling ashamed that he had been so easily seen through, Roy stepped to the side, letting Falman in.

The sound of a tray on a table echoed almost immediately, and Falman started describing what he was taking from it and placing on the table, item by item.

“Got you a full pot of coffee. Porridge. Fried eggs. Bread — it looks like the rye bread they have in Briggs, nothing like the white one we had in Central. I think it’s more nutritious. And an apple.” The quality of Falman’s voice changed, and Roy understood he had turned towards him. “If you sit at the table, you’ll find the pot and coffee mug at ten, porridge at noon, I’ve put the plate with eggs on the center with bread, too, and the apple is at three.”

Falman’s heels clicked, indicating he was finally saluting properly, as he’d put it earlier. Roy had to pass through a slightly constricted throat to simply say, in a voice that sounded way too small for him, “Thank you, Falman.”
“My pleasure, General.”
Roy shook his head, smiling.
“Would you want to share some? I’m sure you’ve brought too much for one.”
“You didn’t eat yesterday, sir. And I do not eat in the morning, to my fiancée’s great distress.” Falman paused, then went on. “But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
Roy gestured towards the table.
“Then grab a cup and sit down with me, Falman, pour us some coffee and tell me about that fiancée of yours. We haven’t had time to chat in a long time.”

Falman complied. Roy ate, feeling his mood improve gradually as he stuffed himself with bread and eggs without thinking about his shaky fingers or how he looked like finding his way around his food. He listened to Falman talking about his fiancée. The amusing note of her being one of Briggs’ canteen managers wasn’t lost on Falman himself, who added that he might have slightly rounder cheeks now than he used to have before leaving. Roy would have liked to see that, because he just found himself unable to imagine Falman with anything else than his gaunt, long, sad face. The transformation must be spectacular.

Only when they had finished and he helped Falman gather the dishes on the tray did Roy eventually remember where they were and who they would be meeting that day. His mood plummeted as he closed the door behind Falman and set to dress up.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The world is spinning, her vision gets dark. Riza should get up.

What possessed her to sit on this chair while she waited for the Colonel to get dressed? She shouldn’t have. Now there’s no way she can get up again.

“I’m ready, lieutenant.”
She can see him, through a blur, awkwardly walk out of his bedroom. She barely recognizes him; how many years has it been since she’s seen him wearing anything else than a uniform or a three piece suit?

Of course, all of those had buttons. Still, her slow brain, slow and tired and aching, has trouble reconnecting this unshaven man in a sweater with Mustang. It’s just wrong. It adds to her disorientation.

Worse, she's seen him awkwardly pass a hand on his stubble repeatedly the last few days. He hates the very idea of going out in the world looking like that, and she knows it, but he's also too proud to ask her to help.

She would. But they're late.

Riza wants to get up, lead him to the door and to the car as is her mission, but she can’t. Her arms feel like lead, her head, too. She’s out of breath. She opens her mouth, to tell him she’s there, she’ll be a minute, just a minute, but the only thing that gets out is an exhausted hum.

“Hawkeye?”
She doesn’t want to see what’s on his face, now, and she thanks the blur.
“Hawkeye, are you okay?”
“I just… need a minute… sir.”

Far from reassuring him, it seems she has fueled his panic. Eyes wide on nothing, he tries to rush — Riza is somehow happy to notice he takes care of himself though, and doesn’t just run towards her as he would have a while ago — to her side. She helps by making noise, but doesn’t exactly speak. That asks for too much energy she doesn’t have right now.

The Colonel’s knuckles bump along her shoulder, and he grabs it. Tight.

Riza feels like she has to say something.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’ll be okay. I’m just… tired.”
“Hawkeye, are you feeling dizzy again?” His fingers tentatively climb up her neck, to brush her cheek. He takes his hand off as if he’s burned himself.
“You’re freezing.”
“I… need to drive you–”

She’s too slow. Too slow and out of breath.

“We’re not going anywhere. You’re going on the couch. Lie down. Now.”
“I don’t–”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant.” His eyes and his voice are hard, but he softens his expression at once. “Please.”
“Sir, you need to go–”
“I’ll call. You’re going to stay here until you feel better.”
“At least call for Breda or Fuery to take you to–”
“And who’ll be watching you? They have a lot of work on their hands right now. I don’t. Lieutenant, remember what we agreed on when we left the hospital. I will only allow you to help me if you let me help you. Let me do my part, for once.”
He’s holding out a hand, and she takes it. Careful not to pull on his injuries, she gets up, slowly, tensing when he manages to slide an arm under hers, and supports part of her weight. Tears well up in her eyes. It’s not how it should be. She’s the one who–

He should not be able to know, but her breath becomes yet shorter, and she tenses against him.

“Hawkeye. Calm down. I’m just taking you to the couch.” He has a small smirk. “Or rather, you’re going to take me to the couch and I’ll help you there, because with all this I don’t remember which way the couch is. Please, Lieutenant?”

If he’s trying to make her feel better about it or focus on him instead of herself, it works. She directs him to the other side of the living room, allowing him to bear most of her weight while doing so, while she works on steadying her breath.

She forgets to warn him when they get there, but he’s already located the seat with his foot. He’s more careful when he has to worry about her, it seems. Riza doesn’t want to analyze the emotion that this awakes in her.

“Here." The Colonel stands, and keeps his hands on her arm, until he feels she's seated. Then he lets go and has a step backwards, to bring back the respectful distance between them. As if they're not constantly trespassing this limit now.

"Please lie down. Rest. Everything else can wait. I’ll just make a couple of calls so no one worries about us disappearing, and I’ll come back. Please, Lieutenant, rest.”

Riza looked up with a little time delay from the coffee mug that had appeared on her desk, expecting the usual big frame of Leclerc smiling at her.

Instead, she was met with Enfield’s piercing blue stare.
“You look off today, Lieutenant.”

Of course she looked off. She’d dropped Roy at the train station the day before, and contrary to what she’d told him on the phone in the evening, she’d spent most of the night trying to keep herself from thinking instead of sleeping. She'd tried to read, listen to the radio, anything, to no avail, and had resorted to cleaning her apartment, under the quizzical gaze of Hayate.

That had not worked that well. Her mind kept sending her images she dreaded, sounds she would tear her ears off not to hear ever again.

Roy being blasted out by one of those homemade bombs that would blow off randomly among the ruins.

His body lying in the dry dirt, a bullet in the forehead, dust slowly setting on his eyelashes.

Him being captured and set on fire — repeatedly, Ishvalans had expressed their will to do so.

In the morning, Riza's mind was still full of dust and blood and death, but her apartment was squeaky clean. When she arrived at her new office, before everyone else, she was already thinking about going to clean Roy’s place later that night. But finding herself among his things could be double edged. She would probably just curl up in his bed, her nose in one of his pajamas. Also, she had to keep in mind she couldn't just move stuff around his place without him knowing about it, now.

She needed to get a grip. What had she become? What was wrong with her?

“Bad night. Thank you,” Riza said as she took the mug, forcing a smile.
"Sorry to insist, but it looks more like several bad nights in a row. If you need to take a leave, Lieutenant–"
"I'm okay, Lieutenant." Riza put all her resolve in her stare. "I've been through worse. Besides, I'd rather work than stay idle."
"That I can understand. But don't overwork yourself."
Enfield, who had barely addressed Riza more than a couple of times since she'd arrived, was now overstepping.

Riza reminded herself that she might be the newbie, but they were the same rank. She'd like to remind Enfield himself, but she knew better.

And it was true — it wasn't just one bad night, it was several. But she wouldn't call them bad nights per se, because Roy was with her.
No matter that when she finally managed to sleep without her own nightmares plaguing her — a rehearsal of the little play her brain was putting her through now — it was him who woke her up. None of the last ones was worse than when she had to fight him to wake him up, but having him startle every couple of hours every night had not helped her to sleep.

Enfield had turned around, not without a last concerned look. It was nice, maybe it was a way to make her feel like she was indeed part of the team, but Riza didn't really like it.
With a sigh, she got back to work.

Thankfully, the office was empty when the phone on her desk rang.

She took it, expecting the imports office once again asking for someone to come fetch reports before the usual time because they were already piling up, but–
“RIZA!”

Riza jumped at the shrieking receiver, instinctively pulling it away from her face. She only brought the mouthpiece closer to answer, a little worried.

“Rebecca?”
“Yes! Riza, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all–”
“I was busy. Rebecca, I’m at work. You can’t–”
"It's Mustang, Riza."

The way she said it. Riza's hand unconsciously tightened around the phone.

Contrary to her, Rebecca was still working closely with East Command. If anything had happened in Dar Mouhed, she would–

"What? Tell me. What happened?"
"Riza. I'm sorry."
This time, it was her jaw. Then her throat. Oddly, the scar in her neck started getting painful, after weeks being insensitive. Her peripheral vision started darkening.
"Tell me, Rebecca."
Riza surprised even herself that she had managed not to yell.

But the office was still empty.

"I saw him with other women. I'm — I'm sorry, Riza."

All the air left her lungs at once. Riza stopped herself from screaming, from yelling, from hitting her forehead against the desk.

Of course.
Of course Rebecca had seen him.
If she hadn't actually decided to trail him.

Roy was safe. He was with Miles and Falman and Armstrong and was going to meet with a full detachment from Briggs.

Roy was safe.

For now.

Calm down, Riza. You're pathetic.

"Riza? I'm sorry, I had to tell you. You deserve so much better than–"
"Let me guess," Riza cleared her throat, utterly too aware of the blood rushing to her fingers and head and ears and of the light on her desk and the saliva in her mouth — everything at once, now. "A tall, thin girl with long mousy hair on Monday and Tuesday, and a shorter brunette with a bob cut on Wednesday and Thursday?"
Rebecca gasped on the other side of the line.
"You know! How are you still–"
"He's hired them, Rebecca." That was their cover, for now. Riza was expecting something like this — she'd just forgotten the instant Rebecca had said she was sorry about Roy. Roy and her had discussed what to say if someone brought that up, with Rebecca in mind especially. Roy was still reluctant to disclose his real ties to the girls.
"... Hired? You mean–"
"He still has his old ways, yeah, he'd rather be on the arm of a charming woman. But they're just taking him to rehab and back. I can't drive him there, with my new assignment. It's better for him to have someone taking him. I don’t… trust him to go alone yet, and I know he enjoys the company."
"But…"
"I am in on it, Rebecca. I'm okay with it. I don't want him wandering around the city alone. It's a compromise."
"Are you not… afraid he'd…"
"On this I trust him, Rebecca. You should start doing so."
"Riza, you're the blind one if you–"
"I am at work." Riza very consciously took her softest, lowest voice. She had to make an effort. "I know Roy's going around town with these women. In fact, I'm happy he does. He is not taking them out. They're just helping."
"You should have seen his face–"
"I'm sorry, I have to hang up, now. There could be a work call any time. Thank you for your concern about Roy, I know you're just being a good friend to me. But it's alright. I know about the women. It's okay. I trust him."
"Well I don't, and nothing you say will change that. He has to prove it to me."
"I'll tell him just so. See you, Rebecca."
"See you, Riza. I'll keep an eye on him, though, you can't stop me."
"I won't. But know that I probably know all of what you're going to uncover."
Rebecca huffed.
"Later, Riza."
"Later."

Riza hung up.

Her hand stayed on the receiver. She took it off, slowly. It was shaking.

Oh, no.

She got up at once, careful not to make too much noise. She was so stupid. She conscientiously pushed her chair back under her desk, took a couple of files that were lying on it without looking, and exited the office.

She walked in the empty corridor, her boots too loud on the checkered tiles.

Abruptly, she stopped in front of an unmarked door, and slid inside after a look around confirming no one was there to witness her disappear.

She hurried to turn the lights on.

Broom closet. Perfect. And there even was a stepladder she could sit — collapse — on, which she did.

Riza clutched the files against her chest, trying to keep her breathing slow and steady. She'd managed until then. She would manage. She just needed a couple of minutes to brace herself. She would manage.

It could have been. It could have been a call telling her. An attack. A bomb. An accident, even.

The overhead light was bright and clear, but the abundance of objects and cleaning supplies was creating shadows. Too many shadows.

Did this one move?

She closed her eyes, her breath sharp.

Pride wasn't there. Roy was safe. She was safe.

But it could still happen. It could still happen.

It won't.

Roy called yesterday, remember? He was fine. He sounded fine. Falman’s doing his job very well. Roy’s fine.

But what if–

The first sob almost took her by surprise. Made her irrationally angry. She covered her mouth with her hand, blocking further cries, with the effect of making her sob harder.

You’re a soldier. Look at you, crying in a broom closet. Everyone thinking you’re so cold and collected. Who are you fooling? You’re a mess. You’ve always been. You never cry, but for what? And now, what are you crying for?

No. That’s perfectly easy to explain. Pride. Promised Day. Battling monsters–

You’re the monster. Where were the tears, back then? Ishval was no different. You just switched places. We battle monsters, we become monsters. But what happened when you already were one beforehand?

Riza pressed her hand with all her force against her mouth, ready to open it to bite into her own flesh.

No. No. No. I did. I did cry–

Ishval. Roy. What if–

Stop. You’re spiraling.

That last thought wasn’t in her own voice. It stopped her in her tracks.

Riza forced herself to stop breathing. At once. She’d been hyperventilating, lost in her chaotic train of thoughts. She needed to reset. Block it before she spiraled further. She held her breath, then blew the air out of her lungs, slowly, until they were empty, and then stopped again. She did a number of cycles, feeling the wood of the stepladder under her fingers, detailing the cleaning supplies on the shelves crowding her. Just like she’d been taught, at least there was something she could have taken out of the couple of visits with a therapist that had been mandatory after Ishval. Riza’s keen eyes could read the ingredients of a couple of the boxes around her, even if it was written very small, and she did, focusing religiously on the list of chemicals, trying not to derail by thinking that those were mostly easily flammable materials.

It worked. It took time, but it worked. Riza wiped her tears with the flat of her hand, trying not to think that last time, it was Roy who had dried her cheeks.

Roy. If she wasn’t staying strong for herself, she had to for him. She took in a deep breath, clutching onto this realization, and got up from the stepladder, still holding her files against her chest. Her hand was closing on the doorknob when the door opened by itself, pushing her back into the closet.

“There you are!”

Enfield walked in, effectively making her retreat further inside.

“Riza, what’s wrong?”

Riza straightened. Frowned. Scowled, even. Maybe she was disheveled. Maybe her cheeks were still wet — she never wore makeup at work, which was a blessing today. But Lieutenant Enfield didn’t have any right to call someone of the same rank by their first name. Especially someone he didn’t know. Nor to try and place his hand on her shoulder like he was doing just now.

But it was good. Spite, anger, could be a fuel. As much as she tried not to tap in those usually, maybe she needed this to keep her dignity right now.

Riza walked closer to him, pushing his hand away from her with the files she was still holding. She forced herself to hold his icy blue gaze.
“I’m alright, Lieutenant. Thank you. Please refrain from using my first name.”
“I just thought–”
Riza stepped further into his space, resolutely. She would walk on his feet if he didn’t move, and he seemed to have understood as much, because he walked backwards into the corridor.

“We’re a team.”
“We barely know each other. And there are laws.”
“Don’t tell me Mustang didn’t–”
“Brigadier General Mustang has never been anything but proper with his subordinates.”

Riza kept walking, exiting the closet, not forgetting to turn the lights off before she closed the door behind herself.
“Which you should have guessed, knowing I spent almost all my military career under his command until now.”

“Alright.” Enfield raised his hands with a smile. “Sorry. Won’t talk badly about the Brigadier General from now on.”

He let his hands fall to his sides, and gave Riza a concerned look.
“But really. I'm worried about you, Lieutenant.”
“I have already told you not to be.”
Enfield huffed.
“If you don’t want to talk about personal stuff at work, fine. What do you think, maybe we could go for a coffee, later today? Ditch the uniform. Talk as human beings, not dogs. Maybe you'll find you don't have to bark at me.”

Riza looked at Enfield, thinking he could take a lesson or two from Roy before he badmouthed him. That man couldn’t read the room, obviously. And Riza herself wasn’t exactly good at this.

But a piercing stare? She could do it, too.

"Lieutenant," she said. Low. "I do hope I am misinterpreting. Considering what we were just talking about, this is not the best time to make such allusions. Also in case you might really be trying to ask me out, know that I am engaged."
Riza slid a finger in her turtle neck, her cheeks warming up, and she pulled out her dog tags, not breaking eye contact, not for a single second.

She had forgotten about it until now — that ring was so, so light and thin…
Roy's ring. That he had transmuted from a simple spoon he found in his kitchen. The ring he had made for her to know that he would come back.

And she had needed Enfield to remind her about it, when she should have set her eyes on it just earlier, and maybe, that would have helped. How ironic.

Enfield looked at the ring, his eyes less piercing, suddenly. His expression started collapsing, but he quickly regained his footing, composing a smile that he probably wanted charming, but was entirely something else.

Riza was never good at interpreting people's expressions. That was Roy's thing.

But she was incredibly good at hiding hers.

She acted as if nothing had happened.

"Shall we get back to work, Lieutenant?"

She was going to need a session at the shooting range. Ideally, in the next couple of hours.

Judging by the hour, Riza would be alone on the range. Twilight wasn't exactly the best time to practice shooting — unless you were already trained for it. And she was.

She checked her rifle thoroughly, feeling her mind already turning blank, focused on the task. She tried not to think too much about it, lest she would disturb that fragile peace, but she was relieved. Finally, something to keep the darkness at bay. The irony was that there was no other use to this activity than harming people. Talk about darkness.

Oh, she was thinking like Roy, again.

"Riza!"

Thankfully for Rebecca, Riza wasn't the kind to startle in this state. Her eyes simply opened wider on her approaching form — it really was late. Soon even Riza wouldn't be able to aim properly.

She armed her rifle.
"If you're here to talk about Mustang, you might want to turn around and leave right now."

She aimed. And fired.

"Headshot! What, did he finally–"
"I said–" This time Riza did all the moves in succession, arm-aim-fire, her hand flying along the rifle, the bullet shooting through the heart of the target. "–I don't want to hear about him, right now. I am armed, and pissed off."

Another quick shot. Left shoulder.

"Alright. Alright. I just saw Hayate waiting by the front door, figured you were here. And if we can't speak about him right now, tell me, what's up? Who's pissing you off?"

Riza shot her last shot — twilight was short lived — hit the head once again, and put her rifle down.

"Not much. New job is more interesting than I thought. Turns out import/export is tied to a lot of things."
"Oh that's good! Because let me tell you, being the Furher's aide is boring as f*ck."

Riza sighed, and Rebecca winced at once.

"Uh. Sorry. I meant Grumman. It's probably very different."

Riza smiled and shook her head. Rebecca didn't mean anything bad.

Riza set to go back inside the small barrack to put down her protective gear and clean her rifle. Even if she had only fired a couple of bullets, she would never leave without doing so.

Routine was soothing. Everything had a place and every action followed another logically. Things clicked and slid without her needing to think about it. She could do it with her eyes closed. She had done it with her eyes closed, or during the night. Even if it wasn't something to be proud of, this was something she knew how to do perfectly, and better than many, and maybe on top of being soothing, she was a little prideful about it. She shouldn't be. But, right now, she needed it.

"So. Why are you pissed? If it doesn't pertain to the subject we can't speak about, of course."
"Lots of things." Riza sat down at a table, under a flickering old neon, and dismantled her weapon. Piece by piece. Quickly, but surely. "I can tell you something that will make you happy, though. Enfield is single. Or, rather, I hope he is."
"Oh, really? Wait, what does that– did he hit on you?"
Rebecca was quick for this kind of things.

"Yeah. He did."

Should Riza tell her? She didn't want to have that conversation. Not right now. Not in a shooting range barrack, surrounded by training weapons, under a seedy neon light. Not when she was so pissed and not when she was talking about Enfield.

Enfield knew she was engaged, but not to whom. Rebecca knew who she was dating, but not the extent of it.

Maybe, for now, Riza would rather it stayed this way. It was selfish and would probably backfire, but she was tired. Tired of it all.

"Tell me! Tell me all about it!"
"Rebecca, that's why I'm pissed. I pushed him away. He's all yours."
"But–"
"No more talking about that."
Rebecca sighed, but plopped down at the other side of the table, tucking her legs under the bench and her head onto her hands.
"Oh, alright, Mrs killjoy. So. Tell me about Xing, since you're discovering it all. You planning to go some day? Or you're waiting until that fantasy of a railroad is built?"
"Now, that's something I'm happy to talk about. See?"
Riza reassembled her rifle and polished it with a clean cloth.
"That railroad might not be a fantasy for long. I'm using my work under Smith to gather arguments that would point to the absolute necessity to build it for the future of the country and its commercial links to the East." She replaced the weapon in its case, and clicked it closed.

Rebecca urged her to continue. Riza humored her.

"I'm writing a report. He doesn't know yet, but I think it'll please him. I mean, I'm working for him on my free time, so–"
"Bad habit courtesy of–"
"–he won't be too angry about it, and I'm sure he'll understand it can make him look good in front of Grumman. He can ask for more manpower, with that, too."
"Hm, yeah, it could put a light on how crucial his team is."
"Exactly."
"That is fascinating. For real. You want to tell me more about it? I mean, it's dinner time. Why don't we hit that Cretan snack that opened when they rebuilt the plaza?"

Riza stopped. She had not planned to go out this evening, considering what she had planned for tomorrow. But she was also eager to find anything to keep her mind busy.
"I'm all for it if they allow Hayate in."

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

“Where are you?”
“I’m at the window, sir. The sunset is especially beautiful this evening.”

Roy walks to the window, guided by Riza’s voice and his knowledge of the hospital room. He likes that she doesn’t try to come and take him by the arm, nor shies away from telling him when she’s got interesting things to look at. He’s noticed a reticence in most people about that, lately. It’s irritating.

Riza isn’t like that. He knows he irritates her sometimes, but she never irritates him. Never has. Now, she's making his life easier, without cutting him any slack, and it's such a relief.

“Oh. How beautiful?”
“Hum...”

Roy is close enough to smell her perfume and hear her breath, now. His shoulder brushes against what he understands is hers. It seems to push her to continue.

“I’m not very lyrical, so, I’ll try, sir, but I’m not sure I’ll do it justice.”
“Try anyway, Lieutenant. Please.” He smiles in her general direction, trying to focus on where her voice is coming from. He was politely curious, but now he’s interested in the way she’s going to tell him.

“The sky is a very pale blue, almost a light turquoise, but really bright. There’s big, long clouds… their underside is lit by the sun, and that makes them bright pink, but you can see the top is already in the dark, making them a striking dark purple against that bright sky. It’s really such a show of colours… I haven’t seen one like that in a while.”

There's a short silence, during which Roy's memories stir.

“I think I remember one. When I was at your place, actually.”
Riza hums again. She sounds pensive.
“Yes. I think I remember something like that, indeed. We had the most beautiful sunsets, back home.”
“I’m glad they still can be beautiful.” On a whim, he lets his hand climb up her shoulder, and presses lightly. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The second full day in Ishval threatened to be exactly like the first. Long, boring, disorienting, full of triggered memories he tried to suppress while trying to follow what the others were doing. No matter what, Roy would feel off, left to the side.

The day before, he’d focused on following Falman around, who himself had followed Alex, Miles and Scar as they walked their little party around Dar Mouhed, showing them the supplies, logistics, and men Amestris — Briggs, mostly — had allowed them for the restoration effort.

Not much, if Roy was to believe the numbers.

At least he still had that. Numbers meant something, a lot more than Falman descriptions.
Falman was as factual as Riza, maybe even more. The thing was, Riza knew what to filter. She knew what would interest Roy, and what wouldn’t. Falman was… Falman. To him, everything was important, to the last detail. Which resulted in reports and descriptions that were barely palatable. But Roy couldn’t complain. It was for his attention to details that he had sought him out all those years ago.

Roy wondered if lacking visual information altogether really was worse than being constantly bombarded with all this intel, unfiltered, unrefined. He’d rather Falman kept to numbers only, without the visual descriptions. He really didn’t need them, most of the time. They interfered with the way he was painstakingly trying to learn to apprehend the world again, by making him rely on something he didn’t have anymore. It made his brain focus on painting an image, which he was trying to avoid more and more, when he should be focusing on more important things.

Numbers, on the other hand, were stark and easy to handle if you were used to it — and Roy was. You didn’t get to the rank of Colonel without dabbing into logistics. And what the numbers told him were that whatever Grumman had consented to lend Miles and Scar, wasn’t nearly enough to rebuild a small town, even one smaller than Dar Mouhed. And they had a whole country to restore.

That sly old fox. Looking like he was happily helping while doing the bare minimum to cover his arse should the public object. And it would.

That was the summary of the first day. Roy was a little lost, felt utterly useless, but at least he had a better idea of where they were starting from.

Real low.

Today would bring another challenge. They were driving to another city, deeper into actual Ishvalan territory, where they — or rather, Alex — would assess the destruction and demonstrate their — his, let’s be frank, Roy would be useless — capacity to rebuild to the Elders. The Ishvalan representatives.

Roy kept his head pressed against the truck’s window, letting the teeth shattering vibrations of the vehicle stun him. He had not slept as well that last night, or rather at all — at least there hadn't been any nightmares, or dreams.

Better to drown his thoughts. He'd barely touched the breakfast Falman had brought him again.

The day before, he'd eaten scarcely, mostly relying on the morning's breakfast. Today he wouldn't have that, and he would have to eat in front of the others if he wanted to keep functioning. He didn't look forward to it.

The truck slowed down, and soon stopped.

"Here we are. Yslin."
He felt Falman get out, and did the same on his side.

Under his feet was the same sandy ground from the day before, rough grains squeaking faintly under his soles, vibrating through his cane.

Somehow, his brain still expected the smell of death and smoking ashes.

There was nothing but dust in the warm wind.

No smell, no sound of life either.
Of course.
It was long ago, now.

Roy had never been to Yslin — one man, even a State Alchemist with his power, couldn't destroy a whole country by himself. Yslin was Kimblee's doing. Kimblee and a team of scientists that had happily tested different chemicals they'd synthesized,either through alchemy or through chemistry, on the population and crops.

Roy wondered if his fire was worse. Did these substances stay in the ground? Had they already been washed away? Finding this out would be his task, he thought.

It was probably Scar or Miles' choice to start from there. A relative neutral ground, considering all the different problems that they would face later on. Very relatively neutral, since it was the work of another state alchemist, it was totally empty and almost fully wiped off the map. A no man's land with no marks from anyone still alive.

Over the silence of the desert, he heard other people joining him, Falman and their escort, from the other trucks. Heavy boots on the sand. And then, lighter steps from one single person, not wearing combat boots.

"We'll start with the town hall."
Scar's monochord tone was devoid of any emotion, just like it'd been the day before. He and Roy had not talked besides their first rather cold greetings. They had nothing to say to each other, really, but somehow, Roy understood the respect he felt for the Ishvalan was mutual.

They'd fought together, after all. And fought well.

"There's nothing much left of the town," Falman started. He sounded unsure of what to say. Tense.
"This one is not of my doing, Falman. It was Kimblee and his men."
"Oh."

Falman almost instantly relaxed. That would have been comical, if it wasn't misplaced.

"You'd better get used to the idea, Lieutenant. The further south we go, the more you'll see my hand in the destruction. Don't forget who I am. And don't coddle me, either. I know what I did. I'm not proud of it, but I won't hide from it."

Somewhere in front of them, Scar talked again, his low growling voice covering the rolling of the sand under dozens of shoes.
"Don't worry, Mustang. Coddling the Flame Alchemist ain't part of the Elders' plan for today."
Same tone, same lack of expression. But somehow the use of his last name told Roy Scar was on his side, there.

The man was subtle. A lot more subtle than Roy'd thought when he was chasing the terrorist. The killer of Alchemists. And now they were trying to work together to rebuild what Roy himself had destroyed, with alchemy, and Roy found he appreciated Scar. Lines were getting seriously blurred.

Well, Mustang, you're blind, now. Can't see the lines anymore. Don't bother with them.

He kept his head high and stared straight ahead, almost in defiance. While whatever they would throw at him was deserved, it didn't mean he couldn't stay dignified.
"Good," he only said in response, and Scar grunted in agreement.

The walk wasn't long until they reached what Falman described as a wreck of a big building, with the usual whitewashed stone walls, and decrepit blue paint inside a half collapsed dome.

The hard, compacted sand turned to occasional cobblestones under Roy's feet, then the ground became fully paved. While he tried not to rely too much on Falman's guidance, the tip of his cane got stuck a few times between the tiles, and he resolved to just follow the Lieutenant, to relieve his wrists.

"That must be the town hall, sir. We're going inside."
Roy didn't need this comment to know that — the dome part was intrinsic to important Ishvalan buildings.

No matter that their little party was out of uniform, they stayed soldiers, even Roy, and they kept silent as they walked further inside, while the bigger part of the escort stayed outside, the number of footsteps echoing on close walls reducing to half a dozen pairs. He had not needed Falman to precise they were going inside — it was logical, and before they did he could already feel the wind had disappeared. Half a minute later, the warmth of the sun was replaced by a coolness that made Roy happy he'd kept his coat on.

The town hall felt empty. Roy couldn't really pinpoint what told him so: the cold, the faintly stale smell of dry dust and slowly decaying furniture, the sounds that echoed, hollow, being only from them and from nothing that was already inside. Falman didn't tell him anything about this, and yet it struck him so powerfully he felt empty himself. An old ghost walking among ruins of his own doing. Even if this one had not been specifically his.

Doors squealed on rusty hinges and they stepped from the corridor into a bigger room. Or at least something that sounded different. It was probably set under the half collapsed dome Falman had described earlier, for Roy's hair was suddenly ruffled by a gust of warm wind and the sun was back on his skin, heating the dark coat on his shoulders.

"You'll excuse us for the state of our meeting room. Someone dropped a bomb on the amphitheater." Scar's voice drew away, his footsteps seemingly inaudible. Then Roy stepped further inside and was surprised by the squishy ground. There was a carpet. He tried to imagine the state of it — somehow in his head that carpet was red, turned moldy in the shadows, bleached by the sun in other places, and covered with sand.

Falman confirmed part of his thoughts.
"This place used to look grand. Lots of rows of chairs. Blue carpet. That deep navy blue — except it's all rotten, and the seats are broken."

They walked down a set of stairs, and found themselves in the middle of the amphitheater.

Roy told Falman before he could even open his mouth:
"Great acoustics here. I can hear the soldier up there checking his weapon."
Someone was walking toward them, and they both turned.
"We'll have some men bring in coffee. The Elders should be here soon." The voice was low, smooth, collected. Miles.

Roy wished they all took the habit to announce themselves. He had quickly grown tired of playing guesses.

"I could maybe repair a row of chairs or two," Armstrong offered from behind Miles. "After all, that's why we're here."
"Go on, Major."
Roy didn't offer to help, he could, probably, but he was afraid to miss. Structural stuff, he'd leave to Alex.

Roy let go of Falman's arm, and started exploring around.
"There's some rubble, sir," Falman anxiously stated.
"I promise to protect you from the fury of Lieutenant Hawkeye if I scrape my knee, Falman."
"Yes, sir." Falman drew back, sounding unconvinced.

The cane slid swiftly across the carpet, picking up the slightest piece of rubble. Roy did miss one, however, his feet bumping against it, but he'd gotten better at keeping his balance, the only thing making him wince being the jolt of pain from his scarred side.

He huffed, and went on. Thirty, and he was already broken everywhere like a senior veteran. That's what being reckless did to you. And here he was. Being reckless again.

He instinctively turned around as static made his skin prickle, followed by an exclamation. Armstrong was talking to himself.
"Hah. Nicer. I guess I'll make a second row, so we can all sit."
Roy couldn't help the corner of his mouth from rising a little. Alex was always so… Alex. Even if he'd kept oddly more silent than usual since they'd arrived there. It was nice to see him getting back to himself.

Roy turned back, circled around what his cane then his hands told him was a piece of heavy furniture — a desk, or a big lectern, maybe, sitting in the middle of the podium — and found a wall. He passed his hand on it, as he continued walking, trying to find a door, a frame, something.

His fingers encountered a dent, crackled plaster that upon further exploration turned out to be a hole. It felt like an impact, and prying further, his nail scratched upon something metallic. Roy tried to dislodge it, to no avail.
He walked further on, finding more and more bullet holes along the way.

That was more effective than any of Falman's descriptions. His stomach was already turning, his mind filling up with memories of piled up corpses — he’d been regularly ordered to set fires to mass graves, and it had been almost a relief, to burn the dead instead of the living — when the rusty hinges rang again, and Scar announced the Elders.

"We should sit, maybe," Falman had rushed to him, and Roy didn't know if the anxiety he heard in his voice was really there or if he was projecting his own on the Lieutenant. "Miles also brought some coffee. I suggest extra sugar, considering–"
"You really are afraid of Hawkeye, aren’t you, Falman?"
"I'm not, sir. With all due respect, you really look unwell."
"Coffee won't help with that. But I'll consent to a cup, Lieutenant. Feel free to add that extra sugar."
Falman left, and was replaced by Armstrong. He didn't even need to open his mouth. Roy practically could feel his incredible mass towering over him.
"So this is it, uh?"
"Yes. Guess it's time to look pretty, Major."
"I'd rather go for harmless."
"With your size and my face, we can't really do that, can we?"
"I guess not. Come, let's sit. You'll notice I made the new seats a little more comfortable than they used to be."
"I wouldn't have expected anything less from you." Roy forced a smile.

Alex brought Roy to a seat near the podium. Roy had learnt quickly to piece up a map in his head to always know where he was, relatively to what he knew. But neither of them sat, as the door opened yet again and another half a dozen pairs of feet went from clacking against the tiles of the corridor to being silenced by the decrepit carpet.

Roy stiffened as Armstrong patted his shoulder. But that gesture was probably as much to soothe Roy as to soothe himself. After all, the Major was a very tactile person. Falman joined them on Roy's other side, signaling himself with a low "Sir."

Scar was speaking — there was no mistaking that low, gravely voice — but as he came closer, Roy felt a wave of unease spread from under his sternum to his shoulders. It was all he could do to suppress a reaction, stop his back from tensing too much, his whole body from recoiling.

He was speaking Ishvalan, and the last time Roy had heard any of it…

His free hand shot up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated his reaction to this — a leftover from a time he thought buried, turned to ashes behind his resolution. A time when these singing words he couldn’t understand meant danger, death, either for him or his opponents.

But it was still Scar’s voice. He was, now, an ally. Or rather, Roy himself was trying to be one for him. Roy focused on him, on the way the language flowed — spoken in a calm and friendly tone, it actually sounded soft, rich, and warm.

The newly arrived party stopped in front of them. Scar switched effortlessly to Amestrian.
"The Ishvalan representatives are impatient to witness what you can offer, Alchemists. They are…"
"Doubtful, at best." A male sounding voice rose among the representatives, younger, way younger than Roy would have expected.
"What Elder Danis means," another, deeper but still pretty young voice replied, in a calming tone, "Is that you will need to prove to us that you bring something we cannot come up with by ourselves. I think you understand we will want to rely on as little help from Amestris as we can, well intentioned or not. And as far as alchemy is considered… Ishvala forbids it, plain and simple, and you know it. We agreed to meet alchemists only because the man you call Scar has promised it could help more than we can even think. And… we are desperate."

Roy bowed his head. A reply of agreement burned his lips, but he'd rather not make himself too conspicuous. Alex used his own words to express the same idea.
"We are only offering a hand. Neither of us will be offended if you and your people decide not to take it."
A third new voice rose, this time old and raspy. Roy had trouble identifying if it was from a man or a woman, but they sounded pissed, and talked in old Ishvalan.
Scar had a short, low laugh. It was a weird sound. But definitely his.
"Elder Vanhoja wants her coffee now, Miles. She says traveling to the North always has her parched and grumpy."

Miles distributed coffee in heavy ceramic cups. Falman offered some more sugar and Roy took it while suppressing a groan.

"All of this is not exactly official," Scar went on. "More like… official adjacent. Not all Elders are here. Elders Danis, Lowe and Vanhoja are here as observers. Officially, they have come to check the supplies granted by the Fuhrer. Nothing else."
Roy knew he would be there, but wasn't expecting someone that young.
"Lowe?" he asked, feigning surprise.
"Rog Lowe is my father, Flame Alchemist."
There was no animosity in the way the Elder used his title, but Roy still felt unease at hearing it in his mouth.
The old woman grumbled something in Ishvalan, to which Lowe replied softly in the same language.
Scar went on.
"Well, it seems the Elders already know you, Mustang," he said, and probably added because he saw Roy's face. "The contrary would have been surprising, indeed. Here is Alex Armstrong, the other alchemist who has offered his help. You know Miles, who's our liaison with the Amestrian government. Falman, here, is Mustang's… aide."

Roy sighed. Why did Scar need to be so on the nose, he didn't know. In fact, Armstrong was as recognizable as he was. Miles had probably already met the Elders. Why was he describing them that much?
He ruled it out as Ishvalan customs, and sipped his coffee, while Vanhoja and Lowe exchanged quick words in Ishvalan, which Roy didn't speak.

He knew only a handful of words. Fire. Doctor.

Mercy.

Roy tried not to choke on his coffee at the thought. He was so convinced that he'd be at the top once he'd be able to do something for Ishval, that he had focused entirely on getting there, and hadn't even thought about learning more about the country and language than what little he already knew — he’d always been and still was convinced that the restoration would fare better in the hands of the primary concerned. Surely, a General or the Fuhrer himself gave the orders, but wouldn't have to show himself there much.

Grave mistake.

A third voice — Danis, then — joined the whispered conversation, then declared: "The Elders are ready to be shown."

Roy gritted his teeth.

Whatever he offered to do wouldn't be something as easily seen as Armstrong's prowesses.

He followed Falman again, who followed Scar, the Elders, Miles and Armstrong outside.

"Falman."
"Sir?"
"Do you speak Ishvalan?"
"I've just started, sir. Miles and I are getting taught, at Briggs, by an old woman sent by Elder Lowe. But I– I can't tell what they're saying, if that's what you ask."
"Figured you'd have translated without me asking, Falman. It's okay, I was just being curious."

The warm wind played once again in Roy's hair and his coat-tails. They were walking in what was once a street, Falman had said.

"I don't think it's that important, though." Falman awkwardly stated at once, keeping his voice low.
"Uh?"

Falman? Saying a missing piece of information wasn't important?

"And what makes you say so, Lieutenant?"
"It's just… I have no proof. No one has said anything but — I think Elder Lowe is doing the same as me for you. I think Elder Vanhoja might be blind."

Roy's mouth opened, but he closed it again without saying anything. He hadn't expected that.

"Mustang, sir."
"Miles," Falman precised, making them stop while Roy could hear the rest of the group continue.
"Yes?"
"Care to walk with me for a while?"
A hand crept on Roy's shoulder.
"Yes, but, Falman–"
"He'll go and help Armstrong. Better not to attract too much attention."
"Alright."
Falman greeted them and left, and Miles offered his arm to Roy, and they walked again, at a slower pace.

"I know you're partial to chemistry, but how would you handle explosives?"
"Miles, what do you think makes the explosives explode?"
"Right. Sorry, sir, I'm–"
"Overworked. Go on."
"We've been informed there was a minefield set up around what was once the North gate, to stop the progression of the resistance. Scar and I thought that you could–"

Roy stopped in his tracks.

"You want me to— to detonate a minefield?! Miles?!"
"Get rid of them, not specifically detonate them. Is that possible?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"But would it be feasible?"

Roy took the time to think. He didn’t know mines well — he and his division had never needed to use some…

He remembered the ring — how he had effortlessly been able to separate the components of the spoon in his hand, how he’d felt everything, how it just clicked and he knew.

Before he’d seen the Truth, he’d have been able to do it, but at the price of several try outs and analysis of different materials. Separating the components of a live bomb sounded harder, but why not try? If he defused it first, turned a key component into a harmless one, replaced a conductor with an isolant, that could work. And if it worked on one, then he could try on several. Would whatever power Truth had granted him allow him to do it at once on a whole minefield?

Well. Gotta try if you want to see it, Mustang.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t still dangerous.
"If the Lieutenant was here, you know she would kill you, right?"
Miles didn’t reply to this, only pressing him about his own question.
"Sir?"
"I can try something. I guess."
“We’ll let Armstrong do his thing first, then it’ll be your turn.”
“I’ll need a located live mine first. Try on this one, then extend that to the field. I can’t guarantee anything, though.”
“I’ll see to that. Let’s catch up with the others, and I’ll send for a mine detector.”

Alex was already making a show when Miles and Roy joined them. Miles left him with Falman, and excused himself, his voice barely audible under the Strong Arm Alchemist’s speech. Roy and Falman kept a polite silence, if a little blasé face in Roy’s case — he couldn’t speak for Falman. As fond as he was of the Major, his antics were sometimes a little too much, and Roy felt them slightly misplaced here. Even if he soon realised Alex had toned it down, somehow. His explanation of what he was going to do, where his alchemy came from, was more in the tone of a lecture than his usual good natured bragging.

Falman filled in the blanks, whispering.
“Major Armstrong is going to rebuild a small house from scratch.”
“Nothing out of his league.”
“No, it seems fairly simple, apparently it was a very small house. One floor.”
“His speech is taking more time than it will take for him to rebuild it.”
“He’s getting ready, sir.”
“No need to tell me, Falman. I can feel it.”
He could hear it, too. Alex had stopped talking. But the feeling was stronger. Static, coming from the ground, through the thick soles of his boots, then vibrations, morphing into a deep, loud rumble that filled his ears and caught his stomach, as the very earth was pulled and without a doubt sculpted into a copy of what once stood there, in mere seconds.

And at once, silence.

If Alex expected a big show of enthusiasm, he was probably mortified.

Only one Elder, Roy suspected Lowe, not only from his voice but from his demeanor since the beginning, expressed some contentment at the sight of the house. Roy heard Vanhoja say something in her grumbling tone, and sand sounding under shoes.

Another pair of boots got closer a couple of minutes later.
“They don’t seem that impressed, I must say,” Alex said to Roy, desolation palpable in his voice.
“Don’t worry, Alex. You’ve heard them before. It’s part of their stance. Politics work this way.”
“Hope you’ll have more luck, still.”
“Eh, I hope so too.”
"Mustang? Miles." A hand slid on Roy's shoulder, pushing him to turn. "I got our mine-clearing expert, here."
Heels clicked.
"Second Lieutenant Coleman, Brigadier General."
Footsteps came and went around them, and Roy had trouble keeping track of everyone, so he focused on Coleman. The newcomer sounded tall, and smelled strongly of sweat and dust.
"At ease, Lieutenant," Roy tilted his chin, trying to hide his irritation at the title and being pulled to the side without warning.
"I'll take you to the minefield, sir, and locate an explosive for you as you requested. You have to… uh… follow me…" The Lieutenant's voice faded.

Silence.

"Miles." Roy's irritation grew into exasperation. "Have you not told the Lieutenant I was blind? Really?"
"Sir," Falman chimed. "Sorry, but, Miles has left. Someone called him while you were addressing Coleman and he had to run, he has a number of duties–"
"Alright, Falman." Roy sighed, his hand leaving Falman's arm to press his fingertips to his eyelids. "Alright. Sorry, Lieutenant Coleman. Please find a way to locate a mine… not too far into the field. You know."
"Will– will do, sir. On it."
Coleman left. Roy kept his fingertips on his eyelids, rubbing his eyes. Hard.

Some time ago, it'd have made him see stars. Now it just hurt.

"Falman?"
"Sir?"
"Let's follow Coleman. From afar."
"Sure, sir."

While Coleman set to work, Roy put his full trust into Falman’s guiding, and his total focus on finding a way to do what he was supposed to do with alchemy. Try on a first mine. Defuse it, maybe dismantle it — its components could still be useful, after all. Then… should he try to wipe the field at once? Or work through small areas? He could work it out as a grid; ask the size of the field, map it out, work one square at a time, line after line, and progress slowly and safely. But that would take hours. Roy wasn’t that patient, and neither would be the Elders.

An image flashed in his mind. Why not actually detonate the whole field at once? That was sure to make a bigger impression than Alex’s small house. It would make them take him seriously. Assert his power.

For f*ck’s sake, Mustang, are you insane? They already hate you. They know what you are capable of, out of everyone, and you want to push on that trauma? What kind of an arsehole are you?

The kind to have killed thousands.

Roy’s hand tightened around his cane, and he tried not to do the same with the hand that was on Falman’s arm.

Then act in consequence, you moron.

No detonating. It’d be safer this way, anyway. How to defuse, then? He’d need to know the nature of the components, first, and then switch one for another. Preferably the closest that could do, because he felt that if he asked for a big jump over the elements table, the process would take longer, and more energy. He could transmute the copper from the wires into something close and non conductive, but that would mean several jumps — all the closest elements were just as, if not more, conductive as mere copper. Something else, then. Or glass? Silicium wasn’t that far. Alright. Turn part of the copper into glass, that should suffice, not all; and the rest of the copper could be reused. That sounded like a plan. Now, that didn’t solve that problem of how to clean the whole field—

“Coleman has found one, sir. He’s planting a little flag in the ground.”
“Good. Let’s get closer, shall we?”

Coleman stopped them short.
“Don’t come two at once, please, sirs. Maybe I should take over from here.”
“Alright, Lieutenant. Take me as close as you can from it.”
Coleman was awkward, but pulled him over a few meters, and stopped.
“Mine is pressure detonated. I’ve positioned us so it’s at twelve, five meters away. Don’t go further.”
Roy took a step back.
“I won’t. It’s perfect, Lieutenant. Now…” Roy kneeled on the ground, cautiously setting his cane behind him. “Please stand back. I don’t want any other casualties than myself if I make a mistake.”

A couple of thoughts flew in his mind — you’re positively insane, Mustang — what would Hawkeye think of this? — but he pushed them away as he clapped, then put his hands on the ground, feeling the static through his fingertips.

Once again, he was exhilarated by the ease with which he knew exactly what to do, and how. It was a matter of seconds, to change the copper of the detonator wires into inert glass, then to separate each component into a small heap.

Unable to hide his smile, Roy retrieved his cane, got up, and brushed off his knees.
“Here. I think it worked.”
“Yes, sir,” Coleman, sounding dumbstruck, was back by his side, then walked past him. “Are those… the metal the mine was made of?”
“You should have some copper, iron, and carbon, mostly, yeah. Didn’t really focus on that. It’s dismantled, though.”
“Ah, yeah, sir, it is dismantled, no doubt. You’re going to put me out of a job,” Coleman had a brief laugh, then realized who he was talking to. “Uh. Brigadier General.”
Roy chuckled.
“At ease, Coleman. Now… should we try with the whole field? How big is it?”
“It’s not too big. Roughly an hectare. But, you know, it’s not a neat little square.”
“I figured. Do we know how many mines there must be, then? On average, on this surface?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea. It depends on the people who set them. Since they were supposed to be planted to stop an enemy advance, I’d say you’d be better if you expect there to be many of them.”
Roy sighed.
“Alright.”

He was going to kneel again, when:
“Mustang? You ready? I am here with the Elders!”

That was some sense of timing. Roy was so absorbed into his task that he had forgotten why he was doing this, and who was around.

Time to put on a show, then.

“Lieutenant Coleman?”
“Sir?”
“Please stand back.”
“Yes, sir.”

First time was easy, the second time shouldn’t have been.

But it was. Roy, his hands on the ground, static running through his hands, head, his whole body, really, was able to locate each landmine and defuse it, then extract most of the components, pulling them from the soil where they shouldn’t be. He didn’t count. He had no idea how many landmines were buried in this small streak of dry desert earth. But he pulled each of them out, from where he was, kneeling, his head low, his eyes screwed shut, one by one.

Until there were none.

The static ebbed, and the silence of the desert was covered by the rush of blood in his ears. His hair stuck to his forehead; he was drenched in sweat. His arms were trembling, his fingers had dug through the dirt.

It had felt easy, indeed, but now he was exhausted. He pushed away the memory of last time he’d felt so drenched after using alchemy. It wasn’t too far from here.
Roy felt around to try and find his cane, when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Here, sir. Get up.”
Roy took the hand that was offered to him, either by Coleman or Miles, he wasn’t sure, and got up. His cane was shoved into his hand. Roy passed a shaky hand through his hair, and smiled.
“Well. It’s clean. You can go and walk over there, it’s safe.”

He was met with silence.

“There wasn’t much to see, from where we were.” Miles, it was Miles. And he was embarrassed.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I think it’d be safer if Lieutenant Coleman–”
“Stay where you are, Coleman.” Roy called loudly. “If you don’t trust my speech, maybe you’ll trust my actions.”

Roy, trying to hide the scowl on his face, took off his coat, then his sweater; he was drenched in sweat, and the too warm wind of the desert suddenly felt like a cool caress on his overheated skin. He rolled his shirt sleeves up, then stood as straight as he could, skirted around Miles, and walked straight through the field, his cane sweeping the ground in front of him. If they didn’t trust him, he trusted his own power. He knew what he had just done, and how it had worked. This was as safe as a stroll in a park in Central, now. And he was going to show them.

Once he deemed he’d walked far enough into the field, he walked for a short while in a circle, until his cane located a big, solid thing. He leaned down, touching it to confirm it wasn’t a rock, but the metal he had just discarded, melted into a perfect cube that would weight several kilograms. He put a foot on it, and turned around to where he knew the Elders were, and called, arms up.

“See? Perfectly safe. No more landmines.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

“The team’s throwing a small party for Havoc’s return. They’ve asked me to invite you to come.”

Riza’s making dinner for the Colonel and herself. As she’s done for the past week, since they’ve been out of the hospital.

She refuses to let him cut anything until he has started cooking lessons, but he’ll be allowed to wash the dishes. For now he’s sitting at the kitchen table, a braille sheet in front of him.
He’s massaging his hands.

The Colonel hums, frowning.
“Are you going?”
“I don’t know. But if you go, I will.”
She punctuates her answer with a last cut of her knife in the onions, throws them in the pan, and wipes her nose.

She hopes he’ll take the Xing doctor’s offer to try alkahestry. He can’t stay like this, if there’s a chance he can get better. He’s lost most fine motor skills in his hands, and they shake. When now he needs them more than ever. Most of the Colonel’s learning is stalling because of this, and seeing the other students in his group move on while he’s still stuck with basic tasks because his hands won’t cooperate is crushing him. He won’t say it. But it shows.

“I’m not sure they will be happy to have me around.”
“Of course they will, sir. It’ll be nice, just to go out with the team again. For both of us.”
“Where is it?”
“They’re looking for a place where Havoc can go with his wheelchair. He’s got a lot of work ahead of him, his legs won’t support his weight for now.”

The Colonel doesn’t reply, and Riza turns around. He’s nodding to himself.
“I don’t want to be the one to tell them.”
“Tell them what, sir?”
“That I’m going to be dismissed.”
“I’m not going to tell them for you.”
He sighs, and passes a hand through his hair.
“Yeah… I know.”

Riza stopped Roy's car in front of the small bar. It had been a long time since they all met there. That last time, Roy had been the one driving.

Riza shook her head, and climbed out, letting Black Hayate jump from the passenger seat. It was supposed to be a good time, being there. She'd called them all on a whim, not wanting to spend an evening alone with her thoughts again.

And she knew she had to address the elephant in the room. None of them had called back after Roy had hung up on Havoc, but they might be on tenterhooks, and she'd rather the team — even if they weren't a team anymore, not really — got the real news straight from her rather than from Rebecca. Who had all these kinds of ideas about their relationship already, she bet. She didn't know yet how she was going to tell them, but she would see.

"Hawkeye!"
She was called to a booth at the back of the bar right when she pushed the door. Havoc was waving from there, beaming. He was sitting next to Breda, his crutches in between them. Hayate rushed to them before she could rein him in, zig-zagging between empty and occupied chairs, and jumped into Havoc's open arms while Breda hurriedly rushed into a corner with a muted shout.

She joined the men, noticing Fuery wasn't there yet, and that neither of them were in uniform — she wasn’t either. It felt good to be out of it, from time to time, and try to dress up a little. She'd put on a simple skirt and flat shoes, but it made her feel lighter, to finally go out and be dressed in something else.

She realized it was in fact one of her first times out for fun since the Promised Day.

"Hello, Lieutenants."
"Maybe we could ditch the ranks now that we're only meeting as friends, don't you think, Hawkeye?"

Friends.

Yes.

"I think it's a good idea, Jean."
"Ohooo, and we're on a first name basis now." Havoc winked, ruffling a very happy Hayate's ears. "But won't someone get a little jealous of that?"
"He's not here, is he?" Breda roughly poked him in the shoulder, still staying as far as he could from the dog. "Don't you think they'd come in together, if he was?"
"No, he's not," Riza replied, looking away when she felt her cheeks redden. "He's–"

"Lieutenant!"
Fuery was practically bouncing towards them, his beaming smile contagious. Riza felt her already improved mood get better. The team was not whole, but that'd be all she could get tonight.

Somehow, knowing that Roy himself was with Falman made her feel a little like it was, in fact, complete, in a way.

Hayate squirmed in Havoc's arms until he let him go, and the little dog barrelled into Fuery's legs, tail waving.

"Dammit Fuery, we just said we wouldn't be using ranks tonight!"
"You say that cause you're the only one who doesn't have one anymore." Breda snickered.
"Boss doesn't either."
"He's a f*cking Brigadier General, dude. Have a little respect."
"He doesn't like that title," Riza let out, wincing as she did so, afraid to break the mood.

But no one really noticed.

"Fuery? What's wrong?"

Riza looked up at Fuery on Havoc’s words, and immediately felt her cheeks warm up. The young Sergeant was absentmindedly petting a very excited Hayate, and had set his wide-eyed gaze — wider than usual — on her hand. His mouth was agape, but he was trying to smile through it.

Instead of replying, he pointed to the ring on Riza's finger. Havoc and Breda leaned over the table, staring.

The ring! She forgot she’d put it on, taking advantage of being out of uniform tonight. She hadn’t really thought it through, and just wanted to be able to look at it, for herself. It was so light on her finger. It felt as if it had always been there.

Riza closed her hand, and reflexively hid the jewel under her other palm, sliding them both towards her chest. Well, at least she wouldn't have to think about how to announce it to the team.

"Don't tell me it's–"
"It is, right? Rebecca was right!"
"To say this bastard hung up on me when–"
"Show us! Let us get a better look, Lieutenant, please!" Fuery hurried her with his high pitched voice as he took a seat next to her, ushering Black Hayate under the table.

Riza didn't have the heart to refuse Fuery's plea — besides, the cat was out of the bag now, anyway. She forced herself to place her hands back towards the center of the table, and to uncover the thin ring.

The tiny diamond sparkled neatly on the simple, slightly white tinted metal.

The three men stared in silence.

It was becoming slightly uncomfortable when someone cleared their throat behind Riza's back.

"Excuse me. But any of you goin' to order, or?"

Havoc and Breda shook their heads with a smile and ordered a beer each. Riza asked for a glass of wine — only one for the evening, since she had to drive the car back to her place — and a bowl of water for Hayate who had finally curled up under her chair. She'd probably offer to drop the guys, too. At least Havoc would probably need it. Fuery was still contemplating the ring, so Breda ordered a juice for him.

Maybe one day they'd stop treating him like a kid. But he didn't seem to take offense.

"So it's his? It really is?"
Riza nodded, looking at the ring herself, and finding she felt like smiling.
"No offense, Hawkeye," said Havoc with the air of someone who was going to say something offensive, "but this feels… way too simple for him. Like, I mean, I'd have expected something fancier."
"The guy is blind, Havoc. And I still think it's classy. Simple, efficient, classy, just like our Lieutenant." Breda smiled and winked at Riza.
"Well, still… I mean, he should have asked us for help! We'd have found something worthy of–"
"I don't think you get it, guys."

Fuery was pushing his glasses back on his nose. He had not taken his eyes from the ring until now.
"First, this is a diamond. That’s more than just fancy. But the most interesting thing is the ring. See that whitish, very shiny metal? It's chrome. This is a very… unconventional material for a ring." Fuery looked up. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, am I right if I say Brigadier General Mustang made it himself with alchemy?"

Riza's smile broadened. Maybe they still considered him a kid, but Fuery had a few things to teach them.

"He did," she said, and it seemed her voice carried a lot more than she wanted to, because the three men suddenly looked at her with a fond smile, and raised their newly arrived glasses.

"Wish we could have clinked our glasses with both of you," Breda said, a little too solemnly. "But I can't say we didn't get the better half of the deal. Congrats, Hawkeye."
Riza, her cheeks burning, unable to stop herself from smiling, raised her glass.
"You haven't told us where he is, though."
"We're actually surprised that you're not even more glued at the hip than you used to be, really."

Riza's good mood faltered. But she didn't want to lie to them. On the other hand, it was probably better not to tell too much about it yet.
"He's not in Central. I can't really say much more. He's not in Briggs either, but Falman's with him."

The three of them were used to secrecy and discretion, and didn't pry further. After a short silence, Breda offered, looking her in the eye: "Falman's probably read and computed the whole library section on blindness already just in case, you know that?"
"Oh." Riza couldn't help but chuckle. "He did, of course. I wasn't doubting him."
She looked down at her hands, feeling all their eyes on her.

"So, Breda," Havoc broke the uncomfortable silence that threatened to settle. "You told me Simmons is a dick?"
"A prick. I said a prick. He's awful. He's really helping me make my mind about my decision, I can't work with such an arse."
"You know, that sounds oddly like what people used to ask us about working with Mus–"
"What decision, Breda?" Riza frowned.
Breda sighed, and readjusted himself on the booth seat.
"I'm leaving, Hawkeye. When the Colonel–"
"Brigadier General," Fuery corrected, but Breda shrugged.
"When Mustang picked me for his team, you remember, you picked me, too, I told you both I wasn't sure about staying. I stayed for him. For his goal. Now…" He shrugged again. "If Havoc's not coming back, and if we can't work together, why bother with an annoying boss and a sh*t pay?"
"I'm hiring him, in fact," Havoc beamed at Riza, while Breda growled:
"Hiring? I thought we were doing it together. You won't be my boss, mate, be sure of that."
Fuery, never departing from his wide-eyed interest, chimed in: "What are you going to do, then?"
“We’re thinking about opening a PI agency. Breda would be the brains, I’d be the legs, mostly.”
“Good thing you got ‘em back, then, don’t you think?” Breda snickered, giving Havoc a rough poke in the ribs.
“Tell me about it! I’d have offered, too, I think. I’ve become a remarkable secretary. But you–” Havoc poked Breda’s beer gut. “You’d have had to get in better shape.”
“I'm as shapely as I want. Wait until you’re all healed. I’m going to kick your arse.”
“Why don’t we start now?”
“I have honour.”
“You don’t want me to beat you up with my crutches, rather.”

Riza smiled at Havoc and Breda’s banter, letting them go on about fighting each other, and turned to Fuery.
“How is it going for you?”
“Fine,” The now Warrant Officer smiled, and his cheeks became instantly red. He looked away. “In fact, it’s great. I’m having lots of fun in the communication department, and, uh, my superior hinted that I was a great help and that I was going to fly through ranks if I kept going this way.” Fuery’s voice had become more and more tiny as he spoke, and he had shrunk on his chair as if he wanted to disappear under the table. Black Hayate emerged from under Riza’s seat to come and sniff his hands, ears perked up.

Riza offered Fuery her biggest smile. It was genuine. She was happy to hear that at least one of them was having a great time with no complications whatsoever.
“That’s such great news, Fuery!”
“Yeah, dude, why are you hiding?” Havoc leaned over the table and shook Fuery’s shoulder. “That’s awesome!”
“I just… I don’t, I don’t want you to think…” He gulped, his eyes on Black Hayate as he was scratching behind his ears. “I don’t want you to think I don’t miss you all, is all. I am having fun, I’m happy, but I miss the team.”
Havoc opened his mouth, ready to keep going, but Riza saw Breda elbow him in the ribs. Indeed, Riza herself could hear and see pretty well that Fuery meant everything he said. His eyes were a little too misty behind his glasses.

Riza cleared her suddenly tight throat.

“We all miss the team, Fuery. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, kid, and we’re not going away. ‘Sides.” Havoc winked. “Next time we see each other, we’ll probably be getting the boss drunk.” He turned to Riza. “I volunteer to take him out for his stag night, and neither you nor him can stop me.”
“Getting Mustang drunk is no feat,” Breda growled. “He holds his drink like my little sister. But I’m in, too.”
“And what if we both object?” Riza tried, keeping a poker face. But she thought it was a good idea. She would never tell them, however.
“We’ll kidnap him, Hawkeye. We’re trained soldiers, after all.”

The evening was nice and warm, spent among friends — they were way past just being co-workers, now. Riza talked a little, but listened the most.

She had a moment of panic, that she hid by pushing Fuery to keep gushing about his new dab into electronics — he was trying to miniaturize a recorder, with relative success, with the benediction of his new boss — when the wine hit. A single glass of wine, but it hit harder than any alcohol had in years. Maybe it was all the stress, maybe it was that it’d been a long time, but Riza had a sudden realization that, yes, she had yet to recover fully herself. Her injuries might have been treated quicker than Roy’s, and not leave her with a permanent disability, she still had to take it easy. It was, ironically, kind of sobering.

As time went by she also found herself not listening at all, but fiddling with the ring on her finger, wishing the Colonel was there with them. Not only did she miss him, but she thought he'd benefit from a night out like that. He's refused all offers, on excuses that grew more shallow as he finally became more confident in his skills, but still shy to meet the team again. It was obvious he felt he was letting them down, not being able to pursue what he had hired them for.

Not ready to go out, he'd said. And now he was out in Ishval, of all places.

Yes, maybe she wanted him to be there because she missed him and because it'd be good for him, but also so she could slap some sense in his idiotic brain.

With the bar closing, Havoc took Riza's offer to drop him at his place — a small room he rented since he was back.

"Kinda dingy, but it's on the first floor."
"Stairs would help train you back faster."
Havoc slapped his knee, laughing.
"Oh, so that's why the boss has escaped. I hope you have some mercy for him, Hawkeye."
Riza shook her head, and smiled. Havoc went on.
"Well I can take it a little more slowly now that my goal has shifted, and I'm not unhappy about it. Docs warned me I shouldn't overwork myself, but if I still planned on getting back in the army, you know how it'd have turned." His voice got lower. "Grumman might be more lenient, it's still the army, it's still the old ways. Show the slightest weakness, and you're a sheep among wolves. Now, if the team was still–"
"Please don't start with the team, Havoc." Riza kept her eyes fixed on the road. "And don't mention it to him either, when you see him."
"Oh hell. Don't tell me the idiot is feeling guilty about it."
Rizal could do nothing but shrug.
"Does he think they should have kept him? What would he have done? The army would have crushed him, too. There's so many who were just waiting to jump at his throat." Havoc paused for a short while. "And even then — he's with the army now, right? If he's with Falman, he's with the army. He's dismissed, but he can't let it go. And you let the bastard leave?"
"Careful, Havoc." Riza frowned. "He was your superior."
"Yeah, yours too. I can't believe he can't see he has come out better off on this side. You're getting married!"
"Repeat that sentence again, maybe you'll understand."
Havoc scoffed, then said in a fond tone: "Oh, Hawkeye, you sound just like him. He's rubbing off on you."
"Maybe."

Riza pulled the car in front of Havoc's new place. It was indeed dingy looking, with crumbling paint on the facade and hastily repaired windows.
"We ought to find you a better place."
"Not on my pension, you won't."
"Roy could–"
Havoc laughed.
"He's Roy now, eh? Maybe I'll have a word with him when he comes back, if you think he can help find something better for me. I would hate to bring a girl here, indeed."

Havoc opened the door and got out of the car with a grunt, heavily leaning on his crutches.
"Not fit for the army just yet, eh." He winked at Riza as he closed the door and leaned on the open window, letting Black Hayate, who’d jumped on his seat, lick his hands.
"When's the wedding?"
"We don't know yet. We haven't– nothing is planned. But. Soon."
"Keep me posted." Havoc smiled as he turned around. “I wasn’t joking about the stag night. Neither was Breda. We’re getting him out and drunk, even if we have to stun and drag him.”
“I’ll have some instructions for you, then. You can’t just do that unprepared.”
“You know where to find me!”

Riza left once she'd seen him enter the old building.

The morning after, Riza woke up, a little disoriented, looking around the room. Her room. Her place.

Not Roy’s.

Black Hayate was sleeping at the foot of her bed. And her bed was all hers. Empty and void of Roy’s comforting smell.

She laid back against her pillows with a sigh, her dream still clinging to her mind and skin. It had not been a nightmare, this time — quite the contrary. It seemed her body wanted to remind her of what she was missing now, and remembered mostly Roy’s gentle hands on her.

Riza curled up under the covers, trying to grasp at the last remnants of the dream, the last images, the last feelings. She sighed again. That had been a very… sensual dream. Replaying key parts of their first night together.

Now more than her cheeks had warmed up.

Stop that, Riza.

Instead of listening to herself, however, she let her hand go down between her legs, to ghost over her underwear, feeling how damp it was. Unsurprisingly, considering. The dream lingered, her mind making up Roy's fingers on her skin, his lips on her mouth.

It was nice to think about him this way, rather than be anxious about what could happen to him. Nice to think about what would happen when he’d come back, instead.

She just let her hand lay there, pondering if she should go further. How many times had she imagined that her own fingers, there, were his, alone in her bed and feeling slightly guilty about these thoughts? She had no idea how much better the real thing would be, back then. No idea she would ever know.

She pulled her hand away, forced herself to get up. She needed to get to work. If anything, it’d keep her mind busy. And she had to visit the HR department. She had a couple of files to ask for.

And then… Town hall. It fell on her to take care of the paperwork, anyway, now. So why not do it fast? Have everything ready for when Roy would be back.

One more day, still. While the anxiety was still there, colouring her every thought, she was more longing for his presence than anything else. It was both a new feeling and one she’d lived with for years. She simply felt better when he was around, or near.

One more day. Now hurry, Riza.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

“Damn this shirt! Damn these buttons, damn all this sh*t! f*ck!”

Roy yells. He yells when he wants to scream, to let a long stream of incoherent rage fueled cries. He balls his useless hands into fists, this he can do, at least in part. The icy hot, unbearable pain sends jolts all the way up into his clenched jaw. He can feel his arms tremble. Tears bead in his eyes, and for one of the first times he feels shame, utter shame at the idea of his Lieutenant seeing this.

But she’s there. Close. So close he can at times feel her warm breath on his bare chest — bare because he can’t even close these damned buttons.

She says nothing — a stark change from her new usual, where he can tell she forces herself to verbalize a lot more than she used to. But there‘s nothing to say.

Maybe it’s better this way. He doesn’t know. He can’t think clearly.

She finishes closing the shirt, button by button, quickly, sending not totally unpleasant shivers down his spine when her cold fingers accidentally brush against his scalding hot skin. She smoothes his shirt collar — swiftly, as if she’s afraid to get burned.

He wants her in his arms, against his chest, he wants the buttons off again, he wants to feel her — no. You’re insane, Mustang. That’s the Lieutenant, here. And she’d just helped you dress up. f*cking dressing you up like a child. How could you even–

He wants her gone. Away from him. He knows he’s scowling, his now shut eyes doing nothing to stop the tears. But he says nothing. Because where would she go? They’re stuck here, in this hospital room.

Just when he thinks she’s gone, freezing hands catch his wrists. Even that touch is painful. And yet. Her cold grip, tight, seems to spread, fighting against the burning rage running through his veins. It’s enough to silence it, enough to kill it.

But what’s left after is no better.

Roy feels empty, cold, exhausted. His stomach turns at the idea that she’s still there. She’s closed the shirt. She grounds him, with her steel grip on his wrists.

And him? What can he do for her? How can he ever repay what she does, what she’s done, what she intends surely on doing for him?

“Please, Lieutenant.” Words get out of his mouth, hoarse, through his teeth. They feel like broken glass, yet, at the same time, he needs to say them. At least, she doesn’t need to go far for him to feel like she’s disappeared. “Please, leave me alone, now. Thank you. Let me be.”

Last day.

They had a last meeting with the Elders, and then Armstrong and Roy would hop in the train back to Central. Falman would stick with Miles and stay in Dar Mouhed.

Roy wasn't looking forward to having to rely on the Major, but while he wouldn't admit it to the others, he was relieved to go back home. To a place he knew well, where he could regain the little autonomy he'd fought teeth and nails for and felt had disappeared here, in Ishval.

And above all, back to Riza.

Though he felt weird about it.

The Elders had retired the previous day, shortly after Roy's stunt. He didn't even get to hear anything from them. They had left, time for him to walk back from the middle of the field. Alex and Falman had been waiting for him, calling him so he'd keep the right direction, and congratulated him greatly, but he wanted to know the impression he'd made on the Ishvalans, not on people from his side.

But there hadn't been a single word from them, nor Scar, since then.

Later that night, Miles had come to tell him he'd had Coleman and his team check the whole field and beyond, and they had not found a single live mine. The whole area was clean.

Instead of feeling proud, Roy felt weird and out of place all evening. He'd forced himself to stay at the mess and eat dinner with the others this time — even if there was no reaction from the Elders, even if he felt weird, he had just cleaned a f*cking minefield all by himself. If anyone wanted to laugh at the retired General for proding around his plate with his shaky hands after that…

But no one did. Roy listened to Armstrong and Falman chatting next to him while he finished his plate, not participating in the conversation. When he got up, he declined Falman's offer to take him to his room, and went there himself. It was pretty easy, being the first one in the next corridor.

He'd laid on his bed, and tried to sleep.

He had not slept much.

There'd been a chaotic dream, in which the light of the sun had been too bright and harsh, his own flames scorching against his face.

The same couple of sentences that were haunting his every days had been pronounced again — you'll never be forgiven — I don't want to be — and others — then why are you here? Why come back? To light the survivors' grief aflame again? To torture yourself? — but they had not been pronounced by an old, battle weary but still proud Ishvalan.

No, the voice had been vicious, taunting. The eye twinkling with ill intent behind murky black bangs.

Envy.

Roy had startled awake, drenched in sweat, a scream thankfully stuck in his throat, when the homunculus had turned into Riza.

They were standing on Dar Mouhed's empty market square, if he was to believe Falman, waiting for the return of the Elders, and their decision.

Roy could hear Scar and Miles chatting in a low voice somewhere on his right. Falman was standing at attention next to him, and Armstrong was on his other side. Neither of them had said much since they'd met in the morning. Like him, Alex had only gotten a cup of black coffee for breakfast — Roy had heard him refuse a plate. The bitter taste of the army's dishwater lingered on Roy's tongue, and his nightmare on his mind.

For all his army training, Roy had never been fond of standing straight and idle for long. His side wound was starting to remind him of its existence when Alex announced he saw the Elders. The major clicked his heels, and Roy resigned to do the same, standing at attention as a show of respect.

He could hear Scar's low monochord welcome the representatives in Ishvalan, their rapid, hoarse yet melodious back and forth coming closer until they were standing somewhere to his left.

"Good morning to you all," Lowe started, polite and soft. "We have studied what you all had to offer separately, but we want to assure you we are grateful for it all, and for you to have come all the way here to discuss."

Roy's back tensed. If they thanked them first…

"Now. I think it'll be better if we are direct, so we don't waste time, which is precious for all of us. Major Miles. You have offered a number of strong arms, selected volunteers and supplies that are all greatly appreciated. We are taking this all at no other condition that we get to use all of this our way, without meddling."

Miles' soft barytone, that Roy had now gotten used to, replied:
"No objection to this.These men and materials are for Ishval to use as it pleases. We are trying and planning to raise more funds and get more supplies as our restoration efforts get public."
"I'm sorry for the backlash you will inevitably encounter."
"We are ready for it, sir."
"Of course you out of all here would expect it. Thank you, Major Miles."
The two other Elders pronounced something in Ishvalan, then Miles thanked them too.

A couple of footsteps, and Roy calculated they were now in front of Armstrong.

They were saving the Flame Alchemist for last.

Great. Awesome. That promised fun.

“Major Armstrong. You have been here. You have fought here — and we know your history.”

Lowe paused, and no one talked for a relatively long time span.

It was in times like these that Roy felt he lacked the most. What kind of game was currently being played without words between Alex, Lowe, and the other Ishvalans? What did they think of Alex’s history, if they mentioned it?
Roy would never know for sure, and it made him furiously frustrated.

He could have asked Falman, but it would have been wildly impolite to do so, wouldn't it?

Lowe started again.
“You know Ishval has always been… guarded, at best, where alchemy is concerned. And we now, with reasons you know of, tend to be outwardly hostile to its use. Nevertheless, you have demonstrated powers that would allow us to rebuild entire cities in a short span, and considering the number of refugees we will want to house, this could prove invaluable and save us time, money, and a lot of pain. We accept your certainly good natured offer, but at one condition.”
Another, slight pause.
“We would like you to work conjointly with Ishvalan architects, so they can supervise you and make the reconstruction as faithful to the original as possible.”

Was there a smile in Lowe’s voice? Oh, f*ck. He was referencing Alex’s style. That sudden realization almost had Roy let out a nervous bark of laughter. Then he thought he was the next one in line, and his guts twisted.

“Of course!” Alex boomed to his left, relief and happiness palpable in him. “I am glad, and eager to be taught by your illustrious architects, dear Elders. I will be but a humble worker and let them guide my hand.”
“Thank you, Major Armstrong.”
“Thank you.”

Brace yourself, Mustang. Your turn.

“Mr Mustang. Or should I say Brigadier General? I have heard you being addressed with both.”
Roy bowed his head.
“I am retired. Mustang is fine. Thank you for your consideration.”

For the first time since this all started, another voice rose. It wasn't the old woman who only spoke in Ishvalan, Vanhoja, and it was full of venom. Danis.

“Or maybe you prefer Flame Alchemist? We, too, have a number of names for you. The flame of death. The burning butcher. Ishvala’s–”

The third Elder, Vanhoja, barked something in Ishvalan, effectively shutting Danis up. There was a short silence, during which Roy was again made to feel awkward and tense about what was happening in front of him without his knowledge.

Lowe went on, his voice still soft.
“I’m not going to repeat what I said to Major Armstrong. We are, however, wondering why someone like you would want to help us, no matter what Major Miles could have tried to explain. You have shown you could prevent us from having to deal with more casualties by clearing landmines. Major Miles assures you have also offered to get rid of the poison you have left in our soils, and to help kickstart agriculture by chemically enriching the land through alchemy. Some of us believe you are offering this in earnest. Some of us… think you might want to finish the job, and poison us all.”

Silence.

Roy clenched his jaw. He was expecting that. He kept his back straight, and his stare as straight as could be, chin up.

“You have nothing to say about this?”
“There is nothing to say. I understand why some of you think this way. As I have already stated, I am not hiding what I have done, and I am not offering any of this to be forgiven. I want to help repair what can be repaired, and I want nothing in exchange. Take it, or leave it. Either way, you can deal with me as it pleases you.”

Roy wished he could have looked Lowe in the eye while he delivered this. Make him understand. Lowe was the one who could. Lowe was the one who kept the door open. Roy tried to keep his face neutral while his mind raged and his insides squirmed like a basket of snakes.

The Elder took his time to answer.

“As much as some or many Isvhalans would like to have you burnt alive on a public stake, some of us believe we ought to put an end to violence. You outstretched your hand first."

Lowe paused. That was some kind of torture.

"And we’re going to take it.”

Roy took a deep breath. He felt empty and light at once.

“Our condition, and I think you will agree with us, is for you to show yourself only when it is absolutely necessary. We don’t want you around. We won’t especially mind if you’re killed, but we will mind losing your abilities. You’ll do what we tell you, when we tell you, the way we tell you. Find a middleman if you need, so you can be here only for alchemy work. We don't care. We would rather you did it, in fact. Is that clear, Mr Mustang?”
“Crystal clear.”
“Then I guess we have a deal. I have shaken hands with the others, I offer you to do the same.”
Roy nodded, and offered his free right hand. Lowe took it, and gave it a firm shake, without any hesitation.
“Thank you, Mr Mustang.”
“Thank you.”

The thing happened faster than Roy could register with only sound. He felt Lowe move, and someone else walk closer, fast, but he still startled when they — Danis? — said something right into his face in Ishvalan, then stepped back.

There was a sound he could have recognized if he hadn’t been so surprised, so out of his game, so damned blind.

His left hand had shot into his pocket without him even thinking about it.

The feel of his glove’s rough fabric under his fingertips made him nauseous.

He was ready to burn Danis alive, right there, on Ishvalan soil.

He had learnt nothing.

He heard Locke speak fast and loud in Ishvalan, probably scolding Danis, who replied with an angry tone, until Vanhoja shut them up both.

Roy startled again when a hand took his shoulder.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“Yes, why?” He barked back.

Don’t show weakness. Not now. Not even to Falman.

“It was Danis.”
Falman seemed to want to add something, but didn’t.
“Yeah, I know it was Danis, thank you, Falman,” Roy groaned, trying to get his bearings back. He passed a hand through his hair and sighed. Falman’s hand left his shoulder.

It took some moments for the ruckus to settle. Roy could hear Armstrong and Lowe discuss, but too low for him to process what they were saying. They were probably trying to calm the situation.

“Are you going to tell him, Falman?”
Roy repressed yet another jump. What was Scar, out of all people, doing so close to him, all at once?
“Tell me what?”
“Allow me, Mustang," went the low rumble. "For your aide has decided apparently you didn’t need to know that. Danis spat on your shoes. Here, take my handkerchief.” Scar roughly took Roy’s hand and closed it over a piece of fabric. “I don’t think you want to keep that. Right shoe.”
Roy gulped through a tight throat, his guts stirring again. He didn’t know if he was more ashamed or angry. He crouched, wiped his boot clean, and pocketed the dirty tissue.
He was scowling deep when he got up.
“Well, Falman?”
“Sir, I… I thought it would–”
“You volunteered to be my eyes, Lieutenant. Do your job. I need to be sure I can rely on you.”
“Yes, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”
“I sure hope not, Falman. Scar? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mustang. I hope you get why I wanted you to know.”

Roy nodded.

He stood further back from the others as they discussed the time and location of their next reunion. It had been convened earlier that he would not have to be there; finding and mapping all the official and non official minefields would take a while, and for the soil composition, samples could be sent.

He would help Ishval from the shadows, as he had planned and predicted. He had been allowed to.

He should be relieved. He wasn’t sure he was.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel better knowing we’re going back. All that tension…”
“Not happy with the Ishvalan welcoming committee, Major?”
“They were more welcoming with me than with you.”
Roy hummed, and readjusted himself on the uncomfortable seat of the train. He had not noticed how loud the machine was on the journey there, and now it was causing him a headache.
Probably the tension relaxing, as Alex had pointed out.

It felt almost weird to part with Falman, after the lieutenant had been his guide and help for three days, but Roy wouldn’t say he would miss him. He might not be fully relieved with how this first visit had turned out, but he was relieved to be going back home. Away from Ishval, the dust, the warmth and the memories. Away from the army, too — being called general at every turn had put him more on edge than he’d have expected.

All of this seemed to cling to him. To bog down his thoughts and keep him ruminating. He couldn’t help but replay the Elder’s speech in his head, Danis’s spat on his shoe, the way he’d been mostly stuck into a waiting pose, waiting to be told, waiting to be guided and follow, waiting to be helped.

Useless. Crippled.

He had not felt as dependent for weeks. In Central, he had managed to build confidence, to stay on top of his rehab courses — and he had almost managed to catch up on the delay he'd been imposed because of his hands, to the surprise of his trainers. But there were few things that would stop him once he was set on something — once again, being stupidly stubborn had its perks.

And of course, there was Riza, but even just walking with Vanessa or Madeline didn't feel as bad as it had been in Ishval. Because he was surrounded by the army, because he was constantly being put in a place he didn't fit into anymore.

Brigadier General. A rank that seemed fit for dead men, like Hughes, and himself.

“You know, the blatant lack of funds of this operation had me thinking.”

Roy forced himself out of his very own minefield of thoughts to address a polite face to Armstrong's comment. The train had picked up some speed, and as a result the sounds were more muffled, and its turns smoother.

“What would you say about a charity ball? There is plenty of room to organize something at the Armstrong estate.”
“You’re thinking of going public, then?”
“As Miles mentioned, now that we’ve come to an agreement with the Elders, it’s going to be official. They have a meeting coming up with my sister, where they plan to have journalists. That would make for a short item in the Central Times, at the very least.”
“I can’t believe Ishval is going to be helped by Briggs, out of any place,” Roy couldn’t help but growl, folding his arms. “This should be East Command’s priority. They’re on their territory, and they’ve got the means.”
“I'm told General Hakuro will be there, too. As commander of the East.”
“He’s been dragged kicking and screaming, I bet.”
“My sister can be very persuasive.”

There was a pause, during which Roy imagined Olivier Armstrong either placing her sword under Hakuro’s chin, or dragging him by the collar along East Command’s corridors.

He was shaken by a nervous laugh, that was quickly joined by Alex’s genuine one.

Roy sighed.
“If only that damned philosopher stone — Hakuro would be happy playing Grumman’s lap dog in Central, and I could have–” He huffed. “Eh, forget that. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Sorry, Alex. I think I’m just tired.”
“It’s fine. We all have regrets. Some more than others.”
“I don’t think anyone here is a stranger to regrets, no. This is why I apologize.” Roy cleared his throat. He had not expected to let any of that out. “So, that charity ball. Tell me about it. Strategically speaking, it could be a great idea, but we have to be smart about it.”
“Indeed. We would have to find the right way to present it to the public.”
“And most of all the gotha of Central.”
“I was thinking of presenting it like some alchemic charity work… maybe have a little… performance show…”
“You mean. Showing off your alchemy? That could work–”
“And yours.”

The train had a sudden lurch that Roy hoped hid his knee jerk reaction.

“Absolutely not, thank you. I wouldn’t even think of showing up there either–”
“Come on, Brigadier General Mustang! You’re still a hero of Ishval. You are the saviour of Central. You’d be our best asset.”
“Best talked about, but not seen. Most of Central’s upper crust is directly or indirectly linked to the army, and not the parts who like me the most. Besides… I think it’d be counter productive to remind them that their so called hero is now reduced–”
“I will not let you say that. You would be surprised at the number of people–”
“Hey, now that you make me think about it…” A mirthless smile pulled at Roy’s lips. He rubbed his chin. “We could use the turn out that some kind of morbid curiosity could bring us.”
“Surely, Mustang, you don’t think–”
“I don’t think, Major, I know. I consent to showing up at your charity ball, but I’ll just be there to look pretty and chat up, and get money out of those people. No alchemy, no speech. The so-called saviour of Central’s first outing since the Promised Day alone should bring us a lot of people. They already think we’re insane for supporting Ishval’s restoration anyway. Let’s give them their money's worth. And take that money.”
“I’m not even sure I want you there anymore, if you’re coming with this in mind.”

Roy frowned. It was a perplexing comment from the Major. He usually was so good natured.
“Extorting money? Isn’t that the goal?”
“You, using your disability as a ploy.”
“At least it”ll serve something. You know just as well as I do how these people are. What they would give to witness someone else’s fall. If we can use it to our advantage… why not?”

There was silence, then Armstrong had a low huff.

“This is not the kind of scheming I am used to with you, I will admit it… but at the same time I’m not that surprised.”
“Is it worse than making you think I’d killed your subordinate?”
Armstrong laughed, reluctantly, it seemed.
“No. No, it’s not, thanks heavens!”
“You’re welcome.”

Even if he'd managed to make the Major laugh, Roy felt the atmosphere was still pretty oppressive, after his stupid foray into self-loathing. He tried to revive the conversation.
"You think Hakuro would be arsed to come?"
"I think I'll have enough work trying to convince Olivier she needs to be there."
"Yeah. I have the feeling Hakuro will try to snatch the laurels once the project has worked, but before he has any assurance that it won't flop or backfire, you won't see him near it."
"Yes," Armstrong mused, and there was something in his voice that told Roy he was smiling under his moustache. "I think you're very right."

*

The conversation had died down, and Roy and Alex only exchanged a couple of words when they changed trains in East City — same as the first time, they did so in a hurry, Alex guiding Roy best as he could. Hopefully, the stations and trains were mostly empty.

The journey between East City and Central was silent. Roy thought he even heard Alex snore lightly.

But Roy himself couldn’t sleep. He was trapped in his own mind, revisiting the whole visit, trying to think what he could have done differently — not much. Not much because he just wasn’t able to do much anymore. If only–

Alex cleared his throat.
“Mustang? We’re reaching the outskirts of Central.”
“Have we passed the power plant, yet?”
“Oh,” Alex let out. “You’re awake.”
“Yes,” Roy forced himself to open his eyes, and stretched with a groan. He felt empty. Tired, and yet like a live wire ran through his whole body, but not the kind that would make him feel energized.“Didn’t sleep much.”
“I might have dozed off for a couple of minutes myself.”

Rather a couple of hours, Roy thought.

“We passed the plant roughly five minutes ago.”
“Ah, then we’ll be there soon–”
As if to confirm, the train started to brake, the high pitched scream of metal against metal filling the compartment, making Roy wince. The sound was awful, but there was something else.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to see Riza.

The realization hit him like a sack of bricks. She’d been waiting for him. She was probably expecting him to tell her about what had happened there. And he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have to admit–
“Mustang? Here’s your bag.”

Alex took Roy’s hand and put the shoulder strap of the duffle bag in it — it was heavy enough for Roy to feel pain when his hand closed around it and he had to support its weight. He put the bag down, got up and felt for his cane he’d laid on the seat next to his, trying not to think. One step at a time. Don’t try to think too much ahead.
Once the cane was found, he picked up the bag again and slid the strap on his right shoulder, the cane in his left hand.

“Let’s go, then, Alex?”
“Hm. All things considered, maybe let me carry your bag, sir. That’ll be easier on both of us in the train’s corridor.”
Roy shrugged.
“Whatever,” he said, letting the bag down. He wasn’t in a position to discuss, nor in a mood for it. He heard Alex take the bag, and waited for him to take his hand and place it at the crook of his enormous arm. At least Alex had learnt something during their time in Isvhal, probably by observing Falman. What Roy had learnt, was to revise his ambitions downward. Way downward.

The train wasn’t as crowded as the last time, and they both managed to climb down onto the quay without much fuss.

Roy’s heart was thumping in his ears.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t–
“Ah! Here’s our lovely Lieutenant Hawkeye! Hello, Lieutenant! Over here!”
They hadn’t even hopped off the train that Alex was already calling Riza to them, and waved, judging by the way his whole body moved next to Roy.

Alex almost lifted Roy from the train to the platform, who stayed silent, mortified. It took him a couple of seconds to get his bearings back once his feet had touched the ground, only for the Major to pull him into his arms… against Riza.
“So happy to meet you again, Lieutenant! We took good care of your, uh…”

Riza had a low huff, and hugged a paralyzed Roy, briefly.

That was too much at once, and he also had to fight a sudden bout of hatred for Alex’s manners on top.

But Riza’s body pressed against his. The smell of her hair when she rested her chin on his shoulder for a short moment — too short? Her light hands on his arms.

She was gone too quickly, as soon as Alex’s arms left them, but it still left Roy off balance. He craved Riza’s touch, her presence, but now he felt he shouldn’t. What could he give her in life? What did he have to bring to the table? He’d been demonstrated time and time again during these few days that he was nothing but a name, nothing but a reputation, and that his new overpowered alchemy would never repair what he’d done — that he knew — but neither compensate for what he’d lost.

He was a fool for thinking what they were planning was anything but a wedding of convenience, just because she felt guilty about leaving him. She just didn’t know that yet.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

“What time is it, Lieutenant?”

The Colonel sits on his sofa, slowly going through the motions the physical therapist taught him for his hands. Riza puts down the newspaper she was reading out loud to him, a finger keeping her page.

“Nine thirty, sir.”
“So it’s night.”
“Yes, sir.”

He keeps moving his fingers, his head low. Riza watches him, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn't. She spots Black Hayate yawning and stretching on the carpet. This is a nice, calm evening, but there’s something that she can’t pinpoint, something that sits uneasily in her stomach. She flaps the newspaper open again.

“Do you remember your oath, Lieutenant?”

His voice is light.

Riza suddenly feels she’s threading on thin ice. And it’s starting to crack.

He’s never light when he speaks about this.

But he’s her commander, and he has asked her a question. So she replies, her eyes fixed on him, him who’s facing the window, with an expression on his face that gives Riza shivers. She keeps her voice as steady as she can.

“Yes, sir. I do.”
“What do you think should happen, now?”
“Sir?”
“How can you determine I’ve strayed, if there’s no path anymore?”
“I don’t…”

It’s all she can do. To act stupid. She knows perfectly what he’s going to say, now. But she can’t stop it. She doesn’t want to hear it, but she can’t say anything.

“You’ve sworn, Lieutenant. I trusted you. Shouldn't you shoot me?"

Still with this very light, terribly out of character voice. This is the voice he uses to flirt with people and extract information. This is the voice he uses to make himself non threatening.

This is a fake voice, a fake serenity on his face. Something anyone else could fall for, but not her.

Riza takes the time to fold the newspaper neatly, fighting nausea.

"If you remember my oath, you ought to remember the last time it came up. And what I told you then."

She feels like a tense wire. It's all she can do to stop her hands from wrinkling the thin paper on her knees, tearing it. All she can do to keep her voice from cracking.

The difference is subtle on the colonel's face, but he has let the mask slip. His expression is more neutral, now. He's listening.

She goes on.

"A week ago, when we were discharged, you made me swear to let you help me, to let you take care of me as you could and ensure I rested. And you did. You still do. What use would that have been, then, if now I decided to pull the trigger?"

Riza stepped to the side as Roy opened the door to his flat, and she followed him in. He was visibly tired, his face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. He had stubble on his cheeks — he hadn’t brought a shaving kit with him to Dar Mouhed.

He’d talked about the trip, on their way home — home, Roy’s flat — but it seemed detached, and like he was purposefully omitting things. She hated when he did that. Because it was obvious to her, and she felt insulted. What was he trying to do, protect her? That was not his role. She was the bodyguard, after all, and if he kept information hidden, it would hinder her in her job.

Except it wasn’t really her job anymore, right? And she hadn’t been there.

She watched him, his back to her, as he let his duffle bag fall to his feet with a sigh, and rested his cane against the wall on his left. She looked as his hand searched for the coat rack where he held his black coat. The coat was more grey than anything, covered in dust. Riza made a mental note to send it to the cleaner.

She pushed her irritation out of her mind, focusing on the relief she felt at having him back. Unscathed. Physically, at least.

Roy stood for a while in the entrance, unmoving, eyes closed. He passed a hand through his hair, and didn’t turn around towards her.

“I think I’ll hit the shower, if you don’t mind.”

There was something rampant in his voice, a dark current underneath. Something she hadn’t heard in weeks, and scarcely even then. She hoped the shower would help, but she didn’t think it would.

It’d help getting rid of that dust, however. That dry smell had almost choked her when she hugged him. She’d managed to crush the memories it brought to her mind, because he was there, because they were home, but how had he dealt with them? When he had his two feet in this dust, the warm wind blowing in his hair?

No wonder he was so stiff and distant.

“Why would I? Go, and I’ll make some tea and fix something to eat. I went to get groceries earlier.”
He didn’t reply, taking off his shoes and putting them in their place automatically, and then walked to his bedroom.
Riza frowned, but called Hayate with her to the small kitchen, and got some food ready. The little bell on the dog’s collar jingled happily as he followed her.

Roy stayed so long under the water that Riza started to worry he’d slipped and cracked his skull open.

Just when she started pondering if she should get in and check on him, the water stopped. After a while, she heard him curse, and it was all she could do to not drop the carrot she was chopping and run to the bathroom. But she knew she shouldn’t. Not until he’d call her. She heard him curse a few times more before he did.

“Riza.”
“Coming.” She had already dropped her cutlery and wiped her hands on a towel before he called.
“Don’t fret.” His voice rose, toneless, before she reached the bathroom. “It’s just a small cut. I barely felt it. But it’s bleeding, and I –”

He’d cut himself shaving. Right. Not the first time.

“There should be small bandages on the first shelf, right side, in the cupboard over your head. You should remember, that’s where you decided to put them, when you came back.”

She slid into the bathroom, the air saturated with a fog of humidity, taking in the jet black hair, all wet, clinging to his nape as he was bent over the sink, the tight posture of his bare shoulder blades – he had a single mole, there, on his left. She had, after all, yet to know his whole body. He wasn't really the kind to wander around naked.

There were deep red spots on the sink, falling from his elbow. Riza’s eyes traced the rivulets of blood on his arm, up to where he held his hand against his neck.

“Yeah, I know.” She saw his jaw tense. “My hands are shaking.”
“This looks deep.” She gently tried to pry his fingers off the cut. He usually let her do so without complaint nor resistance. But today, he did. His hand tensed on his neck, his fingers refusing to let go.
“It’s not. Promise. I just didn’t notice it before it started bleeding.”
“You know deeper cuts tend to be less painful.”
“You’d know about it, right?”
Riza didn’t know how to interpret that sentence, with the tone he used.
“Should I call Knox, or will you let me look?”

Roy finally took his hand off his neck. He’d smothered blood everywhere, and at first Riza had trouble locating the cut. It was small indeed, and she was relieved. Imagining Roy with a deep cut in his neck was unsettling. She pulled a towel from the nearby rack and handed it to him.
“Clean yourself. I’ll patch it up. It’ll take just a minute.”

He didn’t need her to pass the towel under running water – cold, she noticed – and wipe the blood off. It wasn’t the first time.

But this time, there were none of his embarrassed, shameful smiles, none of his stupid jokes to try and lighten the atmosphere. He felt resigned, almost lifeless.

Once he was mostly done, she placed a wound closure strip on the cut, looking for more bleeding. She was satisfied when there was none, and pried the towel from his hand to finish taking the blood off from his neck, shoulder, arm, hand. He let her do so with none of his flirtatious comments, his arm slack, his head bowed. His wet hair fell flat against his forehead.

“Here. Come and get some tea and food. I wanted to get strawberries, but the shop was out of them. I got some vegetables instead, made a small stew. It’ll be ready soon.”
“I’m not hungry.”

That undercurrent again. It was as if she could feel it travel from his chest to hers, through the hand she was still holding. She let go of it, a bitter taste rising at the back of her throat as she saw him bring his hand back to the sink to clutch its side.
“Alright. Well, I’ll sit down with tea and bring some food with me, you’re free to join me on the sofa when you’re dry.”
She turned and left the stuffy, oppressive atmosphere of the bathroom.

Riza brought two bowls of stew, two mugs of tea, and her book with her to the living room, and sat with a sigh on the left side of the sofa. She was absolutely unable to decipher a single line of the text, her mind all set on listening intently to what was happening in the bathroom and bedroom. Finally, Roy appeared, wearing loose pajamas, one of his hands holding the door frame, the other smoothing his less but still wet hair back. Even after almost three months of sharing this space all the time, even after helping him dress up so often, seeing him in something else than his usual crisp dress shirts or uniform made Riza feel like she was seeing him naked.

And that, she had only seen twice.

Her first hint of relief was crushed by his distant expression and his still toneless voice.
“Riza?”
“I’m here.”
“What are you doing?”
“Reading. There’s tea and food on the coffee table.”
He had an imperceptible nod, and walked towards her voice, more gingerly than he had done so for weeks, extending his arm way too early to find the seat of the sofa, reeling a little when his hip hit the drawer roughly. Riza frowned, and yet again repressed a reflex to help. Once Roy, his neck red and his face ashen, finally found the seat, he dropped down with a sigh that didn’t even feel like one of relief.

Riza closed her book and put it down loudly, louder than she wanted, and louder than he needed to know what she was doing.

She’d been expecting this moment of finally being back together, she’d looked forward to it with fondness and longing, and now that they were there, he’d managed to make her so tense she thought she could scream. Instead, she spoke.

“Still don’t want to talk about it?”
“I told you everything.”
“We both know it’s not true.”
He turned his head abruptly towards her, his hooded eyes so dark she felt she’d have retreated somewhere to hide if he’d been able to look her directly in the eye. Even through his worst moments since the Promised Day, he had not looked like that. She held out a hand of truce, and touched his shoulder lightly.
“Come here.”

Without a word, he slid against her, reluctantly at first, but she felt him relax a bit once he’d breathed in a few times with his nose in her neck. She played with his hair, smoothing it yet again against his skull, then the other way, massaging his scalp. His arms curled around her midsection, bringing her closer to him. He started kissing her neck, in a way that felt oddly different from his usual. His lips were dry, his teeth close to her skin. Riza didn’t know if she felt weird enough about it to push him away, or aroused. The mix certainly wasn’t comfortable.

No matter how hard and long he’d scrubbed himself, she could still smell a lingering odour of dust, like a bitter aftertaste, almost hidden by his usual smoky scent and his soap.
His right arm curling yet tighter around her, he freed his left hand to suddenly sneak under her top, slide under her bra, and knead her breast, the thick scar in his palm feeling rough against her sensitive skin. She kissed his forehead, unsure of what to do next. She wanted him. She’d missed him. Her body screamed for him, and having him pressed against her, feeling his now wet kisses, how he almost sucked on the skin in her neck — almost too hard, had easily made her warm up, heat up. But he was off. He didn’t utter a single word, when he usually would joke and smirk at the slightest opportunity. His hands were rough, his moves brutal, where the other times they had cuddled, even if there weren’t that many, he’d be gentle and soft. All these mixed signals didn’t help. She had no idea what to do, and in the end didn’t do anything else than keep her hands on his head and his shoulder.

He pushed her to lay down, pushing her with his whole body, still firmly holding her around her waist, his mouth still glued to her neck. She could feel his teeth again, scraping against her scar, sending a jolt of pain and disgust through her, and almost pushed him off at once. Instead, she squirmed, to which he replied by pushing his leg between hers, and pressing himself yet harder against her. There was no mistaking what she could feel against her thigh — and she wouldn’t say anything, for even if he couldn’t feel it through her uniform trousers, she was already wet. But the more it went the less she was into it. She wanted Roy. Not this weird, absent, brutal version of him. She squirmed again, trying to let him know he should give her more space. To which he replied by catching her wrists, and pinning them over her head, in a tight grip. She was stronger than him. She had toppled him not too long ago. She didn’t want to do it again.

“Roy–”
He replied with a grunt, and sucked harder on her neck, pressing himself so hard against her that she felt her belt dent into her stomach. She had a brief thought that maybe he just couldn’t really regulate the pressure he put in his hands, as his grip felt so tight she could feel her wrist bones grind against each other. But no matter if it was conscious or not, it was painful. This, plus the now almost burning feeling in the scar in her neck–
“Roy, you’re hurting me!”

Roy stilled at once, immediately opening his hands. He stayed there, motionless except for his heavy breathing, for what felt like an eternity. Then he scrambled to push himself upwards, accidentally pulling on her hair in the process, retreating on all four on the sofa as if he was trying to put as much distance between them as he could.

Riza reacted quickly, and grabbed his t-shirt to pull him back before he fell to the ground. They stayed like this, face to face, silent, for longer still. All colour had left Roy’s face, and she could see his knuckles had turned white where he grasped the sofa’s cushions on each side, the tendons in his arms protruding. He was breathing heavily, and the more it went the more trembling his expirations were. It took a shiver and the sight of tears beading at the corner of his wide open eyes for Riza to realize she might have been staring all her want, but the only thing he could tell about what was happening was that he was off balance, she had an incredibly tight grip on his t-shirt, and that the fabric was almost choking him.

She let go at once, and quickly pulled him by the shoulders against her. He fell on her again, this time limp, not even trying to hold her back.

So she held for two.

Her top soon felt humid around her collarbone, and they were shaken by irregular spasms that didn’t come from her.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what– it’s not– oh, f*ck Riza, I'm so sorry I–”
He talked while keeping his head on her chest, and she felt it all the way through her spine.
“You haven’t been yourself since you came back.”
“No. I’m sorry. Riza, I’m–”
“You should talk. Let it out.”
“I can’t–”
“f*ck, Roy. You can. Don’t do this to me. Why do you always need to–”
“What do you want me to tell you?” He exploded at once, the pain in his voice shutting her up. He buried his face against her, trying to contain his voice, and failing. “That Falman dragged me around like a kid, and had to tell me everything? Do almost everything for me because I was so out of that f*cking rut my life’s been lately and so nervous to look even more vulnerable in front of the army that I couldn’t even eat? That everyone’s concern and conscientiousness towards me makes me incredibly nervous because I am not sure if it’s warranted by this rank that doesn’t mean sh*t anymore, or by the f*cking pity they feel for me? Or worse, both at the same time? That they are like that, but they forget basic stuff that puts me in an uncomfortable position, trying to guess, having to ask, again and again? That the only time I felt like I was in the right place was when an Ishvalan Elder spat on my shoes, and Scar had to tell me because Falman wouldn’t? Do you really want to know all that, Riza?”
“Yes.” She swallowed her own tears and bitterness, and stayed matter of fact. “Yes, all this. If it’s eating at you that much, why hold it?”
“Because –”
“You don’t want me to stop you from going back.”
Silence.
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “I feel useless there, but if I don’t go, I have no other purpose. Nothing. I need –”
“You’re not useless. You told me yourself the Elders voted for you to come back because they saw what you could do and how useful that’d be. They didn’t do that to please you, Roy. If they had anyone else who could help as much, they’d chose them first.”
“You have an odd way of reassuring me.”
“But it’s working.”
“It’s working.”
“Stay and rest. I’ll warm up the food again when you feel better.”
“Riza, I’m so–”
“Shut up.”
“Thanks.”

They stayed there, motionless. Riza mulled over what had just happened, her throat itching. She was going to push him away so she could get up, when he sat up, and took his head in his hands.
“I think I’ll go to bed.”
Riza sat up too.
“Eat something, first?”
“Thanks, but no. Sorry.”
Roy got up, and walked to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Something had loosened in his stance. The undercurrent had disappeared.

Riza pulled one of the bowls of stew to her, testing its temperature. It wasn’t that warm anymore, but not too cold, so she just set to eat. After nearly a decade in the army, she was used to eating cold meals. She didn’t really care.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Riza stiffles a groan. The pain that now sits in her shoulders isn't just from the healing wounds. It's a low, constant throbbing, a high strung tension in each of her muscle fibres. She's incredibly sore, as if she's been running a marathon, when she's only been sitting or lying down, and the most demanding thing she's done these last few days was to cook for the Colonel, now that they're both discharged.

She's uncomfortable, and shifts on the sofa, trying to keep her reading voice straight.

But the Colonel has good ears, and he's sitting to her right, way too close not to have noticed.

"Lieutenant? Are you okay? We can stop — I mean, I won't need to transmute heavy metals anytime soon–"
"I'm alright. I'm just a little sore."
"Your neck?"
Riza keeps her eyes on the heavy book on her lap. He's just said that with the softest of voices. She doesn't want to see the face that comes with it.
"My shoulders and nape. But it's okay, sir, it's not–"
"May I?"

Now she can't help but look up, and the expression of concern on his face brings tears to her eyes – she must be more tired than she thought. He holds one of his hands up, the left one, the one that is not covered in bandages anymore, the one he can almost move properly, now, the scar crossing his palm still looking raw, but healed.
"I–"
"Please."
Riza sighs.
"Fine."
She lets him look for her shoulder, and clumsily slide his hand on her nape.

Riza doesn't know if she holds her breath because he's touching her, or because of the instant relief his almost scalding hot hand gives her.
"How can you be so warm?" She lets out at once, then she realises. "Sir, sorry, I–".
But the Colonel presses his hand a little more on her incredibly tense neck, and it's all she can do not to lean against it. It feels so good. It's only the heat, right, she'd have the same result with a hot water bottle. Right.

"I think it's you. You're cold. I should try to find a blank–"
"No!" Once again, it pours out of Riza before she can stop herself, and the Colonel sits back from his almost departure, his hand staying on her, eyes open wide and eyebrows up. "No– I mean– you shouldn't– it'll be easier if I–"
"I know where the blankets are. In my bedroom. Upper shelf in the dresser. I can perfectly–"
Riza scrunches up her face. She must be crimson now.
"Please-can-you-leave-your-hand-a-little-longer–" she breathes out. "Sir?"
It's his turn to sigh, and Riza sheepishly looks at him, afraid in her shame to see him being so smug he's unsettled her — he can be like that.

But no.
He looks… happy. Just. Genuinely happy.

"Of course, Lieutenant. As long as you'd like."

Riza ate, then read. She didn’t feel that good knowing Roy had gone to bed without even having some dinner — she was certain he had not eaten lunch already — but she finally managed to get pulled into her book. It seemed that while it wasn’t all resolved, at least Roy looked less tense.

And she also needed to cool off.

It was a nice change to go back to reading silly crime novels rather than treaties on the local economy of the East and historical trade routes. She had worked a lot and well during the last weeks, and especially in her last sleepless nights: her report was complete. Now, if only she could read it to Roy before she gave it away… but she had to give it tomorrow for maximum impact…

She shook her head. Not now. It wasn’t the right time to think about this. They needed to cool down. She needed to keep her brain busy.

She got back to her novel, suppressing the anxious thoughts that gnawed at the back of her mind.

It went surprisingly easily, now that she knew that Roy was in fact safe and at least a little more relaxed in his bedroom.

After a while, she checked her watch. Ten pm. It would soon be time to feed Hayate, and go to bed. She had a sudden pang of — anxiety — sadness — longing — fear — when she thought maybe she should sleep on the couch. Maybe she wouldn’t be welcome in his bed anymore.

It was stupid, she knew it — after all it was he who had — had what? Lost it? Blown a fuse? Gone through way too much at once and let his emotions flow overboard? sh*t, he needed a break.

She figured she could come to the bedroom with a peace offering. Well, some food or drink disguised as one, at least.

She got up, filled Hayate’s bowl, who danced around her happily, and she brewed some herbal tea, going back to her book while she waited for it to steep.

She prepared two cups, and took one with her to the bedroom. She didn’t especially try to be silent when she opened the door, but she didn’t make much noise either, with her bare feet on the hardwood floors.

There was no movement in the room.

The bed was on the right, and Roy was curled up on his side, on the covers, his back turned towards her as she left the cup of tea on the — her — bedside table. Of course, he had not thought about closing the blinds, and a strong moonlight drenched the room in pale white. Riza stood in the doorway, looking at him, the regular raising of his chest, the shine of the blueish light on his jet black hair, and the vulnerable pose he was in, emphasised by the way his t-shirt had been pulled up when he laid down, leaving part of his back bare.

Something tightened around her heart, and she wanted nothing but to climb next to him on the bed, and hug him while he slept. If that was the only way she could reach him, and make him feel like she was there for him, she would.

Without a word, she went to close the shutters, working with the light that came from the door she’d left open behind her. When she turned around, she saw Roy’s eyes glisten.

He was awake.

She circled the bed again, and went to sit on what was now her side — with a little vertigo at the realisation. Roy didn’t move. Apart from the fact that his eyes were open, there was no way she could have told that he was awake. Maybe he wasn’t. But she had never seen him sleep with his eyes open. Quite the contrary — he tended to assume a frown-like expression whenever he fell asleep in a place where he knew he was safe. She waited until she was certain he’d felt her weight on the mattress, by the way his shoulders tensed slightly, then talked.

“Did I wake you up?”
“No. I wasn’t sleeping.”
He didn’t turn. His slow breathing didn’t change.
“What were you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Brooding, more so, right?”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“Would you like some tea?”

Roy shrugged. But before Riza talked again, he said:
“You brought some with you, right? It’s your usual night blend. Verbena and camomile.You let it steep a little too long, the smell is strong.”

This put a smile on Riza’s face. Maybe he wasn’t effectively brooding. While he didn’t seem happy, he didn’t sound too bad either, compared to earlier. And Riza was once again surprised at how good he got at tuning into his remaining senses. The smell didn’t seem particularly strong to her.

She hummed.

“I went back to my book while I brewed the tea. It was a big action scene. I needed to know if the secondary character survived.”
“Did they?”
“Sadly, no. He died protecting the main character.”
“A honourable death.”
“It’s okay, I didn’t like him very much.”

Roy sighed, or huffed, and shook his head.

“Do you mind if I come here to drink my tea with you?”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing already?”
“The cup I brought is yours.”
This time it was a real, tired sigh.
“Put it on the table on my side. I don’t feel like drinking.”
“You should.”
Roy hummed, but didn’t reply. Riza waited for some time, but he didn’t move nor say anything. She put the cup where he’d asked her to, and got up to fetch her own.

When she came back, he had not moved.

She drank her tea — now it was more warm than hot — then changed into her pyjamas, and at no time Roy did anything else than just lie on his side. Maybe he’d finally fallen asleep, but Riza doubted it.

She sat on the bed again, pondering.

Even after what had just happened, she craved his touch. His smell. The feeling of his body against hers. Things she had never experienced before that fateful night, and that she felt she couldn’t live without, now. Maybe because of what happened earlier, because seeing him in the state he was in had crushed her heart, and it still felt like a bruise under her ribs. If she felt like this for him, how was he feeling? Wouldn’t he want — or need — a soothing gesture?

Riza wasn’t good with this. But she knew that a simple exchanged glance, a simple brush of their fingers, a simple word, had helped her go on for years.

She almost asked. But decided against it. He would refuse, out of politeness, propriety, whatever. It’d been weeks, yet it was all still very awkward, in the way they didn’t know what they could do to the other, to what extent they should allow themselves whatever they wanted.

Riza slid herself against Roy’s back, her forehead resting between his shoulder blades, her knees behind his knees, and threw her arm around his waist.

She felt him hold his breath for a couple of seconds, startled, then he let out a long sigh.

They stayed this way for a long time, Riza just content in being there, against him. It seemed she was feeling her heart calm down for the first time in four days. She was ready to fall asleep.

"Riza, about the wedding."

Maybe she had drifted off, because she had a small start, and her voice sounded sleepy to her own ear.

"Yes?"
"You know my… my ultimate goal has not changed."
Roy’s voice was low and soft, but it still rumbled against her chest. Riza didn’t reply.

"If Amestris won't trial me, if what we tried to do to secure the return of democracy doesn't work–"
"Yes."
" –if this can't be, for any reason... And now, it’s…” He cleared his throat, and his voice sounded sharper at once. Just as full of resolve as it used to be. The voice of Colonel Mustang. “I'll surrender myself to the people of Ishval, once I've — once they've deemed my help superfluous. I want you to know that, before we–"
"Then we'll face whatever they think fair. Together."

Finally, he moved. Well, squirmed was a more appropriate word. Riza tightened her hold around his waist, and his voice got a little louder. But she was glad to hear it was still the same. Strong and confident.

And self-centred.

"Riza, I don't–"
"You said it yourself, the goal hasn't changed. Our goal. That's what we agreed on all these years ago. I — and you, too — made your goal mine and this is not going to change either."
"But you do understand, that the 'til death part could come up a lot sooner than expected?"

Riza didn't know if the sudden tight feeling in her chest came from them discussing this, or from him feeling the need to say it out loud. To her, there was nothing to discuss.
"Now you question my intelligence. Again."
"I don't. I just–"
"We're soldiers. We could have died many times before." She paused. "We very nearly did during the Promised Day."

Silence.

"You said it. It's very much a marriage of convenience. For us to be insured to stay together." She had a short, dry laugh against his back. "But isn't it what marriage is all about, really?"

She forced herself to speak on, to express her thoughts. Not that she couldn't before, but she rarely needed to. Now she kept pushing herself to talk, for him, and, oddly enough, it had become easier.

And yes, talking with her nose buried against his spine, surrounded by his warmth and his smell, but away from his face, that helped.

"It's a compromise. We take something we do not deserve, but what is our alternative? If we force ourselves apart, refuse to act on our feelings and build back the walls we've let crumble, what good will it do? Do you think you'd function properly alone, enough to keep planning to help Ishval? Do you think I could? When you were away for four days and I thought I was becoming insane?"
"Are you saying we're getting married so we can die for our cause better?"
"If it has to be a marriage of convenience, then yes. Let it be for something that really matters. Instead of… whatever that would be."
"Slowly and painfully weathering away through self neglect?" He paused, then huffed or sniffed, Rizal wasn't sure. "Or we could just decide to end it faster. It’s not like we don’t have weapons."
"If you say so. You said it, not me."

There was silence again, but it had a different colour from the previous ones. It felt softer, fond. They weren’t the kind to sugarcoat things, neither of them. They’d seen and done enough horrors with their very hands not to ever be able to, nor want to do it. In fact, Riza realised, they were relieved. Both of them apparently needed this to be said out loud. They were already bound to each other. There was no running away from it.

Roy confirmed her thoughts.
“Maybe we can indulge until it happens. Won’t hurt anybody. But we above all don’t deserve to choose our own death.”
“No.”
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me, Lieutenant.”

Riza curled up tighter against him, pressing her palm on his stomach. He slid his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers.
“I guess,” she replied. “Until the end, whenever that be.”

They’d fallen this way into a peaceful sleep, and Roy’s alarm clock woke them both still in the same position. They’d dragged themselves out of bed with limbs still asleep, and creases from the bedsheets on their faces. But content. Relieved.

Roy had even asked to feel the big crease Riza had discovered on her face, and joked that maybe now that she was disfigured as such, he was reconsidering their wedding. Riza had genuinely laughed as she slapped his hand away from her cheek. It felt good to have him back, finally.

Riza brought two cups of coffee to the small kitchen table, looking up when Roy left the bathroom a quarter of an hour later, seemingly in a far better place than he had been the night before. She couldn’t help a smile from forming on her lips when she saw him finish buttoning his dress shirt, and starting to button his vest. It wasn’t the first time she saw him do it, and he was still slower than she'd be, but it hit her how much progress he’d made.

He’d started wearing his three piece suits again before leaving to Ishval, and she couldn’t say she was angry about it. It also looked like it improved his mood to be finally dressing like he liked to be dressed — and by himself.

And then–

“sh*t!”

Roy, startled, let go of the tie he was trying to fit around his neck. On the ground.

“What? What’s wrong, Riza?”
“Tie, ten o’clock,” she automatically said, before he started to panic, then she huffed. How stupid could she be?
“Thanks, but,” Roy groaned, crouching down, searching the floor with calculated, methodical movements. He was off by a good twenty centimetres, and going away from the tie, still. But at least he had been deflected.

Or not.

“What’s wrong?”
“Course correct to the left.”
He did, and grabbed the tie with an expletive after a few passes of his hand.
“It’s covered in dog fur, now,” he sighed, and turned around — no doubt to go fetch a new tie. He could be so vain, at times. “And don’t think I forgot. Tell me.”

Riza huffed and sighed. She sat at the table, her head in her hands.

“I have to give the Xing report to Smith today.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Roy called from the bedroom. “And what about it?”
“I wanted to go over it with you one last time before I gave it to him, and–”
“Ah,” Roy reappeared, with an abashed smile and a new tie in his hand. “Sorry. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. It was great the last time you read it to me. I’m sure the few additions you’ve made will be fine, too.” He switched subjects at once, a slight frown on his face. “Is this the blue tie? The label says B, but I can’t remember if–”
“It’s the brown one. You insisted on LB for the blue tie, said it was light blue.”
“Well, it is light blue. Was. The last time I checked, anyway.”
“You want to go back and change? Do you want me to pick it up?”
“Brown will do fine with the black suit. I just don’t like not knowing.”

Roy slid the untied tie around his neck, and walked towards the kitchen table. He found his chair, and sat, raising one eyebrow in her general direction.

“Coffee at one o’clock. You’re deflecting, right? You’re trying to push my thoughts away from the report.”

As she’d now seen him do countless times, Roy lightly brushed the surface of the table with the side of his hand, until it touched his cup. He drank from it before answering.

“Is it working?”
“No.”
He put the cup down with a wince.
“You want to take a few days to revise it, still?”
Riza was turning her own cup in her hands, her eyes on the black brew.
“Smith’s seeing Grumman tomorrow. I want it to be in his hands as fast as possible.”
“Why not give it directly to Grumman, then?”
“And bypass Smith? Are you insane?”
“Is he that much of a stickler for principles?”

She looked at Roy, Roy Mustang, ex-Colonel of the Amestrian army, hero of Ishval, saviour of Central. She looked at his unkempt hair, his untied tie, over his crisp dress shirt and tight fitting vest. He was perfectly clean shaven, the cut from the night before only a small red dash under his jaw. And he looked almost genuinely surprised that she needed to give the report to Smith, instead of bringing it directly to Grumman.

He looked perfect. She wanted to hit him, and kiss him at the same time.

“Roy. There’s a reason many army officials hate you, you know.”
“They’re just jealous.” He smirked, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Hit him. Definitely hit him. Then make out.

Later, Riza.

“Colonel Smith, sir?”

Riza had finally caught the colonel as he exited his office, humming off tune, his coat on his arm, ready to leave as the sun was still pretty high up on the horizon. It bathed the corridor in a stark, strong light. It mustn't have been later than three pm. Colonel Smith had been away all day, when Riza had been desperate to catch him. And now he was leaving. It was her last chance.

“Ah, lovely Lieutenant Hawkeye. What can I do for you?”
“There is something I would like you to read and give me your impressions on, if you have the time.”

Be nice and look candid. Don’t show it’s that important to you but also make it look like you desperately need his thoughts on it. Make him feel like he’s doing you a favour if he even takes it. He hasn’t commanded you to do this, so you have to tread carefully.

Roy’s advice rang in Riza’s head. She could almost see the twinkling in his eye at the very idea of playing Smith, too.

“Of course, my dear. What is it?”
“As I was new to imports, I got interested in how exactly our commercial relationship with Xing fared, compared to other countries. So since I started working for your team, I taught myself to be up to date.”
“And that’s very professional of you. I know of one or two Lieutenants who could take a word from you. Your work has improved the team to a great extent, already, and here you are, showing me how even more thorough you can be. Once again, I wish I could keep you. I will slip a word to Grumman about that when I see him tomorrow.”

Good start, and you didn't even need to push him.

"I wouldn't know, sir." Riza handed Smith the report. It wasn't that thick; she hadn't developed it much. She could do so later, once that preliminary work had hooked the right people. "Since I was at it, I took the liberty to compile my results, and analyse them through the lense of Fuhrer Grumman's new impulse to open Amestris to more intense commercial exchange with Xing. I've added a couple of suggestions for improvement, as they have surfaced through my research," Riza finished her speech, and bowed.

Smith's eyebrows shot up, his mouth reduced to a fine line. He thumbed through the report quickly, stopping here and there to skim through a couple of paragraphs.

"You keep surprising me, Lieutenant," Smith finally said, waving the report. "You are so much more than just one of our best sharpshooters. I'm really starting to get why Mustang was always so adamant to have you by his side." He added, lower: "He doesn't know about this, I hope? This is extremely interesting material, and I wish to share it with the Fuhrer as soon as I've read it, but it has to stay between us. I know he’s dismissed, but... I also know you've been helping him, lately…"
"I owe him a lot. I wouldn't be where I am now if it wasn't for him. But this report is my idea, my research."

Smith studied her for a while, until his eyes went back to the report with a satisfied expression. He couldn't tell that she was lying, for the simple reason that she had not been. Down to the tinge of exasperation in her voice — partly from what Smith had said about Roy, partly from him bringing Roy up at all. She'd never felt bad being in Roy's shadow, but, with people like Smith, it could be counterproductive that anything she did even now had to be linked to Roy Mustang.

Even if, this time, it was. But Smith didn't have to know that.

Even if, given that things went well, she was going to be yet even more tightly linked to him in the future.

"I see. You feel committed to your ex-superior. I won't blame you for that, this is a honourable stance. And at least I can be sure he hasn't read it, hah!" Smith snorted. "Good job, Lieutenant Hawkeye. With your credentials, if this doesn't grant you a promotion, I don't know what will. I'll read it tonight, so I can discuss it with Grumman tomorrow."
"It'll be an honour, sir."
Riza saluted, relieved.

After a last look at her that she couldn't really decipher, Smith left, and Riza was free to go back to her desk, trying not to think about how the report would do with Smith, and then Grumman.

But she didn't have much time to think anyway, as Orville called for her as soon as she entered the joint office.

"Hawkeye! There's lot of stuff in the mail for you today!"
Riza's heart started beating harder. She was waiting for a very specific set of papers, indeed. But she didn't want the others to know what she was waiting for.
Luckily, only Orville was around, and she wasn't too nosy.
"Oh? Really?"
"Yes," Orville hurried towards Riza's desk, with a couple of big enveloppes held against her chest, the short ponytail she'd put her hair in today swishing. "This–" she handed Riza the first one over her desk. "From the East Railway State Company."

Right. She was also awaiting for a bunch of reports on cargo transit through the Eastern stations. Right.

"You also have these bunch of import reports to fill," Orville let a thick pile of paper fall on Riza's desk, and suddenly Riza understood Roy's face when she did that to him. Blood was thumping in her ears.

"Then this from HR, and this from town hall."
Orville finally said, handing Riza two smaller envelopes; her heart stilled. She felt the weight of these letters, the grain of the administration paper. That was it. She had all of those sent to her desk in case she had to sign something — obviously that had not been needed. And here they were.

"Important stuff?" Orville asked, no doubt because of the colour on Riza's cheeks.
"Very important."
"Good stuff, I hope?" Now Orville was smiling.
"Very good," Riza replied, her own smile too small to convey how she felt with these papers in her hands.

Riza opened the door to her flat, barely noticing the unopened cardboard boxes that still lay here and there.

She'd come to find her birth certificate before going to fetch Roy from one of his last sessions with his physical therapist, so they could have all they needed at hand when they set to fill the paperwork — hopefully tonight, if not this weekend.

Certificate in hand, she walked in front of the mirror in her small bedroom.

She stopped there, and replaced a stray lock of hair behind her ear, pensive.

Maybe, she could…

"So these are the wedding papers?"

Roy was standing next to the table, his hands going over the file as if he tried to get the paper to talk to him. But it was just regular, administration black print. He shrugged off his suit jacket, and placed it on the back of the chair.

"Yes," Riza said as she walked back towards him. She'd told him about the papers right away, and directed him to where she'd put them when they'd entered the flat, barely a minute ago. "It must be the first time I see you being so intense about paperwork."

It wasn't true. She knew that while Roy wasn't passionate about paperwork, he had tried to do his job. But the addition of boredom over sleepless nights had never helped him.

He'd admitted to her that he slept better these days, bar the eventual nightmares, and even then, he fell back asleep faster — when most of the time, before, he wouldn't fall back asleep at all. She did sleep better, too. More soundly. She felt safe in his arms, like she had by his side. After Ishval.

Roy didn't even smile at her attempting a joke. His brow was furrowed and he had an air of morose concentration, his hand going back and forth, searching for something that he knew wasn't there.

Finally, he sighed, and his frown morphed into a disappointed pout.
"I wish they made it in Braille. I'd have wanted to read it. It'd have felt... Real."
"It's real, Roy." Riza stood next to him, and let her hand caress his back.

She had a sudden inspiration.

"When I'm Fuhrer, I'll make changes for that. Try to make the country more acc–"
"When you're what?"

Roy had turned towards her, eyes round, mouth agape.

"Uh. Furher. Isn't that the plan? Get all the way up, change everything?” Riza poked Roy in the ribs. “I wouldn't stay long in power, I'm not like you. But once the Parliament is restored in its full power — we both know Grumman's too greedy to relent the whole–"
"You want to be Fuhrer."

The smile that was slowly pulling Roy's lips was a little uncertain, as if the slightest of breezes could make it topple — or widen.

"I’m just pulling your leg.” Riza had a low chuckle, then sighed, and said, half in thoughts, as she took the papers in her hand:
“Okay, I’m only half joking. I don't want to. But you asked me to stay in the army. What for, if not to climb to the top and carry on with your plan? I know this is not the primary objective, of course, but it'd feel stupid not to keep aiming for the top. It'd be way less easy for me than it'd have been for you, and I don't think I'll manage at all for real. But if it's not for that goal, then I don't think I'd feel anything I do matters."

Roy finally had a little strangled laugh, when she was in fact absolutely not joking, now. Riza frowned, ready to specify she was being serious, but he grabbed her shoulder and pressed it. His smile made his eyes crinkle, and she couldn't swear she had not seen a shine in them that had not been there just a second before.
"Oh, I love you." He pulled her into a tight hug at once, and went on, lower, softer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I love you, Fuhrer Hawkeye."
"I'm pretty sure it'll be Fuhrer Mustang, though," she replied in the same tone, her hands settling on his lower back, careful not to crinkle the very papers that would grant that to them. "If you'll allow it. This is what these papers are for, after all."

Roy had taken a little step back, not breaking their embrace, his head low, his gaze settling somewhere around her mouth — he'd gotten good at looking at people pretty fast. Riza saw his lips and eyelashes tremble before he spoke again, his voice still soft.
"Can't say I don't like the sound of it." His hand cupped her cheek. "I'll have your back, Lieutenant. Whatever that means now. You can count on me."
"Well I hope so," she said, trying to dissipate the heavy feeling in her chest — it wasn't necessarily a bad one, but it was a little uncomfortable. And they had a lot of work to do. She had a lot of reading out loud and he was probably going to fall asleep to it. "If you didn't I would maybe reconsider all this."
Roy had another strangled chuckle and hugged her briefly again, before stepping away for good and finding his chair.
"Alright. Let's get married, Fuhrer Mustang. Let's get this damned paperwork over with." He pulled the seat, and the smile morphed back into a smirk — but his eyes were still twinkling. "Especially since you seem to have put on a celebratory skirt…"

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Riza, busy filling insurance paperwork, looks away from the Colonel's frown of pain as he tries to open his right hand the way he’s been instructed to exercise.

The left is going very well, all things considered. The right, not so much. He still has trouble uncurling his fingers, especially the two last ones.

They’re sitting at his kitchen table. She spends so much time there, that room has started to feel more familiar than her own flat, with its unopened cardboard boxes everywhere. It's almost a routine now. Her filling the numerous papers that need to be filled that he can't anymore, him trying to get the basics of Braille, even if his hands conspire against him.

Riza looks away, but she can’t cover her ears.

The Colonel’s breath is short. Constrained.

Knowing him, for it to have this effect, it must be incredibly painful and frustrating. He is, after all, the man who ran around Central with a barely healed, self-inflicted extended burn on a piercing stab wound.

“May I, Colonel?”
Riza offers, while placing a hand on his forearm.
“May you what?”
“Have a look at your hand.”
He has a bitter laugh, but lets her take his hand.
“Feast your eyes, Lieutenant. I bet it’s just as ugly as it is painful.”
“It’s not ugly,” she says, turning his hand, smoothing his palm with her own, then massaging it with her thumbs.

And no, it’s not. It’s far from ugly, even, even with the thick, red raw scar that pierces it, from palm to back. Even with the calluses on his thumb and middle and ring fingers, that mirror her own — in fact, the Colonel's hands are softer than hers.

No, he has beautiful hands. They used to be nimble — even if now his moves are jerky, his fingers numb. Now that the swelling from the surgery is gone, his hands are back to normal in looks. They’re square and big for his size, and yet, despite all that, and the scars, they still feel incredibly delicate.

Riza holds this hand reverently, pushing her thumbs slowly to the base of the stubborn fingers.

They relent slowly. The Colonel's hand relaxes, and his breathing follows.

Rizal keeps her eyes on these hands, refusing to look up. There’s nothing to exchange there anymore, anyway, and if there had been… she wouldn’t look up either.

Even as his aide for years, she realizes she’s rarely seen him without gloves. Now, holding his bare hand suddenly feels like a very intimate gesture. Too intimate, maybe. But she’s started, and — she looks up, quickly, stealing a glance that he will never know about, returning just as quickly to his hands with reddening cheeks — judging by the slight relaxation in his frown, what she’s doing helps.

So she keeps going.

"Another signing here."
Riza directed Roy's right hand to the bottom of the paper, so he could sign with his left.

Luckily for him now that his right hand was weaker, he'd always been more or less ambidextrous, and his signature looked pretty much the same as it always had.

Riza had no memory of him writing with his left hand, however, and especially not from when she would steal glances at her father's apprentice while he was studying. She'd wondered lately if Roy had not trained and cultivated this ability later.

In Ishval.

He indeed used to be deadly with his left glove as well as the right.

Roy signed, and put the pen down with a sigh Riza had trouble interpreting.

"Well, that's it." Riza took the pen, and squared the pile of papers before sliding it back into the envelope.

Roy straightened, his hands sprawled on the table — now, he could open them properly, both of them. He’d made so much progress.

And now they’d just signed the wedding papers.

Progress.

"Really? That's all?"
"Yeah. What more do you want to fill? Do you want to help with my paperwork now?”
"Where's the I do part? The you may kiss the bride?"
Riza got up from the table with an amused sigh, and brushed Roy's shoulders as she walked past him to place the precious envelope on the kitchen counter. She'd take it to the town hall first thing tomorrow, and this single thought pulled at her heart.

That was it.

Riza repressed a sudden vertigo, and grabbed hold of the kitchen counter.

They were getting married. Soon.

It was too fast, way too fast, and yet… she only felt warm all over. Whatever Roy said and how many times they told each other it was for convenience, they were getting married.

"But, I want to kiss the bride.” Roy whined, as if on cue. He had followed her. “Hell, I demand to kiss the bride."
"Aren't you impatient!”
“I am. So, you said we have three months?”
“No.” Riza pulled out the papers again and thumbed through them. “The papers say if we don't get married in the next three months we’ll have to do everything again. I was thinking of a closer date than three months.”
“What about one? One month?”
“Nothing’s planned yet… do we want just a quick town hall meeting? Do we want a party? A ceremony?”
“What do you want?”

Rizal hesitated. She knew he wouldn't like her answer.

“To get it over with.”
“Practical, as always,” Roy smiled, contrary to what Riza feared. “What says, quick town hall meeting, small party with a very very select number of people?”
“We need to think about it seriously. Who do we select in these few? And would you want to dress up? Should I look for a dress?”

She turned around, to find him closer than she thought. A mock frown on his face, he had his hands up by his sides, as if he was considering putting them on her hips, but wasn't quite sure.

He might be planning something, but he was hesitating. Was it because he wasn't so sure where she was, or because he felt guilty for what had happened the day before, still?

Riza took his hands, and placed them with authority on her hips. She would take no hesitation from Roy Mustang.

The frown on his face immediately disappeared, and his hands caressed her there.

"About that," he smiled. "Where’s your uniform, Lieutenant?”

Roy’s hands gripped her waist now, his thumbs passing against the fabric of her blouse, pressing just enough to underline what he had already stated. Riza could tell he was going to add something, so she didn’t reply, enjoying the smile on Roy’s face.

“I could tell from your jacket, and your shoes, earlier, but I need to check…”
Making a show of it, his smile turning into his smug smirk, Roy let his hands go down from her waist, back to her hips. She was drinking his expression change by the second, all her attention on the slight red tint she could see creeping up under his collar.
She licked her lips, and noticed he heard her by the immediate tilt of his head, and the widening of his smirk.

“You’re playing with fire, lieutenant, do you know that?” he whispered as his hands crept further down again, following the curve of her hips and thighs. Now, there was no question she was wearing a skirt for him.

Indeed, when Riza had taken him home just before, before they sat down and filled and signed the papers — those papers that would undoubtedly change their lives while changing absolutely nothing at all to them at the same time — he had been pensive, a slight frown on his face. His hand on her elbow had kept moving, his fingers feeling her arm. Or the fabric of her jacket. He ought to be able to tell the difference between her light jacket and the heavy wool of the uniform. But he had not commented on it, then.

Without warning, Roy crushed himself against Riza, pushing her backwards – she bumped roughly into the kitchen counter.
"Roy! Be–"
"Oops. Sorry. Would you be so kind as to direct us both to the nearest wall, Lieutenant?"
"What for?"
"Please?" Roy wrinkled his nose, clumsily grasping her shoulders.

Riza, not fooled, did as she was asked, taking them both to the kitchen wall, and pushing Roy so he leaned against it.

He let her do as she pleased until then.
"Oh no, that won't do." He quickly swapped their places, until Riza was the one with her back to the wall.

Time stilled for a second. Riza had the time to detail Roy's hesitation in the tightening of his jaw, the slight movement of his eyes, his raising eyebrows. She had the time to wonder how it'd go if they could just exchange a glance–

He pressed his body against hers again, hard. Riza’s breath left her lungs at once. Roy's head had found the crook of her neck, but only time for him to trail along her jaw with kisses until his lips found hers. Riza let her hands creep through his hair, on his neck. Roy's kiss was tender, a lot more than his hands, which had slid on her bottom. The tight feeling in Riza’s chest and belly, that she’d tried to suppress all day, came back in full force as Roy’s lips explored hers.

She wanted him, she wanted his skin against hers, his hands on her, his warmth, his touch, his kisses. And more.

Roy broke the kiss pretty fast, and Riza was ready to pull him back against her, taste his lips again, brush her tongue against them — she needed it, needed to reply to that pull, to fill that emptiness right beneath her ribs — but Roy had other ideas.

With a grunt, he pushed her upward, using the wall and his own hips as leverage, his left hand grabbing the back of her right thigh – and he must have, he must have felt the hem of her skirt there. He pushed her to lock her leg around his waist.
“Roy, what–”
“I want to keep kissing you,” he said, panting a little and kissing her indeed, “while I… investigate…”
Indeed, his hand felt along her thigh — groped, really — reaching the hem of her skirt, and pushing under it. His other hand was right under her bottom, supporting her weight, balancing between the wall behind her and Roy’s body.

“Knee length. How proper of you.”
Riza kept kissing him, her hands on his cheeks, his neck, stroking his nape like he was stroking her thigh under her skirt, now. His scent, mixed with his fine aftershave, was heady. He was there, his mouth on her, his hands on her, his whole body pressed against her. She had nothing to say that would translate into words, so she kept kissing him, pressing her mouth harder against his, her fingernails pushing through his hair. She’d never thought she’d want him so… carnally, before. Oh, she’d dreamed about it, but none of her dreams had stood in front of their first night.

And now, she wanted more. They’d stalled enough, before his departure to Ishval, and the day before. Now she was going to have him as much as she could, because he could leave again anytime, and she had been through such despair that she thought she might deserve it. Maybe.

And if she didn’t, she’d feel guilty later.

Roy readjusted their position against the door, pressing his hips further against hers, almost grinding, his breath short in her ear. Feeling the bulge of his pants on her inner thigh sent a first wave of warmth through Riza’s body, leaving her with tingling lips and fingers. The sensation in her lips would only be satiated by the feel or Roy’s against hers, but he had turned his mouth away, trailing it along her jaw, down to her neck, her clavicle. He had pushed her skirt up, both hands now caressing skin instead of fabric. He was panting, straining. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. But it wasn’t only the arousal.

Riza was slightly too heavy for him, and he was out of shape. The stab and burn in his side might have been older than his hand injuries, it was still relatively recent, and that was a little too much for it. Riza ought to relieve him – although she was convinced he was enjoying every second of it – and she also wanted to reach further than his upper body. She pushed against his shoulders, and pulled her leg down, eliciting a groan from Roy, but, it seemed, a sigh of relief, too. He immediately pushed his body back against her, his hands back to her waist, pulling at her shirt, and his lips to her neckline. But Riza wouldn’t be outdone. She pulled on his shirt at once, sliding her hands under it in the same movement, careful with the scar on his side, but not shying away from it. It made Roy chuckle against her skin, and this was enough to send a new wave of heat through her body.

“I missed you,” he said, keeping his mouth just under her clavicle, his smile ever so audible in his low voice. “I…”

He stilled.

Roy’s hands stopped their course on her body, and their touch became lighter at once. His shoulders sagged. He grew limp, as if the fire in him had been extinguished at once.
“Roy?”
There was the audible click of him swallowing, and then nothing. His breath was warm, but shallow against the bare patch of skin of her chest.
“Roy, what’s wrong?”
He sighed. Once. Twice. Three times — and Riza started thinking that maybe he wasn’t sighing, maybe he was–
“I can’t.”
His voice was soft, but as steady as ever.
“You can't do what?”
“I can’t keep– Riza, I’m so sorry of what happened– I don’t– I don’t deserve–”

Riza caught his cheeks, and gently pulled his face up, away from her chest. He kept his eyes half closed, averted, as he straightened up, as if looking to the side would stop her from noticing how red they were. She caressed him, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones.
“It’s over. You apologized already. You weren’t yourself when you came back. But we just signed our wedding papers, Roy. You think I’d have signed if I had any problems with what you’ve done? With you?”
“Wedding of convenience. We don’t have to–”
“We don’t have to do what?”
“We don’t have to have sex. We don’t have to touch. This is not what it is about. If you don’t want–”
“ROY!”
Roy had a little jump, his eyes now wide open.

Riza might have said it too loud. She might have yelped, in fact. But it was so infuriating that he kept not taking her feelings into account — or worse, that he kept thinking she didn’t have them.

“Why the f*ck do you think I put on a skirt? Why do you think I’m kissing you back, or touching you at all? I want you. f*ck, I’ve told you, but I guess I was too subtle, I’ve only ever wanted you. If YOU don’t want, fine, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m f*cking desperate for you to touch me, now.”

Roy had not moved an inch, and his stunned, almost fearful expression — not helped by his blank stare — had not changed. Except his neck became violently red at once.

“You want me to touch you.”
“I stopped you yesterday because you weren't at what you were doing. You were off. But if this needs to be said, I can say it again and again. I want you. I need you. I want to have sex with you, Roy, and I want to do so as many times as we can and both want to until this wedding, whatever you want to call it, comes to its fateful end. Is it clear enough for you, Roy Mustang?”

Roy gulped, and let his head drop down. Riza let her hands fall down too, and rest on his upper arms, drawing circles on them over his shirt.
He was shaken by a soft hiccup, and Riza feared he was going to cry, and deny again what she had just said. He was stubborn enough for that.

But Roy’s shoulders shook again, and this time, he huffed. He tilted his head to the side, and revealed something that was half a contrite smile, half a smirk – how did he pull that off, Riza had no idea. But his eyes had become red again.

“Maybe you could say all that again? Just to be sure?”

Riza let out a relieved sigh, that she exaggerated to be sure Roy would get it. Instead of replying, she kissed him under the collar of his shirt, where his neck stood out bright red against the white fabric. When he didn’t object, she opened her mouth, letting her tongue taste the warmth of his skin, and his sweat. It felt like his heat traveled down through her own body, and it accelerated when Roy let out what Riza could only have described as a muted whimper as her teeth grazed against his skin. She reiterated, earning a gasp from him and his hands grasping at her sides. Riza pulled on the shirt collar, nibbling at the base of Roy’s neck. She paused; she could feel his pulse right there. Steady. Strong. A little too fast. He was panting in her ear, his hands still chastely on her waist, but now gripping hard. She was panting, too, now.

“I missed you,” she whispered in his ear. “I missed you like I never thought I would. Now, do you want to go back to what we were doing?”

Roy didn’t reply, but his hands finally left her sides to cradle her face, and he kissed her, slowly, this time, with more intent than he had before. He licked her lips, sucked on them. His tongue was hot and wet, and soft against hers. She replied happily, eager to feel him in her mouth, his lips and tongue and fingertips on her face sending jolts of warmth and want through her body. Riza was relieved she was still leaning against the wall, because her knees threatened to buckle, heat pooling between her legs faster than she'd ever thought it could.

Roy broke the kiss, leaving his lips hovering over hers. He pinpointed exactly how to tilt his head so he would face her, as he did most of the time, now. His eyes would stay off, of course, but there was nothing to do about that; besides, they were far from lifeless, still expressing each of his thoughts pretty clearly. Riza looked at his mouth, the smug smile coming back, widening with each of her panting breaths, and she knew exactly what he was going to say before he did.
"Did you think about me?”
“None of your business,” she growled, unable to suppress the hint of a smile in her voice.

Case closed. At least she hoped so. There was something in his eyes that betrayed he wasn’t as confident in himself as he tried to show. But she would take his actions for granted, not the fear he didn’t manage to hide. She didn’t know if he had lost control of some of his expressions — that was unlikely, that fast — or if the situation was just so different from his usual that he was just at a loss as to what to let transpire or not.

It was both a little sad, and heartwarming, that she was at least in part the cause for his trouble.

She pushed him off her, and walked past him to reach the living room, pulling her skirt back in place, kicking off her flat heels and stopping before turning around and putting them aside. She didn’t want him to trip. She’d had enough of tending his wounds.

“Did you think about last time, though?”
He’d followed her, and he was obviously getting his countenance back. Sliding into his role. The suave, flirty, cheeky Colonel Mustang, the one who’d slept with half of the women living between Central and East City. A man who’d only ever existed in the rumors that ran along the corridors of army barracks or in the celebrity columns of East City’s worst rags. Not that Riza didn’t find it fun, but she knew he was trying to hide his awkwardness, here.

Eh, if he needed that.

She could feel his fingers brushing against her lower back. That was probably how he’d managed not to bump into her when she’d stopped for her shoes. He was just so used to the way she moved. Just like she was of his.

The thought brough yet more warmth to her cheeks. Would they get used to each other in bed, too, knowing exactly what the other was going to do or say? She was sure of it.

She walked purposefully towards the bedroom, not looking back, feeling his hand hovering behind her, still.

Riza reached the bed, telling him she had, and sat on it with a sigh. He sat next to her, close enough for their shoulders to bump and their thighs to press against each other, a position reminiscent to their first time in this room together.

“Oops. Sorry.” Oh, he wasn’t sorry. And judging by what had happened just earlier, it wasn’t even a mistake. “We didn’t talk about it.” His hand went back to her knee.
“Talk about what?”
“Come on!” He whined, burying his face against her neck once again. “I want to know how it felt…” He kissed her, right where her neck met her shoulder, one finger hooked in her blouse collar. His words were still the words of the flirty Colonel, but his voice was soft, and concerned. “Was it good? Was it better than when you… think about me?” He kissed in the same place again, leaving his mouth open, the heat of his tongue almost scorching. Riza couldn’t hide the shiver that took her, and he had a low throat sound. He was practically purring, and Riza’s abs clenched at that sound.

She took a scolding tone.
“Look at you, so proud of yourself. What happens if I say no, it wasn’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure you say yes, it was, the next time I ask you.”
Riza chuckled. He was unshakable.

“I told you. It felt… Weird. Good, but weird.” Riza put her hands on the mattress, fiddling with the sheet, pulling on it to loosen it. She wasn’t really used to speaking about these kinds of things. She’d heard soldiers boast about their nightly performances, had to suffer Rebecca tell her way more than she would have liked about her string of bad lovers, she’d read romance novels. And spicy ones. And of course, he had seen clearly through her. She had thought about him.

The words escaped her.

“Weird, but not in a bad way. Just. New.”
“Don’t tell me you’d never climaxed by yourself. I could tell. You knew what you were chasing.” Roy, his head still on her shoulder, lazily rubbing his cheek against her — his light stubble might not be very visible, but it was almost scratching her — fumbled to untie the first of her blouse buttons. It took time, and Riza felt his jaw clench against her shoulder, but after a while he managed, and pushed the lapels apart. His mouth now once again on her neck, he continued its journey downward, investigating the extent of her cleavage, gently tracing the edge of her bra with his lips.

Of course she had climaxed. She had never had any problems with that, and knew her body well enough to be sure to reach what she wanted once she’d set to it. But it had never worked better than when she decided to pretend her fingers were his. So when he’d touched her for real…

And the rest, too. She’d expected the stretch to be painful — not that she hadn’t tested that herself, but Roy was thicker than she’d thought he’d be, even if he was short. But he’d worked her up so well, so expertly, he’d been so attentive to her signs, that it had not caused any pain. Not really. She’d been almost fully relaxed — because it was him. Because she trusted him never to hurt her.

And she still did.

“Of course.” Riza was surprised by her own tone. Almost offended. But she was. She didn’t want Roy to think of her this way, even if the last time, she’d asked him to teach her. She pulled harder on the sheet, tucking it off its clean corners. “I might be inexperienced with men, but I’m not… innocent.”
“I never said you were.” Roy had a short laugh, but his voice had grown lower. Serious. “I like that you’re not. I like that you know what you want.”

While talking, he tried to untie the other buttons on her shirt, but there were a lot, and they were tiny, too tiny, and he still lacked enough fine dexterity to make it work fast — and, above all, he lacked patience. He let out a frustrated sigh, and his hand plunged into her cleavage instead, sneaking inside her bra. He cupped her breast, causing her to release a long sigh at his touch, and he nibbled on her shoulder again. His other hand had pushed her skirt back up, and he was caressing her thigh. Riza’s hands were still on the sheets. It seemed he didn’t mind that she didn’t reply to his ministrations, as long as she seemed to enjoy them. And she did.
Riza felt the tension that had taken her just before leave her with each of his caresses. His hands were soft. Gentle. Caring. The way she would always expect him to be.

The hand under her skirt reached up, feeling where her thigh met her hip.

"I have a birthmark there."

Roy stopped in his tracks, pulled his head away from her shoulder, and a slightly puzzled expression passed on his face.

"Just thought you should know,” Riza felt the need to justify.

The interrogation turned into a subtle smile, a little wistful, a little sad. He’d had the same that very first night, often. When he blinked, Riza feared he would fall into the same well. She didn’t know exactly what had been wrong back then, but she thought it better not to let him know she noticed, as long as he seemed to manage to keep it under control.

Roy’s hand went back and forth over the area where she'd stopped him, as if he was trying to feel the mark.
"Show me."
Riza chuckled.
“I need to undress, first.”
Roy let himself fall on the bed with a smile.
“Go ahead.”
“Only if you undress, too.”
“You are demanding, tonight,” he was already pulling his shirt over his head.

Riza stopped her own undressing to look at how his body moved.

He’d lost weight, during the last year. She didn’t need to see him naked, to notice that, and the last time she had, she’d been too preoccupied by what they were doing. But noticing it there, how she could almost see his ribs on his side, how his once heavier musculature had turned more sinewy, she felt for him in a way she didn’t want to. She kept her eyes steady as they went on the burnt tissue in his side, the once raw skin now turned both darker and lighter in places, the web of melted then healed flesh barred by a thin, straight surgical scar.

All of this was a testament of what they’d been through.

Together, she thought, as her hand went to her neck.

Together, they'd pull through.

She turned away and sled off her skirt, then her shirt.

He would get back to his usual. He’d started increasing his training back to his previous levels, now that he had a little more time and a little less pain in his hands, and she’d been forcing him to eat more regularly, since he’d been back from the hospital. After all, they were sharing almost every meal, and she was the one cooking.

“I thought you liked it when I knew what I wanted.”
“I do.”

She turned back to him. He was sitting on the bed, in his boxers, reclining on his hands on the mattress, a mischievous smile on his face. She shook her head, and walked closer to him.

Riza took his right hand in hers, and placed it back on her hip, making their joint fingers trace around the dark spot on her upper thigh. She couldn’t help but smile at the air of absolute concentration he took. She let go of his hand to pass hers through his hair, while he went to kiss the birthmark. He kept caressing her there, and suddenly frowned when his hand went to the other side of her thigh.

“What’s that? A scar?”
“What? Oh – yeah.”
“It’s pretty big… I didn’t notice it the last time…” She felt his touch on the scar at the back of her thigh, his fingers going back and forth over it. It was indeed pretty big. And sensitive. “How come you’ve never – who did that to you?”

Oh, he was angry. Riza didn’t like that on his face. The frown, the sudden scowl. It left a bitter aftertaste in her throat, throwing her back to the day before, with faint echoes of fire in narrow tunnels. That stopped her from laughing at the ridiculousness of his question.

“A tree, Roy. I fell from a tree when I was ten.” She tried to convey her distaste in her voice. “Don’t be like that.”
He sighed, and closed his eyes. It seemed he might have understood what she was thinking about.
“Sorry.”
Riza slid her hand against his cheek, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb.
“It’s okay. You can go burn that tree one day if you want.”
Roy only opened his eyes to roll them exaggeratedly.
“Okay, okay, sorry, I said.”
Riza kept her hand on his face.
“Why don’t you come back up here so you can show me how sorry you are?”
“No,” Roy curled both his arms around her midsection and threw himself backwards on the bed, pulling her with him. Riza yelped and laughed, falling clumsily on him. “You’re coming down here.”

She readjusted her body over his. While Roy had commented on her being demanding, she felt more adventurous, and she found that he was, too, allowing himself more leeway in touching her, caressing her. He’d stalled a lot less to feel her breasts, and was now letting his hands roam her body in a way that told how much he’d craved her skin. While his fingers still had occasional tremors, his big, warm hands were steady, and knew exactly what they were doing, pressing on her flesh with purpose, and an underlying urgency. Riza enjoyed this – while it was nice to be left to decide the first time, she was eager to know what Roy would come up with once again.

That’s why she was surprised when he stopped kissing her to ask:
“What do you want?”
“I, uh. Roy, I just told you I was –” Riza stopped and thought of the way she was talking. It didn’t sound right. She chose another way to convey what she meant. “Last time was great. I don’t know enough to… to know what to ask for. Try me.”
“Are you handing me the reins, again?” The curl of his mouth and raise of his eyebrow was unmistakable, and if it wasn’t enough, the way his abs hitched under her told her all she needed. The effect simple words from her mouth had on him was… exhilarating. She decided to experiment a little more and added: “Gladly.”

Roy replied with a groan and kissed her neck again, teeth grazing her skin as he pulled her closer against him and bucked his hips.
“Have I already told you you were playing with fire?”
“I guess you are the perfect candidate for that.”

Roy groaned again, and pushed her away from him.
“Get on your back.”
Riza did as she was told, and Roy slid himself against her, kissing her neck, her lips, while his hands fought to get rid of her bra — she had to help in the end — and her panties. Riza tried to sneak a hand to reach for his bottom while he kissed and palmed her breasts, but he pushed it away, pinning it next to her head.

Riza’s breath hitched. It reminded her of the day before, but his move there was gentle, his grip on her just tight enough to make her feel he cared — but not painful.

He picked up on her uneasiness as it was leaving her, and pulled away, frowning, his eyes searching.
“Something’s wrong.”
“No. Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s wrong, Riza?”
She sighed.
“It’s okay. Just the way you pinned my hand–”
He immediately let go with a wince.
“Sorry. Sorry, I–”
“Stop. Forget it. You actually noticed when I was already thinking about something else.”
“Yeah, but–”
Her hands now free, she placed both on his cheeks.
“Roy. I want you. Right now. Stop thinking about this. It’s okay. We’re over it. I’m over it.”
He closed his eyes.
“Right. I… want to… but I’d rather make sure…”
She pulled him closer and kissed him, making sure to feel his lips with hers, with her tongue, making it last.
“Do it. I trust you.”
The smile was back on his lips.
“Okay.”

He obviously decided to change strategies, and pushed her to lie on her side. He pressed himself against her back, one hand sliding into her hair, the other pulling her closer, pressing against her stomach. His breath was warm against her neck, and he grinded a couple of times against her bottom, keeping his hand firmly set just above her pelvis. She wondered if he could feel the heat already pooling there getting scalding hot when she felt how hard he was against her lower back. He kissed her nape, nibbled her shoulder gently, his hand slowly reaching lower, lower still, caressing her just where her hair started to grow, then on her thighs, climbing back to her stomach and down again. His touch was featherlike, teasing, getting close but never reaching where she ached for him to do so. She squirmed against him, only getting low chuckles and open mouth kisses on her nape in response, until she grinded against him once again and he choked on his laugh.

His hand slid to her hip, securing her against him as she repeated the move.
“Yes,” he breathed against her ear, while his other hand cupped one of her breasts, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index. She could hear the smug smile in his words. “You got it.”
He let go of her hip, and his fingers finally brushed between her legs, lightly at first, avoiding the most sensitive parts. He caressed her folds, dipping his fingertips just enough at her entrance to gain moisture from her, with an appreciative hum. He spread that wetness, each of his slow, deliberate strokes sending shivers through her. He was only touching the inner parts of her labia, still avoiding her cl*t, but his gentle caresses, spreading her open, and simply the idea of it being him, his fingers there, were delicious.

He was also kneading her breast, and pressing himself flush against her back, their hips rocking together.

Riza threw her hand towards the back, to grab at his hips, feeling the firm muscles working. It seemed Roy was waiting for a cue. He kept the heel of his hand firmly pressed above her pubic bone, anchoring the moves of his fingers, exactly where she felt the hottest, deepest point, brushed his middle finger against her cl*t, then lower, then back, slowly going up and down, occasionally dipping further, pressing his fingertip gently against her entrance.

It was delightful, it was so pleasurable, and yet so infuriating that he knew exactly where to touch her, and how, in order to cause this. He’d definitely earned the right to be smug about it – and the worst was that he knew it.

He kept going, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her nape, going so far as to lick her earlobe, eliciting a moan she couldn’t stop from escaping her lips.
And he chuckled again, his warm breath and the way it shook their bodies together sending yet more fire through her veins. She was playing with it, indeed.

And suddenly, he stopped. His hand went back to her hips, pressing her bottom against his length, his underwear in the way. She could feel that hand shake a little.

It had not, that first time, or she hadn’t noticed.

But she knew he’d increased his cane practice lately, because he wanted to be done with the training, because he’d stalled enough, because he was impatient. He’d probably exerted himself earlier during the day.

Riza gulped, part of her arousal waning. She shouldn’t be thinking about that when they were–

Roy pushed his nose behind her ear, nudged her cheek.
"You said I could do what I want? What about I get what I want?"
"What do you want?"
"I wanna watch you pleasure yourself." His cheek pressed against hers, his lips almost brushed the corner of her own when he kept talking, his husky voice and his words sending shivers where his fingers sat just a minute ago, all previous thoughts forgotten at once. It was embarrassing, very embarrassing, but also pretty exciting, to imagine–

Then she realized, an ice cold feeling in her chest.
"I would. I'm sorry, Roy–"
"Hush," he whispered, stopping her from turning around, and giving the lightest kiss to the scar in her neck. His arm slid against hers, and his hand fully covered hers.

Riza would always be surprised that, their height difference being relatively minimal, the size of his hands compared to hers was so big. Each one of Roy's fingers rested on hers, lightly.

She got it.

"Come on, Riza,” he murmured, and his lips brushing the shell of her ear sent new shivers down her spine. “Get to work. Get ready for me."

The heat on her cheeks part shame and part arousal, Riza suppressed her shame, and did as she was told — it was, after all, an order from her Colonel. The one and only. Her middle finger dipped to collect slick that she brought to her cl*t, Roy's own finger following. She pushed against it, a tad harder than he had, her mind torn in half between her own pleasure and the way Roy's breath had become measured in her ear. His other hand played almost absentmindedly with her nipple, entranced as he was. Riza repressed a smile, and went on for a short while, feeling yet more heat pool inside her, deeper, lower, until she craved another sensation. She dipped one finger in, and Roy's stopped at her entrance, fingertips brushing on each side, feeling her work. His light touch, the presence of his hand there again, warm and big, even if he wasn't doing anything, pulled a low moan from her. Roy's hips immediately bucked at the sound, grinding against her again. Encouraged by his reaction, she added a second finger.
"My. You're greedy." Roy growled against her neck. "I love this."

She’d said she was his. She would let him choose. But as she kept going, fingering herself, while his hand followed her moves, its mere presence there increasing her arousal tenfold, she found she wanted to touch him just as much as she wanted him to touch her. The need grew, spurred by how Roy was pressing his now throbbing length against her buttocks each time her hips buckled, making her clench around her own fingers.

Oh how she wanted to clench around him, now. To feel his length there, slowly go in and out.

She let out a whimper – she could, would have repressed it, but as she understood, the more noise she'd make, the more aroused Roy was.
Indeed, when she did, he sunk his teeth into the junction between her neck and shoulder, sending shivers down her spine.

After a particularly long grind of his, Riza stopped her hand, and she felt his whole body still, too, uncertain of what was going to happen. She found she liked that in him, when he was lost and waited for her to take the lead. In this situation only. In this situation, it was good to have him a little unsettled. Maybe, the next time…

She pushed his hand away and turned around.
He'd narrowed his eyes, his smile less smug – but hungry. It made her incredibly hungry for him, too.
"What are you doing?"
"What I want."
The smile grew wider, ravenous, on his face.
"I thought I was supposed to do what I wanted."
"This is not mutually exclusive."
He closed his eyes with a groan, then nudged his head in her neck. He liked to do that, she'd noticed, whether they were cuddling, sleeping, or having more… interesting activities like this. His lips brushed her skin.
"Riza, you're driving me insane." His hand climbed to her breast, his caress hot. That was enough to make her arch her back again, but he had to find her lips and murmur against them "I love you."

It was only the second time he said it fully – she had inferred other times when he wanted, but couldn't, wouldn't, but the words were there, drawn out in negative space. Three words, that highlighted everything that was happening there. His lips with which he was pressing tender kisses against hers now, his hand on her breast, the other sliding once again between her folds, slowly, gently. He wasn't even pushing against her, just caressing.

She wasn't the only one driving the other insane.

She looked down at his crotch and the bulge in his underwear, eager but hesitating once again, feeling the weight of her inexperience at once, just like the first time she had touched him. That first time, she'd done what she thought would please him, what she'd read or heard about – and it had worked. This time, she wanted to touch, see and feel for herself, but she was afraid to do wrong, to break the mood.

Come on, Riza. You've seen his face.

She pulled on his boxers, and he took them off at once, his lips not leaving her upper chest, just above her breasts. Riza watched his length getting free from the underwear, biting her lips as Roy instinctively stroked himself once before letting his hand go back to her.

Just this sight made her feel more wetness drip where his fingers immediately found it.

He was smart enough not to comment on it, simply using this extra lubrication to slide into her, his finger easily engulfed between her eager walls. He kept his slow rhythm, the heel of his palm now pushing against her cl*t while he fingered her. Either his hands were now rested enough or the change in position helped, but Riza didn’t really want to dwell on that. She let out a shaky breath when he inserted a second digit — his were thicker than hers, and she felt herself stretch around them, feeling his knuckles going in and out as she clenched. She could let him continue. She really could, she thought, eyes rolling close, feeling her walls flutter around him without much control as he curled his fingers upward and pressed lightly exactly where he should.

Another shiver. He stilled, then went back to just pushing in and out gently, his lips pressed against her neck, his hot breath warming her.

But she wanted to give him back something. And she wanted to touch. Her hands were tingling with want.

She let her fingers caress along his shaft at first, comparing the softness of his length to the delicate feel of his tip. Roy was already too engorged for her to stroke him through his foreskin, and she avoided to have too bold a touch there — she was inexperienced, but not ingenuous. Without a word, Roy took his fingers out of her, and palmed himself, spreading her own moisture on him. Riza didn't miss a second of it, watching the way his hand touched his own skin, the way it held his length. He quickly let go, and then took the occasion to push his wet fingers lightly against her cheek to guide her lips against his and kiss her. The way he shuddered against her when she curled her own hand around him, her thumb caressing the now wet tender skin of his glans, made her smile, and she could have sworn that smile was as smug as his.

Trying to keep her head straight while he was back to oh so slowly fingering her, she experimented with adding more pressure to her grip, gradually, until she felt him throbbing against her fingertips. How hard and thick he felt under her hand made her yearn for having him inside her again, made her think how it had felt the first times – weird, yes, but so filling and intimate. There was no other way for them to be as close. They were one, they always had been, and coupling their bodies this way was the crowning of their shared experiences. Together, as one. Always. She might not deserve it, they might not deserve it, but they'd take it, now. Because they could. Because they needed it.

She let go of him, stopping his hand in the process. She was close. Very close. She was heavily panting, and had trouble tempering her hand’s pressure on him.

"I could make you come this way, if you want." He offered, accidentally brushing her nose and pulling his head back at once, probably in fear of hurting her. He, too, was subtly out of breath.

"I want you – I want you in me."
"Ah, well, don't worry," he laughed, a prideful expression on his face. "I guess we can do that, too. How would you like it?”

Riza shook her head. It was hard to think straight.
“Didn’t I tell you you were the one to chose?”
Roy huffed, and buried his face deeper against her neck.
“I know, I… with what happened, I’d rather if you chose.”
“Would it soothe you?”
He hummed, his hand now sheepishly caressing her arm.
Silly man.

“Let’s do it like last time. You on top. I want to feel you on me. I want to–”
Her abrupt stop was immediately picked up by Roy. He nudged his head against hers until their foreheads rested against each other’s.
“I want to look you in the eye, too. You’ll do it for two, won’t you? I trust you will.”
Riza could only nod, confident he would get it in this position.

Or course she knew that was at least part of what had thrown him off so much that first time. But seeing how misty his eyes were then was sobering. She felt her own eyes sting — how stupid could she be, really — but she didn’t have much time to think, as he covered her mouth with his once again, and he shifted so he would be resting on her.

She could feel him throb and twitch as he deliberately grinded against her, while his mouth trailed down to her breasts. Even with their exchange there, she was so aroused that each of his small, hard licks on her nipples sent a twinge of pleasure down to her core.

Whatever they did, they wouldn’t need to do it for long.

“May I?”
“ROY!”
He chuckled, mumbled a “Sorry” against her neck, then she saw one of his hands reach down, and felt a soft press against her entrance. She couldn’t repress an exclamation as he pushed in, her now hypersensitive parts making the stretch feel more intense and more pleasurable at once.
Roy, his breath suddenly short, curled his arms under her shoulders and hugged her tight, placing his forehead once again against hers. He pushed in slow, measured thrusts.
“f*ck, you feel so good, Riza. Take me. Take me in, at once, Please…”
His words went right to Riza’s core, making her heart beat yet faster. Roy pushed until he was fully in, and let out a long exhale. Riza’s own breath stayed short, shallow. The pressure of their position, of Roy’s hot body on her, made her arch her back and moan, her hands grasping, clawing at his back. The only thing in her mind now was Roy, on and around and in her.

He freed one of his hands to cradle her face, to make his lips meet hers.

“Are you looking?”
The brush of his lips against her pushed her yet closer.
“Y-yes.”
She was looking. Intently. He had a small frown, his eyes closed, his dark eyelashes contrasting with his pale skin — his face always stayed pale, but his neck was crimson, and as she looked down she could see the colour spread on his shoulders, and all the way down to the middle of his chest. He was absolutely beautiful, but she couldn’t formulate this in her current state.

“Good. Does it feel good, too?”
“Yes. Roy, I–”
He let go of her face, his hand going down her side, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. He groped her thigh, sliding his hand under her knee, and pushed for her to fold her leg, tilting her hips. Roy pushing himself to the hilt at the same time, and the change of angle, his gentle hand on her leg, his hungry lips on hers were enough to push her down the edge. Roy held her tight, pushing harder but not faster, making her ride her org*sm like she had rarely done before — but maybe it was his touch, his presence, the way he was holding her so tight, his soft words in her ear, more than what he was doing, that made it last so long, and feel so high. Before she even came down from it, before she could open her eyes, he’d changed his pace, and she was sent off again as he came, still cradling her, his head buried in her neck, holding her so tight she had trouble knowing where her body ended and where his started.

This time, instead of collapsing and going limp, Roy secured his hold on her, his nose buried in her neck. Riza’s hands laid on his back. His now slowly calming breath rocked her into a soft, warm torpor. She drifted, fully relaxed, a feeling she had not experienced in — how long?

Riza was almost feeling asleep, surrounded by Roy’s deep breathing, his scent — a little more musky than his usual, but she wouldn’t complain — his arms, his warmth. She felt absolutely, utterly safe.

Until Roy suddenly tensed.

“Oh, sh*t. Riza!”
She could only startle, and blink as he scrambled over her.
“sh*t, sh*t–”
She grabbed his arms as he was pushing away from her. She was half convinced he’d fallen asleep and was having one of his nightmares again.
“Roy. Calm down. What’s wrong?”
“We didn't — I forgot — oh sh*t, Riza —”
She was lost. The sheer horror on his face told her that if it wasn't a nightmare, then it was really bad.
She’d rarely seen him panic as much.
“One word at a time. I can’t–”
“I'm such a fool. What’s taken — I — I forgot to put on–”
“Oh.” Riza sighed, relieved as she finally understood. “That’s all?”
“Riza, it’s not because we're going to get married that we–”
“Calm down. Roy. Roy, here.” She cradled his cheeks, guiding him so that his forehead would rest against hers once again. “Breathe. I’m a military woman. I get my mandatory shots, like a good little soldier.”
She watched as his features relaxed slowly, trying to catch his still too fast moving eyes. Not that she could ever do that, now, not meaningfully, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn't help trying to connect to him this way.

But since she couldn't, she had to talk.
“We’re safe. And I trust you.” She chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I know you haven't gotten laid in years.”

“Hey!” He reacted, weakly. Then he closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. “Sorry. I forgot. I shouldn't have. That’s not how I’ve been raised.”
“Don’t you think I’d have stopped you, if I had any doubts?”
He shrugged.
“Stop thinking everything lies solely on your shoulders.” She caressed his cheek, and smiled as he leaned into her touch. “I’m here, too.”
“And I’m so happy you are.” He escaped her grasp, and pushed his nose in the crook of her neck again. “Please, stay.”
“I think that's the plan, Roy.”

They stayed. Long. Longer that Riza could follow with her now warm and fuzzy brain. What she could grasp, however, was the way Roy hugged her. His hold, tight, close, urgent, felt both extremely protective and as if he was clinging onto her for dear life. She hugged him back, her own hands a little lighter on his skin.

But she felt the same.

For better or for worse, now. There was only them, in this room, and nothing and no one outside of their entwined bodies, their hearts beating and their chests heaving in sync. More so. One body. One heart. If she was his eyes, now, he’d always been her heart. Her courage. Her strength. Her insanity. It was only fair now that they truly would be one.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

“The history of Amestris goes back centuries. Over these times, our country has been through countless wars and hardships.”

Roy pauses at once.

The history of Amestris goes back centuries.

“Over these times, our country has been through countless wars and hardships.”

Roy pauses again.

Oh yes, countless wars and hardships indeed, but this — this–

Unable to stop himself, he laughs out loud.

“Lieutenant!” he calls, a little out of breath.

Feet sound on the hardwood floor, followed by the hurried clicking of dog claws. Hawkeye had been resting on the couch with Hayate.

Roy shouldn’t have called her. But still, he needs to share this. And there’s no one else he ought to share that with.

“Sir?”

“Hawkeye, the history of Amestris goes back centuries!”

There’s a short silence, then Hawkeye replies.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“I’m absolutely fine, Hawkeye.The history of Amestris goes back centuries. And over these times,” he goes on, patting the book in front of him, “our country has been through countless wars and hardships.” He gets up from his chair. “I got it! This is the first time I — I don’t know how to say it. I mean. I just realized I read for real. I didn’t have to… Didn’t have to construct the word… You know. Letter by letter. Well I did, of course, but — I can read. I’m slow, but. It works. I read the two first sentences, the ones I’ve been struggling with, and they just… Happened.”

Hawkeye doesn’t say anything, and she’s too far for him to analyse anything coming from her.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your rest, it’s just–”

The end of his apology gets stuck in Roy’s throat, as arms slide against his sides and a warm body that smells like bergamot and soft shampoo comes to rest against his. He stands dumbfounded, hands up, for a couple of seconds, before he gingerly wraps his arms around Hawkeye.

Who tenses, and tries to step back.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what–”

“No.” Roy holds fast, not enough to stop her from leaving, but enough to show he doesn’t want her to. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’re as happy as I am, Lieutenant. Soon enough I won’t have to bother you with this.”

Hawkeye sniffs — she has her head on his shoulder.

The lieutenant. Has her head on his shoulder. It has only happened a few times, and Roy would never have thought it would happen again in softer times. If these times could be called softer, but at least no one is in immediate danger, right now.

“I can keep reading to you. I don’t mind. You know I want to help.”

Hawkeye steps out of his arms, breaking the embrace and the moment, and taking with her her soft smell and warmth.

“You do so much, already,” Roy replies quickly, to hide the sudden drop of his heart. “And realistically speaking, I will probably still need you for a long while — and while I wait for my books to be transcribed. But still. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome, Colonel. I’m still there. I’ll always have your back, no matter what.”

There’s a smile in her voice. Roy feels a new one start to blossom on his own lips as he sits down to read again.

Finally.

“Are you sure?”
Riza’s hand lingered on Roy’s shoulder, and he could almost feel the tension in her voice in the way it sat there and refused to let go. He tried to find it endearing. He really tried. He knew why she was like that. But right now she was borderline irritating.

“Yes, I’m sure. Riza, we’ve gone over this–”
“I know. I know you’re trained. I know you’re eager to try and go alone. But consider–”
“My sisters won’t be around in the East. You might not always be — and besides, I just… I haven’t had a real walk alone, without anyone spying on me, for almost four months, now. Can I — can I have that? For f*ck's sake! You know, I’m anxious about it, too, but — if I don’t do it once then I’ll never do it.”

The hand left his shoulder and for a split second Roy felt ashamed for lashing out. And he wasn't sure anymore. Maybe it was too early — but all the others in his rehab group had already done it — but he was the only one with zero vision left — but they all trained with a blindfold–

“Keep Hayate.”
Riza's voice derailed his train of thoughts, and Roy shook his head to try and find his countenance.
“I can’t handle the leash and–”
“No, I mean. He’ll stay with you if I tell him to. That way, anything happens, he’ll come back home running.”

Roy sighed. If it helped her. He wouldn't admit it, but he wasn't fully against the idea himself.

“All right, if that tranquilizes you. I’ll keep him.”
“Good. I’ll leave you, then.”
Roy heard a rustle of fabric, a movement close to him, and the little bell on the dog's collar jingling.
“Hayate, you guard the colonel.”
“I’m not–”
“That’s how he knows you. I’m not going to change his whole training just for a promotion.”
Roy scoffed.
“I mean, he could learn Roy.”
“He’s had a lot to learn lately,” she said, then addressed the dog. “Hayate!”

Something cold and wet pressed against Roy’s free hand, and he scratched the soft fur between Hayate’s ears.

Riza had a long sigh, and Roy could almost see her frown and concerned look.
“I’ll be going.”
“I’ll be fine, Riza.”
“You better be,” she replied, her voice already sounding further away.

He tried to say it. But it didn't come out. Neither did it come out of Riza's mouth. But it was there.

Roy turned to his left, where Riza had indicated the grave was. He’d memorised the walk from the street to the grave, and once in the street, it’d be a piece of cake to walk back to his flat. It wasn’t that far. But, still, it felt weird to be suddenly alone, outside, when he had not been in a long while, save for his training, where he knew there might be someone keeping an eye on him, surely.

Now, he was truly alone. Except for the dog, of course.

“Black Hayate.”
The dog pressed his nose against his palm again, bringing a small smile to Roy’s lips.
“Good boy.”

A couple of steps, and Roy found the gravestone, then put his hand on it. He was half tempted to crouch and trace the letters on it — served him right if he was going to speak to Hughes’s neighbour…

Though Maes would have had a blast about it.

Roy snorted a laugh, rubbing his ear when the echo of Hughes’s loud and obnoxious laughter rang out in his mind. Oh yeah, he would have liked it.

Roy patted the cold stone, but stayed upright and didn’t trace Hughes’s name. If he was wrong, well, let Maes have his fun.

“Been a while, uh?”

Black Hayate stood by Roy’s right leg, a warm presence against his calf.

"Things have become insane since the last time I visited. Not going to tell you all, cause I guess if you're around you must know about it, but eh, I've been… busy. Going to be very much less busy very soon, though… I've been dismissed."

Wind rustled in the tree leaves somewhere. Everywhere. It seemed the sound came from all around at once. Roy pulled from his memory of the place. Indeed, he remembered the cemetery was delimited by rows of tall trees. Full of crows in winter. But he couldn't hear any, right now.

"You know, we did it. Grumman's up there, now. I'm just… not going to get to the top."

You died for nothing.

"Tried, but even you would concede the military can't keep me, right? Ah but eh, you don't outrank me anymore. We'll stay equal, now. You didn't win, after all. Now we're two idiots."

Roy paused when his voice cracked, and tried to swallow the knot in his throat.

Not for nothing, come on.

The country was rid of the homunculi, and set, if not on the right path, at least on one that might be a little easier for its people, still. The Elrics got their bodies back — well, most parts. And Hughes had played a role in this.

His death, too.

"Bet they came to say goodbye, didn't they? They love you.”

There was a faintly sweet smell in the air, and Roy paused, until he realised it must be the flowers on the graves. He should have brought some.

Next time.

“I wonder how many times Fullmetal has asked you how you could be friends with such a… bastard," Roy scoffed. Then sighed.
"Anyway. I, uh. I think you should know. You'll be one of the first ones to know the big news, but I trust you not to tell anyone. Being dead has its bad sides, you won’t be able to tease me about it."

Roy took a deep breath. He suddenly felt so silly, speaking to a cold gravestone, so alone and small in this cemetery. When he spoke again, his voice would have been almost inaudible, but no one else than a dog and dead people were around.

"I… I found myself a wife. Surprised, much?" He sniffed, quickly wiped his nose. "You won't believe who it is."

Roy paused, his fingers curling on the stone. The marble was smooth, its angles sharp, but warmer than he’d had expected. The sun must be bright.

"Or maybe you already know. It's, ah –"
He tilted his head back, rolling his eyes and blinking to try to stop the tears.

f*ck. He could only hope there was no one around to witness his pathetic sniffling on his friend's grave.

"It's Hawkeye. Of course it's her. Who else would want anything to do with me for so long?" Roy wiped his nose again, chuckling through his tears. "Especially now."

"That's it. We're getting married. I… I wish you'd be there. I know you didn't want me at — your — but that's Hawkeye. It's different."

Roy fell silent again. He wiped his eyes with the pad of his thumb quickly, then pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. He stayed for a while like this, with the wind in his hair and in the trees around, and Hayate pressed against his leg.

Hayate. Riza. He should go, she was going to worry.

Roy cleared his throat.
"Ready, Hayate?"
The dog nuzzled his leg.
"Let's go!"
Hayate left his leg with an excited bark, the little bell jingling further and further away in front of him.

The way back from the grave to the cemetery entrance was uneventful. Roy noticed he veered too much to the left when his cane clacked against something solid, that he found out was another gravestone. He muttered silly apologies under his breath — no matter how he spoke to Hughes, he had never believed in ghosts. He knew perfectly that whenever he came here, he was talking to himself.

Once he thought he’d reached the gates, he paused. He knew some people counted their steps, but he’d quickly realised he didn’t need to, at least consciously. He always just knew. He probably pieced it together from the sounds of his surroundings, and he knew his stride to be perfectly even, especially now that his real, usual gait had returned to him, with the confidence to just… walk. His instructor had told him to trust this gut feeling. Not everything had to be done the same way for everyone.

He thought he’d reached the gate, he trusted himself, but a pang of anxiety still made him try to find one of the pillars, to check. Just to check.

It was the pillar, he was at the gate, alright. Now go on. You know the way.

A little far in front of him, Hayate’s little bell jingled, and a high pitched voice cooed.
“Hi doggy!”
“Elicia, don’t try to pet stray dogs, please.”

Elicia?

sh*t. Hell, no.

Roy stopped in his tracks. It could only be them. Where to go?

“But mom ! It has a collar! And it’s funny, look!”

Whatever funny thing Hayate was doing made the bell jingle furiously. Why had Roy accepted to take that dog with him? He was going to barbecue him.

“Ah, there’s someone there, maybe — hello? Is this your… dog…”

As if Gracia wouldn’t have noticed him if the dog hadn't been there.

Roy discovered he was in the same state as he’d been when he met the Ishvalan Elders. Pulse racing. Palms getting sweaty — not ideal around the cane and when you already had trouble with your grasp. He gulped. He had extremely rarely met Gracia, even less alone. For all he talked and bragged about his family, Hughes had always kept his work away from them.

The less Gracia knew, the better.

And Roy was, well, he was the hero of Ishval, and he wore it on his sleeve.

When she talked again, she was closer, and her voice was different. It was that voice.

“Roy Mustang. Col– wait, no, it’s…”

Don’t say it.

“Brigadier General.” Moron. Absolute moron. “But Roy is fine, Mrs Hughes. Don’t worry about it.”

“I… it’s good to see you. No. Wait, sorry, I’m–”
“It’s fine. Don't worry.”
“What were you–”
“Who’s this, mom?”

Elicia was polite enough to whisper. But Roy had good ears.

“Elicia… this is one of your daddy’s friends. From long before you were born. You’ve met him before, but you were just a baby.”
“Oh.”
“I was visiting. It’d been a long while since I could say hi to your dad.”
“Did you come here alone?”
“Yeah,” he lied. What would it do anyway, for her to know that Riza had dropped him there? “I was just walking home.”
“Do you need help? I mean I don’t know where you live, but–”
“No, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

Roy kept fiddling with his cane’s wrist strap. He didn’t know Gracia well, and wouldn’t have recognized her voice. He'd just pieces it out from the little girl’s name and where they were. He wondered if she always had that hurried, awkward tone, and this exaggerated diction. He didn't seem to recall any of this.

“I read what happened in the papers, but… I didn’t know if… If you’d welcome a card, or something. I know you and Maes were very close, but–”
“He liked to keep his work and private life separate. And I respected that. Don’t worry, please, Mrs Hughes. I just hope you and Elicia are doing okay. And that if you had any problem, you’d know to come and find me. If I can be of any help, for anything — not that I have much power now, but I have… High ranking acquaintances. The highest, if you get my meaning. So, please, never hesitate.”
“That’s very nice of you.”

There was an awkward silence, not more awkward than the previous conversation, though, and Roy was ready to take his leave, one way or another, when a small voice piped up.
“Why do you have a stick?”
Roy didn’t understand what she was talking about. A stick?
“Elicia! Don’t ask — it’s not a stick, it’s a cane. It helps him walk. Brigadier General Mustang, here, is blind. He can’t see.”
“Oh? But I can see your eyes.”

Roy repressed an urge to wince and sigh and press his fingertips to said eyes. That was why he didn’t really like kids. Teenagers, neither, as it’d been proven with Edward. But they could be dealt with. As for little kids…

He forced a smile, and said:
“They’re here, they just don’t work anymore. That stick warns me when I’m about to walk into a lamppost, or something. In fact, I think, I’m going to–
“I don’t know how you do it. You’re so brave, walking alone, like that. In your place, I’d–”
“It’s easier than you think, really,” Roy hurriedly mumbled. “I have to go, actually, my, uh–”

Your what? What are you going to say to her? Your girlfriend? Your fiancée? No, what was going to get out, right now, was “my Lieutenant”, and you know it. Quick, say something.

“My date’s waiting for me.”

Your what, again? Oh, come on.

“Oh. You have a date?”
“Yes, I… I should go, really. It was nice to see you, Gracia. Elicia. Say bye to the dog. He’s called Black Hayate.”
“Bye, Black Hayate.”
“Good bye, Brigadier General.”
“Good bye, Mrs Hughes. Please, keep in mind what I told you. If you ever need any help…”
“I will. Thank you.”

Roy danced from one foot to the other, not exactly knowing if he could just go, once again feeling that missing out on body language was a lot more inconvenient than he would ever have thought.

Until he heard Elicia whisper again.
“Why is he not moving?”

Roy repressed a groan and set off, calling Hayate, whose little bell jingled happily around him again.

He walked straight, eager to put as much distance between the Hughes and himself, knowing he had the whole cemetery wall to trace back up until he found the next turn — left. Turn left.

He walked fast, too, until Black Hayate barked furiously, and made him trip. It was a miracle he didn't fall, and reeled for a while, almost flailing, the dog’s bell running in frantic circles around him. Roy finally doubled down, his free hand shooting to his side, wincing. That wound had not flared up that much in a long while.

“f*ck! What the hell, dog?” Roy hissed through his clenched jaw. “What was that for?”

The only answer he obtained was a happy series of licks to the face before he managed to get up with a groan.

Did anyone see? Was anyone around?

No — he knew for certain now that most people would come to aid the blind guy who almost randomly fell on the street, so thankfully, there must be no one. That eased the drumming of his heart in his ears, and loosened his jaw a bit. At least he hadn’t made a fool of himself in front of random passersby. But why–

Scowling still, he straightened his jacket, passed a hand through his hair, and set up to go again, swiping his cane far in front of him.

It didn't hit the pavement where he expected — instead, it dipped some five to ten centimeters lower, and gave back a sound and feel that wasn’t the same as the sidewalk.

Roy stilled.

The curb.

The f*cking curb. The left turn.

He'd reached the curb without noticing. He was too absorbed into escaping the awkwardness of the situation with Gracia, and keeping his thoughts at bay, to pay attention to his surroundings for real.

Instead of turning around and finally going the right way, however, Roy set to go forward.

Immediately, Black Hayate jumped on his legs, howling, reiterating what he had just done, even before Roy could complete his step.

Roy stepped back, crouched and pet the dog who’d come back to lick his face again.

“Good boy, Hayate. Thanks, bud. Please never ever mention that to your mistress, alright?”

Black Hayate squirmed and wiggled around him, happy to have done a good job.

Once up again and ready to start walking, Roy wondered if Riza had trained Hayate for that, or if he was just that smart.

Of course he would never, ever ask her about it.

Roy closed the door behind him, listening to Hayate's little collar bell run to the living room.

"Hi, good boy," Riza's voice rose, covering the music from the radio. Hayate barked happily.

Roy set his cane against the wall, and heard Riza walk towards him as he took his shoes off.

"Finally." A hand landed on his collar and he was greeted by a kiss on the cheek, and the bergamot of her perfume. "I was getting worried."
"Hayate would have taken me home if I didn't manage,” Roy smiled.
"He's not trained for that."

Oh, he’s done better than that.

"But he knows who gives him food and where his plate is."
Riza huffed, then turned around and left.

Roy hung his coat and loosened his tie, the nostalgia his visit to Maes's grave had stirred up still clinging to him, mingled with the shame he felt for having had to rely on Hayate not to end up in the middle of a busy road.

The radio was set on an old rythm and blues that played softly. He'd heard this somewhere, maybe at the madam's bar. The slow pace of the song soothed him.

It always felt weird to come home, to his own flat, and to find it already inhabited. The music, the smell of dust replaced by various smells of laundry and food — and Riza’s perfume. There was more life in there now than there had ever been before.

He stepped from the tiled small hall to the hardwood floors of the living room. Black Hayate's bell was nowhere to be heard, so the dog must have sat or laid down in his basket.

"Riza?"
"I'm here."

Closer than he'd have thought, somewhere on his right.

"I'm dusting off your bookshelf. Started doing a bit of cleaning–"
"Oh, you must have been very worried," Roy let out, nostalgia and shame put aside enough for him to laugh.
"Don't." Riza warned, but that only helped him find her.

Roy's hand felt the wool of her uniform, and he quickly determined he had landed on her hip. He placed his other hand on the other side and pulled her against him.
"Roy, I'm going to put dust on your suit."

As an answer to her stern tone, he let his left hand climb up body, and caught her own hand. He pulled the feather duster from it. He threw it over his shoulder.

"Roy!" Riza tried to scold him, but she couldn't hide the hitching of her laugh from him. "What are you doing? You’ve broken enough kitchenware already…"

Roy had a slight frown, but let go of her hand. He placed his on the small of her back, then raised her other hand with his.

"Shouldn't we practice? We ought to dance at our wedding, don't you think?"
"I..."

Riza joined him as he pulled her with him slowly — he had the room more or less mapped in his head, and she could lead, but he wouldn't want to start by bumping into the bookshelf. Riza was very stiff.

"I haven't really thought about that."
"Shame." Roy smiled, and started following the slow rythm of the music, one step at a time, his hands light on Riza's back and around her fingers. He didn't want her to feel trapped. Just to go along with him if she felt like it. "I myself am a little rusty, I'm afraid."

"I remember how you danced at that Christmas ball in East city, years ago. You were flying around."
"Oh, the one where Grumman had an orchestra from Central to play?"
"Yes, that one."
"I danced with a lot of gorgeous ladies that night..." He said, unable to suppress his smirk when he felt Riza stiffen some more.
"You were certainly the most coveted officer. I had trouble keeping an eye on all the dancers who lined up."
Riza’s voice was even more stern than usual.

"And yet." Roy took advantage of the music speeding up slightly to pull her tighter against him, and to nudge her cheek with his nose. He liked that she was being a little jealous, but he didn't want her to feel bad. "I didn't really care to dance with any of them."
"You didn't look like you were that bored, though." Riza said dryly, but she was mellowing, her back meeting his hand more fully, her movements being more natural - as natural as they could be, while shuffling along in this small spot of his living room.
"You know I'm good at this kind of things."

Roy stopped talking, letting the music pass through him, through them, focusing on how Riza managed to follow each of his steps, how she felt under his hands. He closed his eyes.

"I wish I’d danced with you that night."
Riza pressed her cheek against his, her hand on his shoulder tightening.
"I was your bodyguard. I wouldn't have let you hinder my job and make a fool of yourself at the same time."

Roy smiled. He had lost the notion of his position in the room, even if he measured his steps. But Riza was there. He felt her stir him here and there, when he was getting too bold. He led the dance, she took care of the direction.

He realised that if it meant they could dance, he was happy.

It was the first time he didn't have to consciously rationalise his situation, to weight things, to get to this conclusion. He was happy.

It was just a thought, among many — Riza didn't dance that badly, she smelled so good — but it warmed him at once, and so suddenly he was taken by surprise.

"Roy?" Riza didn't slow down, but she must have noticed. "What is it?"
"I'm just happy we can dance."

It took yet another few days, that felt rather uneventful — in a good way — to Roy, before Grumman summoned him again. This time, he didn't send Lieutenant Catalina, to Roy’s relief, but Lieutenant Ross.

It was a pleasant surprise. Roy had not met her since the Promised Day — everything had been so hectic, for him, but also in the army. Of course knew about it: his demobilisation wouldn't have happened two long months after everyone was certain he would stay blind, if the army and government themselves had not been in shambles. But that had allowed for him to appoint Riza to his care long enough for her to get some indispensable rest.

The Lieutenant Ross confirmed his thoughts when she, albeit amicably, mentioned that she’d had to work over hours for weeks since she’d been reincorporated, and was only now getting some free time enough to feel rested.

If Riza had come back too fast, who knew how she’d be, now.

Roy was surprised to be welcomed in the Führer’s office not only by Grumman himself, but also Riza.

Whom he called Hawkeye. The cat would soon be out of the bag, but neither he nor she would want Grumman to be in the know too soon. It was bad enough that he obviously knew about them sharing space after the Promised Day — Riza being Roy’s aide had after all been made official by him.

“Since I had to see both of you, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, and save that precious time my counselors keep nagging me about.” Grumman started babbling as soon as the Lieutenant Ross had introduced Roy in his office. “Tea, Brigadier General? I also have biscuits.”
“Uh. Yes, thank you, sir. But you can keep calling me Mustang, it’s not as if this rank really means anything.”
“I would, but if I did that, I would soon be a little mixed up, don't you think?”

That sentence had the effect of a punch in the gut.

Roy could hear Riza by his side have a loud gasp. They hadn’t had the time to exchange much more than a word since he’d arrived, and now this?

Of course, Riza had deposited the papers at HR. Of course, Grumman had eyes everywhere, and might have put some surveillance on both their names — anywhere, everywhere. He had to stay on top.

But still, it felt like a low blow. Roy hadn’t even had the time to tell his aunt.

He forced himself to relax his jaw and shoulders, to adjust his posture. Not being able to see the physical reactions of others didn't mean others couldn’t see his. He could however perfectly picture the glint in Grumman’s eye. That sly old fox was still playing with them. To be fair, Roy was more furious at himself for not seeing this coming, rather than at Grumman — Grumman was just Grumman. Cunning, scheming, always. Roy had been negligent.

He repressed a jolt when something — someone pressed against his right elbow.
“With all due respect, sir, we aren't hiding.” Riza’s reply was bold, bolder than Roy would have expected from her. He inferred Riza had just had a step sideway, and had pressed her own elbow against his. “But we were expecting some relative privacy, time for us to make everything ready.”

Maybe she was a tad too bold.

Roy felt suddenly bold, too, and let his right hand find said elbow, and squeeze it.

He could hear Riza’s sigh over Grumman's high pitched chuckle. Roy held to that sigh.

“Come on!” Someone clapped, and since it wasn’t neither Roy nor Riza, it must have been Grumman. “You, Mustang, above all, know what I think about this. You have my blessing, both of you. Even if I’m pretty sure there’s an underlying reason. Neither of you strike me as such romantics that you would go all the way to get married, just for the hell of it, am I right?”

Roy’s anger surged back. Of course, he would want to know.

A fresh hand slid over his own on Riza’s elbow.

“Since you know, we won't hide it from you. I want to ask for a transfer in the East.”
“Closer to Ishval?”
Riza hummed. She probably nodded.

Now the cat was really. Out of the bag.

“I might be able to help with that.”

Of course you are, you old hag. You’re the f*cking head of state.

“In fact, I wanted you here today, Lieutenant Hawkeye, because of the stellar report on Eastern commerce and Xing imports you've produced for Colonel Smith. While I’m sure you’ve worked hard, I’m also suspecting you’ve had some help, here and there. I’ve noticed some turns of phrases I know well.”

This wasn’t a question. There was no answer.

“I’ll take your silence as a confirmation. After all, this fits perfectly with your plan. You — you both, I bet — want to give Ishval economic importance, so we’d be enticed to give support to the restoration. Well played. But the report in itself brings so much more into consideration.”

Grumman stopped his monologue to hand a cup of tea to Roy, taking his hand to wrap it around the small teacup.

Roy still had trouble adjusting to the fact that people would touch him randomly to give him or show him things. Sometimes without any warning, like right now. He swallowed it, but was sure he would never quite get used to it.

The dainty object felt fragile and small in his arguably still clumsy hands, so he let his cane rest against his shoulder, and curled his arm around it to hold the cup from under with his other hand. He must look perfectly stupid, standing there like that, but at least he had less chances to spill the tea on his suit.

Grumman went on, seemingly oblivious.

“Indeed, as you pointed it out, Lieutenant, extending the East railway towards Xing would grant us commercial supremacy over Creta, and very quickly. Since the emperor finally died–”
Roy tried to push it.
“Yes, and we know the–”
“Indeed, indeed, Mustang, you do know his successor. I’ve had the pleasure to have a meeting with him, right after the events. I would have had you there, but you were…”

Grumman’s voice faltered uncharacteristically.

Roy, at a loss, resorted to gingerly drink from his cup, the slight bitterness of the brew doing nothing to soothe the unease he was feeling all of a sudden.

Something had happened, and he didn’t know what.

Grumman changed subjects.

“Anyway, the new emperor is obviously interested in reviving the ties between our two countries. We talked about ships, but your report, Lieutenant, has brought invaluable proof that a railway would be the way to go to bypass both Creta and Aerugo.”
“I also point,” Riza’s voice was sharp, sharper than before. “That the best and shortest route would go through Ishvalan territory. And Ishval restoration is crucial for Amestris to have a sound discussion about building anything on this land.”

It was Roy’s turn, now.

“Since we breach the subject of the restoration. I guess you had me summoned to talk about my stay in Ishval, sir. You probably already know the Elders have agreed to use the help me and Major Armstrong offer in terms of alchemy. What I can add is that I have assessed what the army itself offers on site, as the highest ranked official there, and as I used to do quite often in the East. What the restoration project has been granted by the military is far from ideal. I understand Briggs can’t spare too many men, considering Drachma’s unrest after the recent events in Central, but the East surely–”
“The East is under the commandment of General Hakuro. You might want to discuss this directly with him.”

Roy shifted from one foot to the other, cradling the half empty teacup.

“The last time you had me here, you assured me of your help.”
“I also precised that I can’t do too much, because our people aren’t that keen on Ishval gaining much power again. They remember the civil war.”

Roy kept himself from huffing. He kept what he hoped was an impassible, if not fully affable, face.

“I am not asking you to go public all of a sudden. The Armstrongs–”
“Have asked my permission to hold a charity ball at their mansion to raise funds. They have my blessing. I’m just not able to openly endorse it. But they can get public, as a rich and influential family doing charity work. Charity is good. It’ll work even better if a certain Saviour of Central makes an apparition.”
“We need more than funds, we need–”
“You need to wait and see, Mustang, if you’ll allow me the expression. Not everything can be done at once. I have my hands tied by the general public. You’re free to do as you please, and pester Hakuro about it. Now,” Grumman clapped again, and it sounded like he… rubbed his hands? “If you will listen to me, both of you, you might get some leverage for this. It has come to my attention that the Commander of the East is in need of officers with a good notion of field work, to command a couple of companies. He’s afraid of the Ishval restoration creating unrest — you’ll have to deal with that, Mustang, good luck — and I was thinking, considering your service, and with this stellar report on top…”

Grumman let his sentence hang for suspense.

Roy felt Riza shift by his side, and he didn’t know if it was out of annoyance at his tricks, or expectation. But of course, finally, it was happening.

However, Roy felt sad that Riza had to see this happen this way. It shouldn’t have been done as a ploy. Because it was a ploy. It would help, sure, but it was also going to help Grumman be rid of them both and their pesky demands about Ishval.

Still, Roy tried to feel happy. Because it was more than deserved.

“... I think a promotion is long overdue, Captain Hawkeye.”

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

“Live, and help to change this country.”

Assistant to Lieutenant-colonel Mustang. Riza wouldn't have dared hope for this, yet here she was.

She closes the door behind her back, leaving the Lieutenant-colonel alone in his office — Mr Mustang, she has to stop thinking of him as Mr Mustang. She clasps her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. She’s not feeling unwellbad. It was just… a lot.

To see him again — he still has that look in his eyes, that fire, that she was afraid would be corrupted, but it’s still there, pristine, just hidden, subdued — he looks a lot better than the last time she’s had a glimpse of him, and she’s sure she looks far better too, for the last time he’s seen her, she was barely conscious after he’d burnt her back.

And he’d just trusted her with his. His own back. Tasked her to kill him.

Will she manage, if need be?

It’s an order. You’ve already killed on order.

He tasked her to kill him if he strayed, yet ordered her to live.

It feels weird to have a superior order her so. To survive and keep doing so, when she’s been told over and over to be ready to die.

She doesn't know which one sounds the easiest to her, but if he asks her, she’ll try her best.

Her heart is racing in her chest. She feels like she’s at the right place. The road ahead feels less scary now that she knows she’ll be working under him.

She trusts him. She has for a long time, now.

“You’re not sleeping.”

Roy’s voice was low and soft, behind Riza’s back. She rolled on her other side to face him.

“No.”

He was on his back, his head lying on the pillows with his chin slightly tilted up. Riza preferred to sleep with a light on, now, and it wasn’t as if Roy would mind. She could look at him all she wanted. His straight nose, the slope of his brow, his high cheekbones. His eyes were closed. Now that she could allow herself to detail him, his face, his body, his demeanor, she just kept marveling at how handsome he was.

She rarely told him, however. Only when she felt he needed the confidence boost.

Right now, she was the one who needed something like that, however.

“No, I can’t sleep. I can’t help feeling…”

She didn’t know how she felt. She rarely took the time to observe her thoughts.

“Robbed, maybe?”

Riza’s sleepy mind had focused more on the way Roy’s lips had moved than what he’d said. She forced herself to replay the words.

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m still happy with this promotion.”
“It should have happened as soon as you got back to work. I don’t understand why Smith or even Grumman withdrew it for so long.” Riza observed the slight frown that pulled on Roy’s eyebrows. Looking at him calmed her. It almost always did.

“I don’t mind. It’s not as if I’m fit to command–”
“You’re fitter than many Captains and Colonels in this army,” now Roy’s frown had turned into a scowl, and he finally rolled on his side to face her in turn. He kept his eyes closed, however. He was tired, too. “Considering the team you’re in, you’ll probably just have an increased amount of paperwork, to go with the responsibilities. Relieve Smith of the few files he’s working on himself so he can keep pursuing his arse-licking career more freely.”

Riza didn’t remark on Roy dismissing her superior — he did so regularly —
and went on.
“You heard Grumman. I might be transferred under Hakuro.”
“There’s a whole other level of arse-licking there. But that’s good for us, no?”
“Yes.”

That was good for them moving back to East City, indeed. It would also allow for them to maybe work side by side — or at least for Roy not to have to leave for days if he needed to visit Ishval. But still, she worried about moving. About leaving what they had newly made as home, leaving the routine they had managed to build. She worried about Roy losing his bearings and what he had painstakingly learnt lately, and having to start all over again.

Roy pulled her out from her thoughts to add a new worrying one. He’d opened his eyes, now, and had an expression on his face that wasn’t a scowl, and more like an embarrassed wince.

“Also. You’ll have to start working with Hakuro as Captain Mustang. That will really not help you. Sorry about that.”

He was very right, that ought to be a problem, but Riza couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Oh, so you’re going to make my life harder then?”
“Am I not already?”
This time Riza only scoffed, and crossed the short distance between their bodies, burying her face against his chest, inhaling the clean laundry smell of his t-shirt, and the underlying one of his skin. Roy folded his arms around her with a content hum.

“Grumman’s political shenanigans,” he sighed after a short while, and Riza could only marvel at how his body moved against hers. It took weeks, nearly months, but now she was realizing what this all meant. “He also pulled it out of his hat so I would stop annoying him with Ishval and the restoration.”
“Of course.”
“But you do deserve that promotion. You have for a long while. Captain Hawkeye. One step closer to your goal of making it to the top, right?”
Riza shook her head against his chest. He had not stopped teasing her about this.
“It was just a joke. I don’t want this.”
“Nah, you do.”
“I don’t.”

Roy tutted, and, her head still nudged on his chest, she noticed he must have been smiling. Was it from his tone, or the way he moved, or just a hunch? Roy must know these types of things, too. Of course, he missed a lot of clues he would have picked up on easily before, and seeing him struggle, or worse, staying absolutely oblivious of what was happening right in front, made her ache in a way she hated. But sometimes he knew things she didn’t even think he could pick on.

He was adapting. He had already. Fast. And she shouldn’t be surprised. He was Roy Mustang. A man built on hidden resources. It was only logical that he still had some she didn’t know about.

Every day, she felt like she discovered more. This was what made him so appealing to her in the past. He just kept going. No matter what. And he pulled her with him.

His voice traveled from his chest to her ears seemingly directly.
“We should celebrate this promotion, don’t you think?”
“We’ll have a wedding to celebrate sooner than you think.”
“Well, just the two of us, if you insist. You deserve something good. To balance the bitterness of that political ploy Grumman’s using you for.” He paused, and then his voice got lower. “The two of us sound good, in fact. I honestly don’t think I’m fit to take you out just yet, I’m sorry.”
Riza stirred, nudged his chest with her nose again, and tightened her arms around his waist.
“Are you kidding me? You’ve managed so much–”
“I’m not ready. I’m — I can’t believe I’m soon at the end of my rehab course. Half a week left. It took weeks longer than it should have, with my hands in the way, and I — I still don’t feel–”
“Let’s do that. We’ll celebrate my promotion and the end of your rehab. Like you said. Together. Just the two of us.”

Roy untangled his arms from hers, and pushed her away gently, holding her shoulders. His face was tense, and he’d closed his eyes again. Shut, and with a frown.
“Riza…”
“We don’t have to get out. I don’t want to celebrate my promotion alone. You getting back on your feet is more important.”
“That’s the point. I don’t want to… I don’t feel like celebrating. I shouldn’t have to celebrate being able to place one foot before the other without falling or walking into a wall.”
“Roy, now you’re being obnoxious.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Maybe I don’t. But you will have to go out in public places other than the street sooner or later. Sooner than later, actually, if you plan on going to that charity ball you seem to know about and I don’t.”
“It’s just Major Armstrong, I’m not sure–”
“And secondly,” she cut him, and now he was scowling, his chin almost tucked against his chest, his hair obscuring his face even while he was lying on the side. She slid a hand against his cheek. “Secondly, who just talked about balancing bitterness?”

Roy gulped. Silence stretched. Riza was tempted to check the time, because she had to be up early, and they should both get some rest, but she also didn’t want to let go of Roy. Touch seemed to be the key to spur him, now that she couldn’t throw him a stern look.

Touch was also softer.

“Alex called. He’s set on having that charity ball as soon as possible.” Roy stirred. “He wants us both in uniform for that. I tried to tell him, but–”
“You’re a former high ranking officer. You are allowed to wear your uniform for these kinds of things. In fact I’m sure the army–”
“It’s not the army. It’s me. I don’t want to– and I’ve lost weight. My dress uniform won’t fit. I’m going to look stupid on top of looking… like…”
“Roy. Stop that.”

Roy had a short pause, and he tucked his chin down again. Riza kept her hand on his cheek, caressing him. She’d rather he let it out than had another breakdown like he had after Ishval.

“I just… There’ll be a lot of people. I bet Alex has already started talking about having two of the alchemists that saved Central at the party, he might have mentioned the hero of Ishval, too, that was the plan, and I mean, I wished he didn’t–”
“Roy. I’ll be there.”
“Yes, and people are going to talk–”
“We’re getting married in less than a month, Roy, remember. You used to love it when people talked.”
Roy scoffed.
“I did.”
“You think this party is too much?”

He shrugged. Riza felt she needed more touch. She pushed his hair out of his forehead, and kissed him there. When he didn’t move, she let her lips on his skin, and hugged him again. She was reassured when he immediately held back. He wasn’t as far gone as the last time.

“You’re still perfectly capable of charming and talking anyone out of their money, I’m sure of that. And there might be some interesting people there. People who might actually want to help, rather than look good giving money.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell him you were not going?”
“You think he let me talk?”
“We’re going. Together.” Riza paused. She kissed his forehead again, and fought her tightening throat to add: “I’ll be your eyes. Take it as another battle. We did well last time.”

Roy didn't reply, only tightening his embrace.

It took a long time for him to ask: “But what are we going to do about the uniform?”

Riza couldn’t help but scoff again. It was half to defuse the situation and half real amusem*nt. She liked that Roy was still so concerned about his looks. He almost never went out without shaving. He kept his clothes as pristine as he could. He was adamant that his tie was accorded to his suit every day, — and had started wearing his suits as soon as his hands allowed him to close his shirts, sometimes with a little help from her.

Appearances were important to him, even if he couldn’t see himself — maybe more so because he couldn’t. She’d pieced together that he was relatively anxious about what people thought of him now, when he used to bask in the way they trash talked him behind his back. He didn’t want to give rise to any talk about him that he could avoid.

Control. It was always about control.

Riza kissed him again, and whispered into his ear.
“Aren’t you supposed to go to the tailor for something that’s happening soon, too?”
She felt Roy relax in her arms.
“Right. Okay. I’ll have the uniform adjusted. Well adjusted.”
“The uniform. The one and only.”
“Don’t push me to ask about the dress.”

Riza knew he was going to bring the subject. She’d thought about it. A lot. And she still didn’t know. She’d come to her own conclusions about the dresses she already owned — none of them were good enough for a wedding, even a small one. And a new dress…

“I’m still on the fence about that. And you’re not supposed to know.”
“I won’t try to look before the wedding, I promise.”

Riza pushed him back at once, to judge from his face what she should be answering to that. She was relieved to see his playful smirk and narrowed eyes.
“You better not,” she replied with another kiss.

“Colonel Mustang?”
Roy tilts his head up. He’s been instructed to wait there, sitting on an uncomfortable chair, in a waiting room where people chat too loudly and pass by him regularly, too close for his liking. He estimated he’d waited fifteen minutes, sitting alone, his almost useless hands resting on his restless, bouncing knees, which was ten minutes more than what he’d been announced when the nurse had left him.

But then again, he can’t check. And he won’t ask. He’d rather no one noticed him, his unshaven cheeks, his old sweater. His absolute inability to get up and leave this chair. Too many people around. And the nurse who took him there had chatted to him so much he isn’t even sure he could walk back to his room. He's stuck there.

Useless.

But that man has called him by his name and title.

“Yes. That’s me.”
“Good. Nice to meet you. I’m Eliott. Eliott Park. I’ll be your first rehab instructor. Care to come with me?”
“That’s why I'm here, after all,” Roy replies, getting up, and standing there, waiting for Park to take his arm. But nothing happens. Park takes his hand instead, which makes Roy frown. He doesn't want to hold hands with anybody.

“First lesson. Now you’ll be taking my arm, and I'll teach you how to walk safely this way. Not the other way around.”

Park places Roy’s hand on his elbow. Roy huffs, and relaxes slightly.

“We’re starting quick.”
“I hear you’re a man of action. Me too. I’d rather you learn the safe way to be guided as soon as possible. This way you’re in control. You can decide not to follow, or to let go. How’s that sound?”
“Good.”
“Let’s go, then.”

Park starts at a relatively slow pace, tells Roy about his surroundings, and asks him to pay attention to different things.
“You don't have to do all at once, I’m just showing you what you can actually pick up on, and you will.”

Roy hums in response. He tries to do what he’s told, and to focus. Park is clear and to the point, never drowning him with too much information. He reminds him of Hawkeye, in his preciseness. Not too much, not too little. The important stuff only.

Park confirms his thoughts by telling him no one cares about the colour of the wallpaper, unless you’re decorating.

But there’s a noise. Regular. Rhythmic. A clinking, but of something heavy. Somehow, it makes him think of Full–
“Wait.”
Roy stops, and Park stops, too.
The clinking stops.

Roy ponders. Should he tell, or not? But he’s burning to know. To know if he’s right. To know if he can still get some things about his surroundings that others don’t want to tell.

“Yes, sir? What’s wrong?”
Roy clears his throat.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Park?”
“Yeah, we’re going to spend a lot of time together, and I already know some about you from your file, so I guess it’s only fair.”
“It’s going to be weird, but… do you have an automail?”

There’s a short silence. Then Park wheezes.
“Man. I don’t think I’ve heard that one as fast, ever. Yeah, I do.” Park pauses, then asks, and Roy thinks he sounds mischievous. “Which leg?”
“Well, now that you confirm it, I’d say left.”
“Meh. Wrong. It’s the right one. You probably picked on the knee, it clinks when I bend it, that’d have thrown you off. It needs revision. But I’m still pretty surprised you noticed that fast. It usually takes weeks for the people I work with to notice.”

Roy can’t help but smirk. Somehow, even if he was wrong on the leg, he feels proud that he could tell something from Park, and impress him right away. He can still do that. He can still matter.

“I know someone with an automail, too. You reminded me of him, somehow. I couldn’t tell why at first.”
“Right. Great. Second lesson, Colonel. Try to listen to that gut feeling. It’s not always right, but often your brain picks things up faster than you’re conscious about. But it seems you’re already quite good at it, then. I bet it’s a soldier thing.”
“You are familiar with the military, right?”
“I was in the military, until I lost my leg. That is why I asked to work with you. I’m proud to be your instructor, Colonel. I’m but a humble ex-Sergeant, but I hope you’ll be alright learning from me.”
“Well I’m honoured you asked for this,” Roy tried not to mumble, feeling oddly touched by this. “I hope I'll keep surprising you.”

Roy had followed his memory of his usual trips from his flat to his aunt's new bar, his mind all on the walk and his orientation, but once he stopped where he thought the establishment stood, he suddenly grew anxious.

What if he'd gotten lost? What if he found the door, tried to enter and it wasn't the bar, but another shop? Or worse, someone's place?

After all, he’d never been there when he could see, since it was a new establishment. He suddenly regretted blowing up the old bar. But he’d been there with Riza. And Vanessa. And Madeline. And Chris herself. He knew the way.

Standing there, feeling self conscious, he tried to replay his walk in his mind, to check if he'd turned in the right direction at every corner.

He passed a hand through his hair.

He wasn't only nervous because of the trip. After all, he'd successfully completed all his assignments during rehab, and had already done a couple of trips alone — including the one from the cemetery where Hayate absolutely had not saved his life, come on.

And that trip was an easy one. He did it regularly now.

Come on, Mustang, open that damned door.

His cane located the door easily, and he was extending his hand to find the knob when it opened.

"Roy?!"

While he didn't like when people didn't announce themselves, there were a few with whom that wasn't necessary. He didn't even need to analyze the cigarette smell and the deep and hoarse yet still feminine voice to know it was Madame Christmas herself who had opened the door.

"Glad to see I didn't get lost, after all," he replied to her with a smile he hoped wasn’t too tense.
"What are you doing here? You came alone?"
"Alone. Just felt like a drink, you know," he shrugged, letting his smile morph into a smirk.
"And a chat, I guess,” Chris grumbled. "You should have called. I was leaving."

sh*t.

Yeah, you dumb idiot. The bar is closed at this hour, you think Chris stays in there all day waiting?

"Ah, well. Maybe another time. The walk was nice–"
"Come on in, Roy boy. It's not an appointment, I can go later. Something tells me you need to talk."
Chris slid her arm around his shoulders, pulling him inside and into her smell of fine perfume and cigarettes. She took him to the bar this way, showing him a stool.

"I’m happy to see you. And that you came alone, I must say. How’s rehab? What will you drink?"
"They’ll be giving me the “you’re a big boy now” speech next Wednesday. And the usual."

Chris hummed in response, and put a glass in the hand he kept on the counter. Roy scowled immediately at the smell. Orange juice. Again.
"This isn't my usual."
"You’re not a big boy yet, you just said it. It's still too early for gin."

Roy huffed, smacking his lips. He didn’t want to come out as obnoxious, but really…
"This is a… this isn't an orange juice conversation."
Chris sniffed, then sighed. There was a pause, where Roy couldn’t get more from his surroundings than the ticking of the grandmother clock in the back kitchen, the occasional drop from the bar’s tap, and the smell of wax his aunt had probably put on the bar wooden parts not too long ago — it was almost stronger than everything else.

She must be studying him with that sharp eye of hers, as she used to do.
"Fine," she said, with a rap of her fingernails on the counter.

The glass in his hand was replaced with a smaller one that smelled like his favourite brand of gin.

"I'm not walking you home, so behave. But now you got me intrigued."
He heard her pull a stool next to his and sit.
Roy turned his glass this way and that on the counter.
He'd thought the hardest part was to get there, and he found it really wasn't. As usual, he had neglected parts of the plan. But there was no charming his way out of this one, let alone burning anything.
At a loss, he took the glass and drank it at once.
"Roy!"
He wiped his mouth with a hiss — he'd not had a single drop of alcohol in months — and took his time to reply.
Chris beat him to it.
"You're not getting a second one."
"Alright, alright." Roy sighed, and started: "Riza–"
"What's wrong with her?"
"There's nothing wrong with her. Or maybe, yeah, maybe there is, cause no one–"
"There seems to be. You never call her this way."
Roy stilled. He'd called her Riza. She was right.
He closed his eyes, pressing the tip of his fingers there.
"Roy?"

She's going to say "Finally!" and scold you for not getting your move earlier. She's going to cry and say she's so happy or whatever bullsh*t. She's going to say she saw it coming. She's going to–

Roy took a deep breath, took his hands off his eyes, opened them and turned towards her, facing her as much as he could, holding his head high, and said it at once.
"Riza and I are getting married."

Chris in front of him exhaled a long sigh, whistling, then she had a small laugh.

"Good job, Roy boy. You almost had me worried, there."

Her voice had not wavered. She had her usual stern tone, with a hint of a smile, and nothing else. But she touched his shoulder, then tousled his hair — one of her very rare demonstrations of affection.
"I'm happy for you both, son." Now her tone was warmer. Roy suddenly felt like the little kid he once was, happy to make his aunt proud.
"Thanks, Chris."
Roy breathed better, a heavy weight off his shoulders.
"You get a second glass,” Chris got up from her stool. “I'll walk you home. We gotta celebrate."

A new glass appeared in his hand, replacing the empty one. Except the shape was different. This surprise managed to relax Roy completely, and he chuckled as a loud ‘pop’ echoed in the empty bar.

“Chris. You should save the champagne for the actual ceremony, you know?”
“It’s an old bottle, and probably not that good. I definitely won’t let you serve this at your wedding. But since we’re talking about it, when is it?” She clinked her glass against his before he drank. “Cheers, Roy boy. To you and Elizabeth.”
“She’s Riza, now. No need to hide anymore.”
“As if you really had anything to hide. I know you both. But I’m glad you can have what you’ve always wanted, now”
Roy rolled his eyes and drank, trying to conceal his embarrassment, but feeling his neck warm up. It was true the champagne could have been better. There was a slightly tangy taste that told him it indeed had been lying in his Aunt’s cellar a little too long.
“Soon. Next month.”
“Roy. If you’re rushing like that, don’t tell me–”
“No, no. I don’t think we– no.” Roy hurried, noting the sound of horror in his Aunt’s voice. She had good reasons to react like this. “It’s not that. Promise, Chris. It’s that Riza will be allowed to be sent wherever I am myself if we’re married, and I –”

Roy suddenly realized everyone would know, extremely soon. He was going to be seen at the Armstrong’s charity ball. There were going to be journalists. They actually counted on that. He didn't have to hide what he was planning to do anymore, but it made him feel oddly vulnerable. Maybe it was because he held no more secrets to anyone, when he had for years. Maybe because it made him a real, easy target for good, now, as Riza feared.

Either way, that wasn’t a good feeling.

“You’re going to be in Ishval, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’d rather settle in East City and hop there when they need me. But yeah. For now, I’m being… uh.
“You’re making yourself useful in Ishval. I’m not stupid. And I know things. You’re underestimating your old aunt, Roy boy.”

Roy nodded and drank in silence, trying not to register the bad aftertaste. He didn’t know anymore if it was the champagne or his thoughts that brought this bitterness. He tried to change the subject.

“We’ll probably, ah –”
Chris, as always, picked on what he was trying to do, and complied.
“Looking for a venue, maybe?”
“We’ll be keeping it low. I’ll need a witness at the city hall — of course I thought about you.”

Roy felt a hand — when did his aunt get such soft, thin skin? — briefly caress his.
“I know I'm the second choice, Roy boy. I’ll try to be as good as he’d have been.” Chris paused. “Maybe a little less obnoxious.”
“Please be less obnoxious, thanks,” Roy had a light chuckle.

Then he cleared his throat.

“Anyway. City hall would be just formalities. We’ve already filled and sent the papers. Well, Riza’s helped me fill them. Okay, she’s filled them and had me sign, I mean.” He finished his glass and slid it back on the counter. “We’re not looking to have a lot of people but — maybe twenty, twenty-five at best, and that’s counting all the girls — so, yeah, if you’d be so kind–”
“You don’t even need to ask. I’ll be happy to have you all here.”
“And–”
“And make it look like a perfectly family friendly establishment, stop thinking I’m an idiot, Roy boy.” She ruffled his hair again, and ended with a flick on the forehead. Then she started again. “If Riza is looking for a dress–”
“Ah. About that. Uh. I’m not–”
“You’re not supposed to know.”
“No. You can contact her. I know Emi has started a sewing workshop. But Riza didn’t seem interested.”
“And you?”
“Uniform. If it’s the last time I’m wearing it, then let it be for something good, for once.”

Chris hummed, but didn't comment. Silence fell again, and Roy had the nasty feeling he was being scrutinized again. He felt Chris’s hand slide over his again, and this time she held it. It felt weird. She never did that. Roy'd rather have her flick his forehead again or tousle his hair.

“All things considered, are you happy, son?”

The question threw him off. He blinked, tried to drink more from his empty glass, wiped his free hand’s palm on his trousers. That was a question he didn't want to answer. Everything was still too raw. It felt like picking at a barely healed scar, again. Chris’s hand over him was too hot, but he held onto it either way.

And yet…

He cleared his throat again, and turned his head to the side, feeling a red hot wave rise on his neck. Words stumbled out of his mouth, and later, he’d blame the gin and champagne. He didn't want to let things out this way.

But it was Chris.

“It’s a mess. It’s an absolute mess. It's a disaster. Everything has collapsed… I have to start anew. From scratch. And it sucks. It f*cking sucks. Yet, I… I got something I could never have dreamed of, and now I don’t know how I would have done without it. So, I… I guess… I guess I am. Somehow. I need to… grieve, I guess, before I'm happy for real. But Riza’s helping. She’s helping a lot more than she thinks, and I hope I'm helping her, too.”

Roy blinked away tears of shame and something else — relief, maybe, or maybe sadness, or maybe a mix of it all, and kept his head resolutely turned away from where he knew Chris was staring at him.

Sometimes he wondered where Colonel Mustang had disappeared. Part of his persona had been an act, of course, but a well played one. He felt more like a kid, right now.

Hopefully, Chris didn’t keep asking.

“Then godspeed, you two. I want you both happy.” Chris let go of his hand, and slapped it. “I’ll help with anything you and Riza need. Just phone me and ask, I’ll do whatever I can to get what you want.”
Roy didn’t turn his head yet but he swallowed with an audible click, then smiled.
“Thanks, Chris.” He just said again.
“Take some more champagne, now that the bottle is open. That’ll soothe you.”

Chris took his glass to refill it with authority, and then went back to chatting about random things she could do for the wedding, asking who they would have at the party, and everything.

A more settled and sereine Roy was drinking the last drops of his champagne when the door to the bar opened, bringing loud yelling. He choked on the drink.
"You! Roy Mustang! You bastard!"

He heard a furious shout over his own coughing, and then Chris got up next to him.

"What the–"

A third voice rose, one of the girls, probably.
"Came back from the hairdresser to find that bitch lurking and trying to look through the blocked windows."
"Who are you calling a bitch?"
"Who are you trailing, bitch?"
"Him! And if there's a whor* around–"

"Stop this!"

Before Chris herself had the time to put her foot down, Roy had stood up and used his commanding voice to silence the ruckus — and it worked.

Maybe Colonel Mustang wasn’t that far gone, after all.

He didn't know which of his sisters had caught the intruder, but he thought he had a good idea of who that intruder was.

"Rebecca Catalina, uh? What the f*ck, Lieutenant?"
"You know that girl, Roy boy?"
"How do you know it's me?"
"Come on. I'm not that stupid. Who else would decide to trail me and be so sloppy about it?"

Rebecca only let out a loud huff.

"What are you doing here, Rebecca?"
"What are you doing here, drinking champagne at a hostess bar in the middle of the afternoon? Is this how you're supposed to be Riza's boyfriend?"

"Oh, really?" The sister's excited voice rose. "You two are a thing now? But why didn't you–"
"This is why, Madeline," Chris cut her. Roy finally felt her move from his side, where she had obviously analyzed the situation from, and judged Rebecca wasn't a threat.

A threat, no.

A nuisance, absolutely.

"I guess we should leave you two to speak alone, right, Roy boy?"
"Maybe I should give you my gloves, Chris," Roy snarled. "I feel…snappy."
"Oh, wow, Mustang, you aren't getting better at this."

Rebecca groaned, then her voice got stronger. "Wait, do you really–"

Roy made a show of pulling his gloves from his pockets, and placed them on the counter behind him. Then he shoved his hands back in his pockets and stood there.

"Do they really let you keep those? You've always been a f*cking danger to the public, but this is a whole notch higher."
"Are you done, Lieutenant Catalina?"
"No, I'm not."

Roy felt her get closer, until a finger pushed hard against his shoulder.

"You. Are going to apologize to my friend Riza, and you are going to leave her alone. You don't deserve her."
Roy tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't. He barked a laugh.
"So I keep telling her. Did you speak to her?"
"I haven't been able to get a hold of her in weeks! Last time she told me she knew. About the girls — didn't mention a bar, though. What kind of twisted deal did you manipulate her into being a part of? Using her guilt–"

Roy scowled for real.

"I would never. Rebecca, you have to understand–"
"Yes, please, make me understand, because for now all I see is a man with the reputation of a serial womanizer, supposedly going out with my very single and very innocent friend, and taking advantage of her, while you're still coming and going on the arm of stunning women for the whole city to see."

A small "thank you!" rose from the kitchen behind the bar. Roy resisted facepalming. His sisters had always been into eavesdropping — in fact, he had used them for exactly this for years, so he couldn't really complain now. He could only hope that it was his better hearing that allowed him to hear, and that Rebecca had not.

"First," he forced his voice to stay soft, "I don't think Riza would like you thinking of her as innocent. Second," Roy would have paused, but he felt Rebecca wouldn't allow him much time to think. He had to tell her, did he? "What I'm going to tell you needs to be kept for yourself. I have built this reputation and I might still need it. Understood?"
"Spill the f*cking beans, Mustang."
"Right, Catalina, I guess I have had proof that you can be trusted when you're not furious during the attack on HQ…”

Roy opened his arms, as if showing her around.

“These women are my sisters. And the madam here, my aunt and foster mother. They help me around when Riza can't. End of story."
"But you two look nothing alike!"

It wasn't the retort Roy had been expecting.

"What do you want, my birth certificate? Are you here to talk about genetics?"
"I don't believe you."

The change in her voice told another story. Roy softened.

"I'm sorry, this is all I can say. Because it's the truth."
"But — then why the champagne —"
"You should talk to Riza, Rebecca. I think she has something to tell you."

A pause. He probably had told too much already. But he didn’t want to be the one to spill the beans. He owed that to Riza, not to steal this from her.

"You know, even if I didn't see you going around with these– "
"My sisters–"
" –I wouldn't trust you. You still took advantage of her for years, and more so lately. You let her do all the dirty work while you sat on your arse doing nothing. You've slept with half of the women in Amestris –"
"Hearsay."
"What?"
"Have you ever met one of these women who claim to have slept with me?"
"No, but –"
"Then how can you be so sure? These friends of a friend could as well have slept with the Bear man of Briggs!"
"That beast is probably more of a gentleman than you."

Roy couldn’t win. He finally burst.

"f*ck, Rebecca! Why do you have to be so thick!"
"Why do you have to be such a slu*t!"
"I'm not! That's what I'm trying my damnedest to say!"

Roy huffed. What on Earth had possessed Riza to befriend this harpy?

"Look, Rebecca, you want the truth, here's the truth. I've slept around. I'm not a saint. But you'd be surprised by who that happened with. None of the women you've ever seen me with in the last years, at least. They were all without exception, informants. What you've helped us with — it didn't happen the way we expected, but it was a long prepared plan. All these women worked for my aunt. All of this was an act. And you better keep that mouth shut, because Riza will probably kill you first and then me if she ever learns I told you all of this."

There was a short silence again.

"So you were banging before all this and she didn't tell me?"
"Holy — NO!"

Roy curled his fists tight, nails digging into the scars in his palms. He hadn’t felt that much pain in them since the Xingese doctors had healed him. But the pain stopped him from feeling for Rebecca's throat and strangling her. It kept him focused, helped him harness his anger.

Roy let out a long sigh.

"You know what. I quit, Lieutenant. I'm a monster. Always have been. You go talk with Riza. We — I — don't need you to endorse our relationship. Think what you want of me, I'm used to it. Piss off before one of the girls kicks you out. Riza trained them herself."

Rebecca sniffed loudly.
“We aren't done.”
“I am.” Roy sat back on his stool, felt for the gloves he’d put on the counter, and pocketed them. Then he turned his back towards Rebecca.

As he was expecting, the door to the bar’s back room opened, and Chris escorted Rebecca out with a few words. Rebecca sounded like she complied.

Roy waited until he heard the door to the bar slam shut, and let his forehead fall against the counter.

What a hell of an evening.

“Roy boy? You okay?”
“I guess. Could you take me home, Chris?”

“To your promotion.”

Roy held his glass up, smiling when he heard the light clink and felt his glass being pushed slightly.

“To your rehab.”

Roy hid his uncontrollable wince into his glass, tasting his drink. Riza had brought home a bottle of white wine, following his advice. He prided himself in knowing his wines — it had come in handy a couple of times to charm people or when working undercover. The wine was dry, yet fruity, and fit perfectly with the strawberries he’d picked at the grocer.

Roy extended his hand, feeling around for the edge of the bowl he knew Riza had placed at the center of the kitchen table. Once found, he picked up a small, slightly soft fruit and popped it into his mouth. It was rather sweet, and incredibly tasty.

“These strawberries are so good,” Riza echoed his thoughts with what sounded like a big smile. “Thank you for remembering I wanted some. You picked them well.”
Roy raised an eyebrow.
“Oh. And how on earth do you know I picked them? How do you think I did that?”
“They smell heavenly...” Riza’s voice went from soft to stern. “And they're absolutely ugly. I wouldn’t have picked them myself.”
“What? Oh, the grocer must have tried to rob me!”
“As if,” Riza didn't fall for his rebuttal — but he didn't even try, he was smiling still from her saying he picked the fruits well. “That grocer knows who you are. And he knows you’re with me.”
“Have you threatened him with your weapon while I wasn’t looking?”
“I might have. You’ll never know, though.”

Roy picked up another strawberry, and tried to focus on its taste. It brought to his mind the memory of a dusty house, full of draughts and creaking.

“They taste like the ones you used to pick.”
Riza hummed.
“They do taste a little like wild strawberries indeed.”

They drifted into comfortable silence. Riza caught Roy’s hand, intertwining their fingers, but not without stealing the fruit he’d just picked. Roy complained and whined until she pushed another one — or the same, as far as he knew — against his lips. He wished to chase her fingers and kiss them, but she was too quick.

Roy liked the banter. He liked the memories. He loved whatever was happening here. He didn’t want to go on with the conversation. Didn't want to open that box again, to speak about the future. Not now. He wanted to savour that moment, and to forget why they were there, why they were finally allowed this.

But Riza had been promoted. And all she had was this. So he owed it to her to celebrate for real.

“Congrats, Captain. Did you discuss it with Smith?”

He heard Riza smack her lips. Maybe she didn’t want to break that moment either.

Too late.

“Yes, I caught him this morning. He knew about it, congratulated me, and promised a nice formal ceremony.”
“...but?”
“But he also said nothing will take effect until June. No ceremony, no transfers possible.”
“That’s two months from now!”
“Yes. Can’t go faster with the state of the administration now.”
“Wait, did you tell him–”
“Not yet. I can’t… I can’t seem to–”
Riza withdrew her hand from his. He tried to retain it, but let her go when he felt her pull harder.

He sighed.

“Yeah. I know. Before you talk to Smith, you need to talk to Rebecca. With what happened at Chris’ last week...”
“I know. I know.” Her voice was tense all of a sudden. “I can’t seem to– it’s not that– I’m just–”
“Hey.” Roy put down his glass, and held his hands towards her. He passed them on the table, looking for her hand, and found nothing. He quenched the surge of bitterness at the back of his throat, and forced his voice to be the lowest he could.

She needs you now.

“Hey, Riza. It’s okay. I can take a whole lot more from Rebecca. She can’t really hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, I never thought–”
“Hush. I don’t give a sh*t, I told you. Let her talk.”
“But that’s why I don't–” She had an audible gulp, and sniffed. “I don’t want you to think it’s because of youthat I don’t want people to know. That’s not it, and I know you, somewhere you’re thinking this, but no. I just can't. It just doesn't get out. Whenever I see her, I tell myself I should tell her and then I… don’t. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle her. Her misconceptions, her anger, her protectiveness. I have too much on my plate right now, I can’t… handle… her.”
“So you're telling me the problem is Rebecca, not me?”

She’d been right. Hearing this indeed allowed something to relax, somewhere deep, something that he had not suspected was even there.

“I think the problem is me.”
“Nah, it’s Rebecca.”
“Roy… try to understand…”
“I’ve tried. Frankly, I’ve tried to understand her. I’ve tried to be nice. It doesn’t work. She’s set on her idea, and I could do whatever I can to try and prove her wrong, that would never be enough. I’m sorry, but the next time she jumps on me like that, I’m going to tell her. If I don’t burn her to a crisp first.”

There was a short silence.

“Don’t burn my friend, please.”

Roy tilted his head. Was she joking, was she serious, was she pleading? He had no idea, and it made him feel awkward. If only–

Something poked his nose.

“Roy? Please? Don’t burn Rebecca?”

Roy let out a half embarrassed, half relieved laugh and relaxed back into his chair.

“Okay. Promised. Won’t burn the harpy.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You should have seen her.”
“Don’t make me reply to this.”
“She was awful. Ask Chris.”
“I won't ask Chris.”
“See? You know I’m right.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I'll tell her. If only so she stops being awful to you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop this. Take more strawberries, and give me one before you eat them all.”

Riza huffed and did as she was told. Roy expected her to put a fruit into his hand, not to present it to his mouth again. But this time, he managed to be quick enough to have a feel of her fingers against his lips, which he licked once they disappeared.

It made Riza laugh. One of the best sounds he could dream of, and one he heard more and more often, now. And actual laugh, not the polite little chuckle she only allowed herself when they were at work. And he made her sound like this.

Part of his mind, the one that had him chase her fingers, thought of another sound he could draw from her. He licked his lips again.

“What's on your mind, Roy?”
Riza laughed again. She knew perfectly what was on his mind, for she fed him another fruit and let her thumb linger on his lower lip. It didn't last long, but he heard her chair scrape against the floor, and the finger was replaced by her lips.

She tasted like wine and sugar, and those wild strawberries she used to pick. Her mouth was bold, her tongue darting against his. Her hands slid into his hair, pushing him closer into the kiss.

“What’s on your mind, Riza?”
He asked once she let him breathe, unable to suppress his broad smile.

This. This is what you live for, now. This and rebuilding Ishval. This is your new goal.

“That we’re out of strawberries.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

“... be used through biological processes, nitrogen has to be assimilated. Plants absorb nitrogen from the soil in the form of nitrate and ammonium. They can’t pull nitrogen directly from the ubiquitous di-nitrogen in the air. In aerobic soils where nitrification can occur, nitrate is usually the predominant form of available nitrogen that is absorbed. However this is not always the case as ammonia can predominate in grasslands and in flooded, anaerobic soils like rice paddies. Plant roots themselves can affect the abundance of various forms of nitrogen by changing the pH and secreting organic compounds or oxygen. This influences microbial activities–”

“Is there more about this in this book?”

Riza pauses, scans the page she was reading and the following one, then switches to the table of contents.
“No sir. This is only a brief summary, so you’d understand the next chapter.”
“Alright. Jot that part down, please, Lieutenant, and make a note to borrow a book about nitrogen assimilation.”
“On it, sir.”

Riza copies the small paragraph in her notebook quickly, adds the reminder to borrow a book about nitrogen assimilation, and underlines it. She looks up. The Colonel hasn’t moved. He’s sitting opposite from her on the small table in his kitchen, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers, his eyes narrowed.

Just as she puts her pen down, his expression relaxes. He might have heard the scratching on the paper stop.

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you, Lieutenant. I should maybe hire a secretary.”
“It’s okay, sir,” she replies with a smile she hopes he can hear. “I’m very happy to help.”
“You already help me tremendously, be sure of that.”
“I'm glad, sir.”

Riza pauses, then clears her throat.
“If I may, though, I wasn’t talking about helping you. I was talking about helping Ishval.”
She is rewarded by a smile on the Colonel’s face. A fond one, not his usual smirk.

He says nothing, but he nods.
“Well, then, let’s keep on with that.”

Roy swallowed with a click that even Riza could hear. She acted as if she didn’t, and pinned the last of his medals on the blue wool of his uniform — one that he never got to wear before. He should have, however, what with what had happened at the 3rd Laboratory.

The medal was a red star on gold leaves, with two other tiny red stars pinned over the blue and yellow striped ribbon. She had the same on her own uniform, albeit with only one star.

Wounded in action.

Roy’s hand shot up to feel it, his other hand fidgeting by his side.

Riza absentmindedly smoothed his lapel, mind blank, her eyes scanning the row of medals, and the golden stars she’d added to his epaulettes, checking that everything was in order.

Roy had his old uniform mended at the last minute by his tailor. He’d put on some well needed weight, lately, but not all was back yet, and before the changes, the uniform fit awkwardly, sagging around his thinner waist.

But now, with a perfectly fitting uniform, freshly shaven and with his hair slicked back neatly, Roy looked like his old self.

Stunning.

Almost intimidating.

He read her mind, once again.
“How do I look?”
“Ready to make the women of the upper crust sell all of their jewellery in a blink to support whatever cause you’re championing.”
Roy huffed, tilting his chin.
“Oh, that good?”
Riza hummed.
“Hope I'll look even better at our wedding," he said with a soft smile, holding his hand out.

Instead of taking it like he was surely expecting, Riza put his sash in it. Green sash, lined with gold, for Amestris. The one that was worn when the occasion was neither a celebration nor a funeral.

“Get ready. The taxi is already waiting.”

She turned around to get their coats, not without a last glance at him. He looked both eager and nervous as he pulled the sash over his head, sliding it in place under his epaulettes with trained movements. Riza still spotted a small tremor in his fingers, not knowing if it was the injury, or stress. She tried not to think about it too much.

The Armstrong mansion sparkled like a diamond against the black velvet of the trees surrounding it, outshining the few stars usually visible in the skies of Central. Alex had obviously put a great spread for tonight, and Riza tried to convey the feeling of luxury and sophisticated beauty of the decoration to Roy. He was the one who would enjoy it the most. To her, it was merely a distraction, a lure for people who liked shiny things.

The only shiny thing she cherished was the solitaire on her ring finger.

She would have kept that thought for herself — it was corny and over the top — oh, Roy was rubbing off on her — but she could see he was tense, so she told him, as if in passing, while she led him under a row of golden lights towards the great stairs and the entrance. Indeed, the Armstrong mansion rivalled even the Fuhrer’s palace.

Roy relaxed at her words, his smile coming back, but he didn’t reply, and he didn’t open his eyes.

After a while he noted that the warm spring breeze smelled like jasmine, and Riza could only agree. It was faint, but it was there. After a couple of steps, she could see the white flowers climbing on a trellis, a little far away, out of the golden glow, and she told him.

“Captain Hawkeye.”

A voice rose as they’d just reached the foot of the stairs.

“Congratulations on the promotion. Mustang. Thought you’d been dismissed.”

The icy monocord was unmistakable, and thus Riza didn’t need to specify to Roy who was talking to him.

“What, General Armstrong? I didn’t — did you just say you’d missed me?” Roy’s smile turned into a smirk.
“Whatever. Nice row of medals, punk.”
“I bet you have more than I do, but I wouldn’t dare ask to feel them.”

Riza turned her face away from Olivier Armstrong’s death stare to hide her smile at Roy’s bold attempt at humour, until she was startled by the general’s own salve of short, dry laugh.

“Oh, just you try. Just you try. I just had my sword honed. Anyway, hurry, they're all already there." Her scowl said she had to welcome most of them.
“Will we have the delight to see General Hakuro there?”
“You’re dreaming, Mustang. Hakuro is, and I quote, far too busy. He’s sent one of his best emissaries.”
“Oh, no, don’t tell me–”
“Yes. You better be fast, if you want to catch Colonel Renault while he’s still relatively sober. Might still be too late, though.”

When they didn't move fast enough for her liking, she added: "Both of you, out of my sight, now."
"I'm afraid I'm slightly ahead on that, General," Roy replied with a bow before Riza pulled him back on track. Armstrong groaned and walked past them.

Roy didn't pull his head up until the clacking of the officer's boots disappeared behind them. Riza directed him to the stairs, even if he would have dealt with them easily, now. It had become automatic, she didn’t even think about this kind of thing anymore. And if it saved Roy some struggle, she would keep going.

"Is it me, or was she pissed?"
"She looked so."
"I bet Alex only warned her at the last minute so she couldn't refuse – same for Hakuro. But we kinda need to have her here. She's the one who's pushed this the most."
"Haven't you? Haven't we, with the Xing report?"
"We have, but not as overtly. And she's next in line now. Having her here will be a real boost."

A round of applause coming from the inside of the mansion stopped Roy and pushed them both to climb the stairs faster.

They stayed in sync, keeping the exact same pace seamlessly, Riza noticed as she saw their feet reach the steps at the exact same time. That sight warmed her. She didn't really want to be there, but as long as they stayed together, it'd be okay. She just had to let Roy handle it. It was his thing.

They'd entered the big ballroom as Alex was just done with the introduction of the evening, and they stayed to the side as he explained why they were all there and what would be done with the money collected. There would be music, a small show of alchemy by Alex himself — Roy had politely declined participating — and of course lots of delicious food and a dance by the end.

Riza already felt dizzy. There were so many people. She and Roy stuck out like a sore thumb with their dress uniforms in the middle of fancy ballroom gowns and tuxedos.

She told Roy, who smirked.
"It's okay. We're not here to blend in. We want to be seen."

And attract would be benefactors. Right.

Taking advantage of their relatively quiet position further back from the crowd, Riza took her time to describe the room and the relative locations of everything. Small stage by the right, three o'clock, where Armstrong was talking from, ten to fifteen metres. Most of the guests concentrated in front of it, attentive to him now flexing around and presenting the small orchestra that was settling next to him — Roy nodded. He could hear a couple of string instruments tuning. The room itself had a dancing area just in front of the stage, then ten round tables organised in a semi-circle. Few chairs. The tables were made to hold food and drinks, and to have people move from one place to another, not for them to settle for the evening. There was a free area in front of them, where some people had already gathered in small groups to chat. Riza noticed there were more blue uniforms there, mostly Central high ranked officers, but also some lone low ranks. She spotted Sergeant Broch eyeing the buffet that a great number of butlers were setting up. Said buffet was on their left, starting from ten o’clock, and then ran along the wall opposite them up until the circle of tables.

Roy had listened to everything, eyes closed and brow furrowed, his right hand fiddling with his State Alchemist watch chain in his pocket. Crowd, noise, furniture in the way. That was a lot, for a first public outing.

Riza had a step to the side, nudging him.
"You talk, I do the rest."
"My pleasure,” he replied with a small smile. “But you'll have to speak about the Xing report. It's yours."
"You know it by heart. I read all of it to you, and you even wrote parts of it."
Roy tutted.
"I merely guided you. You did all the work. You deserve to be known for it."
"The promotion is more than enough."

Roy was visibly going to answer something silly when a thin, black haired man with a goatee and a very fancy tuxedo appeared out of nowhere.

"If it isn't our Flame Alchemist!"

Riza saw Roy frown lightly, then take a cautious neutral expression. She didn't know who that man was, and neither did he — he wasn't that good at recognizing voices out of his close circle, anyway, but if Riza had never seen this man, he was far, very far from Roy's short number of friends. She had a slight step in front of Roy, ever the bodyguard.

"I thought you'd been dismissed," the man went on, seemingly oblivious. "And you would be Lieut– sorry, Captain Hawkeye! Heroes of Ishval, Promised Day saviours, you should be on stage, the both of you, not standing by the corner like this!"
"And who would you be?" Roy asked, with a polite smile that decidedly didn't reach his now open eyes — no one would notice, expecting a dead stare from him, but it was blatant to Riza.
"Oh, I'm lacking all manners, am I? Antonio Cerraldi," the man said, holding out a manicured hand towards Roy.
"Mr Cerraldi wants to shake your hand, sir. At twelve."
Roy tentatively held out his own — gloved — hand, ready to search for Cerraldi's, but the man caught it before he could, giving him a firm shake.

"Cerraldi motors. And you used to make cannons, didn't you?"
"Cannons, ammunition, we're also responsible for the K-98," he said, with a wink at Riza. "You basically worked for us, Captain. When the best sniper in the country choses your rifle…"
"The K-98 was the standard dotation rifle for snipers, sir. I didn't have a say in this."
"Ah but it worked just the same for our investors," he said with another wink. He turned back to Roy. "You're not part of the alchemist show?"

Cerraldi had a nod towards the little stage where Armstrong had pushed the orchestra back, and was preparing to show off his skills, flexing again. Riza described it to Roy, which earned a smile and a glance from Cerraldi.

"I'm pretty sure the Armstrongs would rather this show stay, ah, family friendly." Roy held out his hand, showing his cane. "My aim is not as good as it used to be."
"The Ishvalans sure must be relieved of that." Cerraldi said, suddenly serious, his blue eyes turning from sparkling to dark.

Riza didn't know what to make of that man.

And of course Roy had to bounce off that, with a sneer.
"Well they're probably even rejoicing. I'll be easier to catch, and they can take their time killing me."
Riza swallowed her retort and kept her hand by her side. She could have slapped him. Not only that wasn't funny at all, but that was the best way to discourage a potential benefactor — and one of the wealthiest of the evening, she'd bet.

Except the reaction from Cerraldi was the contrary from what she was expecting.

The man had a frank, genuine laugh.
"Indeed! I like you, Brigadier General." He pointed at Roy, nevermind that it was useless. "I like the way you think. And still, you're going back there to try and help them?"
"What are you doing here, Mr Cerraldi?" Roy replied with another question. "What's an arms seller who made a fortune thanks to our extermination war doing at a charity ball for the reconstruction?"
Riza could only stand back and watch them. They all had the answer, of course.
"Same thing as you, I guess." Cerraldi stopped a waiter to catch a random co*cktail from his tray, not without a small wink at Riza. "Cleaning up my act."
"You're mistaken. I'm not doing this for myself."
"Oh? And what's the difference?"

Roy frowned, and opened his mouth, only to be once again cut short by a newcomer.

"You're here!"

It was a tall, broad shouldered blond, who bowed his head towards first Riza, then Roy. "Captain. Brigadier General."
Cerraldi was looking at him from the corner of his eyes while sipping his co*cktail.
"I looked everywhere! Why do you always have to–"
"Excuse him," Cerraldi politely laughed. "My bodyguard has anxiety issues."
"You'd have some too, if your job was to protect someone like you."

The blond man seemed to regret what he'd just said, and at the same time Riza noticed Roy was stifling a laugh. She cleared her throat.

No, that wasn't funny.

The bodyguard bent to say something to Cerraldi, to which he reacted with a short laugh again, then excused himself with a seductive smile.
"I'm sorry, it seems I am awaited. Have to show my face on stage. Don't want to come, Brigadier General?"
"I'll pass, thank you."
"Fine. You'll be missing out. Your reputation precedes you, and there's a sheer number of beautiful women tonight," he said, his icy blue stare planted into Riza's eyes, an eyebrow raised.

Riza crossed her hands behind her back, giving him back his stare calmly. By her side, Roy shook his head.
"If I can't enjoy the view, what's the point?"
Cerraldi's eyes jumped from Riza, to Roy, back to Riza, and he tilted his chin, before bowing.
"It was nice to meet the famed Promised Day saviours. Be assured that I will make a generous donation to the charity fund tonight. Brigadier General. Captain. Don’t hesitate to contact me, should you need something I can grant, further down the road."

The bodyguard had something like a repressed salute, which told Riza he, too, must have been in the military at some point.

Both Roy and her bowed in response, and Riza watched Cerraldi's springy steps towards the other side of the room, before he and his bodyguard got lost in the crowd.

Roy patted Riza's shoulder with a smile, but said nothing. At least he looked like he enjoyed himself. Riza felt like changing subjects.
"What about I go fetch us some food and drinks?"

"Marcoh is coming towards us. Three o'clock."
Riza spotted a muscle tense in Roy's jaw, but he turned in the direction of the doctor with an amenable expression.

Marcoh wore an ill-fitting suit and his bowtie was askew. His eyes darted from Riza to Roy; Riza was acknowledged by a nod. He had not let go of his skittish demeanour.

"Brigadier General Mustang."
"Hello, Doctor. We've heard you've been busy in the south of Ishval.”
“Pretty busy, yes, yes.” He was wringing his hands. Was it his usual, or was it something else?
“I’m happy the stone is put to good use.”

Ah, of course.

Riza looked at Marcoh pointedly; count on Roy to find a way to push the right buttons. He might have gotten the doctor’s tension somehow, and decided to strike before the conversation got bogged down.

Marcoh looked down, and put his hands in his pockets.

“It works perfectly. I still don’t get–”
“Let it go, Doctor.” Roy kept his voice soft, but it rang like an order. “How many people have you managed to heal yet?”
“Hah,” Marcoh kept his eyes down, and nervously danced from one foot to the other. “A couple hundred, maybe. Maybe more. We don’t exactly keep a tally. Even when we settle in a camp with registered numbers, they keep on coming. I don’t even know where they come from.” He cleared his throat, then let out, very low: “I wouldn’t have thought there were that many left. Not after what we did.”
“It’s a good thing, don’t you think?”
“I do, I do. I… I mean we heal a lot of them. There was a cholera outbreak in one camp at the Aerugan border, and we had to rush there a month ago. We were quick enough to avoid any deaths, and I’m very proud of that. I pray every night that the stone holds for a little longer.”
“We’re here to work on a way to avoid these outbreaks, Doctor. With sound infrastructure, cholera will be a thing of the past soon enough, and we won’t need the stone for that. We just have to keep going.”
Marcoh’s eyes finally shot up, this time fixating on Roy’s face.
“You’re part of the restoration project?”
“Why would I be here, if not?”
“I thought…”
“I promised you to do what I could to help Ishval if you agreed to heal me with the stone. But I never said I wouldn’t help if it didn’t work.”

The doctor kept looking at Roy, his sharp eyes getting softer. He nodded once, which Riza commented on for Roy’s benefit. It attracted the doctor’s attention to her. Marcoh had a small smile, and she smiled back.

“Captain Hawkeye!”

Riza turned around to find Colonel Smith. He took her by the shoulder and pulled her with him, away from Roy. Riza saw the sudden tension in Roy's shoulders as she disappeared from his side — even when she wasn’t effectively guiding him, they kept their elbows locked together.

“I am discussing your stellar report on Xing import-export and how to improve commercial routes and relationships. Come and make a little exposé for the benefit of Mrs Hendricks and Mrs von Richtofen, please, Captain. They can’t wait to meet yet another successful female officer, too. You are walking in General Armstrong’s footsteps!”

Riza stiffened, and threw a panicked glance at Roy — to no avail, of course. He just stood surprised, his face a little blank. She forced herself to reply.
“Right away, Colonel Smith. Just let me–”
Roy had a small smile — the one he kept for her, the one that had nothing to do with his smirk — and tilted his head to the side.
“I’m sure Doctor Marcoh can help me if need be. Go, Captain, make them cough up the money.”
Now he smirked, while Riza could see Smith scowl at the last remark from the corner of her eyes.

"Mustang. Living up to your reputation, I see."

Roy didn't react more than with widening his smirk, but the lack of rank in Smith's mouth felt like a serious insult to Riza.

And no.

No.

Riza felt bad for leaving Roy, of course, but above all, she didn’t want to be thrown alone in Smith’s and these women’s claws. She needed Roy by her side. She might be good at reports, she had none of his charms, none of his wits, none of his reputation. She was nothing. She was a field soldier, not a ballroom officer.

But how to convey that to him, without a meaningful but discreet glance only he could decode?

"Brigadier General. Will you be alright?"

Smith was pulling on her arm. She was trapped.

A subtle change passed over Roy's features. Riza knew he didn't like this rank, and barely ever used it. Roy smacked his lips. He was powerless, and she knew it. Now that he had stated he was fine with Marcoh, Smith wouldn't let him tag along on the excuse of his blindness. Obviously, and that wasn't the first time Riza could notice, Smith didn't like Roy very much.
"It'll be fine, Captain. Don't worry." He could only encourage her.
Marcoh, not knowing they were not talking about Roy but about her, had a soothing nod.
"I'll take care of him."

Riza sighed, and followed Smith, composing a professional face.

Smith, his cheekbones and nose uncharacteristically red and carrying the smell of fancy alcohol, was grumbling about "undeserving punks" in his beard. He took Riza to the other side of the room, to her great dismay. She kept trying to spot Roy through the crowd, but soon lost sight of him.

Smith stopped next to the buffet, in front of a couple of women with intricate hairdos and sparkly evening gowns, one of them younger than Riza would have imagined – barely older than she was herself. The other would have been around fifty. They eyed her with curiosity.

"My ladies, this is Captain Hawkeye, whom I was talking about," Smith bowed to them both, pushing Riza further. "She is the one who wrote the Xing import-export analysis. It was in fact her idea."

Smith might be a little set in the old ways, and think Roy was an upstart, he didn't take credit in her place — though that might be because he would anyway get credit from it just from her being under his orders. But Riza decided to take it as a good sign and go with it.

She didn't have a choice anyway.

Smith offered to go get them all drinks, and left Riza alone to handle the two upper class women. She did a quick summary of the well over hundred page report she had compiled in her free time — with Roy's help, but she doubted he would ever acknowledge that in public — for the two women, then replied to their questions.

Fairly vain questions. They were mostly interested in what new fancy delicacies could be imported from Xing through a shorter route that the detour through Creta didn't allow, rather than in the more important exchanges of wood, wheat, rice, fruits and meat in large quantities that would certainly shape both countries in the future. Riza had focused on basic goods and objects, and lowering prices, and had trouble finding things to talk about with the two women. She obviously bored them pretty quickly, and they changed subjects.

"How is it, being a woman soldier?" The older one, a skinny blonde with pale blue eyes, asked. "You were in Ishval, if I'm not mistaken?"

Riza repressed a shudder. Roy would know what to answer. She did not. The woman looked eager, more than curious.

Over time, after being there when Roy had met more and more of this type of people in situations like this, Riza had understood that while they were swimming in money and could get whatever they wanted, the wealthy women of Central or East city alike only lacked one thing: control over their own lives.

Riza had chosen her path.

What she had done with said freedom of choice was another matter. She didn't know if she was envious or pitied them.

But back when she’d started understanding this, she was Roy’s shadow. Barely noticeable, maybe for them to the level of the waiters. A bodyguard. Not someone to gush about. Questions and remarks weren't directed at her, and she even took pleasure in witnessing Roy replying to such bold and stupid questions in a manner too fine for them to even comprehend he was sometimes mocking them.

Riza wasn’t used to the attention being focused on her, and she hated it.

Seeing them be so eager to talk about the war, especially during this event, made her feel slightly dizzy. She looked at the golden sequins on the thin and blonde older woman's otherwise pretty classical dress, the pink satin and long sleeves of the chubby younger one's, the abundance of jewellery, gold, silver, precious gems that shone a cruel gleam in the otherwise soft light of the ballroom. She swam in the smell of fine perfume — too much of it, did they pour the bottle on themselves? it didn’t help her dizziness — and she felt like she belonged to another species altogether.

Make them cough up the money.

"Yes, I was in Ishval."
"Of course she was, Greta," the young brunette said immediately, saving Riza from having to develop. "Can't you see the medal? That one with light blue and white stripes. My brother has the same. But he was in communications," she waved her brother aside quickly. "This girl, Greta, she's the Hawk's Eye!"
"The Hawk's Eye was a woman?!"
"My, Greta, where were you? It was all over the news!" The brunette turned towards Riza. "You were such an inspiration for my little sister. She dreamed about being a hero like you. She even made a scene once so our parents had to buy her a little sniper costume. She was so cute!"

Riza, nauseous, focused entirely on keeping a straight face.

That, she was good at.

"I admit," Greta chuckled, hiding her teeth with a hand covered in big, expensive green stones. Emeralds, maybe. Roy would have known. "That I was more into looking for articles about the Flame Alchemist. Such handsome young man, and a charming fellow. I got to meet him once, at Grumman's Christmas ball, when Robert was supervising his factories in East City. If not for Robert–"

Smith came back with a waiter, who offered champagne flutes to everyone. The delicately shaped glass felt alien in Riza’s square, boyish hand, the calluses visible through the clear drink.

If that wasn’t enough, the women carried on as if Smith wasn’t even there.

"Oh, you can forget about the Flame Alchemist," the brunette said with a look Riza couldn't have mistaken. "He was injured during the attack on Central. His team valiantly protected the First Lady. No one knows what happened, but he’s blind now. You really should read the papers, Greta, you’re missing all the gossip. He got an honorary promotion to Brigadier General and was dismissed."
“Oh, poor thing. I hear he’s here, though?”
“Yes, he is, and what, Mrs von Richtofen, you want us to keep cripples in the army now?” Smith, his nose and cheeks redder than ever, took part in the conversation with a low chuckle.

Riza kept her straight face. She could feel her own pulse in her fingertips. The background music she had not noticed previously suddenly felt loud enough to hurt her ears.

“I was thinking more about how he wasn’t married. He should have taken a wife years ago, but now he won’t find anyone to take care of him.”

Riza was lucky she was holding her flute in her right hand, when the left uncontrollably curled into a fist, the thin metal ring on her finger almost burning her palm.

“Knowing the beast, he will try anyway. I mean, have you seen him parading tonight? I don’t think he should be allowed to keep wearing the uniform. But, we do that for old veterans, and I do hope to be allowed to keep my future General outfit, so.”

The women and Smith alike laughed. Smith patted Riza’s shoulder, and she forced herself to look him in the eye without blinking. And without aiming for his throat.

“I know you feel a sense of duty for him, Captain, after all the time you’ve spent under his command, but you need to think about your own climb. He’s not your superior anymore, he’s a civilian. He’s nothing. If you keep associating with him in public, you will destroy your image. He’s finished. This Ishval thing is just a blind man grasping at whatever the army is throwing at him. To be honest–” Smith finished his glass in one gulp, “ –I think rebuilding is bullsh*t. What counts is the railroad. You did an astounding piece with that report, and your promotion is well deserved. It proves we don’t need Ishval. We just need the land. Frankly, it’d be easier for everyone if it stayed empty of people, especially Ishvalans with their backwards–”

There was a crystalline sound, and a sharp pain in Riza’s hand. She looked down in surprise at her own hand, curled around the remnants of her flute, the delicate glass now shards in her palm. Not losing her mask of calm, however — she was frozen inside, should have felt it, should have recognized the ice creeping up from her stomach, just like before she pulled the trigger, back then, autopilot mode was never a good thing — and keeping a straight face, she turned to an horrified Smith.

A waiter had come running and was trying to look at her hand. She gently pushed him away, directing him to the glass pieces on the ground.

“My apologies, Colonel." Riza bowed slightly.
"I think I might have had too much to drink, and drifted off. May I retire to attend to my hand?”
“Of — of course, Captain. Hurry.” Smith stammered, looking alternatively at the blood dripping from Riza’s hand and what she knew to be her emotionless face.

She bowed in turn to the now silent ladies with round eyes.
“Mrs von Richthofen. Mrs Hendricks.” She turned around at once and walked at a briskly pace, and wasn’t yet far enough when Smith commented on her to the women.

“You know, she’s a phenomenal asset… but… Ishval… war… you never really get rid of it. I wonder what triggered it.”

Riza felt tears surge in her eyes, unable to tell if they were of shame or rage. She kept her pace steady until she exited the ballroom, and ran following the bathroom signs in the corridor.

She bent over the sink, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

Her palm was cut in three places, only one deep enough to be a little worrying. But she'd had far worse. A big drop of blood splattered on the white porcelain, with a flat sound that filled her hyperaware ears. That pushed her to open the tap and run her hand under it, the white noise of the water oddly soothing.

She pulled on the remaining shards of glass without so much as a wince, watching the blood surge and dissolve in the running water.

The biggest piece proved to be a small challenge, and she opened the cut further when she took it off.
"sh*t."

All the shards out, she wiggled her fingers. No problems there. The pain was sharp when she moved, but it was superficial. Nothing like–

Roy. How long had it been? How was he? She ought to–

Sharp knocks on the bathroom door.

"Captain, you in here?"

Riza jumped, and cut the water. She briefly asked herself if she should hide, and not answer — that was stupid. But who–

"General Armstrong here. Open the door, Captain."

Riza obeyed the direct order.

Olivia Armstrong was alone behind the door, no change in her ever sullen expression.

"A waiter told me you broke a flute and were bleeding. What happened?"
Slightly raised eyebrow.
"I don't know. I must have drifted off," Riza offered again as an explanation.
Armstrong scowled deeper.
"Right. I'm here because sadly, we don't have female waiters. Etiquette says I can't send you a male one. Bullsh*t. I don't think you'd ask for a female doc only if you were injured on the front."
"No, General."
"Here." She handed Riza a handful of gauze, a rolled band and a bottle of antiseptic. "I trust you can take care of yourself."
"Yes, General. Thank you."
Armstrong nodded, then turned around to leave.
"Next time you break one of the Armstrong flutes, Captain, be sure it's by throwing it in Smith's face. Or Mustang's, but I have heard you have preferences."

This obviously didn't warrant an answer, and Riza was relieved to close the door behind her, because for some reason tears had surged again in her eyes and her throat was tight.

She took care of the wound quickly and efficiently, just like she'd been trained to do on the field — and the more she thought about it, the more this evening felt like a battle.

She wasn't made to wade through battle. She was a sniper. Made to hide and observe, up and away.

Once she felt satisfied with the bandage on her hand, she checked her uniform. She was happily surprised to see there was not a single speck of blood on it. A couple of slightly darker stains on her sleeve where most of the champagne had splashed, and that was it.

She adjusted her hair tie, dared a quick look in the mirror and exited the bathroom. Now she wouldn't stop for anyone but Roy.

She stood on the side of the ballroom, scanning the crowd. She spotted Alex, showing off with big gestures as usual, his sister downing drinks by the buffet, Miles engaging with a great number of people.

But no signs of Roy.

Riza dived into the sea of black suits and shiny dresses, the manners and posture of wealthy civilians once again making her feel out of place. She was out of place; her place was by Roy's side, scanning the crowd, covering his back while he took care of social formalities, getting as much money out of the Central wealthy as he could.

But judging by Smith's view of him, she was afraid he wouldn't even be offered the opportunity to do this much anymore, or only crumbs of what he used to be, like earlier this evening.

Riza's heart beat faster in her chest as she kept turning around and not finding him. Soon, she felt lost and dizzy again. The crowd was milling about like ants, ants in sequins and wearing black silk top hats.

She spotted Marcoh's grey hair from afar, and swooped on him like a bird of prey.

"Doctor Marcoh. Where is R — where is Brigadier General Mustang?"
Marcoh jumped.
"Captain. I — he, he left my side after a while. Told me he could get by by himself and I didn't want to offend–"
"It's alright, doctor," she said in her calmest tone while internally cursing Roy's idiocy, "but where did he go?"
"I have no idea, Captain. He went–" Marcoh paused to look around the room. "This way." He was showing a far corner Riza had not yet explored, expecting Roy to keep in the middle of it all, what with his love for attention. She thanked the doctor, and weaved in and out between the chatty attendants until the crowd began to thin out.

She spotted a flash of blue between the black suits, by the wall, and fought against the crowd's pull to go further.

Her throat tightened at once when she finally saw him.

He was standing by the wall, leaning against it. It could have looked casual, but Riza knew it wasn't. Roy was too pale, the hand on his cane — the other was in his pocket — white at the knuckles. His face was blank. He seemed lost in thoughts, and not the best ones.

"Roy!"
It poured out of her mouth at once, and to hell with bystanders.

She was afraid to startle him, but he just tilted his head up in her direction. She refrained from running towards him, though, and approached him as casually as she could.

"Hawkeye," he smiled briefly, and she was happy to see him relax slightly. She relaxed, too.
"Why did you leave Marcoh's side?"
"Needed fresh air," he shrugged. It wasn't very convincing.
"That is not the way outside," she remarked.
"Figuratively."
"Maybe you do need to get outside. You're sweating."
"Am I?"
"Let me–"
Riza pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, and instead of handing it to Roy, she wiped his brow. She felt his hand leave his pocket and rest on her hip.
"We are in public, Captain. Way to make people talk."
"I don't give a single sh*t about people talking anymore."
Roy frowned.
"What happened?"
"Outside. Let's go."
"Slowly, then," he relented, and finally detached from the wall. Riza understood at once. He was supporting his left side.
"Roy, what happened?"
"Outside, you said."
"Why are you hurt?"
"I'm not hurt. I bumped into someone quite roughly and woke up an old wound. That's different."
"You should sit down."
"Well, you'll find us a seat outside."
Riza huffed, then offered him her arm. He took it swiftly, gently pressing around her elbow. She started slowly but steadily, and the crowd felt smaller, suddenly, less menacing.

But they had not walked ten metres when her eyes fell on the piercing gaze of a tall man in a blue uniform.

Enfield.

And judging by his expression, he had seen everything.

Riza froze.

Roy pressed against her arm again.
"Hawkeye?"

Riza looked away from Enfield, and deliberately went forward. She started walking again, staying silent until they reached the door to the gardens.

Only then did she notice the music had been too loud again, the temperature too high. She turned her head to see Roy breathe in deeply, eyes closed.

"Let's find a place to sit."

She spotted a bench easily, a little remote from the mansion, but still close enough to be under the small strings of light that adorned its surroundings. She didn't want to make Roy walk too far. The gardens were more or less empty, save from a couple of people who, like them, seemed to want some fresh air, or needed a smoke. None of them looked at them or tried to spark conversation. She showed the seat to Roy, who plumped down with a grunt, his hand on his side. She protectively sat by his left.
"Is anyone around?" Roy mumbled.
"No."
"Could anyone see?"
"Not without me seeing them first."
"Good," he said, and rested his head on her shoulder, sighing deeply. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Finding me."

They sat in silence, cooling off. After a short while, Riza said what was burning her lips.
"It doesn't matter if anyone sees us, now. Grumman knows. Lieutenant Enfield saw us, before we exited the ballroom. He's going to tell Smith, and judging by–"
"To be fair, I'm actually surprised Rebecca didn't tell it to more than Havoc."

Roy's hand found hers, and he intertwined their fingers. Riza didn't have the time to pull away.

He jerked upwards from her shoulder.
"What is this? What happened?"
"Roy, it's okay–"
"No, it's not okay. What happened? Who did that to you? I'm going to–"
"I did that to myself. It was an accident. I broke my glass of champagne and cut my hand on the shards. End of story."
Roy's expression turned sour. The contrast between his knee jerk reaction and the gentle way he cradled her injured hand in his pulled at her heart.
"No, it's not. I can tell there's something you're not telling me." He stopped, his thumb caressing the top of her hand through the bandage. When he tilted his head back to her, he looked more sad than betrayed.
"I thought we were supposed to tell."
"I did have to extract it from you, the last time."
"Yeah. And I'm sorry."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Riza shook her head and sighed.

"I'll tell you. Everything. Only if you swear to stay calm. And to let me handle what directly concerns me and my work."
Roy scowled at her words, but he had a sharp nod. Riza went on: "If you want to pass your nerves you are free to address what was said about you. Just don't do anything on my behalf. Please."
Roy had a slower nod. As if he was expecting something bad.

Riza told him. She wanted to tell everything in the right order, to stay cold and collected and treat it like a report. She was good at this. She knew how to report even the worst of news — Ishval had trained her. But no.

It infuriated her to see herself burst out at once, stumble on words, her voice wavering when she mentioned the comments Smith had on Roy, and breaking fully when she recalled what he had taken from her analysis.

She had worked hard on this. She wanted to prove Ishval was vital to a sound economy in the East, even the country. And what she did was the contrary. He took her report, twisted it for it to say what he wanted to read, and declared Ishval should stay barren. And went to the Charity ball, where they were raising funds to rebuild, to spit his bile to whoever would listen.

And Riza had been promoted for this.

"You know you weren't." Roy's voice finally rose, low and soothing. He had passed an arm around her shoulders, his hand pressing on her upper arm. Riza barely managed not to cry — she felt her eyes sting, but kept it under control with deep breaths, focusing on Roy. He kept caressing her shoulder, and kissed her. First on the cheek, then the forehead. Riza vaguely observed he might have done so twice because he didn't get the right place first.

She turned at once, and stole a furtive kiss on his lips. He smiled in response, his soft smile, and rested his head against hers.

No one had approached their bench nor been in her field of vision since they'd sat. She felt relieved. But now the cat was fully out of the bag, and she was anxious of the repercussions. She couldn't argue she was just helping her disabled former boss. Not with his hand on her hips.

It seemed Roy had his own things to mull over, now. His free hand was fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, his cane resting at the crook of his elbow.
"I don't think I'll wear the uniform ever again. I heard stuff, too. People seem to mix up blind and deaf. Even though… I mean I would wear it just to piss them off, of course, but the whole thing… The medals. They feel heavy, you know?" He shook his head. "Not that it would lift anything from my shoulders, or that I want to lift anything. I deserve to be crushed under it. We all here deserve to choke on our medals. But now, working with Ishvalans, it feels… Arrogant, to wear this. Wrong. I can't help rebuilding while wearing something that's covered in their blood. My own hands are enough."
Riza placed her hand on his.
"What about Miles?"
"It's different. Miles, Falman, you, you're still in the army. Miles gets his supplies and equipment and everything from the military. He can't hide that. He has to be open about where this all comes from. But me, if I kept wearing it, it would be an insult."
"I assume you won't be wearing your uniform for our wedding, then?"
It had come out without her thinking too much about it, and Riza wasn't surprised to see Roy shudder before he answered.
"Especially not for our wedding, no. I thought I would. But no." Before she could say anything, he smiled and kissed her hand again, keeping it against his mouth. "Being dismissed has allowed me one good thing I would never have hoped for. I want to celebrate it."

He was right. He was very right, and that crushed Riza's heart.

Knowing it would be the last time she'd ever see him wearing it — he was a man of his word — she decided to get a good look at her future husband in his uniform.

He was still keeping her hand against his lips, eyes closed. He'd kept them mostly closed all evening. His expression had turned serene, as if he was happy with his decision. A couple of stray, thin locks of black hair had escaped from him slicking it all back, and hung over his forehead. The Brigadier General stars and stripes gleamed under the yellowish glow of the thin electric lights. The uniform looked deep blue in this low light.

Brigadier General.

He was so close to his goal, but the rug had been pulled from under his feet, and he would never reach it.

And yet he was still kicking, still fighting, still looking forward. Truth had been wrong. It might have taken his sight, it had only served to focus his vision.

She was taken by a sudden urge to hug him, kiss him, tell him how much he mattered to her and how much his strength and resilience had pulled her for years. And how much it kept doing so.

But she only freed her hand from his lips, to rest it on his nape.

"I think I will wear the uniform, if you don't mind."
"I don't. But I'm surprised."
"Why?"
"I thought…" He had a sudden embarrassed chuckle. "Well, my sisters, they were always dreaming about their wedding. Wedding dress especially. Sometimes it felt like the person they'd get married with mattered less than what they would wear. I thought… I thought, uh, women found this important."
"I never thought I would get married. I never dreamed about it. It never was something I wanted, until now. The dress doesn't matter."

Roy had a small nod, and finally opened his eyes, looking wistful.

"I — I do not own dresses that I find fine enough for a wedding." She saw him open his mouth, and went on before he could say anything about money. "And I don't want a dress you don't know. I want the uniform, because I know you know it by heart. I know you'll know what I look like. This is what's important for me."

Roy blinked, swallowed, and his expression blurred for a split second. Then he pulled her against him, tight, his hand gripping her shoulder, and nudged his face against her neck.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Roy’s shoulder hits a flat surface, violently. He has no time to understand what just happened, as he reels and falls, swallowing a yelp when his arm twists unnaturally under his back, and the scar in his side suffers from his abs trying to keep him balanced – and failing. The back of his head hits something hard with a thump.

Now he’s the one who’s on a flat surface. The ground. Is it the ground? He doesn’t know up from down right now. He’s forgotten why he was up in the first place. If he even was.

He lays still, until a small metallic noise jerks him upright — he would go and fight, but he can't, it’s all dark — he needs cover.

Duck and cover. Wait for instructions. Pass them on to your subordinates, send them when the path is clear, protect them—

Roy frantically feels around for something to hide behind, under, against, he doesn’t even know where the noise came from or what it was, or where he is — home? Nightmare? Ishval still? Hospital? Again?

Somehow he finds a corner and cowers against it. His back, right and left are covered. Now he can’t be surprised by something he couldn’t —

Oh.

That’s when the smell hits him. Strong disinfectant, nothing else. Panting, he brings his hands to his face, feeling the rough texture of the bandages against his cheeks, and faintly, as if from far away, his numb fingers register moisture on his closed eyelids. He presses them, as hard as he can. He used to see stars when he did that.

He used to see stars.

“Colonel.”

Roy startles, panic surging again and ebbing at once, for he knows this voice, this small, strained, tired voice. Quickly, that panic is replaced by shame. He curls in further on himself, hiding his face.

But he talks. His voice sounds hoarse. But he talks, because that’s the only link he has with her now. And he needs it.

“Hawkeye.”

There's a loud sigh. Relieved? Exasperated? Sad?

“You weren't listening. You fell. Are you alright?”

Roy wants to hold this voice against his heart, let it warm him when he feels so frozen. But he can’t. He’s there stuck in a hospital room corner, hiding his tears, and all of this in front of her.

He can’t.

He’s useless.

He doesn’t deserve her warmth.

He feels even worse when he tastes the poison that laces his words. But he can’t help it.
“How the f*ck do you think I’m feeling, Lieutenant?”
“Well I wouldn’t know, sir. That's why I ask. Did you hurt yourself? Should I call a nurse?”
Her voice doesn't waver. It’s croaky and weak, but the tone is matter of fact, as always.

He stops himself from lashing out at her, stops the words from crossing his lips, seals the bile in his throat. You can't do that to her. She’s only trying to help. Allow her.

He tenses, planting the nails of the fingers that respond to his will deep into his scalp.

A muffled wail exits his throat. Awful, shameful, but better than the words he swallowed. You can't hurt her. You’ve done it enough.

“No. Don’t call a nurse, please, Lieutenant.”
His voice sounds better than he feels. At least that’s a relief.

“Colonel. Are you hurt?”
“Mostly in my pride. I’ll live.”
It gets easier as he lets her voice in. He relaxes slowly.

“Good. Can you get up?”
“I guess. Lieutenant, what time is it?”
“Nineteen hundred. You got up half asleep, I think you were dreaming. You should go back to your bed. If the night nurse finds you like that…”

Right. He doesn’t want the nurse to find out. Hawkeye is enough. Hawkeye gets it.

He finally uncovers his face. Opens his eyes. And nothing changes.

Except there’s another sigh coming from somewhere, somewhere near and far at the same time.

This has a harder time escaping his mouth.
“Where are you, Lieutenant?”
“I’m… I’m in bed. If you only just turned to the left… yes, this way. If you walk straight you’ll find the foot of your bed.”

Roy clumsily gets up, fighting a new bout of vertigo once his back straightens. He’s lost again. The only thing that feels real is the ground under his bare feet and the wall against his hand, and–

“I’m sorry, sir. I can't — if I get up to help you, we risk getting tangled in the IV lines–”
“Yes. Don't be sorry. Just. Could you please keep talking? I’m not sure I can–”
“Sure, sir. And you can. I never doubted you, I'm not going to start.”

Riza torn from his side, Roy felt unbalanced.

The feeling was physical as well as mental ; Riza’s elbow had been his anchor, and now he was drifting, his body following the slightest of pushes from the people passing him by — too close, way too close. He quickly tried to revive the conversation with Marcoh, to hide and fight his awkwardness, to find a stable point in the middle of this dark, dangerous sea he was cruising. The room, that he knew was extremely big, suddenly felt oppressive, stuffed, crowded, the conversations around too loud for Roy to focus on his own thoughts properly amidst the ambiant chaos.

He tried, though.

The feeling was opposite from when he’d stood in the empty wreck of the Ishvalan amphitheatre, a little more than a week ago, yet not that much nicer. Too full, instead of too empty. Both troubling his balance, litteraly and figuratively.

“Do you have everything you need to heal them all, though?” He pushed. “I doubt it.”
“Of course not,” Marcoh replied with a huff.

Roy had a sudden increase of vertigo. For a split second, he couldn’t tell where Marcoh’s voice came from. He held on that voice like a lifeline, until the feeling recessed.

“The stone works well, but we can’t regrow limbs without human transmutation. Beside the fact that I don’t really feel like trying it again, I’m afraid that it’d mean losing the stone and–

… think the country can afford…

–I’d rather save more, than give back perfect bodies to a few.”

Roy hummed, then replied.
“So, you need money for prosthetics and automail? You should probably be telling that to all the wealthy people attending. Nothing better than kids missing limbs–

… I pity him, honestly. Just look at…

–and tear-jerker stories. They’re here for that. Explain to them why they’re here. Make them want to help. Feel guilty. You know how it works.”

… not that we could do anything. I guess we can give some, I mean, it’s not hurting anyone, but…

Roy blinked and tilted his head in the direction of Marcoh’s sigh.

Focus.

“Yes, we need money. But our biggest problem won’t be resolved by it. We can’t find enough mechanics who are willing to–

… Mustang…

–work with us.”

… wasting money, I think. I’m here for the food and drinks. And get an eyeful. Have you seen the Armstrong’s youngest?

“What?”
Roy frowned, and Marcoh had a desperate little chuckle. He was hard to follow. The people around them were too close, and their conversations too loud for Roy not to pick on them. They mixed with Marcoh’s speech, blurred his own thoughts.

Roy pulled at his uniform collar. One of the men around had doused himself in cologne. Not Marcoh, or he would have noticed earlier. Probably the one who had been bumping against his back twice, now. It seemed that since Riza had left, the crowd had grown tighter around him.

A woman’s high pitched laugh rose somewhere behind him, on the right, loud, screeching.

A hand cupped Roy's elbow and it was all he could do not to jump.

“Here,” Marcoh said, pulling him slightly to the left. “Just a couple of steps. Major Armstrong is done with his presentation, most people are hitting the buffet. We’re getting crowded.”

Roy relaxed a bit. He was not going insane. He nodded, spurring Marcoh on.

“Anyway, as I was saying, they don’t want to work for Ishvalans. Most mechanics are from or trained in Rush Valley, far enough from Ishval–

Now that Roy knew roughly where the people came from and where they were going, he could hear it in their voices, in the flow of footsteps.

Someone who smelled like cigarettes — not the same tobacco as Havoc, a stronger one — was nearby. Very near. He, or someone next to them, had a loud, gravely voice.

Brigadier General, my arse.

Roy tried to focus on Marcoh. Tried very hard.

“ –that they have never seen one in person. And yet–”
“And yet they hate them. Nothing new, here.”

… in his place I’d just have turned my service weapon against myself.

Roy closed his eyes and sighed.

How many times had he heard this, during the last months?

He knew many who'd rather he'd died. It wasn't new — they’d better get the f*ck in line.

“Mustang? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I–” Roy pressed the fingertips of his free hand to his closed eyelids. “I might need some fresh air.”
“You want me to take you to the gardens?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

A hand — Marcoh’s, who else — grasped his shoulder.
“You don’t look fine.”

Roy shrugged. But the hand stayed. He didn’t want Marcoh to take him anywhere. He didn't want anyone but Riza or his sisters doing that. People he knew he could fully trust. He was able to get around alone. Or he'd try, at least.

“I just need to get away from the crowd. It’s alright. Go fetch something for yourself at the buffet.”
“Will you–”
“I’m famous here, didn’t you hear?” Roy had a shark-like smile. “Worst situation, I get lost, bump into someone, and I’ll get redirected. It’s not exactly a war zone, Marcoh.”

Not a war zone, but it did feel like hostile territory, yes.

Don’t pretend you’re not scared, Mustang. They can smell it.

Marcoh hummed, then patted his shoulder before he said, his voice already sounding further away.
“As you wish, Colonel.”
“See you, Marcoh.”

Roy stood up a couple of seconds, trying to get a better feel of his surroundings — he needed a clear mind for that, and Marcoh stressed him out. He closed his eyes again. As stupid as it sounded, it helped. He felt somehow less vulnerable, less obviously weak, when he closed his eyes.

It helped him focus.

Light orchestral music came from a relative distance in front of him, one o’clock. So that was where the stage was. That meant the exit to the gardens was on his right, somewhere between three and six, buffet behind him, six to seven. People were still passing by him in the direction of the buffet, more slowly — the most hungry of them must have arrived there already.

To get to the gardens, he would have to cross most of the room, and no doubt a still steady flow of people moving to the buffet. Not counting the tables that he knew were somewhere in the middle. He really didn't feel like trying that. A safer option to find a calm place was to veer to the left, and find the wall. There were never that many people on the sides at these kinds of events. He would wait there for his malaise to subdue — focusing on his surroundings and doing the mental gymnastics to relocate everything around him already helped.

He needed to feel in control.

He needed–

“Oh, my, Brigadier General.”

Roy was pulled abruptly towards the back, from his left arm. He jumped, almost let go of the cane he held in this hand, and felt his whole body follow the pull. He regained his balance to the price of tensing his core muscles, being rewarded with a jolt of pain in his side.

“You’re on the wrong path, sir! Here, I’ll take you to the buffet.”
“I don't want to go–” Roy replied through gritted teeth, his right hand going to his left arm, where a big hand had taken hold of him.

“You’re very pale, sir, I think you need a drink.”

Oh no, wonder why.

Roy made a superhuman effort to smooth his features and look amenable enough.

“Thank you, mister–?”
“Oh, you don't know me. I'm just an admirer.”

Alright. An admirer. Would it have killed him to share his f*cking name? Now, be nice, Mustang. And remember why you’re here. You’re after this man’s money. Wouldn’t serve to incinerate him on the spot. That’d be quite counterproductive, actually.

This man, of whom you don’t know either name, occupation, face, whatever. Anything. Apart from the fact that he has a death grip on your arm.

Focus, Mustang.

The man was taller than him. Upper class tilt in his voice, that accent Chris had tried to push him to master for years (with mediocre results). Fine tobacco in his breath — not Havoc’s, that was for sure — and delicate aftershave, just enough of it to be smelled when he moved, not to announce him. The rustle of his clothes, too. There was a good amount of silk, there, for it to sound so smooth. At the very least it wasn’t the thick wool of the uniforms. Roy mentally thanked himself for his interest and difficult taste in men’s fashion. That gave him some information.

Okay. All that combined did smell like money, if Roy’s experience was any help. Do your job.

“Oh, really?” Roy’s tone sounded false, but then again, when wasn’t he false, in these circ*mstances? And who wasn’t?
“Yes, when I heard the Strong Arm and the Flame Alchemist would be there, I was immediately sold! What a presentation that was, from Major Armstrong!”
“I’m sure it was exquisite. Major Armstrong is our best asset in this endeavour. Given enough supplies, he could probably rebuild Ishval by himself in record time,” Roy had a little polite chuckle. If only he could get his arm back–

The man didn’t notice that, had a laugh of his own. If anything, his grip on his elbow got tighter.

“Ha-ha, I bet you people wish it was so easy, but I know why I’m here. You want our money. I’m planning a donation, but, if I may, I want to know where my money goes.”
“Well, as the Major explained, we still need a various set of supplies, for building, food, medical equipments, and a number of appliances–”
“No, I mean. No offence, but. What are you doing, there? You, Flame Alchemist. I am forever an admirer of your past exploits, but… I mean you can't even find the buffet in–”
“That's because I wasn't looking for it,” Roy couldn’t help but let out at once, in a quick, hoarse voice that was totally different from the one he’d just used. He cleared his throat and went on, noticing his arm was still entrapped.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can get around by myself. Anyway, my role in Ishval will be more oriented towards the restoration of a safe environment and a sound agriculture. You might be aware we have used and left around a considerable amount of ammunition, and especially landmines, before the State Alchemists were sent to–”
“But… What can you do about it?”
“My alchemy isn’t limited to producing fire. I can dismantle those landmines, and alter the chemistry of the soil. But, just like Major Armstrong, I still need supplies for that. This is where your money can help.”

There was a short silence.

The man’s hand was still on Roy’s arm, but it had lessened its grip, and maybe, Roy could–

“Oh Pete, who are you talking– Oh my god. The Flame Alchemist.”
“Himself,” The man — Pete, then — replied to the high pitched voice before Roy could, so he could only bow, as much as he could with the hand now grasping his arm tight again.

The newcomer was a woman, probably, but Roy wouldn’t bet : Master Sergeant Fuery could take incredibly high pitches when he was excited. And she sounded so. Exalted, even.

A light hand laid on Roy’s right shoulder, sending a new jolt of rejection through his body.

What now, were they leading a pincer attack?

“I’m Misako, and this is my husband Pete — I know him, I’m sure he hasn’t told you. Peter Harrington. Nice to meet you, Brigadier General.”
At least she was introducing herself. Roy had no idea who they were, though. Generic Central wealth. He knew the East City equivalent better.

“My pleasure. As I was saying to your husband, we–”

Mrs Harrington barely allowed time to reply to Roy, before starting again in a feverish tone.
“I want to thank you, sir, for your actions during these dreadful events. If not for your presence, we’d have lost the First Lady. Your great sacrifice should be shown as an example to any–”
“It’s alright, Mrs Harrington,” Roy hurried to cut the sudden flow of patriotic righteousness he knew was coming, his free hand up. “I’m a soldier. This is what we sign up for. My job is — was — to protect the country.”
“Such a stoic man, ever the soldier…” Roy tried not to blink at the tone the woman used. She went on, her hand now on his lapel. It was all he could not for him to step back. He’d always hated this — but before, he could see it coming, and avoid that kind of touch with grace. Now he could only endure.

“I feel for you, now, sir. A hero, and yet… I know you're still a bachelor,” she had a light chuckle. “I mean, all the women of Central know this, of course, such a young officer, flying through ranks…and you are still young, but now you need a caretaker... Do you have anyone to take care of you?”

Roy stumbled on his words. He had not expected to encounter this kind of discussion.
“Well, I–”
“Someone should find you a wife, General.”

Oh, no. Not this. Not again. Not now.

Over the years, Roy had met his fair share of women who would have him marry their daughter, cousin, best friend, or of course themselves. Hell, even Grumman had played that card — before Roy knew who his grand-daughter was. But as in love as he was with Riza, and had been for years, and as close as he was to effectively tying the knot with her, he’d never understood this compulsion to push people together this way.

Chris would hate him for that. Of course he knew. It was always the same things, the same patterns — and Roy had used them, of course, he’d use everything, and would still, that could give him a step ahead. Sometimes, during these events, it felt like his sisters weren’t the worst off in comparison to the wealthy women he’d meet. Nothing of what they had was theirs. If they wanted power or wealth they could only marry into it, or hope to find a husband who wouldn’t rob them of their family’s fortune. And of course, as soon as they became less than a novelty, or too old for their liking, their husbands started showing up in Madam Christmas’s registers. Good for her business, and Roy’s, but it was a shame for all these abandoned trophy wives, who withered away in their mansions, covered in furs and silk.

He knew this, but Roy would never understand. They even all barely knew each other when they married. He’d rather have fled. And enlisted — well, not that it’d done him or Riza any good. But Riza and him knew each other. Sometimes, it felt Riza knew him better than he knew himself, and it could both be reassuring and absolutely terrifying. And it had gone this way for years.

And he was, still, he was holding onto the idea that he loved her, he had for years, and she did, too, and while this wasn’t a conventional thing, it was something they both wanted. A wedding. It was nothing like their primary goal, but it was something to hold onto, to move forward.

Except now, in this woman’s mouth, there was a layer he didn’t like. One he hated, in fact, because he knew it was also there in his and Riza’s decision to marry, maybe one of the decisive arguments, and he would rather forget it.

But he couldn’t, right? That was why he was stuck there in the first place.

Roy motionned to leave, nauseous. They were still cornering him. He didn’t really know how long he’d drifted off, mind reeling. Not long, considering no one had spoken.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, miss, now maybe, I should–”
“I know it must be extra hard, dating when you’re — oh, but! Now that I think about it. Pete, remember Heidi?”
“Your friend from boarding school?”
“Yes! Oh, Brigadier General, I should set you up. You see, dear Heidi had a blind mother. She cared for her all the way until her untimely death. She would know how to take care of you, surely. And she has all it takes to be a military wife, that goes without saying. Perfect manners, best housewife. And she’s very pretty, too. She knows how to put herself forward. Surely, that would be an asset for such parties as this evening’s!”

Roy wasn’t exactly left speechless, but he had no idea what to answer to this. In the end, in the hierarchy of things, a disabled officer, whatever his rank, was just the same as an unmarried woman. Vulnerable. A problem. An anomaly. Something that needed rectification. He felt some compassion for this Heidi and was severely grossed out at once.

Should he tell? That she didn’t need to find him a wife, because he was getting married soon? Was it the solution, there? Should he allude to it, and let the rumour mill turn eventually? Instead, he tried to unlock the man’s hand on his own arm by tapping it, when he wanted nothing else but to break every single of its fingers.

“Well it's certainly very considerate of you to — Oh, I think I — I think I heard my name. I better go.”
“Are you sure?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“I, uh. Hum, blindness makes your other senses sharper, you know that, surely? I’m certain I heard my Lieut– Captain call me. She was supposed to… bring me drinks. Told her I would wait for her by the far wall. If you would be so kind as to–”
“We can take you there–”
“No! I mean — just push me in the right direction. I’ll be fine.”

The hand that had stayed on his arm for so long miraculously disappeared. Roy bowed.
“Thank you both, Mr and Mrs Harrington.”
“Be sure we’ll be making a generous donation, Brigadier General.”
“And the restoration party will be so grateful to you for it. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Goodbye.”

Roy hurried and walked straight ahead to leave the overbearing couple behind, then had a sharp turn toward the wall on his left, too sharp, too rushed, and landed with his left side directly into something hard and sharp and weirdly shaped, that stumbled away with only a small screech on the polished floors.

Luckily for Roy and his pride, all the air left his lungs at once, and he stayed utterly silent as he folded in on himself, the burn in his side somehow awaking at once. A stray chair? Maybe? It didn’t sound like he’d broken anything or hurt anyone.

His right arm curled around his waist, he pushed himself to gasp for air as quietly as possible, praying to any and every god he could think of that no one had seen him, and setting to walk again. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes when he forced himself not to limp and moved his left arm to swipe his cane in front of him at the same time, until it hit something that, after a clumsy investigation, turned out to be the wall he was looking for.

Only then did he allow a couple of hiccups to escape his lips, once resting against the wall.

He measured his breath, feeling the pain and anguish recede. Slowly. He didn’t count the time, nor did he check. It all felt cloudy — he’d used all his might to keep chatting and to find a resting place. Now that he felt at least relatively safe, his thoughts escaped him like the white sands of Ishval would flow through his fingers.

He needed out. He needed to escape this place, these people, whatever. He needed–

“Roy!”

–Riza.

“We should get back inside. Do what we’re here for.”

Roy nudged his head further into Riza’s neck. She was warm. Her bergamot perfume mingled oddly nicely with the garden’s strong jasmine scent. The respite had been needed.

It was still.

He’d underestimated the amount of self control and strength parading at a charity ball in his current state and position would have been, even with his past aura. He wasn’t even sure he was realising all that had happened yet.

Because they were still there.

You don’t fully debrief while still in battle.

“Don’t wanna.”
“Roy…”
“Aren’t we good here?”
“Roy.”

The cool breeze wasn’t cold enough to be chilly, but perfect for their heavy dress uniforms. The music from the orchestra — the ball must have started now — floated through the gardens in a nice, almost eerie backdrop. It was a slow, almost melancholic tune, and Roy wondered who would have chosen this for a charity ball. But from there, with his head on Riza’s shoulder, it felt nice.

Quiet. Soft. Safe.

Like he’d finally got a hold of himself.

“We really should go.”

Riza pushed him gently away, and Roy straightened his back.

“What’s wrong?”

Of course, she saw. She saw what he had not managed to hide, be it either the tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, or a sudden paleness. Could be his eyes, too. They betrayed him more often now, it seemed. Vanessa had been the one who told him.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Mustang? Can you tell her? Do you want to tell her?

You have to. Remember, you owe her this. You owe her everything.

Roy dropped his head, both hands rubbing his thighs.
“The crowd. The people. We just talked about it. I’m tired. I was expecting this to be a piece of cake, and I forgot it wouldn’t be as easy as it used to be. I admit I preferred when they hated me for being an upstart, or too young, or too lazy. Now…”

“Well, Smith still does, if it’s any reassurance,” Riza quipped with a small pat on his hand, stopping his repeated movement on his legs.

“I had no doubt about it,” Roy scoffed. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”
“Well, if you and Grumman are right, I will have to deal with Hakuro soon. That’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.”
“I would fear Hakuro more, honestly. He’s not very bright, but he can be vicious. By the way, have you spotted Renault?”
“I was too… busy. You want to talk to him?”

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose.

Renault wasn't a bad guy, nor even an annoying one per se —- in fact, he used to be a pretty solid soldier, from what Roy had heard.

The key part was used. Renault had come back from Ishval with a taste for alcohol, or rather, a taste for drowning everything in it. Him and Roy had never crossed paths there ; but Renault had been in charge of a number of specific actions that rang quite too close to home.

Everyone dealt with what they’d done in Ishval differently. While the guy might have needed help, or a good shake, back then, it was too late, now.

“I don’t want to. But it might be a good idea to try. Though the General was probably right when she warned us earlier.”

Roy motionned to check his watch, and heard Riza open her mouth — she was ready to get ahead of him and tell him, because it was easier, and faster, and she wanted to help, as usual — and then decide against it. Roy didn’t hide his smile. They both had done a lot of progress with all this.

His fingertips found the raised bumps and the exposed hands. Quarter past eleven. Indeed, the ball was supposed to start at eleven.

But if they wanted to speak to Renault and for it to be actually useful, they were approximately three hours late.

Still, they had to try. He could feel an unrest build in his stomach, and Riza felt off next to him. If they stayed outside much longer, alone together, they wouldn’t be able to come back.

Indeed, when they did, it felt like a whirlwind. The music was suddenly too loud, no matter the slow tempo and wistful tune. The heat bothered Roy instantly. People started accidentally brushing against him here and there, even with Riza’s warnings — to him, or to them. He ground his teeth. They just had to get through it. Riza was right. It was their purpose to stay and smile and make money ; they had to come back.

But the worst, was that he felt Riza tense, too. He relied on her, her presence, her confident stance. He trusted her. So feeling her tense and overwhelmed set all his alarms off.

She had started even before they entered the ballroom. Her arm tensed, her biceps hard under his fingertips, and had not relented. He’d felt her straighten, her pace getting brisker, jerkier.

Her words got fewer, the descriptions she gave far in between. Her voice was off.

He didn't need to see her. It was all over her already. She’d calmed down outside, but she fell back hard into panic, now. She was a sniper. She was made to observe from an upper perch. Not hand to hand combat. Not to weave through a crowd.

Yet, she marched on, pulling them through, with an occasional word or two for the people who didn't move past quickly enough, but never departing from a neutral tone.

“I– I can’t find him. Renault is nowhere to be seen.”
“Ask the staff. At the bar. Not the buffet. The bar.”

Riza normally wouldn’t need him to push her, ask her these kinds of simple things. But she wasn’t her normal self. Since he’d noticed, Roy took onto himself to help. Decompose the actions. Order her if need be. When under stress, she used to be a quick thinker. Now…

Progress had been made, but they still had a long way to go.

Riza did as she was instructed, turning swiftly, a tad too quick, sending Roy in a barely controlled skid. She apologised profusely, immediately, her voice crackling, this simple sound tearing Roy’s heart in pieces.

He kept reassuring her. She was okay. Doing great. Everything was going according to plan.

Plan? What plan?

But it was true. He still trusted her. Apart from this single mishap, it could have felt as if she was dragging him around, but it didn't. They had the same goal, it only happened that she was the one who could bring them there, now. He just needed to adjust his pace to hers, and just like it’d had been for years, it clicked into place easily. It was nothing like Falman in Ishval. It was Riza.

He kept his full focus on her. She worried him.

The barman had not seen Renault in about an hour. Too late indeed. They would probably find him fast asleep in one of the garden’s bushes. Riza thanked the barman with a voice that was trembling around the edges — oh, nothing noticeable for someone who wasn't so attuned to her, or stuck with this as their sole indicator, but to Roy, it was blatant.

He couldn’t let it continue.

They were somewhere near the buffet, since they had not moved since speaking with the barman, in a relative pocket of peace. There should be a chair or something nearby — hell, he had walked into one randomly just earlier.

“Do you want to sit down, Hawkeye?”

f*ck, Mustang. Stop with this. You’re free. You can go public. You are already, if Riza’s right. Stop it with the last name. Own it. Own the fact that you’re sharing your life, now. You’ve always been. Now you don’t have to lie to yourself and others anymore. If they want you married, f*ck it, give it to them. You were a step ahead already. You still are. Show it.

“N– No. It’s okay. We have to–”
“Riza.”

He planted his feet down, stopping her from pulling him behind her, then he let go of her arm, to take her hand. And slid his other arm around her waist. She tensed some more, putting a firm hand on his chest, keeping him at bay. She, too, had trouble letting go in public. But his move wasn’t only to show their bond to the world. He needed to check. Her back heaved rapidly where he’d curled his arm around it. She was on the verge of hyperventilating, and trying to hide it in her voice.

And she managed. Goddammit, Riza. She always managed. But there ought to be a limit. And Roy was afraid she was close.

To hell with it. He pulled her closer, and she relented. His hand found her cheek, his forehead hers.
“It’s okay. We’re okay. And we’re going to leave, now.”
“No. No, we have to–”
“We’re guests. Not hosts. We can leave whenever. You're not well.”

Riza didn’t reply. She had a loud gulp, and turned her head. Roy's hand followed.

“You’re unwell, and I depend on you, if you need it presented that way. I want to go home, too. Neither of us can function properly right now. We both need to leave. Now. Before it’s too late for both of us. Sometimes…” He sighed. “Sometimes retreat is the best strategy.”

His hand still on her cheek told him she nodded. She had relaxed a little, when she suddenly froze. She’d stopped breathing.

“Riza?”
“Let’s go. Let’s go, Roy.”

She took his hand and pulled him behind her, almost throwing him off balance again — she never did that, she had never called his first name in public, she had never pulled him here and there, not this way. But most of all, there were tears in her voice, now, real tears. He had no idea what had happened, where she was pulling him, but he followed, his heart aching in his chest, trying to avoid bumping into the other guests or hitting them with his cane.

Riza was almost running, and Roy had trouble following.

“Riza. Riza, wait–”

There was nothing under his left foot.

“Riza?!”

A steel grip took hold of Roy’s shoulder, just as he lost his balance again. Roy let go of Riza’s arm with a gasp.

“Finally, I’ve found you, Mustang! Captain Hawkeye! Careful with the stairs, Brigadier General.”
The booming voice could only belong to Alex Armstrong — as well as the enormous hand that had prevented Roy from falling. In the stairs. Riza had taken him to the stairs, and forgot to warn him. She forgot.

The wave of ice that suddenly took Roy had nothing to do with him almost falling, or people around seeing him. No. If Riza forgot this, she was in a worse state than he thought she was.

Where was she? He had lost physical contact. He had lost her.

Armstrong pushed Roy back on his feet, steadying him, and brushed the front of his uniform quickly. His voice dropped down.
“I saw you both from afar.”

Both. She was there. Riza was still there.

“There was a taxi waiting, I took the liberty to tell them to wait for you at the bottom of the great stairs.”

Roy breathed. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a way out. And if everyone saw them discuss with Alex as they left, it’d allow for an honourable exit.

“Thank you, major.” Roy cleared his throat. “I think I’m too tired to keep going. You know how it is.”
“I do.”

Alex’s big hand took Roy’s, who had a slight recoil, until the major led him to rest his fingers on thick wool. A slight move allowed him to discover an epaulette on which lay three stars. A Captain’s. The shoulder under it was taken by tremors.

Riza was silent, but she was there. Finally, it felt like both of Roy’s feet had touched the ground. But she wasn’t in good shape.

“Care to accompany us downstairs, Major?”
“Sure thing, Mustang.”

The car drove smoothly through Central's no doubt empty streets at this hour.

No sharp turns, no random acceleration. No attempted chat from the driver. They cruised in silence, and it almost felt to Roy as if he and Riza, stiff and shaking in his arms, were alone in the whole world.

They could as well be, and frankly, he didn’t care.

The loud engine could have covered the shattering of her teeth, but not to him, not to an ear that was less than an inch away from them.

Roy tightened his embrace around her, his mind suddenly jumping to the first time he'd ever held her this way. It might have been just a memory, but the stench of her blood assaulted his nose all the same, and he reflexively closed his eyes as if he was still under the harsh light of the laboratory.

“It’s okay.”
He kept telling her, whispering in her ear.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Over and over again.

How ironic. After all that happened, this was what had them lose it. A ball. People staring. Talking. He knew he was on edge, but for Riza…

She had not said a word since the stairs. She’d shut off at once, worrying Roy even more. But her grasp on his jacket made the fabric pull uncomfortably at his sides, and pushed his collar too tight against his windpipe. It wasn’t enough to choke him, but enough to remind him of Riza’s strength. She was still there.

Roy held tighter, tighter still, and he might be choking her in turn, but he’d been told this could help, and he was going to try all he could.

After some time, the shaking stopped, and Riza took a couple of long, but shallow breaths. He took it as a cue to relax his embrace and rub her back.

When the car stopped, and the driver opened their door for them, Riza seemed to have retrieved some of her will. She pushed Roy out and found her usual place by his side again. Roy was still cautious, but relieved. He huddled against her, making a show of taking her arm. He wanted to show her that he trusted her, still. He would always do. He still trusted her to always have his back.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Riza jolts upright. Pride’s hands are still around her neck, tight, constricting, no matter the bright neon light that’s blinding her at first, he’s still there, a number of other hands running through her hair, down her arms, gliding along her spine.

She gasps, brings her own hands — free, they’re free — to her neck.

There’s no hands there. There’s no shadows in the room.

“Lieutenant?”

Not a single shadow. No hands on her neck. What runs down her back and arms, in her hair, are the drops of a heavy cold sweat. Her fingers only encounter the coarse material of the tight bandages on the wound that almost killed her. It feels too tight. It feels like she can’t breathe. She can’t–

No shadows, because she has instructed the nurses to keep the lights on at all times. She felt guilty at first — she was using the Colonel’s blindness for herself, for her own comfort — but it had helped her, many times, to be able to immediately see every corner of the room, to check every small shadow, to keep them monitored. The low buzz from the lamps had bothered the Colonel at first, but he’d soon discovered the white noise made him feel more grounded, and helped him fall asleep. Riza didn’t mind the buzz. Riza wanted the light.

Now that she knows where she is, she knows she’s safe, but her body doesn’t. She tries to breathe slower, she tries to reply to the Colonel, but she can’t.

Her breathing is still laboured, and not a single word forms in her brain.

She turns her head, slowly, her whole upper body following when she reaches the point where it starts hurting. The Colonel has turned, too. He’s laying on his side, his skin oh so pale and sickly under the hospital’s neons, the purple circles under his eyes almost black. His eyes might not see her, but they shine feverishly under his furrowed brow. Seeing that expression on his face pulls her back then, back there, on the ground, feeling her own life slip through her fingers.

The wound had not hurt as much as the horror on his face had.

“Hawkeye, what’s wrong?”

Riza tries to tame her breathing, to calm her heart that’s still beating too fast and too strong at her temples — side effect of the blood loss, it won’t disappear, but it’s too much, now, too much — she tries to say something, to simply produce a sound, and nothing comes out.

“I’m starting to worry. I can hear you, you know. Where — are you in your bed?”
The Colonel pushes himself up on his elbows, sparing his wounded hands. No, she doesn’t — he shouldn’t be up, he shouldn’t worry, he shouldn’t care and risk–

A high pitched, desperate wail erupts from her throat, passing the dam of her tight knit jaw and gritted teeth. The Colonel freezes. He tilts his head this way and that, and his frown has changed. It’s not one of fear and apprehension. It’s a resolute one.

“Do that again.”
Riza shakes her head, to no avail. She doesn’t want to. She can read it perfectly on his face: he finds that noise easier to follow than her breathing, that has started calming down at last.

Then why does he still want to find her?

“Lieutenant. Make that noise again, please.”

She finds she can’t resist him. Not with this voice, not with this glint in his eyes — for the first time in a few days. But her throat won’t listen. Her brain won’t produce words, her throat refuses to make any other sound.

She gasps again. Why? Why is she stuck this way? Is it the wound? Is she still dreaming? Is Pride suddenly going to burst from the door? Her hands take fists of the starched bed sheets, her chest heaves rapidly again, and she feels the tears start to well in her eyes.

She shouldn’t be panicking. She’s a soldier. Her colonel needs her. She should —

She sobs. And her throat lets that go, of course. The one sound she doesn’t want to make in front of him.

It spurs him into action, of course, the frown on his face both focus and something else, something darker and yet something she’s happy to see there. She shouldn’t be. She can’t put names on it. Not now. All she can do is watch as he slowly makes his way between the beds, it’s just a couple of steps in a normal stride, but he won’t try that, not now. Now he’s only taking baby steps, uncertain, his bare feet on the no doubt cold tiles of the hospital room, his hands extended in front of him, clawed fingers curled inwards. He’s already hurt himself trying to feel his way around with the couple of fingers he still has control of. He’s not that much of an idiot, to barge right back into her bed without some caution.

He veers slightly to the left, reels, overcorrects, and Riza can only watch. A scream dies again in her throat as she watches him fall, like in slow motion, and she can’t say anything. She struggles with the bedsheets, struggles with her weakness, but the Colonel isn’t as weak as she is, and he doesn’t fall all the way to the ground. One of his flailing arms catches onto the side of her bed, miraculously, and he stays there, frozen, bent into an impossible angle, his back almost fully to her, for what feels like an eternity, catching his breath as well as trying to find his balance, surely.

Silent. He’s made no noise.

Riza reaches. She extends her good arm, bends over, and lays her hand on the Colonel’s shoulder, causing him to shudder. At a loss, she squeezes him. It seems to suffice. He knows it’s her.
“Ah. I found you, it seems, Lieutenant.”

Riza lets out a sigh. She’d been holding her breath.

The Colonel slowly turns, feeling his way around, his hand accidentally groping her leg, and jolting away from it, and she doesn’t react, so he doesn’t, and Riza will never know if he knows he has just touched her or if he doesn’t and thinks it’s the bar around the side of the bed. Would he have jolted the same way?

But then he finds her hand. He sits awkwardly on the side of the bed, obviously trying to take the least room he can, and cradles her hand in his. He’s clumsy, and his numb fingers don’t curl all the way around hers, but for some reason, it feels like he’s holding a very precious thing. That’s what his posture, touch and expression tell her.

And it’s her hand.

Riza can feel her heart calm down.

“Now. I’m not letting you go. Take your time. I’m here. And when you can, tell me.”

Once Roy had opened the door and she’d followed him inside, Riza was torn between the irrepressible compulsion to turn on every lamp in the flat, and the need to hide in the dark.

Her head throbbed, her eyes stung. Her ears were seemingly remembering the music and noise of the ballroom, the humming of the car engine. Adding the aggression of light on top of this would surely make it worse.

But she had to. She had to check. She had to see. Overwhelmed as she was, she couldn’t push away the memories. The shadows sliding towards her. The tight grip of Pride’s hands, their freezing touch.

Fear had not let go of her throat yet, only tightening when she stepped gingerly without seeing where she was going.

She bumped into Roy’s back, pressed into him. He turned around, hands checking where she was, and she had a slight recoil at first.
But his hands were soft and warm.

“Hey, there.”
He curled his arms around her once again, rubbing her back.
“We’re home, now. Safe.” He had a small huff. “Unless I mixed up the floors or something and we’re going to finally have to meet our neighbours.”

That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t funny at all.

Only a whine came out of Riza’s throat when she wanted to scold him. But he was there. And in the dark, he was the only thing that calmed her down. Always. If he was there, Pride wasn’t. And now… He handled the dark better than she did. As awful as it was to think this way. He managed in the dark all the time. He was no stranger to the fear of what lay in it, because now, it could be anything, any time. And he was there. Soft and calm and safe.

She escaped his arms as gently as she could in her frenzied state — he’d steadied her, and normally that would have been enough, but tonight she needed light, she needed to see — and she groped for the light switch on the wall.

Often, she asked herself how things would have gone, would their places be reversed. And she turned away from the answer, feeling like she treaded way too close to a deep well. One she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t fall in.

Light came with a click, blinding her for a second, then she hurried to the next room, running from switch to switch.

“Riza? What are you doing?”

She turned around from the kitchen, taking in Roy’s alarmed frown. He hadn’t even finished taking his boots off — Riza had not, she should take them off, she was inside — and he was leaning on the doorframe of the small entrance, pulling at his heel.

Words. She needed words and she didn’t have them. None.

She sighed loudly.

Roy’s frown deepened. He didn’t like not knowing — he never had liked this. He needed to be on top. And she was withholding information.

But he sighed in return, and went back to fighting with his boots.

“As long as you’re okay.”

Riza managed a hum, and turned back around, suddenly immobile, arms dangling from her frame, under the harsh light from the ceiling lamp of the living room.

They were home. Safe. Alone. No shadows. No darkness.

No one to look at them, point at them, make comments under their breaths. No one to see what they had carefully avoided, what they had carefully hidden in their hearts for years.

But they saw.

She stood there, and saw Roy walk to the kitchen, fill a pot with water, and clap. A blueish flash crackled, the water boiling instantly with a gurgling sound. Roy opened a drawer, felt inside. Closed it. Repeated the operation.

She would have helped. But she could just stand there.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for help.

In fact, watching him get busy made her feel better. It grounded her. Pulled her back to reality. They were home, and Roy was making tea.

As if that felt any more real. Seeing him being so domestic. Half a year earlier, she wouldn’t even have thought she would see it one day — let alone just have the idea to think about it.

But now he was. Here they were. It was a good feeling. One that ran deeper than the panic that had gotten hold of her, that had frozen her limbs and voice. One that could melt that ice off.

Roy pulled a tin box from the second drawer, opened it, sniffed its contents, then paused. He seemed to ponder what to do. He closed the box, put it back, grabbed another one, and the briefest of contented smiles appeared on his lips as he opened it to smell it. He turned to the pot, his hand outstretched to feel the warmth, turning slow and careful when he reached it. He opened the lid, used it to locate the opening without burning himself, and sprinkled a good amount of tea in the pot, too much, way too much, but it wasn’t a problem, they could buy more tea, they could make more, they could cut the too harsh tea with water. There were solutions. It wasn’t serious.

They were home, and safe, and Roy was making tea.

As if on cue, Roy called for her as he brought two empty cups to the table.
“Come drink some tea.”

Riza still watched him move, noticing some of his lost gracefulness had come back to him. Not fully — and he’d not been that incredibly graceful to begin with, he was more efficient, balancing this with the elegance of his wardrobe rather than his posture — but the way he got around now was less jerky than it was a month earlier, and more assured.

He brought the teapot next, then sat, folding his arms with a sigh. Waiting. For her, or for the tea to seep. Or both.

She sat opposite him, and bent over the table to poke his elbow. Roy immediately opened his arms and searched for her hand. She took his before he singed himself on the teapot, his warmth seeping from his palm to hers, radiating through her very bones.

“Tough evening, uh?”
“Yes...”

It’d come back just like that. Riza could have punched herself. Why had it been so difficult just seconds earlier? Why couldn’t she say anything when Roy needed it? Why–
“Ah,” a bright smile lit up Roy’s tired features. “You’re back.”
“Yeah. S–”
“No. Don’t.”
He’d used his commanding voice, and Riza could do nothing but obey. When he talked again, it was with a softer tone.
“What did you see, Riza?”

What did you see when you ran, what did you see that freaked you out so much you lost your voice, what did you see that caused you to forget to guide him properly?

Riza stayed silent.

Roy half closed his eyes.
“It's okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don't want to.”

But he wanted to know. He needed to know. She owed it to him.

Before she managed to piece together an answer, he had an embarrassed, sad smile.
“Could you… could you please pour the tea, if you don’t mind? I can do all the rest, but — I’m afraid my hands will shake with all this, and–”
“Of course.”
“Sorry. I spent the whole evening refusing help, and here I am. I can make tea, but I can’t pour it without burning myself or making a mess. I’m use–”
“No. Don’t.” She repeated his words. Mimicked his tone.
Roy brought his hands back towards him, to rest them on his lap, under the table. Hiding them. His shoulders dropped, and he kept smiling this awful smile.

Riza pushed, forced herself to speak. The first words were the hardest. The rest poured out of her just as she poured the tea, eyes cast down, trying to focus on her task.

It worked.

“It’s different. You know I would do it no matter what. You know I used to. You asked me to have your back. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.” It was Roy’s turn to have a faint, heavy voice. He turned his head, as if looking away. What little she could see of his neck under the dress uniform collar looked deep red. “Except for you. You're the only constant in my life, now. Thank you. For this. For staying.”

There was a short silence, until he turned his head back, and directed his eyes forward. He was making a visible effort.

“I’m not — I'm not making this about me. I’m telling you. You’re invaluable. You’ve always been. You're the most precious–”
She couldn’t help but smile when it made her think about something. Something from another life.
“Your most precious subordinate.”
The light changed on Roy’s face. His eyes softened. He brought his hands back onto the table, crossing his fingers under his chin.
“Yes. And so much more. Riza, whatever happened tonight, whatever they told you, whatever you saw. It doesn’t mean anything. They can’t change that. They can’t attack this, not anymore.”
“What if the frat laws are retroactive? You said it yourself. You were afraid of that.”
“I was scared for nothing. Riza, the country — the government is in shambles. It took two months for them to kick me out of the army — and you’ve heard how adamant some were about it, I’m sure. Anyway, you think they’d care to apply something like this? To us? Right now? When we obviously have Grumman’s benediction? They’ll talk about it for a while, there won’t be that many, the rumour mill will turn and exaggerate everything past being believable, and then they’ll forget about us.”
“I’m… I’m not so sure they’ll forget that easily. I’m not sure that only a few people will know. I… I pulled you away because I saw…” She gulped. “I saw a flash. Someone… took a picture of us.”

Roy stood speechless for a dozen of seconds, frowning, mouth slightly open.

Then he bit his tongue with a sigh and crossed his arms, leaning back.
“We knew there'd be journalists.”
“Only a couple. They were all over Major Armstrong and Miles most of the time, so I didn't expect...”
“Did any of them come to talk to you when you were alone?”
“No. I’d have told you.”
“Me neither.”

Roy rubbed his eyes.
“Then that means we’re not the focus. They might publish it, they might write about it, but it won’t be the main course of the article. Just a spicy side dish. Brace yourself, though.”

Riza gulped. This still was worse than she’d expected.

Hopefully, her voice didn't leave again. Words didn't fail her. But she didn't really know what to say.
“Is it… is it going to be nasty?”
“I don’t think so.” Roy’s face, his narrowed eyes and upturned mouth, betrayed his words. “Hope not. Things move fast. I’m not as relevant as I once was, and you… you’ve always been pretty good at staying under the radar,” Roy finally had a genuine smile, but it was short lived. He leaned down on the table towards her. “I wish I could take the brunt of it for you, I really do. But I'm afraid you’ll be the most exposed to the fallout. The printing presses are probably already rolling. Tomorrow morning… you’ll have to deal with that at work. The phone is going to ring here — in fact, I should — what time is it ?”
This time, he wanted it fast. Riza didn't even need a glance at the kitchen wall: the clock was directly in front of her.
“Half past midnight.”
“I’ll call Chris,” he said, already getting up. “Have her send me one of the girls with the papers as soon as they’re out. I’ll need to know what’s in them. So I can try to act accordingly.”
“Act accordingly? What for? What do you want to do?”

What can you do?

“Protect you. As much as I can. If I have to pull all the strings I have left to stop any of this from becoming bigger and more dangerous, I will.”

Riza watched him as he walked towards the phone.
“What are you afraid of?”

Roy found the phone, and got ready to rotate the panel. He turned towards her.
“I don’t know. Anything. Whatever. I just don’t want this to become too serious, so it’s better to nip it in the bud.”
“And if you can’t?”
Roy’s lips pulled back, showing his teeth, in an expression that sent shivers down Riza’s spine.
“Well, if you’ll be so kind as to direct me, Lieutenant, I’ll just burn whoever poses a threat.”

The phone call had not lasted five minutes, and Roy looked relieved when he announced that Vanessa had agreed to get up and get the papers as early as six thirty and come read them to him, on the condition that he would pay for breakfast.

Riza would be gone at this hour since she started work at exactly this time, but she would pick a paper for herself on the way. They agreed that they wouldn’t try to contact each other, whatever the papers said. Riza had to act as usual.

“Chris will keep an ear out for rumours and remind a number of well placed people of her good offices. She has a nice little file on the owner of the Central Times. Who also happens to own other rags we should pick, just in case,” Roy said as he sat back at the table with a satisfied smirk that didn't reach his eyes. Riza pushed his cup of tea in his hand.

He might have something else on his mind, but he wouldn't lie to her. So if he was even just a little relieved, there was no reason to be afraid. Riza had long trusted Roy’s handling of these kinds of situations, and she discovered the mere act of telling him what had happened had soothed her. The problem was in good hands now. It could backfire, of course, it could always backfire, but Roy’s confidence was contagious.

They drank in silence. Roy was relieved, but mulling over something, still. Something in the corner of his eyes. And he rarely stayed so silent.

But after what had happened this evening, it was only fair.

Riza herself felt both exhausted and so tense she would probably not sleep before very long. Or not sleep at all. She didn’t mind. Neither did Roy, probably — they’d had their fair share of sleepless nights during the last decade.

“I think I’ll sit down and read. I won’t be able to sleep.” She informed Roy of her intentions, expecting him to ask her to read to him or just to want to stay with her. He did often. And she would have liked that. She felt she needed a calm moment, just sitting down together, side by side, maybe with his arm around her shoulders, or, like he liked to do more and more, lately, his head resting on her lap. Silent, or reading, or talking about random things. The little domestic moments she refused to think about before all went awry, and that were the prize of her days, now.

So she was surprised when he looked relieved again, and told her he was going to go to bed.

Immediately.

Riza looked up as she reached the last page of her book, the bittersweet ending leaving a taste not all unfamiliar at the back of her throat. One that would last for days, whenever she read those books before. But now it paled in comparison to her life. Still, she was happy to reach the end. She was a slow reader and didn’t read novels that often. She’d picked this one when she was mostly bed ridden. Somehow, closing this book for good, finishing it, felt like she was leaving this time of her life behind. That she — they? — were now really starting anew.

It might have been fitting that it happened tonight. She didn’t know. Tried not to think about it.

She’d left all the lights on — she was the only one who would mind, after all — and she could still see the kitchen clock from the couch.

It was almost two. She should get to bed, try not to wake Roy up, and try to get some rest before her alarm rang, at five.

Hayate was already snoring lightly, curled into a small ball of fluff in his basket.

Craving the same bliss of rest, but certain she would lay in bed with her eyes wide open for what was left of the night, Riza still got up, slowly turning all the lights off — stop turning around, stop rising your shoulders, there’s no danger, you're safe — until only the corridor’s stayed on. She silently pushed the door to the bedroom open.

She’d expected to find Roy in bed, curled up on his side, not unlike Hayate, sleeping or at least trying to. She was going to huddle against his back, find calm in his weight against her, his warmth, his slow breathing. Maybe they could cuddle, if he couldn’t sleep either.

What she found instead in the dark bedroom froze her in place, hand on the doorknob, unable to walk further in or leave, nor to signal her presence.

Roy was sitting on the edge of the bed, half undressed. He still had his dress shirt on, but his uniform trousers were neatly folded next to him. He held his jacket on his bare knees, by the collar, his thumb passing on the small metal insignias, back and forth, so rhythmically Riza doubted he even was conscious of the movement anymore. He supported his head on his other hand, elbow on his knee, his fingers curled tightly on the hair above his forehead. In the low light, she could still see his eyes were open, vacant — not their usual. The right corner of his lips twitched, a nervous tic she had not seen on him since she’d crossed his path in Ishval.

What struck her the most, oddly, was the contrast between his black socks and the paleness of his legs. Even after all that had happened, even after the years they’d spent working together and more, she’d extremely rarely seen him undressed this way. Even now — except for sex, he was always wearing something. Always self conscious about it.

It made the whole scene feel a lot more crude to her. Made him look more vulnerable, somehow.

He didn’t move. He didn’t know she was there. He wouldn’t ever know if she decided to walk back, and closed the door silently, and went to sit on the couch to try and deal with the haunting feeling this sight had awoken in her.

She didn’t even know what that feeling was, only that it made her feel like she’d fallen in an icy river, and the only warmth left under her ribs longed to wrap itself around Roy.

She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t do that to him.

At a loss, knowing words might not come out, she turned the lights on with a click and cleared her throat, producing a strangled noise, that had him startle and jump.

The jacket fell to his feet as he froze, eyes wide open, a red mark where his face had rested on his hand for too long.

Speak, Riza. Speak.

“Roy. It’s me. Riza.”
It came out. She let out relieved sigh. She wasn't stuck without words like she'd been earlier.

Roy blinked and it took him a couple of seconds to relax
“Riza.”
He gulped.

“Are you okay?”
“ I was… thinking.”
“You… it’s been an hour and a half.”
Roy gulped again. He had a half blink, and the tic at the corner of his mouth came back once. Then he bent down, feeling around to find his jacket. It wasn't far, and he didn't need Riza’s help to find it, and pull it back over his knees. She watched as he folded it, just as neatly as his trousers.

And then he paused, both hands on the jacket, fingers splayed, caressing the fabric.

He said something, very low. It took Riza a couple of seconds to understand what he’d said.
“Now it’s really the end.”

Riza finally entered the room, making as much noise as she could while walking barefoot on the hardwood floor. She reached Roy’s side, and moved the trousers so she could sit. He immediately leaned on her, just his side. His hands stayed on the jacket.

“I think I… I think I had not… not fully realised it yet.” The top of his face hidden behind his hair, he kept going. “I had too much on my plate. The hands, the surgeries, the rehab. You. I was worried about you. It kept me… kept me going. But now…”

He sniffed. Riza slid a hand over his and took it. She could probably talk, but what to say?

“I just… it was the last time I took that damned uniform off. The last time I folded it. That’s it. That’s all it takes, to… I thought I’d wear it until the end, you know?”

He rested his forehead on her shoulder — more like bumped into it and decided to stay there. His hand, that had stayed limp in Riza’s hold until then, suddenly gripped her tight.

His silent sobs shook them both. Riza let him, keeping hold onto his hand, laying her head on top of his, her nose and mouth in his hair.

She’d have waited until he stopped. But he didn't. If anything, the shaking got stronger, the grip on her hand tighter.
“There’s the wedding,” she said, keeping her mouth where it was, her voice hoarse. “And Ishval.”
“Yes.” He managed to say in between two hard breaths, in a surprisingly steady voice. “Yes. I know.”

Dry sobs, then. That was very him, to try to keep appearances even then, for her or an unknown audience, and above all himself.

It’s starting to rain.

“No one’s here to watch you this time. It’s just us. No more poetic metaphors. If you need to cry, cry.”

Roy seemed to freeze, as he took in what she was saying.

It might have been a hard push, but she believed he needed it.

He still didn’t move, didn’t reply, and she thought he wouldn't take the line she was giving him. That she’d done wrong, and he would bottle it all up again and urge her to go to sleep, keeping it all in, as he was so used to doing, hiding the ugly festering inside behind a fake smile and maybe a few genuine ones.

But he took it.

He let go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him, burying his face against her collarbone. His other hand hovered over her cheek, her throat, then rested a little lower, next to his face. He breathed in, and she didn’t know if he was bracing himself or trying to stop what was coming, as he closed his hand tight over her shirt, pulling at the fabric at once. A low, long wail escaped his throat, breaking at the end, shaking him again, harder.

And then there was another one.

And another one.

It was what she expected, what he needed, but it still chilled her down to her very bones, and brought tears to her own eyes.

She curled her arms around him, cradled him as he kept letting out these painful, heart wrenching cries.

They weren’t loud, and she probably felt him just as much as she heard him. But Roy didn’t need to be loud. He just needed to spew it out, to reach down and tear it out, and she was ready to get her hands dirty to help.

She’d ask the same thing of him, if only she knew how to.

No matter that part of the shaking wasn’t his. That there was as much humidity on her face than he was putting on her shirt. She didn't register that.

Some time later, she couldn’t tell how long, she tipped them both to fall backwards onto the bed, still entwined, their embrace tight. Still shaken by what had evolved into soft sobs rather than the previous cries.

At one point, she might have passed out. Before or after him, she didn't know.

* * *

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Riza closes her eyes. The Colonel won’t be back from the eye doctor appointment until half an hour at best.

The hospital insists for those, no matter what they can say. Riza already knows the Colonel will come back from it sour and closed off. Not that she can blame him. The doctors might find it puzzling, might not understand what happened, the fact is there. He is blind, and he will stay this way.

Riza’s expecting to stay alone for a while, and trying to get ready for it, trying not to think about where the Colonel is, without her. Trying not to let the unrest that has taken her legs creep up to the rest of her body.

She looks through the window at the spring breeze shaking the tender green leaves in the trees that line the street. The soft sun is warming the room.

A knock on the door takes her away from her contemplation.
“Come in,” she says, a little reluctantly. She’d rather be alone with her thoughts.

But what gets in is like a small sun by itself. An explosion of yellows and pink, and some deep purple to boost. Rebecca smiles from behind the bouquet. Daffodils, chrysanthemums, tulips, and a couple of dark pansies. Riza can’t help but smile in return.

“Hello! Thought you’d like some colours, this hospital really is ugly as hell.”
“It’s a hospital.”
“Not a good reason. Here, I even got a vase for them. Figured you wouldn’t have any.”

Rebecca arranges the vase and bouquet on a wall table near the window, to Riza’s side.

“Thank you, Rebecca. They look and smell lovely.”
“Yeah, I guess your roommate will enjoy them too, this way. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Not great yet, but better.”
“You got some more colour to your cheeks indeed. Honestly, I’m relieved,” Rebecca says while she finally sits at the foot of Riza’s bed. “Talk about a close shave, uh.”
“The closest.”
“You manage to get through war relatively unscathed, and here you are, almost killed while you're the Fuhrer's assistant. Life’s weird.”
“Afraid it’ll happen to you, now?” Riza teases, detailing the bouquet. The colours indeed are joyful, warming her in a way she wouldn’t have expected.
“Grumman’s too much of an old man for it to be such a risky job. Takes his tea at five, his dinner at seven, and is in bed at ten. He piles up reports and administrative sh*t on me. Has me run errands all day. And occasionally comments on how my uniform complements my “nice and feminine curves”.” Rebecca snorts, and Riza sneers. “But apart from being the same perv he’s always been, he’s a good boss. I hear it wasn’t the case for you.”
“Well, Bradley wasn’t a pervert.” Riza shrugs, looking through the window. “It’s over, now.”

Rebecca taps on her hand.
“Yeah. You’ll soon be back on your feet. Time to look ahead, now.”

Riza looks at her hands, then can’t help but have her eyes be pulled at the messy empty bed the Colonel has left behind when he was taken away.

“Yes. Look forward. I guess.”

Riza startled at the alarm clock ringing.

Blinking, once, twice, she realised she had fallen asleep while still wearing her dress uniform, but more importantly, cradling a half undressed Roy. Who tightened his own embrace around her waist with a groan when she tried to move.
“Roy, I have to go take a shower. I don’t know how it happened, but–”

Roy grumbled something unintelligible, except for the word “no”.

An early morning sun was already seeping through the blinds, shining on floating specks of dust. Right. Cleaning would have to be done soon. That’d keep Roy busy.

“Come on,” Riza said as she started untangling herself from him, feeling the blood rush into the arm and side on which she’d spent the last hours. “I don’t even know how we managed to sleep this way.”

Roy, stubborn, pulled her back and buried his face into her cleavage. This time Riza could make out the words.
“Stay. Five more minutes.”
“It’s five am. I’m already late if I want to shower and eat before I leave.”
“Gimme five more minutes. Five more minutes with you, without… all this…”

Riza sighed, and pulled him up so they’d face each other. He followed her touch groggily, crumbling back onto her and the bed as soon as she stopped pulling, like a stringless puppet. Her shirt had left creases on his reddened cheek, and a slight pout was pulling his mouth down at the corners.

She planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Did you sleep?”
“I slept.”
“Well?”
“I slept. I…” He had something like a half sigh, half groan as he stretched, still keeping his arms tightly coiled around her. “I feel like I closed my eyes three seconds ago.”
“Me too.” Riza kissed his forehead again. “But it was four hours, more or less. And I should go.”
Roy sighed, but he let her go when she moved.

Riza had barely looked at the man who sold her the newspaper. She quickly glanced at the front page, noticing there was only a small line referring to the charity ball and sending interested readers to another page. Somewhat reassured enough, she folded the paper under her arm and hurried to her office.

Once there, she pushed it into her desk drawer, to read later. She wanted to be alone when she did so, and Leclerc was already there when she arrived. A couple of minutes after she’d sat down, he’d offered her coffee with a smile, nothing out of usual in his quiet voice. But that wasn’t him Riza was wary about.

She set out to work with a knot under her ribs not unlike the one she would have before going on a mission.

Worse, even. On a mission, if you were thorough, if you kept calm, and kept the target in sight, there was minimal chance of messing up.

Here and now, the mess up had already happened.

The office filled up, slowly. Orville came by to say hi. None of them seemed to have anything special to say. Karr and her were their usual friendly, if reserved, selves.

Riza managed to get through a couple of files until the exact same newspaper she had in her drawer materialized on her desk with a flat slap.

“Anything you want to tell us, Captain?”

Oh, he wanted to play this way.

Riza looked up, slowly, keeping her face blank. Enfield’s icy gaze burnt fiercely. He might have charming features, but there was nothing charming in the way his mouth was contorted. It could have been frightening, in fact.

The knot under her ribs tightened. But Riza had seen far more frightening sights.

In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure what sat in her guts was fear. It surely burnt as red hot as some other emotion she rarely felt.

Anger.

She looked down, dismissing Enfield.
“Nothing relevant to our current line of work, Lieutenant.”

Riza ostensibly closed the file she was working on and pulled another one from the pile on her desk.

But Enfield didn't back down.
“Well, allow me,” he said louder, turning to their teammates, who had started looking up from their own desks with inquisitive expressions. “Remember when our Lieutenant — sorry, Captain — told us about her friend. Later showed up with a ring. Well, little did we know said friend was a certain dismissed Colonel.”
“Brigadier General.”
Enfield threw a scornful glance at Riza.
“Either way, dismissed. Now, though, what about the frat laws?”
“You’re overstepping your rank, Lieutenant Enfield.”
“Ah, yeah, my rank. Tell us about yours, Captain. How come someone so young, a woman, above all, managed to climb so high so quick, uh? You’re – what? Twenty-six?”

Riza felt oddly calm. The red hot anger turned white. Searing.

It seemed what had happened with Smith the evening before had reset her. Her old reflexes had come back — the useful ones, the practical ones, the ones a certain Colonel had trusted to watch his back for so many years. She felt confident she could handle Enfield, knew he couldn’t hurt her in ways that mattered, now.

She felt as if her field of vision had broadened. She could see Leclerc had turned ashen, Karr was looking at them with all the curiosity of his not too far teenage years, and Orville was frowning. All the while Riza kept her stare straight into Enfield’s.

“I don’t know what you are trying to insinuate, Lieutenant. I know neither you nor Colonel Smith have much admiration for Brigadier General Mustang,” she said, flatly, measuring her words, pushing them out one by one carefully. “But my private life is none of your business, and we have a lot of work to do.”

Riza straightened. She held Enfield’s gaze, then deliberately turned her head to look at Leclerc.
“Everyone back to their desk, now, please.”

“None of our business. f*ck’s sake. You’ve been sleeping your way up the ladder all this time, and you want us to turn a blind eye?”

Riza stood up. She was starting to ache everywhere. The white fire was eating away her extended field of vision, now. Of course, this was what people were going to think. Of course, hers and Roy’s integrity were going to be questioned.

But both were clean. And who could they ask about it? Their former team? Even if they agreed to say anything, which Riza doubted they would, there would be nothing to say. Because there had been nothing.

“How does it feel, Hawkeye? To be finally the chosen one amongst all his whor*s, because now he’s not as appealing to them? Did he grant you that one last promotion to ensure you’d take care of him now that he needs it the most? Tell us, Hawkeye. What’s the arrangement, what’s the d—”
“Lieutenant, I think that’s enough.”

Riza’s voice was still low, muted, but the white current had turned red again. Like her cheeks. She crossed her arms behind her back, sticking out her chest in a commanding stance. Enfield could insinuate many things about her and her ranks. But he couldn’t speak this way about Roy. She couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t let him.

“Please go to HR and file a report with whatever claims you have, Lieutenant Enfield. Send it to whoever you want. I do not care, because none of what you’ve been saying is true. Now if you please, I think the team would like not to waste more of our precious time with slander and gossip.”
“Oh-ho, did I strike a nerve, Hawkeye?” Enfield had a vicious smile.

But not as vicious as Riza’s pokerface could be.
“It’s Captain. And that was an order, Lieutenant Enfield. Close the door behind yourself, would you?”

She didn’t even wait for him to turn around. She sat down, and acted as if he wasn’t there anymore. She felt like a robot, picking up her pen and filling the first paper she had picked up at random on her desk. She didn’t even look up when he finally turned for real and exited the office in a deadly silence. One by one, she saw Leclerc, Karr and Orville go back to their desks from the corner of her eye.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t put her pen down. Didn’t stop.

If she had, she would have burst.

She couldn’t burst. Not now. Not after this. She couldn’t show any weakness.

She filled paper after paper, only glancing at her watch from time to time. Whenever she did so, she could feel her wrist shaking.

At one time during the day, a coffee cup filled to the brim with the army's black brew, steaming, had appeared on her desk. Riza was ready to look up and thank whoever had given it to her, when she noticed a small note under it. It was in Orville’s handwriting.

I bet you turned him down, too. Thanks for putting him in his place, Captain. Best wishes for the wedding and the transfer.

Riza was too smart to look up and try to catch Orville’s gaze. She folded the note and put it in her pocket.

She couldn’t do much more about Enfield. But she could maybe have a word with some people about Orville. She was a competent clerk at the very least, and a good judge of character. Maybe Riza wouldn’t be the only one getting a transfer.

“So.”
“So?”
Riza wasn’t in the mood for a wits battle. She wasn’t in the mood for anything. She had planned to go home, and sit down with some tea.

Except when she had reached the headquarters main exit, Rebecca was there waiting for her.

Riza resigned herself. Since she’d handled Enfield earlier, she might as well get rid of Rebecca’s problem today, too. So she’d let her drag to the small cafe again, the angry dark clouds over Rebecca’s scowling face almost visible. Riza herself wasn’t in the best of moods, but she tried to keep it down.

“Congratulations for the promotion, by the way.”
“Rebecca…”
“You didn’t even bother to tell me. I learnt it through word of mouth. Helen, you know, Helen Onoda, from the telegraph office, she’s the one who told me, between gossip about Lieutenant-Colonel Bolt and the latest fraternisation law breach. That was actually what stirred the conversation over your case. Helen knew before me. How come, Riza?”

Riza looked down, words unable to form in her brain. She let her hands close around the cup of green tea she’d ordered, seeking strength from the warmth of the brew. Oddly enough, out of nowhere, the only thought that surfaced was an old echo of a stupid comment Havoc once had about her.

Honestly, Riza, with the amount of tea you’re chugging, once you’re home, you must be pissing like a horse, no?

They might had been far from the finest gentlemen, she’d found herself missing her old team dearly, lately.

“Riza. Why didn’t you tell me?”

It felt so weird that not so long ago she’d been in that same cafe, and had let slip that she was dating her former superior officer. What a mistake she’d done then.

That’s why. That’s why I didn’t tell you, and why I can’t reply, now.

Maybe Rebecca had noticed Riza clam up, for her voice had softened. She sighed, and tutted, and squirmed on her chair. Riza stayed resolutely focused on her cup of tea. The slim, almost invisible mist on the surface was disturbed by her short breath.

“Thought we were friends, I guess I overestimated.”

The words rang oddly in Riza’s ear.

She finally spoke.
“You always do so. That's what our instructor kept saying.”

Rebecca froze, and frowned when Riza calmly looked up from her tea. Riza raised her eyebrows. And Rebecca finally burst out laughing, to Riza’s relief.

They were friends. Riza had to remember. She was just Rebecca. Overprotective, wildly overestimating Rebecca. But her friend.

Rebecca kept laughing, until she had to dry small tears.
“Oh, you. I’m glad to have my friend back.”

They reminisced about their shooting instructor for a short while, then Rebecca went quiet, and drank from her cappuccino.

“Ok. You win. You’re right. I might have… overreacted. But I just wanted the best for my best friend, you know?”
“He is. Trust me.”
Rebecca obviously couldn’t help but tut and shake her head. And then she laughed again.
“This is the most you’ve told me about him yet. Just these two short sentences. Maybe, if you did expand a little, I could understand you. Tell me how he is when you two are alone. I’ve only seen him bossing you around, and only heard about you baby sitting him. I know you won’t tell me anything, though, so in the meantime, I’ll just keep a very wary eye on him.”

That was it. Peace, at last. Riza couldn’t help but teasing Rebecca a little more — it felt good, after this exhausting day, to be a little silly, without consequences.
“Are you jealous?”

Rebecca choked on her drink.
“Ab-so-f*cking-lutely not! Whatever you could say about him, Mustang's a c*nt. And you lack a number of indispensable attributes, I’m very sorry.” She shook her head again with a sigh. “I guess if you two are on the same page about this, godspeed, then. Just don't take me on double dates when I finally woo that ex-Lieutenant of his.”
It was Riza’s turn to laugh.
“Havoc? Get in line. I hear Lieutenant Ross fancies him.”
“Oh, that bitch is gonna wish she'd stayed dead!”
Riza doubled on laughing at Rebecca’s narrowed eyes and scowl. You could count on Rebecca for having the wildest replies to this sort of things.
But her laugh was cut short.
“Means that Enfield is free, I guess. What do you think? Should I make a move? Could you arrange something? Not if he hit on you, mind you.”
“I don’t want to talk about Enfield, Rebecca.”

Rebecca sobered up immediately.
“Touchy subject?”

Riza licked her lips, nibbled on them. She drank from her tea.

“He’s… he's going to file a complaint for fraternisation against me and Roy. He says that…”

Riza was so surprised at the surge of tears in her eyes that she didn’t even try to hide them. She finished her sentence with a voice that sounded garbled to her own ears.
“He claims I’ve slept my way through ranks all these years.”

“Oh, Riza…” Rebecca tapped on her arm. She stayed silent for a short while, time for Riza to breathe and calm down as much as she could. “You really need a break, don’t you? You know, in all these years, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you cry. Been thinking you simply didn’t have built in tear ducts.”

Riza had a wet chuckle, and kept her eyes on her tea.

How many times had she indeed held a sobbing Rebecca in her arms at the academy, after she’d been dumped — or more often, had dumped someone she’d claimed was the love of her life at the time? Countless. Rebecca was intent on finding the one, and she didn’t. Riza wasn’t even looking, because there had only ever been one option on her mind.

“That arsehole can’t do that, by the way,” Rebecca continued while still patting her arm. “Frat laws aren’t retroactive. He can threaten all he wants, you could have f*cked in front of everyone as soon as Mustang had signed his resignation, and the frat laws wouldn’t have applied anymore. This is just how they work. You have to be caught red handed.”

Riza gulped. This was too good to be true.
“Really?”
“Why am I always the only one who bothers reading the small letters? You should have thought about it before, that’d have saved you a whole lot of anxiety.” Rebecca shook her head.
“How come you did read them?”
“You know why. What if I found someone, but my legendary bad luck had put him in my team, or worse, under my command? I needed to know how that’d work. I need to be on top. You never know when the perfect man might show up.”
“You’re prepared for any eventuality.”
“Exactly.” Rebecca sighed. “Now, I guess I should thank you. Enfield really does sound like an arsehole. Won’t try with him.”

Riza pondered telling Rebecca about how Enfield had been prior to this. How he’d been in the morning, too. Frightening. Mad.
She decided against it. It wasn’t needed. Rebecca had reassured her and she now felt less scared of whatever could come up from this all — she trusted her on this. Rebecca really was this thorough on her quest to find the love of her life.

“Yes. Don’t bother with Enfield, please. The double dates would be absolutely tedious.”

Rebecca chuckled.
“Don’t push me, I’d love to watch them tear each other’s heads off.”
“There wouldn't be much of a spectacle.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
“I had a witty retort but I’ll keep it for myself. Anyway, I didn't even see that damned article–”
“The newspaper!” Riza froze, covering her mouth with both hands. “I was so unsettled by Enfield, I didn't — and now it’s — I forgot —”
“Don’t move.” Rebecca stood up at once. “There’s a newstand just there at the corner. Just give me the title.”

“Well… They sure didn’t spare him... It sucks that this is a cafe. I’d have you drink something stronger. You're white as a sheet.”
“Show the picture, Rebecca. Page seven.”
Rebecca flapped through the paper, groaning when she noticed the bad quality ink left traces on the pad of her fingers. Riza’s brain felt empty, with only the words of the article left echoing.

There were several photographs on the page, and Riza’s eyes scanned them all first, avoiding the one they should be drawn to. Several showed Major Armstrong showing off, in multiple angles, or his sister the General scowling and obviously sending the photographer to hell. Some others showed various familiar faces and names from the gotha of Central. Riza recognized Antonio Cerraldi, with whom they’d had a weird exchange, shaking hands with an ecstatic Major. The picture’s caption explained Cerraldi had been the biggest donator of the evening, but there was no mention of the sum.

The picture she was afraid to look at, but also burned to, was one of the biggest on the page.

It had her and Roy in the pose they had been surprised in, forehead against forehead, one of Roy's hand on her cheek, the other awkwardly embracing her while still holding his cane. It was weird to see herself — themselves — this way. Roy had been right, back then, she’d been unwell, and it was visible she was pale even on the black and white photograph.

The more she looked at it, the more Riza felt a surge of something rise in her chest, and she had no idea what it was, but she felt like tearing the page off, and running away. Running home. Where Roy was waiting for her. But she also couldn't tear her eyes from the paper, couldn't move an inch.

“Okay. I see it.”
Rebecca shook Riza from her trance-like state. She was looking at the picture with a small smile.
“There’s something in the way he holds you. I wouldn’t even have thought this punk could have this in him. It looks so… tender. f*ck, Riza, hear what you're making me say?”
Rebecca had an awkward laugh. When Riza didn't react, she poked her.
“Riza?”
Riza gulped.
“Riza. This newspaper is a pile of flaming sh*t. It’s nothing. They got nothing against you. Nothing can be done with this. And you know what?”
Riza was expecting Rebecca to continue, but she actually waited for her to croak a feeble “What?” before she resumed.
“This photo, there. Is the single one genuine thing in this article. Looking at you both on this… f*ck. No one can deny the feelings you have for each other. It’s obvious. As angry as it makes me, I have to admit you two are… very cute together.”

Riza sighed. She didn't know what to do. All the strength and will to fight that she’d had against Enfield earlier seemed to have disappeared. The only thing she registered was that Rebecca’s comment made her feel… warmer.

“I’ll walk you home, Riz. You’ll tell Mustang what I said about the frat laws. Let’s say that's some kind of…. Peace offering. But also tell him not to get used to it, okay?”

“Your hold is too tight. Relax your hand, sir.”

Park’s warm hands slide over Roy’s, pulling his fingers, readjusting their position on the cane handle. He then corrects the way his hand aligns with his wrist.

Roy says nothing. It hurts. But he says nothing. He listens to Park, clenching his jaw, biting his lips. If he wants to make progress, he has to do what he's told.

The Xing doctors will help. Soon.

“I know your hands are in pain,” Park apologizes as if he knows exactly what Roy is thinking. “But if you take a bad posture, it’ll be harder to correct. We won’t practice as long as the others. That’s why you’re alone with me.”
“Oh, so it’s not just so I don’t make a fool of myself, uh?”

Roy knows Park doesn’t like when he speaks this way, and he doesn't want to annoy Park, but he can’t help it.

“I don't think the hero of Ishval can really do that.” Park replies in a subdued tone. He stands behind Roy, and, holding his wrist, shows him the right moves again. “This way. You think you can go, like, fifty metres?”
“I can try, at least. I’m going to be honest with you, Park. I don’t like when people use this title for me.”

Roy starts walking, slowly, repeating what Park has just shown him. It’s both easier since his wrist moves indeed more easily, but it’s also more painful.

“I bet you’d like it better if I told you I know who called you like that first and why they did so.”

Roy pauses.

He turns his head to the back, where Park was a second ago.

“If I do a hundred meters, and do it well, will you answer another personal question?”
“Well, show me, sir, and we’ll see.”

Roy smirks.

He aces the hundred metres. When Park tells him to stop, his hand feels like molten lead. But he did it.

“Well done. Very well done. You did veer to the right by the end. But nothing too bad, for a first. You may ask your nosy question, Colonel.”

Roy let's the cane rest against his shoulder, and massages his hand, unable to suppress a wince. He sighs, then finally asks.

“Your leg. You lost it in Ishval, didn’t you?”
“Really? That’s all? I’d have expected something bigger. You already know the answer to that, Colonel.”

Riza gone, Roy stayed idle, sitting at the kitchen table.

That didn’t work great for him — it never had. He might have looked like he was lazy, enjoying doing nothing and avoiding work at all times when he was in the army, he wasn’t. It was an act. It’d always been an act.

Oh, of course, he had to admit to himself it wasn’t totally an act — he did enjoy sitting back and watching the others work while he was just there pushing his pieces. Or, you know. Plotting. But that included having a plan, something to do, that included having people to push around, and that included… watching.

Right now, until he knew what was exactly in the paper, he had his hands metaphorically tied. He couldn't project, he couldn't predict, he couldn’t plot. And he couldn’t act. At all.

Roy drummed his fingers on the table. At least he could do that, now. Vanessa wouldn’t be long.

Right?

He knew that was going to happen when he’d be done with the rehab. He knew his previously busy schedule would draw to an abrupt halt, and he’d be left with nothing.

He’d work on his Braille reading, but he’d finished reading all the books he’d been given, and his own weren’t ready yet. He’d checked. Multiple times. He had a feeling the secretary of the transcription office had started to hate him. Too bad, she sounded nice, at first. He’d used his charms on her, feeling slightly, weirdly guilty about doing so, and it had seemed to work, on the first couple of calls. Then she’d grown irritated. She’d hung up on him, the last time.

Roy huffed, and got up from the table, turning three quarters to the right before he set to walk, his right hand held low to catch on the doorframe leading to the living room as a point of reference. Once there, he went along the wall until he found the set of shelves on which stood the radio. He switched it on.

A joyful jazzy tune sounded. Roy fiddled with the button, turning the music into static for a while, catching faint echoes, unintelligible chatter. He thought of Fuery. Riza had told him about his forthcoming promotion, and Roy had felt a weird sense of pride. He was happy the kid was appreciated for what he was worth. He deserved it.

“–works in Central are still causing–”

Static.

He’d been too harsh with the button, and missed the station. His fine motor skills still left a lot to be desired, and Roy, grumbling, had to go back and forth a couple of times before he caught the news station.

The subject of the apparently heated debate he’d caught immediately made him more attentive.

“-- rebuilding will still take months, and that's what state alchemists are doing instead? This is unacceptable. The Fuhrer’s office should put an end to it. It should be Amestris — heck, Central first. Not these backwards peasants.”
“This ball was endorsed by Fuhrer Grumman himself and a number of generals. It's been mentioned that the reconstruction of Ishval might bring us some unsuspected economic advantage over our direct neighbours, or so I was told during the event.”
“I’ve seen only one general there, and it was Armstrong. Considering her shady position during the attempted coup–”
“General Hakuro, of East Command, had sent Colonel Renault as an emissary, and Brigadier General Mustang–”
“Should know his place. Which is out of all this. We’re grateful for his past actions, but now it’s over. Someone who can’t even–”

The radio emitted a last bout of static, then a longer, high pitched electronic wail as Roy killed it at once.

He had a couple of steps on stiff legs, opening and closing his fists. He stopped in what he estimated was the middle of the living room, and stomped.
“f*ck! f*ck this damned sh*t!”

Black Hayate let out a disapproving bark from the kitchen.

Roy had not really meant to turn the radio off, and now he was regretting it. But it was that, or punching it, and that radio was one of the last things that could provide him entertainment. He had to be careful with it. But still…

Was this ever going to end? Had he grown too sensitive to this?

A specific knocking pattern on the door took him out of his angry brooding.

“Here’s your breakfast, Roy-boy!”
Vanessa walked in as soon as he had unlocked the front door, pushing him to the side in a cloud of fine perfume, and the smell of fresh pastries. When Roy had first asked his sisters to come to his help, he’d reused an old code they shared, so that he’d always know to open the door to them.

Vanessa had been there often enough during the last months that she knew where to go. Roy followed her and the sound of her stilettos on the floorboards into the kitchen, after closing the door.

“You owe me eighty-five cenz, Roy-boy.”
“What the– eighty-five? For a couple of pastries?”
“Taste them,” Vanessa only replied while shoving a piece of whatever in Roy’s mouth in passing. “Those are the best croissants in Central. You’ll thank me.”
Roy coughed and tried not to choke on the puff pastry, picking the biggest piece out of his mouth.
“What the hell, Vanessa!”
“But is it good, Roy-boy?”
Roy swallowed. He had not taken the time to analyse the taste. He didn’t have that time.
“This isn’t why I wanted you here.”
“You better sit and eat,” Vanessa replied in a suddenly grave voice. “You’re going to need it.”
Roy smirked.
“Oh, that bad, uh.”
“I’ll make some tea. Sit down, eat, and I’ll read that to you.”

Roy did as he was told, one ear out to follow Vanessa’s steps around the kitchen. The pastry was good — airy, flaky and buttery enough. Instantly warming. He tried to focus on it, with mixed success. After a short while, he felt something soft press on his leg, and tore a small piece of the food to hand it to Hayate, earning a quick fond lick on his hand.

“This must have flaked everywhere.”
“Yeah, you’re covered in crumbs.”
“You’re going to help me with this, cause it’s your fault — but later. Now. Read me this damned paper, and let’s be done with it.”
“Alright. But take another croissant, first.”

Roy moved his hand, on which he had rested his chin, to his nape, rubbing roughly. He tried to ease his clenched teeth to speak.

“That’s… not as bad as it could have been.”
“Really? Your neck is red as a tomato. I heard you bite your nails throughout, too.”

Roy shrugged, let go of his neck and rubbed his thighs under the table.

“Now what?”
“I don’t know. Let me think, Vanessa.”
“Well I know one thing.”
“Yes?”
“You and Elizabeth look so very cute together, it’s heartwarming. And… you still owe me eighty-five cenz.”
Roy repressed a reply about him and Riza, then sighed.
“Just take them in my wallet on your way out. It’s in the entrance hall, on the side table.”
“You’re so much more organised, now, Roy-boy,” Vanessa commented with a fond tone as she topped Roy’s cup of tea without asking — and without telling him. He heard the tea as it was poured in his cup. “I should tell Chris.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roy replied almost absent mindedly.

He brought his hands back up, tenting his fingers.

It really wasn't as bad as he’d thought. First, the article had focused almost only on him and his loss, and had mostly spared Riza. The tone had made Roy clench his jaw and his body temperature rise a couple of degrees, but it was only a fleeting feeling, and as he’d remarked some time ago, he used to revel in this. He just had to suck it up. Riza was left alone, apart from the photo, and that was the most important. Secondly, the article obviously had not been written by the best of journalists, considering the tone and lack of any real information. To align words in such a way, they were nothing better than a penny-a-liner. It was however coherent with the rag it’d been published in. Nothing the military would take offence with, nor anyone else involved. The frat laws part could have been scary, if the wedding papers had not already been through the process of being accepted and a date confirmed, without any reaction from the army human resources department.

Roy had not been especially wary of this, considering they had Grumman’s slightly concerning, overbearing blessing.

Still, the whole ordeal sat uneasy with him. People would talk. People would indeed ask the questions this hack had given rise to. And the only one who was out in public often enough for people to find and harass… was Riza.

“Roy-boy? You okay?”
Roy blinked at Vanessa’s question, and shook his head.
“Yeah.” He unfolded his hands and passed one through his hair. “I think we’ll be able to handle it.”
“You won’t give up on the wedding, will you?”
“Of course not!” Roy frowned. “This doesn't change anything.” His frown changed into a smirk. “Afraid you won’t be invited, Vanessa?”

Vanessa made an obscene sound with her mouth as an answer. Roy, laughing his stress away, was ready to say something in the same vein, when the phone rang.

Roy hurried to pick it up, so clumsily Vanessa had to tell him to course correct before he hit a wall.

“Mustang. Hello?”
“Brigadier general, sir. This is Park.”
“Park?!”
“You know, the orientation instruc–”
“I remember you perfectly, Park, but what owes me your call?”
“Sir. I know we haven’t talked since you, uh, graduated. And I also know you are a very… private person, but… I’m sorry. Is there anyone who can read you the papers today? If not, I think I could–”
A surge of warmth rose from Roy’s chest to his throat. That this man, who still was some kind of a stranger, would offer this, even after they weren’t supposed to be working together anymore, made something stir in his throat, and he hoped it wasn’t audible.
“Rest your thoughts, Park,” Roy allowed himself to reply, considering the instructor’s past in the army. “I have a friend here who came directly to my place this morning with the rag you’re thinking about.”
“And pastries,” Vanessa added from her place at the kitchen table. Roy couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension that had built in his shoulders ease some more.
“Yeah, she also brought pastries. Though now I gotta pay for them.”
Roy wondered if this wasn't going to push his reputation further, when he should now play the good husband. Too late.
“Good. I mean. I was… I just thought I’d check on you. This is nasty. Improper, even.”
“Tell me about it.”

There was a short pause.

“Thank you for calling, Park. This is… this is very nice of you.”
“No problem. When I saw this, this morning… anyway. I’m glad you’re well supported. And…”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s great you’re doing this. You know, the Ishval thing. It’s needed. Not many would do it, especially knowing what we’ve done there. It’s a dangerous bet, but I think you’re doing the right thing. I’m glad you’ll be rebuilding.”
“Well, not exactly.” Roy winced, then it immediately turned into a smile. “In fact, I think what we’ll be doing is more like your job, actually. Helping people to rebuild themselves.”
Park laughed at the other end of the line.
“Good point, sir. Very good point. And it’ll be giving you an occupation. Anyway. I’ll leave you be.”
“Thank you again, Park. For all.”

Roy sprung to his feet at once when he heard Black Hayate’s happy trot to the front door. The dog had better hearing than him, and he only got up when he knew it was Riza on the other side.

Roy had spent the afternoon trying to fight boredom and avoid his thoughts — thinking about what Riza could be going through because of the newspapers would be enough to make him incinerate the whole building — and he’d done some cleaning as he could (not much) and had been re-reading one of the last borrowed Braille books he had. For practice.

He’d dozed off a couple of times. In fact, he had not checked the time, and had no idea how late or early it was. Maybe he’d been off for longer than he thought. The loss of the structure that was provided by his rehab time really was doing a number on him.

Roy hurried, and opened the door before the keys clinked in the lock. Luckily for him, he was less clumsy, more focused than he’d been earlier with the telephone.

“Oh.”

While he had studied Black Hayate’s behaviour, it was the first time Roy had tried this. He was happy to hear the surprise in Riza's voice.

“Black Hayate warned me,” he smiled, standing by the side of the door to let Riza in.
“Of course.”
“Of course.”

Riza’s voice was strained. Tired. She was apparently still standing in the same place.

“You’re not coming in?”
“Yes.”

She didn't.

“What’s wrong?”
“You're asking me what's wrong? Today?”
“So nothing more than what we expected?”
“Yes and no.”

Roy smacked his lips, then gave Riza a sad smile.
“If it’s any consolation, I think this isn’t as bad as it could have been. But… I wasn’t with you today. Care to tell me how it went, over a cup of tea?”
He held out his hand in front of him.

“You and your tea.”

Riza sighed, but she took his hand, allowing him to pull her inside, finally.

Roy closed the door, holding her hand carefully, and as soon as he had let go of the handle, Riza slid herself against him, curling her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. He stepped backwards, leaning against the door, and kissed her hair, closing his arms around her, too.

Home, at last.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

“Here’s the lotion you asked for, Lieutenant. Do you want help applying it?”
“No, thank you. I should manage.”

Even in the hospital, they’re still their rank before anything else. Somehow, it makes Riza feel better. Like there’s at least some veneer of normalcy to the current situation.

But there’s none.

The nurse bids Riza and the Colonel good night, and closes the door behind herself.

Riza steals a glance towards the Colonel, pondering if she should lower her blouse to apply the lotion, but she decides against it. She knows he can’t see her. But she can’t. She puts some of the lotion on her right hand and tries to reach for her back.

“What’s that lotion for?”
“Aren’t you curious.” She quips, then corrects. “Sir.”
“Well, I wouldn’t ask you if I could see. What’s it for? I didn’t picture you as someone who couldn’t live without an evening skincare routine.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answer for.”

She’s tense. She’s so tense that she allows herself to answer back to her superior officer.

Even if it’s him. She shouldn’t. But that’s because it’s him, there, in her room, in front of her, a frown on his face.

The frown doesn’t ease, but his eyes half close, and he scowls. Nonetheless, he lets out a faint “alright” before turning around.

Riza bites her lip. He’s had enough frustrations already today, being told he wouldn’t get his full mobility back in his hands. And you’re being petty. About an old wound.

To protect him.

Riza lets out a loud sigh.
“I'm not going to teach you anything you don't already know, here. Severe burn scars need to be taken care of regularly, lest the skin loses its elasticity. And I need to be able to move.”

The Colonel doesn’t turn back, but she can see a blink and you’ll miss it jolt in his back. There's a noise, and she wonders if she just heard him gulp.

His voice is incredibly low, and surprisingly soft, when he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause, during which Riza thinks he won’t say anything more. They have never spoken about it before. Not since she told him she didn’t need him to help tend to the fresh wounds anymore. In the meantime, they had left Ishval separately, and only had met again, this time as newly appointed subordinate and superior, months later. Years have gone by. Not a word. Not a look. Not even a covert allusion has crossed their lips since.

She remembers the tears in his eyes. Hers were mixed horrendous pain and relief. Relief.

His, however…

“It must be hard to reach. Do you… want help?”

Riza freezes. The Colonel is offering her his help. To apply lotion. On her scars.

Something clicks, somewhere. Something breaks, and she doesn’t know what it is, if it’s in her mind or in her body. She’s longed for his touch for so long, repressed that deep, tearing yearning, buried it, and now, the first time he would put his hands on her after all this time, would be to touch her scars?

“No. Thank you. I’ll manage.”
“Alright.” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, and she has trouble hearing it. He stays with his back to her. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

Riza doesn’t reply. That broken thing under her ribs, inside her throat, is pulsing and throbbing and letting out too many things at once, and she tears her eyes away from the Colonel’s back with a bitter taste on her tongue.

She pulls on her arm to reach the thick, dry patch of skin on her shoulder.

Riza sat down, bringing with her a handful of envelopes, nice writing paper, and her best fountain pen. Roy had his back to her, busy with his usual self imposed task of making tea. Indeed, there was a barely discernible blue flash in the sunlit kitchen, and Roy turned around, bringing a tea pot filled to the brim to the table.

“Careful with the hot water.”
“I know it’s hot. I’m the one who heated it up.”
“Maybe you should heat it once it’s already on the table.”

He shrugged, holding the pot in one hand, the other searching for the table corner. Once found, he checked there was nothing on the table, and set the teapot down.

He turned back again to fetch a couple of mugs.

“Isn’t there something, like a code among alchemists, about not using alchemy for mundane stuff?”
Riza placed the writing paper over the guideline page. She usually didn’t bother with those — she was used to writing without lines, thank you — but she wanted the invitations to look as nice as possible, given the fact that they didn’t have time to have real wedding announcements printed.

“I might have heard something about that once, I guess,” Roy huffed as he sat at the table, both mugs now waiting for the tea to seep in front of him. She saw him check the time on his watch — five minutes, and the tea would be ready. The sleeve of his shirt was in the way, and he began to fold both sleeves meticulously, up to his elbows.

Riza made a small throat noise — a low chuckle, mostly, but Roy seemed to take it as something else, considering the sudden smirk on his face as he sat back in his chair, folding his arms. He knew how she — and most women, really — liked to see him with a crisp shirt and rolled up sleeves. That wasn’t a secret.

“I seem to remember my father was all about this rule. Even Edward didn’t do this.”
“Well,” Roy shrugged in front of her. “Equivalent exchange. I’ll stop doing that when I get my sight back.”
“Fair enough. Still. I can pour the tea, if you want.”
“I’ll manage. I’ll just pour small amounts. I’ve trained myself to do that. You think I don’t drink anything when I’m alone all day and bored stiff? But hey, did you know hot water makes a different sound from cold water, when you pour it?”
“No. Never stopped to listen. I mean, hot water usually produces some steam.”
“But the physics of this phenomenon is actually very — eh alright. I’ll show you one day.”
“You can explain, but yeah, I think we should get started. I mean I have eleven letters to write. We should draft something short and elegant, first. But, mainly, short.”
“Sure you don’t want me to help? I can touch type, remember?”
“Stubborn, aren’t you,” Riza smoothed out the paper in front of her and uncapped her pen. “Last time you left me a typed note, it read ‘At Chris. Dont wait up. Hayate fed at 15:00. Floorsncleaned and groceries delivere and put away.’”
“Two miserable typos. I’m blind, for f*ck’s sake. I consider this an accomplishment.”
“Three typos. And ‘at Chris’ isn’t grammatically correct. You have the writing guide. Use a pen.”
“My hands won’t like writing one letter, let alone the other ten.”
“This is why I’m writing.”

There was silence, then Roy smiled, and unfolded his arms, drumming his fingers on the table.
“You’ll be writing ten of them,” he got up. “I am going to write one of them, and you won’t stop me.”
“Let me get you a pen.” Riza, thinking he wanted to write Chris’s letter, started getting up too, until Roy replied.
“No need for a pen.”

Riza sat back down and frowned, turning around in her chair to follow Roy’s trip to the set of shelves in the living room. He put most of his stuff on there, neatly organized. When he walked back to the kitchen table, he held an oblong box, roughly the length of his forearm. Riza didn’t remember what was in that box — she had never seen him open it.
Roy sat back, and the smirk on his face promised mischief.

“How thick is your paper?”
“Relatively thick. I want to make announcement cards.”
“Care to lend me a piece?”
Riza, still frowning, looked at the self satisfied smile on Roy’s face, then at the small oblong box. She took a sheet from her pile and set it in front of Roy, knocking on the table to signal it.
“Thanks.”

Roy quickly felt the paper, approved its thickness with an appreciative smile, then folded his arms again, and didn’t open the box. Riza burnt to ask him what it held, but she knew he expected that, and she didn’t want to feed the smug air he had. She, too, could play games. Her poker face might not be effective on him anymore, but she could just decide not to talk. Besides, she was starting to understand what he was planning. He wanted to write a letter, without a pen, and needed thick paper. Obviously, the box contained some kind of Braille writing device he had not shown her yet for whatever reasons.

They had — she had — a lot of letters to write. Better get on with it.

“So. What should we put on the invitation? Do we make a single standard text for everyone, or do we personalize it? I mean, we can, if we make only eleven of these.”
“I think standard is good. Faster.”
“And this way I can help you write, right? Who are you writing this for? Made any blind friends, recently?”

Roy made a face. Touché. She might have been a little too rough, but it was something they had discussed previously and Roy had not been very cooperative.

She knew he hadn’t made a single acquaintance with another blind student during his rehab. It rather put her off. She would have expected he’d try to, knowing how Roy functioned — his need and skill at knowing everyone, building networks anywhere, was something she actually admired in him. She knew part of it came from the fact that he had a weird schedule and couldn’t learn at the same pace as the others due to his hands, but still. It remained a mystery, how someone like Roy would suddenly decide not to ever mingle with other people.

But then… he had refused to see his team since he had signed his resignation papers. And before, he had avoided them gradually more and more until they stopped trying.

It was actually a good surprise then when Roy had himself offered names outside of Chris and his closest sisters for the wedding invitations. Chris, Madeline, Vanessa, but he also was the one to offer to invite their former teammates. Riza herself had thought of Rebecca, of course, who would be her witness (to her loudest protestations), and Eward and Alphonse Elric. Roy had been a little on the fence about it, at first. Not that he wasn’t fond of them — he was, and a lot more than he would ever admit out loud, that Riza knew. But, in Roy’s mind, they just got back to Resembool, had been through just as much as they themselves had, and making them, especially Alphonse, travel the way back just for a small party seemed like pushing them too much. Would they even want to come? After all, Roy was just Edward’s former… what? He wasn’t his superior officer on paper, since State Alchemists only answered to the Fuhrer. But in effect, he had acted as such — mentor would have been a little too much of a word. He was mostly the one who’d pulled him into the army. And what an idea it’d been…

Riza had reassured Roy that the boys would probably jump on the occasion to see them, and if not them only, the team and Alex Armstrong too. Somehow, it had made him feel better, and he’d agreed to have them come — he was especially curious about Alphonse, whom he had only briefly met before he’d left, from afar. He hadn’t even heard his voice, as weak as the kid was. And of course, just as he had with the team, Roy had conveniently avoided most of the offered encounters with the boys before they departed.

Riza was only now starting to see a pattern, and she didn’t really like what it revealed. But it seemed Roy was working towards correcting that now.

Indeed, Roy mumbled, shaking her off from her thoughts.

“No blind friends, no.” But he found his footing quickly, and added with a grin. “I’ll be writing to Fullmetal.”
“I doubt Edward can read Braille.”
“Come on, kid’s supposed to be a genius. He’ll figure it out. Let me have my silly prank. Besides, I need to train in writing, and it’s always better with a goal.”

Riza sighed. There would be no shaking him out of this stupid, time consuming idea. Not when he had that smirk on his face, that glint in his eyes.

She had to admit, as much as it promised to be cumbersome, she liked to see that look on his face again. And indeed, pissing off Edward was going to do the trick. She shook her head and warned.
“You’ll get your stupid prank, but only if you let me write Al’s, so we’re sure they get the information on time.”
“Fine.” Roy raised his hands, then leaned on his forearms towards Riza with renewed interest. “So. Let’s draft, shall we?”

Indeed, the oblong box proved to hold writing material. Roy slid the metal slate, full of aligned small holes, around the paper sheet, and showed her a small metal stylus with a wood handle.
“I use it to punch the dots. Trick is, you have to write backwards. I’m surprised I haven't shown you yet.”
“We’ve been rather busy, lately.”
Roy hummed, and set to work, with Riza’s help. She read him the first line of words from her draft, and set to write down her own invites herself.

It was nice, in fact. Sitting and working together again, in companionable silence. Just the sound of her pen on the paper — Roy’s printing didn’t seem to make much noise.

Riza felt a sudden surge of nostalgia. Not that she missed the paperwork. Not that she would change the fact that she and Roy had finally been able to act on their feelings. But…

“Uh… Riza? What was the second word, already?”

Oh, that was going to be tedious.

“Are. You are cordially invited.”
“Okay so that was invited. Didn’t count the others.”
“You know, if you want help, you need to be thorough.”
“Right, sorry. What’s after that, then?”

And it was tedious.

Awfully.

Riza had written eight identical cards when Roy put down his stylus to massage his hand with a wince.

He was nearing the end of the second line. He’d stopped at his own name. Only the date and place were missing — it was a waste of time really. Edward wouldn’t even bother reading it, considering they were sending the exact same letter to Alphonse, written from her hand.

Riza shook her head, but said nothing. She motioned to get up and warm the tea, when she decided against doing it herself.

“Roy?”
“Hm?”
It seemed she had a good idea. Roy’s expression had turned slightly sour as time had passed and he made slow progress.
“Would you mind warming up the tea again?”
His features softened.
“Not against the mundane use of alchemy anymore?”
“I admit it has its perks.”

Roy located the teapot, then clapped. With a touch of his finger, the water boiled instantly, for a split second.

“Thank you.”

Roy smiled. If he had seen through her, and understood she asked him that mostly so that he’d feel a little useful again, he didn’t show it.

“Almost done.”
“Me too. I have two more left.”
“You know…”

Riza looked up, and Roy had a wistful look on his face. But not the kind of wistful she was fond of.

“...what if we wrote one for General Armstrong?”
“You want to write it? She’ll come and skewer you herself.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny, though?”
“You certainly have some idea of fun.”

Riza got back to her own writing after reminding Roy of the following word on his — she’d crossed out each letter he’d written on her draft as he went. Of course, she didn’t tell him, but he seemed to entirely trust her that she knew exactly where he had stopped, just like that. This simple show of absolute, unquestioning trust caused her to feel a surge of fondness with a tad of fear. He really depended on her now, and he didn’t question it.

He had told her so once. He had never questioned his trust in her. So why would he now?

It made her head spin. She shook it away, and repeated the last word to Roy, and put her pen on her paper.

Soon enough, she straightened her pile of letters, and went to fetch the envelopes and her address book.

Roy was still printing, a focused crease on his brow.

“Done!”
Roy sat back in his chair with a relieved sigh.

Riza was herself almost done with the addresses.
“Want to make yourself useful?”
“As if I wasn’t. I wrote a letter.”
“One. I’ll file an application to get you a medal. Ishval. Act of bravery. Wounded in action. Wrote a letter.”
“And what a letter. I can’t wait to hear from Edward.”
“Oh, believe me, you will. Here,” she tapped his hand with a first envelope. “Lick and close it, please.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” Roy nonetheless diligently took the letter, licked and closed it.
“If you behave I’ll let you lick the stamps too. Maybe even glue them on.”
“Oh, what a thrill. Who’s that one for?”
“Chris.”
“We could just give it to her.”
“We could just give it to all of them, apart from the Elrics. But it wouldn’t be as fun.”
“Right.”

After Chris, it was Vanessa. Madeline. Rebecca. Major Alex Armstrong. Havoc. Breda. Falman. Fuery. And finally Alphonse, and Edward, whose letter Roy took great care to fold so that it wouldn’t damage his printing. It wasn’t ideal. But no one would really read it. Still, Roy was proud of his prank, and, Riza supposed, proud of his letter. He had never written as much at once, he’d admitted.

He looked like an eager kid when they got out to post them, but she quickly understood it wasn't only because of the prank.

“This is it, right?”
He said as he tapped the postbox the last letter had just disappeared into. The smile on his face wasn’t fully eager anymore. It was a little awkward. Apprehensive. But still excited.

Riza smiled at this sheepish face.
“I guess it is.” Feeling bold, she went to press a kiss on his cheek. There, in the street. Where everyone could see them. And she didn’t care. Not anymore.

Roy’s hand felt for her arm, and grasped her hand tight.
“I can't wait to call you Mrs Mustang.”

“Aren’t you coming to sleep?”
Riza, right arm reaching behind her left shoulder, under her pyjamas, walked into the living room. Roy was still sitting on the sofa, playing tug-o-war with a half committed Hayate. The dog pulled with little strength, his tail wagging lazily.

“No… I fell asleep part of the afternoon. This…”
“It’s getting — worse, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I try to do things during the day, but… it’s hard.” Roy straightened his back, letting Black Hayate win by withdrawing. “I cleaned the cupboards, though. Didn’t tell you, but —”
“You broke a cup. I found a piece — you’d missed.”
“Sorry.”

The dog proudly came to Riza to give her his prize — a piece of thick hemp rope wet with drool that he let fall at her feet when she didn’t offer a hand — before going to slump down in his basket.

“Don’t be. I’m just happy you didn’t hurt yourself. Thanks for cleaning the cupboards. We should — find — something — for you to–”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed.”
“You move a lot and your speech sounds broken. What are you doing?”

Silence. Riza felt her cheeks turn red. She usually tried to do this when she was alone, right after showering, so that conversation wouldn’t resurface. But tonight, she was tired, and tense. And longing. For what exactly, she couldn’t pinpoint. But she needed Roy. She had not really thought it through.

“You know. My back. I have to —”
“The lotion. Sorry. My bad. I’ll leave you be.”
Roy raised his hands, and started to get up from the sofa.

He’d been surprisingly quick to understand. But such was Roy.

“Roy, I’m the one who came to check on you.”

He sat back down, his face inscrutable.

“I was thinking… maybe you could help me.”

There was a sudden tension in his jaw.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I… I mean I can do it alone, I’ve done it for years. But it's… kind of an ordeal, to reach places on your own back.”

And I’d like you to do it.

It was still too hard to say out loud.

Roy stayed silent. He blinked, then smacked his lips.
“I’m… I’m not sure I can…”
Riza tried the silly route. The one he took so often.
“You don’t have that many thoughts when we're doing something else.”
“Not out loud. It's there. It’s always there. Sometimes I think it’s better I can’t see them. Or else I’d…”
Wrong choice. She reached towards him, to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Touch is different.”
“Touch is different. Can be worse.”
“You offered it. That night. In the hospital.”
“Did I? I don’t remember.”
“I think you do.”

Roy shrugged again. A red tint was creeping up over his dress shirt collar.

“Alright, it’s okay. Just don’t come to bed too late. It won’t help.”

Riza was ready to turn around and leave, when he caught her wrist before she detached her hand from his shoulder.

“I will, though. Help you, I mean. Sit down.”

Riza did as she was instructed.

“What made you change your mind, now?”
“I am not known to turn down opportunities to be useful.”
Riza kissed his tired smirk and handed him the lotion she’d kept in her hand.

She turned around, presenting her back to him. She lowered her blouse to the middle of her back.

Warm fingers bumped against her skin, trailed around her back, along her spine, until they stopped where she could barely feel them. Roy put his palm around the first scar, just as warm as his fingers were, and started spreading the lotion, the temperature contrast giving Riza goosebumps.

They sat in silence for a while.

Roy’s strokes on her skin were measured. They felt almost shy. But they also felt good.

Letting him care for her was something she still had trouble doing. It didn’t only stem from their unrealisable relationship of the last years. It was something deeper, as engraved into her skin as the tattoo in her back.

She was in fact envious of how easy it looked for Roy to let himself be pampered — and in fact quite relieved that it also had an effect on how he relied on others to help him without much fuss before, and now, when he really needed it.

But for Riza herself… she just couldn’t. Wouldn’t even think about it.

But now that she allowed it once, well… maybe… she could ask for it more.

Maybe starting with asking the hardest for him — she knew what he had just told her was the truth, and probably truncated — was the way to go. Because he’d just shown her he would do it for her.

As if she needed any more proof.

She cleared her tight throat just as Roy’s hand left the middle of her back to rest on her waist.

“You want me to do this every evening?”
“A couple times a week is enough. But I would like to, yes.”
“I’ll be happy to help.”

Riza turned. He didn’t exactly sound happy.

His neck was bright red, his lips sealed, his eyes closed tight under a frown.

“Roy…”
She pulled him against her chest.
“It’s okay. I’ll get over it.” His voice was muffled. “Especially if I’m treated to this afterwards,” he wheezed.

Riza stilled. She’d forgotten she'd pulled down her blouse and wasn’t wearing anything under it.

“It doesn’t take much, does it?”

Roy planted a chaste kiss between her breasts and nudged his head in his favourite place against her neck.

“Admit it, you like it.”
“I do.”
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“I do.”
Riza scoffed, and ruffled his hair.
“Not yet, Mr Impatient.”
“Well, I will say it then. I do, Mrs Mustang.”

Roy held her tight.

“Roy?”
“Hm?”
“How come you don’t know how to care for burns?”

Roy shrugged again.

“You either left the hospital before you could be instructed on it, or didn't listen, right? Did you ever–”
“Once or twice. I forgot about it when they took you from me. I was too busy–”
“You forgot.”
“I was too busy.”

Riza sighed.

“I’m not surprised you still feel so much pain. What if I offered to return the favour and care for it for you?”
“You think it’ll help?”
“It can't hurt more than doing nothing would.”
“Then yes. Please.”

Roy turns his glass this way and that, making the dark golden liquid swirl, creating amber reflections from the low light of the bar.

Brown can be such a nice colour.

“How was it?”

He barely glances up at Hughes next to him at the counter. He hears him shift in his seat, put his beer back down, stifle a burp.

He is drunk enough to reply to this question, and Roy was drunk enough to ask it.

“Grand. For real.”
“Are you happy, then?”
“Never been happier.”

Roy drinks.

“Congratulations.”
“You’ve said it three times already, Roy. Care to change the record?”

Roy shrugs, keeping his eyes on his whisky.

“I wish you’d been there, you know.”
“Don’t. You’re the one who–”
“And what was I supposed to do? Hi, here’s my witness, Gracia, you've met him once at the train station. He thinks we don’t deserve to settle down and find happiness because we killed too many people. He thinks we should forever bear—”
“Okay, okay, I got it. It’s my fault.”
“I just needed you to come by, smile, and be happy for me. I wasn’t asking you to let go of your convictions. I wasn't asking you to get married.”
“Seriously?” Roy has a dry laugh. “Can you hear yourself, Hughes?”
“Not really. You know I just keep saying it because it pisses you off.” Hughes has a loud sigh, and drinks from his beer. “Though I’m still convinced you would benefit from having someone you can come home to. Someone who–” Hughes slides his arm around Roy’s shoulders. “Hugs you and warms you and—”
“You’re not going to kiss me,” Roy laughs, pushing an exaggeratedly ready to smooch Hughes away from his face. “f*ck off!”

“Ah! Finally! A smile on this sour face,” Hughes roughly pinches Roy’s cheek, who pushes him away harshly.

“I’m – I’m just…” Roy abruptly stops laughing. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t.”
“I know.”
“Thanks.”

They fall silent again, and Roy can make out music coming from the back room. Some faint ragtime that feels utterly out of place.

“Just let me know when you change your mind.” Hughes starts again after a while. “I know a bunch of girls who’d make such perfect wives now. Gracia has a lot of friends, just saying. I’m sure one of them would be great for you.”
“I know I shouldn't even answer, but… I just don’t think I'm fit for this life. Ishval or not, really.”
“You just haven't found the one.”
“I don’t think the one for me is among Gracia's friends.”

Hughes’s glass knocks hard enough against the counter for Roy to look up at once, his constantly fired up nerves sending his hand to his pocket even before he thought about it.
“Now what are you impl–”

Roy forces his hand to pull out of his pocket. Empty.

“Hold your horses.” He washes down the bitter taste in his mouth with some more whisky. “I’m just saying I’m not like you. I can’t just put everything aside and enjoy life. I’m just not able to do that. I think I’d need someone… someone who could understand. Or I'd just made their life miserable.”
“You’re miserable.”
“Guess so.”
“Want to have a bet?”
“Mh?”
“In ten years from now, you’ll be married. You’re a good man, Roy. You just need to find someone who sees that for you.”

“Why are you so nervous, Roy-boy?”
Chris’ tone might be softer than usual, her abrupt, sharp movements weren’t really soothing. Roy loved his aunt, but he’d rather she had not offered to lead him. He’d rather have followed by himself, or been guided by Vanessa. Chris was neither Falman nor, god help him, Riza.

Roy was almost out of breath when they pushed the door to the tailor, after turning around Central as if it was a labyrinth, discussing fashion with Vanessa the whole way.

He was absolutely lost. He had to reconstruct the way to the tailor in his memory, but didn’t manage very well. His mind was busy with other thoughts.

It took him some time to shake his head — time which his foster mother didn’t leave him. She stood still a couple of steps after they’d passed the door, stiffening her posture when someone approached them.
“What can I do for you?”
“We’re the four pm appointment,” Chris almost barked. If he was nervous, he wondered what she was.

Roy sighed, and drew his hand from her elbow, to pat her shoulder.
“Let me take over from here?”
He interpreted the silence that followed as an agreement.
“Roy Mustang. I called a couple of weeks ago. It’s for my–”
“Oh my, sorry, Brigadier General. I didn’t — We are honoured that you would again choose–”
“Please,” Roy waved the title away. The more it went, the more he wished he had refused the honorary promotion, and stayed a Colonel for the rest of his life. But money didn’t grow on trees. "Mr Mustang is enough. I’m… retired. Besides, this is my wedding, as a civilian. It has nothing to do with the army."
"Come on." Vanessa giggled, behind him. "Considering who you're marrying, this is not exactly true."
Roy rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Vanessa wasn’t wrong. But as far as he was concerned, he would get married as a civilian. Even if the wedding would be very private, the resolution he’d taken at the Armstrong charity ball had not faltered. Especially after the newspaper article and the couple of comments he’d heard here and there since.

“The suit you ordered is done, we just need you to try it for the last adjustments. We’d want it to fit perfectly, of course. Follow me?”
It wasn’t the first time Roy had been there in the last months, but the tailor was still awkward.
“Lead the way, my chaperone will guide me.”
“Chaperone! That’s a bit too far, Roy-boy,” Chris giggled at his arm, and walked resolutely forward.

“Here you go, Roy.”
Chris had let go of the childish nickname, and Roy could have sworn her voice wavered. She took his hand and put it on a soft, textured piece of fabric. The room they’d just entered sounded confined, crowded just with Chris and him inside. Probably the fitting room.

Roy pulled the memory of a tiny room with dark wood panels on the walls, a number of coat-pegs on the walls, a standing mirror and a leather chair. Now that he thought of it, he did distinguish a faint smell of wood polish and leather. He knew this room.

“Did Riza choose the colour? It’s lovely. Great choice for you.”
“I did. I still know my colours, you know. But thanks.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”

The door to the fitting room squealed on its hinges.

“Hey, Chris?”
“Roy-boy?”
“You’ll tell me, if it looks horrible, right? No coddling me, remember?”
“Have I ever coddled you in your life?”
“You’re very close, right now.”
“Boy,” Chris messed up his hair a little hard. “Don’t.”
“Okay, okay,” Roy smiled. “Give me five minutes.”

The door closed smoothly behind Chris.

Time to undress and dress up, Roy’s hands started to feel painful. There were so many buttons. He did wear suits as much as he could — not as much as he did before, even if he felt somehow naked without his uniform or his usual waist coat. But taking one off to put on another one immediately after, with the perspective of doing this in reverse in a few minutes, felt like an ordeal.

However, the suit felt great. This tailor had made most of Roy’s suits in the past, and he trusted this one to be just as fine as usual — maybe more. He’d chosen a dark blue serge for the suit, and a slightly lighter blue for the front of the waist coat — the back was black silk. It felt incredibly smooth under his fingers, like water. The finest Xing silk.

Roy repressed a smirk thinking something else should be made with this silk. But he stored it in the back of his head for now.

The cut overall was his usual, if a little more adjusted, so he knew how it’d fit.

He stepped out of the fitting room pretty confident, and was rewarded by cheers from Vanessa.

Roy quickly smoothed his hair back and took a serious pose. He cleared his throat that had suddenly tightened.
“How do I look?”
“Good enough to eat, Roy-boy, that’s for sure! Most handsome groom I’ve ever seen!”
“How many weddings have you been to, Vanessa?”
“That's irrelevant.”

He’d expected Vanessa to be her loud self, but there was an odd silence apart from her. It was as if Chris had disappeared from the room.

The tailor spoke up, a little too close, causing Roy to startle and step back.
“There’s not much to do — oh, sorry, sir — just a little — uhm, may I, sir?”
“Yeah, yeah, it's alright.”

Roy stepped back in place, opening his arms slightly, used to the process.

The tailor was nice enough to describe what he was doing to him, his voice turning or going up and down around him, tightening a shoulder or shortening a leg. His voice was oddly muffled and his enunciation stunted, and it took a couple of minutes for Roy to realise the man must be keeping pins in his mouth.

Still no sound coming from Chris.

“Aunt Chris? You there?”
“Roy-boy, don’t add a new layer. She’s there. She’s just… a little busy.”
Roy frowned.
“Busy? With what?”
“Stopping the flood.”
“...what?”
“You’re a moron when you’re at it, boy. She’s crying her eyes out.”
“Ah…”

At a loss, Roy messed up his hair again, rubbing his head and leaving his hand there. The tailor asked him to place it back to his side so he could see how the cuffs fit.

“So you’ve kept your dress shirt, but would you want a change? Different collar? What about the tie? What kind?”
“Uhm, I was thinking black tie, just the usual, to be honest. The blue is already out of my comfort zone.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed, sir. But it's your wedding, maybe you want something a little more… joyful?”
“Er…”

Roy tilted his chin, calling for help.

Someone cleared their throat at the back.

“Black would look nice, but you could go with a bow tie instead, don’t you think?”

Chris was back, her voice as steady as ever. Roy smiled.
“Maybe. We’ll try both, what do you think?”
“Let me!” Vanessa jumped on the occasion. “I’ll tie it for you. Just like when you were a kiddo.”
“You’re barely older than me, Vanessa.”
“Still.” She already had her hands around his neck. “Want to try some other colours, too? What about… this light blue… that’s the same as your waist coat. No, then.”
“I’d rather keep it simple. All eyes should be on the bride.”
“And they will be. Tell me Riza has decided on a dress, it’s getting close.”
“Riza has everything she needs,” Roy smiled. “Not that I should know of it.”
“You’re a cheater! Roy-boy, that’s bad luck!”
“I haven't seen anything.”

Roy regretted his refusal of Chris's umbrella. The rain had gone from light to a downpour in a few minutes. His hair was drenched, cold rivulets rolling down his nape, soaking his shirt collar. He would be freezing in no time.

But he couldn’t carry what he had in his hand, his cane and an umbrella. He simply didn’t have enough hands. He’d have had to have Chris come with him instead of waiting under the bus stop. And he wanted to be alone.

It also would have increased the rain’s white noise — it was already throwing him off enough as it was.

Roy swerved to the right to avoid a puddle that splashed under his cane, and course-corrected when he felt the gravel under his feet turn into grass. It wouldn’t do to crash into a tombstone.

It’d already been hard enough to make Chris leave him alone. She was probably planning to force a hot toddy on him for later, as adamant as she’d been that he was going to catch a cold under all this rain.

But he wanted to be alone.

Maybe the rain was a good thing.

Roy stopped. He’d been lost in thoughts, and might have missed the right alley. But he followed what Park had told him — he trusted his gut. He’d been there enough times. His feet must remember. He turned to the right, and walked some more, until he turned to the left, looking for the right grave, until his cane hit something. The white marble shone in his mind as clearly as if he could see it. Maybe clearer — the last time, it hadn’t been raining.

For his peace of mind, knowing this time it was almost sure that he was alone there, he crouched in front of the stone, and passed his hand on the letters. The sharp engraving seemed to increase the mineral’s icy feeling under his fingertips.

M…

I.

I?

f*ck. Wrong one.

So much for the soldier’s sixth sense, uh.

“Sorry,” Roy muttered under his breath as he got up, picking up the bouquet he had left on the ground. “Wrong visitor. Hope you won’t mind not getting these flowers. They’ll be drenched anyway.”

He retraced his steps, trying to focus on finding the right place instead of on his pathetic failure, and followed the gravel path to the previous alley. Counted the distance he knew separated Hughe’s tombstone from the main alley, and repeated the action.

M… A…

He felt perfectly stupid.

E… S… long space with nothing… H…

“Laughing at me, are you?”

Roy stood up with a grunt after arranging his flowers in front of the tombstone.

“White carnations. Again.”

He pushed his hair away from his forehead on which they were plastered. The flow on his cheeks lessened, but the one on his neck doubled. The rain felt colder on his now exposed skin.

“At least I’ve been told they’re white. I’m pretty sure they’re carnations. Smells like them, at least. If they aren’t white, well. You don’t get to yell, anyway.” Roy shivered. Spring rain could be incredibly icy. “We’re getting married next week. Thought I’d come to tell you, keep you posted. I…” Roy danced from one foot to the other, fiddled with his cane. “We didn’t inform Gracia. I don’t think it would… I don’t think it’d have been nice. Too soon, you know? And it’s not as if we know each other that well. Sorry.”

Roy stilled.

“Well, if you disagree, you can tell her yourself. Or tell me now, so I can send her an invite. No? Sure? See, I was right. Maybe the Elrics will tell her. They have kept contact, I’m told. Apparently, she visited them at the hospital.”

The rain on his cheeks felt warmer.

“I’d put an order not to let anyone in, so. Even if she tried to see me, I wouldn’t know. I don’t think so, though. I wouldn’t have, in her place. We aren’t close.”

“Roy-boy!”
The voice was faint, coming from far away, almost covered by the rain. Roy turned in its direction.
“You’re going to catch your death there!”

Roy raised a hand high over his head, but didn’t reply, and turned back.
“Chris. Not always the best sense of humour.” Roy leaned and patted the cold and wet marble. Everything was wet. Water had soaked through his thin leather shoes, too. Time to go, indeed. “She’s my witness in your place, but we agreed you would have been a lot more fun. Annoying, too, but fun. Anyway, I’ll pass by with Mrs Mustang. Promised.” He paused. "Ah, and a hundred cenz. Don't remember how much you'd placed in me getting married, but you won."
“Are you coming, Roy-boy?”

It was fashionably late when the phone rang.

Riza was busy washing the dishes, both hands in the sink, so Roy put down the tea towel he was using to dry the clean ones, and got to the phone.

He should have been prepared.

“Mustang, yeah?”
“YOU!”

Roy winced, pulling the phone away from his ear. That had been loud.

Oh! Fullmetal. Right.

“Me?” Roy replied, hoping his sneer was audible in his voice.

“Yeah you! What the f*ck! Is this your idea of a joke?”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“You don’t — I'm going to — WHY? What the f*ck is this thing saying?”

The dishes stopped clinking in the kitchen behind Roy. Light footsteps came towards him.

“I don’t understand. Who are you?”

An exasperated sigh rose to his left. Riza tutted three times.

Stop.

“You perfectly know who I am, you twat.”

Hell no, Roy mouthed in Riza's direction.

It was too much fun.

“What language, Fullmetal…”
“I’ll give you language, you–”
“You didn’t even try to decipher it?”
“I just got it! And special mail, at that! You’re insane, Colonel!”

Roy raised his eyebrows, and mouthed again.

You?

One tap on his shoulder.

Yes.

Roy couldn’t help laughing.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to choose between just Mustang, or Brigadier General, now. You can choose the latter if it helps you remember who's the adult in this conversation, you know."
“You’re laughing! You’re sending me cyphers out of nowhere and you’re laughing!”
“It’s not a cypher. You’re a genius kid, I’ve heard. Use your brain. It’s a simple change of alphabet.”
“Well, if you managed it's sure I can in a couple of minutes.”
“Please do. You should have tried before calling me, I’m kind of b–”

There was a ruckus at the other side of the line, and Ed fell silent. A faint voice echoed, then a high pitched shriek. Roy thought but couldn’t have told for sure that those were two different people.

When Fullmetal picked up the line, his voice had changed. It sounded empty.
“So, that’s the joke?”
“What’s the joke?”
“Al just told me… f*ck, do I have to say it out loud? Are you and Lieutenant Hawkeye going to get married?”

Roy couldn’t help the wide grin that pulled at his lips.

“No, Fullmetal. The joke was the Braille letter. That’s for real.”
“I KNEW IT!” Another shriek sounded from somewhere next to Fullmetal. “I knew it! You owe me–”
“I owe you nothing, Winry — what, did you drug her?”
Fullmetal’s voice was getting its colours back, but slowly. It sounded like he wasn’t even convinced of what he was saying.

Edward Elric? Moved? By this?

It knocked the air out of Roy’s lungs.

Because that was it.

It was real.

It was all very real.

“Roy?”
“Oh? Is Hawkeye there? Put her on the phone, I’d rather speak with her than your annoying arse. Hawkeye, why?”

Riza laughed. She was close enough to have heard Edward.

That laugh shook Roy out of his stupor. A warm, genuine laugh, bursting so close to him he could almost feel it. He let it sleep through his chest, curl around his ribs, cradle and warm his heart.

“Well, Fullmetal. Are you coming, then?”