a/n i can't write ficlets. i can't they all end up being like so many pages. This one is eight. I tried.
I really did. Even so, this little moment holds such a lovely place in my head cannon.
She went to lunch.
She went to lunch and obliterated six years of progress.
She went to lunch, obliterated all that progress,
stepped through the doors,
and felt ice.
It was shorter.
Appropriately so,
she froze.
The whole office was back. She was late.
She stood in the doorway, gripping the handle.
The men looked up. She was never late.
Havoc popped a chip in his mouth.
"Nice hair cut, Hawkeye," he crunched "Throwback."
"I did always like the short hair, Captain," Fuery nodded.
"Looks good," Breda confirmed, sneaking another
bit of a brownie, rather overtly
Lunch is over.
No food in the office.
She was supposed to say something.
She didn't say anything.
The General lifted an eyebrow, looking to her.
They would be leaving in a week.
The office was in boxes, actually.
"Very sensible for the desert," Falman commented.
Riza's fingers grazed the blonde cut short at her ear.
She said nothing. She studied the carpet.
Roy's face dropped.
The Captain took a breath, looked to the men
nodded in thanks then finally moved from the doorway.
The sun through the massive wall of windows was scorching.
Riza, once frozen, now burned like fire.
She removed her military jacket,
draped it over her chair,
then turned on her heel toward the coffee.
Then they all just decided something was wrong.
She didn't even drink coffee.
Yup, something was definitely wrong.
No, she shut it down silently.
She was fine. They didn't think so.
So, they then collectively,
wordlessly, started plotting.
Havoc elbowed Breda in the ribs.
"It's cute too," Breda coughed out. "Very cute!" Fuery agreed.
"Becoming, yes." Falman added quickly "Hot." Havoc finished it off.
That should have shocked her out of it.
Inappropriate insubordination
always got her attention.
All of those things were true, of course.
The pixie cut was highly underrated.
But, still.
Roy just watched her shuffle through the cabinet,
pull out the coffee beans, and ready the grinder.
"Out." Roy then said softly,
only just loud enough to hear.
Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery, snapped from
Riza to Roy. They stared, wide-eyed,
waiting for his solution.
For, the only person, truly, that even might
be able to 'fix' Riza Hawkeye
was Roy Mustang.
So, they sat in waiting, ready to help.
Roy screwed the cap back on his pen,
and said, "Go take lunch,"
Riza stiffened, coffee mug in hand,
back facing the office.
No, he wasn't going to do this. Kick the team out.
Satisfy his hero complex. Try to save her.
She was fine.
Still, he said,
"Go take lunch."
"Boss, we already had-"
"Go take another." Roy bit through his teeth.
Fuery, Breda, Falman all rushed, snatched up their hidden snacks
and flew through the doors. Havoc lingered.
He stood, fished his lighter out from his desk,
glanced from Roy to Riza to Roy again,
essentially ensuring the General didn't need backup.
Roy got up, shook his head, and waved him away. Havoc left.
and Riza stood her ground hoping Roy would be lazy enough
to skip the trip to the coffee cart.
Her hopes were dashed.
He appeared beside her.
"Sir, do not start-"
The General swept fingers across the top
layers for her hair and let out a "huh."
Riza swatted his hand away.
"It does look good, Captain."
"I'm fine, General" she said sternly.
"You did not need to evacuate the room simply
because you believe otherwise, Sir" she grumbled,
Roy tilted his head, "It's the haircut, isn't it?"
He ran fingers through it again, deeper this time.
It was highly inappropriate,
but Roy did not stop
and Riza did not stop him.
"It hasn't been this short since-" Roy started softly.
Riza finished strong. "Since I murdered hundreds of thousands
of innocent people. Yes, I know." her words were venomous,
not out of malice,
out of grief.
"And, yet, you are fine, Captain?"
Roy made his point.
He knew when she was crumbling,
even worse, he almost always knew why.
despite her unmatched talent of resolving,
or rather hiding, any such circumstance.
He always knew.
So, he got her alone and he tried to fix her, like always.
The joke was on him. Not even Roy Mustang could fix a heinous criminal.
The hailed sharp shooter, the famed killer, the single woman who recklessly,
obliviously unleashed flame alchemy,
She slaughtered a race.
There was no fixing that.
Riza grit her teeth, gripped her mug,
then Riza threw it.
The cup flew, shattered on hit clear across the room,
all because of a haircut.
Roy hadn't flinched. He just seemed lightly surprised,
impressed even. Riza turned away from the pieces
and found herself huffing for air.
She caught her breath, bit her lip, shook her head.
She was so stupid. She was so weak.
So weak she had lost her head,
her professionalism,
her vice.
"Forgive me, Sir. My behavior is inappro-"
It was then that her General grabbed the decorative
bouquet off the coffee cart, dumped the flowers,
the water and all into the garbage
and handed her the vase.
"This would be more satisfying."
The Captain stared at the glass, incredulous,
then glanced up at Roy. He cinched a smile.
Riza actually did think about it,
but, in the end, waved the glass away.
"No thank you, Sir" she mumbled and sighed away the suffocation.
Her fingers mindlessly lifted again, this time to sweep the loose pieces
of blonde back behind her ear. The lack hit her hard.
"I apologize again, General. I'm-"
Riza could not find the will to finish, not while
she then would have to confess the fact
that she maybe could not handle this,
not alone.
the full week of nightmares, post-traumatic stress.
six years of recovery, gone.
Riza still gnawed at her lip and shut her eyes.
It was quite simple, really.
Psychological changes often produce the desire for a physical change.
Significant events often cause said psychological changes,
in preparation for the future, the next step,
the new version of yourself.
After Ishval, Mustang and Hawkeye
found Edward, Alphonse and Winry.
At that time, their journey to the top had begun full throttle,
and Riza had admired Resembool, the air, the peace,
and Winry's long, blonde hair.
Something needed to change, she remembered thinking.
She wouldn't mind letting her hair grow, a new version,
void of blood, sun, and endless sand.
It was really quite simple.
She just thought she was stronger.
For, today she had lunch.
Today she had lunch and cut off six years of progress,
of coping, and working, and fighting
and for what?
practicality?
much easier to manage,
very sensible for the desert.
She thought she might be stronger.
In a week, they would be leaving,
back to the sun, the endless sand.
She would be there again, the very same Private Hawkeye.
She sure looked the part. One physical change reversing, nullifying
a psychological remake,
six years,
gone.
Roy watched Riza's eyes glass over.
She braced herself on the counter,
then hid her head in her hands.
That hair cut, the pixie cut, was present
for every horrifying event in Riza Hawkeye's life,
death and ink and sun,
and sand and blood,
and fire.
She had always kept it short.
It was much easier to maintain.
But, with its return came grief, and guilt,
and perhaps it's very own curse.
She looked like a murderer,
like blood and sand and fire,
and she-
"You know," Roy crossed his arms, and thought to the celing.
"when we were young, I teased you about that haircut."
He then leaned back against the counter back and back
until he was in her sight, practically forcing her to look at him.
She compromised and glared instead.
"Yes, I remember," she huffed, "That does not help, Sir,"
Roy shrugged, "It was only to hide the fact that I liked it."
Riza lifted off the counter and looked at him squarely.
Roy smiled sheepishly, particularly remembering the year
before he left, "Havoc's right. It's hot."
Riza scrunched her nose and twisted her lips,
wondering if she should be flattered or disturbed.
Regardless, the fact remained;
Roy Mustang had reminded her
of the one time her pixie cut existed
in happiness.
Riza decided to roll her eyes and bite
the inside of her cheek, willing it not to flush pink.
"We're going back," Roy sighed after a moment.
He looked away, to the shattered porcelain scattered
across the floor.
He would be lying if he said he didn't want to throw
and smash and pulverize anything, everything,
every day.
In a week, they would be leaving.
Riza returned to the coffee pot,
and nodded lightly.
She gripped the bridge of her nose
and actually had to hold off the sting of tears.
But, Roy turned back to her, wove his fingers
into her soft blonde hair and guided her back to him.
He was close.
She could breathe,
and let go.
"It's a good thing we're going together,"
He said surely, smiling as much as he could.
Riza lifted her chin, recovered,
and sighed into the truth,
"Yes. It is."
For, it was true.
Every time in her past when
she felt comfort, happiness,
peace, courage,
every time she felt new:.
She was with Roy Mustang,
Even when she had her pixie cut.
a teeny tiny bonus
"Shall I retrieve the men, Sir?"
"No."
"You know they will take the full hour, General."
"I don't mind," he huffed then plucked a flower out
from the trash can, dusted off the coffee grinds
and offered it to her.
He smiled, "Wanna grab dessert?"
"No."
a/n There's this chapter in Home which I think is the most romantic RoyxRiza moment I have ever written.
This one is a close second, I think. It also came really fast and out of nowhere. Those are kind of the best ones.
I crave attention, and love love love people who love royai with me.
so review, review, review, and follow and all that. -heart-
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