Five times Riza Hawkeye saw Roy Mustang naked, and one time she didn't
1
Her father has taken on an apprentice. She is studiously avoiding him, keeping to her room and the small yard behind the house where she practices her shooting. She has no interest in alchemy, and no interest in the boy her father has decided to bring into their home.
Nevertheless, she is curious when she hears the clanging noises coming from the washroom. When they persist, she creeps to the door and knocks softly.
The boy who answers is younger than she had expected, only 15 or so. "Are you all right in there?" she asks.
He is blushing. "Can you show me how to turn on the water taps?"
She feels herself about to smile and catches herself. She goes to the porcelain baths and adjusts the four dials on the wall, sending a cascade of steam into the room.
"Ooohh," says the boy, and she shows him again so that he remembers. "Thank you, Miss..."
"Hawkeye," she says.
His eyes widen, and she wonders if her father has even told him that he has a daughter.
His towel is slipping, and she gives him a brief smile. "Enjoy your bath."
"Yes, yes, thank you."
She closes the door carefully behind her, but not before one last curious glance.
2
When she comes upon him, she thinks he is dead, and a cry escapes her lips before she can help it. He lies on the ground, sand pooling in the contours of his uniform and in his hair.
His eyes flick to her then, and she sighs in relief. "Major Mustang."
There are lines on his face now, lines that were not there years ago. "I thought for sure I would be gone by now."
"Sir?"
He sits up, shaking sand out of his hair. "I don't know how many people I've killed, Miss Hawkeye."
His eyes are flat. Dead.
"If that isn't the worst crime a man can commit, I don't know what is."
He looks at her.
"Though destroying another person is probably up there, too."
She rests the butt of her rifle on the ground, crouches down beside him and offers him her canteen. His skin is red, blistering, and she wonders how long he has been out here. Unprotected.
He pushes it away. "You wouldn't give that to a sick, miserable excuse for a man."
"I would give it to you."
She suspects he is delirious. "Can I ever fix this, Miss Hawkeye? Can I make this better? I've made such a mess, such a mess..."
"It's not just your mess," she says, reaching a hand over her shoulder absently. Her mess, too.
He sees her reaching for her tattoo, his eyes suddenly sharp. "No. No. I will fix this. I will. I will fix this..."
She drags him back to camp still mumbling. The doctors treat him for sunstroke. When he wakes up, he is fully clothed.
3
The soldiers of Ft. Briggs are beating them soundly. Mustang pours over the map of the territory and issues his orders to his squad captains. Once they are dispatched, he looks at her with a reckless grin. "Ready to turn the tables, Lieutenant?"
"Sir." She shoulders her rifle and follows him out of the tent. The wind hits her like a brick. She wraps her scarf over her face, stepping in the snow-prints that the Colonel has made.
They are making for the caches that their scouts have discovered a day earlier. In her mind, she recalls the movements of their opponents played out on the map, and sees what the Colonel has in mind. It is a long march to the caches, though, and the land here is unfamiliar to them both.
She remembers that there is a river somewhere in this area just as the Colonel falls through the ice.
She is there in an instant, smashing the ice with the butt of her rifle, her hands reaching into the water for his arm, his jacket, his hair, anything. Her fingers find his, and she pulls, crushing more ice with her boot as she sees him nearing the surface.
Then he is out of the water, choking, sputtering, his face blue. She can see every vein around his eyes. She drags him away from the river, to a great pine tree whose branches form a shelter against the wind. She starts pulling off his coat, his jacket, his boots.
"L-lieutenant," he stutters. "I think this is h-hardly the time."
She considers that a good sign, even as she strips him of his soaking shirt and undergarments. It is strange to have her the one making the fire, but once his strength returns he transmutes the air around them to give off a pleasant heat. The color returns to his cheeks. His clothes dry quickly, and she turns her back to him as he dresses.
He chuckles, and she smiles in relief.
They continue on their way to the caches.
4
The orders will not wait. She hurries through the streets of East City with the papers tucked inside of her coat. It is raining, a dull, misty sort of rain that beads up on her neck and drips down the collar of her uniform. She huddles in the doorframe as she waits for him to answer, tapping her toe inside her boot.
She knocks again, shifting her grip on the papers. She is half-ready to get the key from under the window sill and let herself in when the door creaks open.
She snaps a salute. "Sir. Sorry to disturb you so late..." She forces her gaze back upwards.
He looks at her blearily. Blinks. There is a woman's voice from the bedroom.
"Roy? Who is it?"
He blushes, and shuffles behind the door. Riza thinks that that is something, at least. She hands him the papers. "They need your immediate attention."
"Will you come in--"
She is shaking her head. "If you will sign them I can see them posted to Central tonight."
She stands with her back to the door, bracing it as he holds up the papers on the opposite side, scrawling his signature. He hands them back to her, leaning carefully around the door.
"Lieutenant, I'm sorry--"
"Nothing I haven't seen, sir. Good night."
She walks away without looking back at him.
"Good night..." he says.
5
It isn't raining. Nevertheless, she stays by his side as the others drift out of the cemetery, leaving her vigil only to give their condolences to Gracia. Then she is back by his side, wary even in grief.
When the sun hangs low in the sky, she holds out his coat for him and guides him to the car. She drives him home in silence, and puts him to bed before he has time to find his liquor. She ignores the tracks of tears down his cheeks, ignores the small cries of rage he makes when the grief hits him anew.
She is about to leave and he grabs her hand. "Don't go," he says. And in his eyes, I can't lose you, too.
She understands, and sits beside his bed until he falls asleep.
She is there when he wakes up in the morning, and each time he wakes during the night.
*
He is in the office when she comes to collect her things. "You're the last one," he says. He looks sour, for all it is hard to tell with him. "Now I can dance in here naked for all it matters."
"I wouldn't advise that, sir," she says, calmly placing her notebooks and pens into a box.
He sighs. "I'm sorry for putting you into this position, Lieutenant."
She glances at him, surprised. "I'll manage. We all will."
He nods, swivelling his chair to look out the window. For a moment, Riza is struck by how alone he looks, the room that they all once shared so desolate and empty.
She leaves the envelope on his desk, and brushes his shoulder with her hand as she turns to go. "I almost forgot. Here is the last of the paperwork you wanted from yesterday. Take care of yourself, sir."
"Good-bye, Lieutenant."
The door closes behind her, and he turns and picks up the envelope she has left. He pulls out a piece of paper covered with names, addresses, telephone lines, and codes. Each one is marked with letters: HB, KF, VF, JH, and lastly, RH. He smiles, memorizes the paper, then lets it burn.
*********
Author's Note: My first foray into FMA, "romance-ish genres", and Royai in particular. All comments welcome. -MB