Martel yawned, stretching lightly. "That's sad," Riza said, walking over to her, tracing the marks over her skin. "What is?" Martel asked, licking her lips.
"What they did to you."
"Do we have to go over this again?" Martel asked, reaching up to pull Riza's hair down, letting the blonde locks fall over the lieutenant's shoulders.
"They had to cuff you down," Riza said, sighing.
Martel shrugged. "They strap you down for automail surgery. They were really worried I'd hurt myself. I was close to dying. I'm actually grateful I'm like this."
"How could you be grateful?" Riza asked, her eyes soft and sad, looking over Martel's body, trying to compare it to the automail on Ed's body, but not able to shift her mind's repulsion at what they had done to Martel.
Martel shrugged and started undoing her clothing. "Let me show you," she said quietly.
Riza watched her undo her clothes, swallowing hard, looking at the lean body before her, covered with tattoos, but no scars.
Martel dropped her black tank top and knife on the floor. She looked at Riza, smiling wryly, stepping forward. She took the belt of her pant and let the loose fabric fall to the floor. She stood in front of Riza in her underwear.
"I don't have any scars," she said quietly, stretching further than any human should, popping her back. "And I'm alive."
"You're nothing like what you used to be," Riza mumbled, not sure if her stare was in awe or disgust. "When we were kids…"
"Young sweethearts," Martel said quietly, reminiscing. She took Riza's hands in her own, tracing the calluses on the officer's fingers. She pressed the fingers up against her stomach. "I'm sure I still feel a bit the same," Martel whispered, kissing Riza gently.
Riza closed her eyes, tears forming at the corners, sweeping her hands up the toned body, toying with the lace of Martel's bra. She kissed back desperately, almost afraid, wishing that Martel felt different.
But in so many ways, she was the same.