Title: The Same Old You

Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: G
Author: Mystrial
Disclaimer: I do not own FMA
Note: Used "complication"

Words: 2,142

He watched her as she moved around the room with grace, cleaning and putting everything back in place. His eyes following her every movement even as he brought the glass of dark liquid to his lips and felt it burn a trail down his throat. He watched her tensed and relax every once in awhile, knowing that he was watching her. And he observed her.

She has changed.

When he had first met her at the entrance of his sensei's door, she was different. A fragile little girl with wide brimming eyes, a timid pile. She stood there wearing her pink lacy nightgown, a teddy bear clutched tightly against her heart. She was beautiful, he had thought, beautiful in every possible way, her innocence and happiness shown through her very being.

She was what they would call a love child. Protected away from the pain and sufferings of the human world, thus, made her almost ethereal. She was an angel, yes, that was what he had thought when he stumbled to the door of his new life. She stared at him, eyes with no cautiousness, no grief and no pain.

"Who are you?"
"Is there a Mr. Hawkeye here?"
"Daddy, there's someone here for you!"

He was then, to her, just a stranger at the door.

As time went past, they grew closer. When he studied, she would be there in his room, curled up against the edge of his bed reading. If there was a thunderstorm the night before, she would be seen cuddled up against him under the blankets the next morning. She was like a tag along, following him wherever he went, and in some way, he had found it comforting, reassuring to have someone always there for him.

"Roy, do you promise always to be with me?"
"I…why do you—"
"Promise?"
"Promise."

She had needed him then. Back then, she had leaned on him. She was young and frail and she needed his protection. But now, she could stand her own, anytime, any day.

"Lieu—no, Riza, will you follow me to the top?"
"Sir, you know my answer to that. Yes."

And it was, now, he who leaned on her.

The memory of her father's funeral remained, after these long years. It was the day when she left him, to be the woman she was now. No longer to be the innocent, frail child he once knew her of, but a woman of great status, firm and sturdy.

She had cried that day, tears flowing in cascades, sobs choking her throat. For her, he stayed stoic, pushing his pain down below so he could support her, comfort her of her own pain. How funny it was for this to happen again, except that their roles, it seems, have switched.

He had watched her on the day, observing her. He could see her change, little by little, until the end of the day when her dark amber eyes leaked no tears, just determination, plain old determination.

Before they parted at her father's funeral, she had laid a soft kiss on his cheek, a mere flutter of her lips. She had on her lips, a sad but determined smile. He didn't know then, what she had in mind. All he knew was that the touch of her lips on his cheeks was of an unsaid goodbye.

The next time he saw her was at the Ishbal war. She was among the subordinates offered to him. She stood in line, her stance stiff and strong. Her dark amber orbs shone with firm resolution. When their eyes met, her lips did not break into a teeth showing smile like she would have in the past. A nod and a brief curve of the edge of her lips, they were the only signs of recognition from her.

That was when he had realized what that fleeting touch on his cheeks meant. It had been her goodbye. The child in Riza Hawkeye was lost.

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"Rriiinnnggg….!"

He was pulled back to reality by the sudden phone call. He winced at the loud harsh sounds it made. It echoed painfully in his eardrums after the long moment of silence. And still, he made no move to end his own torment.

"Mustang's residence," It had always been her, her that saved him from himself. "No, I'm afraid he won't be available for the time being… Bye."

Silence ensued once more. She stood there for a moment after placing down the phone, struggling with her thoughts. He saw her turn around, her dark amber orbs steeled and firm and she spoke.

"Sir, when is this going to end?"

He ignored her, grabbing for the glass tumbler on the coffee table and filling up his glass with the same liquid. She was persistent. She came up to him and stopped him in his motion.

"Sir…"

He sighed, "Just leave me be, Hawkeye…leave."

He felt her hands on his wrist tremble a little, but it stilled as she continued, "Sir, you know I can't…I won't." She had whispered the last part with her eyes downcast.

He felt his anger boil and he yanked his arms away from her, almost viciously, "And why can't you?"

She jerked backwards and clutched her hands together as if she was burned. Her eyes wide and staring, "I…"

"What Hawkeye? Tell me, what?"

"Because...I—"

"Because what?"

"Because…I—I need you."

At this, he gave a mirthless bark of laughter. His voice was accusatory when he spoke again, "And why, my dearest lieutenant, would you need a garbage like me?"

Her reactions were immediate. She snapped her eyebrows together and hissed, "You are not garbage, Sir. Never is and never will be."

He shook his head and smiled sadistically, "Oh, so you're suggesting there's a purpose for me, that I'm actually worth the while."

"Yes…"

"Then why am I failing everybody? Why did Maes die?" he raised his voice. He was self-wallowing and he knew it. He was being irrational. But he needed this out, he needed to know.

"Sir, you know very well that you couldn't have prevented it. It was beyond your control," frustration evident in her voice. She couldn't understand what he was getting at.

At work, he was controlled. It was like Maes' death was not affecting him. He had not cried once, not even once during the funeral. Everything went on like normal, but she knew, she knew it was all eating him from the inside. And she was right. She had come to visit him tonight and saw him, in his true state.

"Beyond my control?" he let out another bark of laughter, "everything's beyond my control. Maes' death, the war, and the people I kill… so tell me, Riza, what is under my control?"

She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She didn't know. She didn't know what to say.

"Riza? So what exactly is under my control? Huh? Answer me." He leaned forward and gripped her wrists none too gently, demanding an answer.

She started at the contact of his cold fingers, and felt the coldness seep through her, draining her before she snapped herself back into attention. She twisted her hands around to grip his wrists instead. Then, straightening up, she slowly pulled him up from the couch he was in.

"Sir, I think you had one drink too many. You should rest," she spoke calmly.

But he was quicker. He spun his wrists away from her grip before she had time to guide him up and made to stand up himself, his footing wobbly and unstable.

"Sir…" she reached out a hand to support him but recoiled immediately at his snap of disapproval.

He slowly made his way to his bedroom, body swaying under the influence of alcohol. Riza tailed behind him, face masked with concern. He sat at the edge of his bed, face hidden in his hands while Riza stood beside him.

The silence between them stretched until Roy's hoarsely broke it, "I don't like it, Riza. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing anymore—"

"Sir, you know it's right. Maes died protecting it because it's right." Riza cut in.

After a short pause, Roy spoke again, as if Riza had not said anything at all, "Riza, it's—I—I feel like I'm failing everybody. I promised to reach the top. I promised to become Fuhrer for the peace of Amestris. I promised myself to protect you, to keep you out of danger, but I failed… "

He buried his face deeper into the comforts of his palms as a quiet sob claimed his speech.

"But Sir, you haven't—"

He held his hands up to stop her from going on. Moments later, after recollecting himself, he looked up at her with a pained expression. He smiled at her sadly, "You've changed Riza."

She blinked, taken back by his words. And still he continued, "You've become strong, strong enough to stand on your own, strong enough to not need me…" His voice trailed off into a faint whisper.

"I don't understand…"

He gave her another one of those smiles and said, painfully, "You can't lean on me anymore. I was weak that's why you had to change. You had to change to support yourself…because I can't."

She frowned, but the frown dissipated almost instantly as realisation dawned. Oh lord…

She watched as he buried his face once more in the recess of his palm. She was rendered speechless. How could he think that?

He had thought that she was forced to change, from the frail little girl to who she was now because she thought he was not strong enough to protect her, that because he was weak, people had to die protecting him. He had thought he was not needed because he was weak.

She did the only thing she knew that would comfort him. Without a word, she climbed over to the other side of the bed. He looked up surprised and she merely smiled at him as she reached over to pull his hand, dragging him down beside her.

"Riza—"

"Shhh…"

She guided his arm to circle around her waist and felt his body stiffened. Giving him a reassuring look, she suddenly pulled his body close until their body met chest to chest.

He jerked at the contact, "Riza, what are you—" He was interrupt by her snuggling into his chest and then he realized what she was doing. She was trying to show him that she still needed his protection. She still needed him.

It was just like those thunderous nights when they were young, the nights where she would crawl in his bed and seek his protection. The nights when she needed him to ease her fears. Except now there was no thunderstorm outside. The thunderstorm lay in his room, in his soul.

He felt himself slowly drift to sleep, with her comfort and reassurance tightly locked in his arms. As the night drew on, he thought he heard a barely audible whisper before darkness claimed him completely.

"I need you…"

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She was gone the next morning.

He went to work like usual and she was there, just like usual. Everything was like usual; it was as if the events from the night before had never happened.

As the day drew long and the population in the headquarters trickled away, until it was soon dark and empty, devoid of people. That was when he finally let his mind stop and think of the night before.

The soft, comforting moonlight streamed in through the window, beating gently on everything it could reach in the room—the pristine white walls, the classic oak furniture and the back of the only occupant in the room.

His head drooped down. Hair as dark as the midnight sky matted his forehead and eyes. In the mildly sparkling moonlight, a smile etched across his lips. A smile that conveyed his deepest feelings; feelings that neither she nor anyone else has ever guessed.

He thought he had lost her, allowed her to flow through his fingers because he could not hold onto her, because of his weakness. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

She was always there to help him up, just like last night, just like when they were young. He had not lost her, he had realised. She was here, always here, unchanged. She was the same Riza, the same girl from his past, because back then he too was afraid of the thunder. He had leaned on her just as she did him; it was just the same as it was now. His needs of her had been there, even when they were young, it just wasn't as evident then.

She was not here with him in this room now, but her reassurance and comfort remained and his smile deepened as his fingers stroked and caressed it—a battered old photograph from the past where there were no complication and pain, just joy and happiness. It was an old photograph of him and her.

…Fin.