Author's Notes: I didn't mean to write this. It just sort of...happened. I saw a prompt and this came up and it had absolutely nothing to do with the prompt. Go figure. Also, I listened to Elvin Bishop's "Fooled Around and Fell in Love" on repeat while writing this. That's a Royai song if I've ever heard one. Go listen to it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing and it's a sad day. This scene would've been in FMAB had I owned shit.

i've got dreams to remember

The first thing that Roy sees upon waking up is the white ceiling panels of his hospital room. Not exactly the most poetic and romantic thing in the world, but he can't really complain. It's such a vast difference from the blackness that he was forced to familiarize himself with over the past few months.

He blinks a few times, taking in deep breaths, and thinks, This is real; this is really happening.

The strange thing about losing one's sight suddenly is that he could still see when he dreamed. When he was asleep, he saw all sorts of things with his mind's eye. He saw the good, the bad, everything. His dreams ranged from absolutely ridiculous to false awakenings. Those were the worst. He'd dream that he would wake up and could see again suddenly, as if Truth decided that taking his eyesight when he'd been forced to open the Gate wasn't exactly fair. Then he'd wake up for real, open his eyes, and…nothing.

Most of the time though, he dreamed of the people in his life. Maes showed up a lot, scolding him for avoiding Gracia and Elysia because Roy felt some sort of stupid, misplaced guilt over Maes' death, or he'd just show a bunch of pictures of his wife and daughter like normal, make a few jabs about Roy's dating life and refusal to settle down, the usual. His foster mother/aunt, Madam Christmas, rolling her eyes and calling him "Roy-boy" despite his protests and telling him to stop being such a baby about things and his sisters cooing on him and joking around. Havoc always had a never-ending cigarette dangling perilously from his grinning lips, making eyes at every girl that passed them (with the exception of her). Breda stole his lunch a few times in his dreams. Fuery tinkered away on his electronics and would blush like a maid over everything. Falman cleaned up all of their messes before she came in. General (well, now Furher) Grumman damnably always beat him at chess even in his dreams. He dreamed they went out for drinks, played games in the office, made bets…

And then there were dreams about her.

Those were the dreams that made him jump awake. He'd pop up, grabbing the sheets, sweating through his shirt, and find the darkness almost comforting. Seeing nothing was better than seeing her lying on the ground on top of a transmutation alchemy circle, her blood staining the concrete, her amber eyes focused on him yet wavering from blood loss. He pictured her dying again and again in different ways. Whether it was that crazy doctor cutting her throat or Envy killing her before he had the chance to save her or Lust cutting through her before he could blast the thing to Hell…

God, there were so many ways she could have died, so many times he'd carelessly put her in harm's way, knowing the danger, knowing full well that she could get hurt, not even thinking about the fact that she risked her life for his and his goals without a second thought. She wouldn't even let him save her if it meant him crossing the line. He'd known it for a long time deep down – known it since Lust really – that he'd do anything if it meant keeping her alive, but he hadn't realized how selfishly he needed her to be alive. For him, with him, by his side.

The good dreams hurt him just as bad as the nightmares though.

Most of them were simple and people might classify them as dull, but now that he was facing retirement, he lived for those moments. The way he'd slack off on his work, knowing that she'd give him That Look, but when he gave her that dazzling smile, there'd be a hint of a smile playing on her lips. They had all these inside jokes with each other that no one in their office knew. He dreamed about that time they'd spiked Roy's lunch with drowsy medication, knowing that Breda would steal it, except Falman did and he passed out right on his desk. He dreamed about the few times she'd "go out with the boys" and they'd sit in a cramped booth, legs pressed together, and they'd sometimes actually sip on each other's drinks instead of their own and she always made a face at his. The rides to his place in silence where he'd barely have enough energy to stay awake and he knew she had to be just as tired, but she never once complained about giving him a ride home after work, the ever vigilant sniper in her at hand.

When he woke up from those dreams, it was always slow and hazy, and he never felt worse to know that he would never see the small smiles that she saved for him or watch her fix a strand piece of blonde hair or bite her lip when she was concentrating on paperwork or roll her eyes when he was being particularly smug or the very subtle way she would turn away from him whenever he talked about a date.

They'd shared a hospital room while she recuperated from her wounds. Sometimes when he woke up from dreams, she would already be there, standing by his bedside. He couldn't see her, but he felt her presence all the same, the same he'd felt for years, at his side, reassuring, comforting, supportive. She'd put a hand on his shoulder, never saying a word. She didn't have to. That was the most physical contact they had normally. After the Promised Day, when they'd gone up against Father, and she'd put her hand on his shoulder to guide and navigate him, he never wanted her to let go of him again. She was his anchor to this strange new world.

However, there was one particularly vivid nightmare involving her and King Bradley (Wrath, his name was Wrath; he was no human.), he woke up barely able to breath and almost in tears – and he did not cry. She was there, a hand squeezing his shoulder, trying to guide him, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down onto to bed. It was clumsy, seeing as how he couldn't exactly see what he was doing, and she let out a gasp as she tumbled practically into his lap. After some situating and wiggling though, her chest was against his, her face in the crook of his neck, and his arms around her. Her steady breathing fixed his and she wiped the tears away. They stayed like that until the sun rose or so he assumed.

Not a word was said, then or after that. It never happened again, but oh how he wanted it to. He just couldn't bring himself to feel so weak again. She was able to check out of the hospital a week after that, but she still came every day. Seven days after that, Dr. Marcoh came to perform the experiment/miracle with the Philosopher's Stone. He wanted to ask her to stay the night with him – because God, he was terrified of what he'd wake up to see, if anything – but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth and he'd wished her a good night instead, her promising to come to see him in the morning.

White ceiling panels weren't the first thing that Roy wanted to see when he woke up. What he really wanted to see was Riza Hawkeye's face.

Instead, he gets to see his doctor's face first. Dr. Marcoh is ecstatic and Roy is incredibly (and desperately) grateful, but Marcoh isn't exactly…easy on the eyes. Then there's the nurse, who is a huge upgrade in the looks department, but her hair isn't blonde enough and eyes aren't amber enough… And nothing is enough really. The sunrise is beautiful. The grass is greener on this side. The sky is bluer than he's ever seen. There's a stupid amount of traffic to witness, as always. The hospital is really white. Why is the hospital so white? What he wants to see is color and a lot of it.

Havoc shows up on crutches, an unlit cigarette hanging in his mouth. "You gotta get used to using your eyes again," he laughs, "and I've gotta get use to my legs. This is the most ridiculous military unit ever."

Breda shows up with more books about Ishval and the best damn looking lunch Roy has ever seen. Just because he's got his sight back for the first time in months doesn't mean he gets a break. "You know what this means?" Breda says as he drops all the books onto Roy's bed. "I don't have to read to you anymore."

Fuery looks slightly put out that the software he's been working on to translate the books onto the computer isn't going to be necessary anymore; and Roy's just thankful that he's able to see that on Fuery's face instead of needing of just trying to guess someone's emotions through their tone. He could never do that with his Lieutenant. She was damn near impossible to read.

She walks into the room unnoticed. He's too busy joking with the boys, definitely not working, to realize that she's come in. It's only when he sees Fuery turn to look at someone behind the curtain and the man says, "You're just in time, Lieutenant!"

Roy whips his head to look at her and his breath hitches in his throat. Riza is standing there in civilian clothes, a simple black skirt that stops just short of her knees and a pink blouse, the top two buttons undone, and her blonde hair is down and tousled from the wind.

It takes every ounce of strength in Roy to keep his tone measured and calm, yet slightly authorities, when he says, "I need a moment to speak with the Lieutenant in private."

The other three men nod their heads and stand up. They salute, say their brief goodbyes, talk about heading to get some coffee, and leave the room. Silence settles over them the moment the door is shut. She hasn't said anything yet, just looks at him with a careful gaze, like she's not sure what she's seeing is real or not. Roy has spent the entire morning thinking in the back of his head that this might just be another false awakening dream, but now that he can see her, he knows that it's real. His dreams can't replace the real thing, after all.

"It worked," she finally says, her voice not betraying her at all. It's when she takes a breath, shuddering and not like her at all, that he knows she's feeling something more than that.

He grins. "Like magic."

A flitter of emotions cross her face – the urge to slap him upside the head, the desire to hug him, that hungry flash in her eyes that he knows so well. Instead she steps towards him and places a hand on her shoulder. "I was scared…" Her eyes drop. No, that's not right. Riza Hawkeye never feels fear – and if she does, she most certainly does not admit it. "I felt like I had failed you."

"Absurd," Roy scoffs, placing his hand on hers. She doesn't move, but bites her lip, a sign of her nerves. He's surprised at how much he missed her contact. "You've done everything and more – more than I should have ever asked or expected of you. Consider this a sign that I shouldn't let my pride or ego get the best of me." She gives him a look, one that tells him he should've known by now, but he ignores it. (As usual.) "I did learn something though."

Riza tilts her head questioningly. "Sir?"

"I had a lot of time just lying around and thinking," he says, "mostly thinking about what I missed seeing. I thought about not being able to drive."

At this, she rolls her eyes, but there is a playful smile on her lips. "You rarely drove anyways."

"Not the point," Roy tells her, even though she's very right. "I thought about not being able to read or write and do the paperwork you coerced me into doing. And I thought about all the pretty smiles that I caused that I would never see again."

He sees her move just slightly, the way that none of the other men do. She won't roll her eyes at him or tell him off, but he can feel the way her hand tightens under his even if she doesn't say anything.

"You always did like seeing the…fruits of your actions," she says thinly.

"I thought about this woman the most, how soft her hair must be, the color of her eyes that I couldn't quite describe nor could ever again, the roughness of her hands," he continues, almost like he's back in the dream. When she goes to pull her hand from him, he tightens his grip on it and looks her in the eyes. "How she looked better in her military uniform than any women I have ever seen, sitting just a few feet away from me, biting on her lip so she wouldn't chew her pen caps."

Roy has only seen her blush a handful of times, most of them from when they were kids and he was studying under her father, but he's glad that out of all things he was able to see on the first day of having his sight back, her pink face is one of them.

He leans back in the bed, quite pleased with himself, and says, "Although the least you could have done upon me getting my eyesight back is finally wearing a miniskirt."

"I save those for…nightly occasions," Riza finally responds.

Roy peers at her. The blush is still there, but she looks a lot more defiant. "Nightly occasions, hm? I think we should see what that entails."

"Are you…?"

He sits up and pulls her down at the same time, his face dangerously close to hers, so close that she's a little blurry. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything. Those anti-fraternization rules can go to hell, for all he cares. "My eyes are finally open," he tells her, his lips hovering nears hers, "and I'm not looking back."

Who knew it would take losing his sight for him to finally see what was right in front of him?