A/N: Gaaaawr. I don't have enough words to express my love for Roy/Riza. Brotherhood just it does right…just enough implied relationship to set me buzzing with fics like these.

I've been rewatching FMA: Brotherhood this summer and I'm right around episode 50, and although I have seen it before I don't remember exact details of the end… (Like I'm not actually sure if Fallman survives)…so just bear with me and pretend like this is true to the universe of Brotherhood. I wanted to write a fic for Royai that was as true to the characters as possible, since it proves to be more of a challenge than just writing fluff.

This being said, this is set soon after the end of Brotherhood when Roy is promoted to king. Riza once mentioned that Roy, as king, would have all the state alchemists face the charges of their crimes in the Ishvalan War. And thus we have Roy facing his own charges.

Not two weeks after the country crumbled and the young Colonel had taken the reins did his own men come after him with shackles and a statement detailing his crimes in the Ishvalan War. A collective gasp could be heard around the country from those who believed Roy Mustang to be their savior following the reveal of Bradley's treachery and true nature. Scoffs came from the skeptics, and some still claimed he deserved his imprisonment.

But those closest to the new king knew, based upon previous trials and the skepticism of those now working for such a young gun, Mustang hardly stood a chance even with a trial.

Roy spent a mere six hours behind jail bars before his closest advisor paid bail. His immediate group of guards advised he be stationed in his home until further notice. Since one Jean Havoc wasn't able to be a part of the guard, Mustang's first act upon returning home with the group of four was to pay his friend a short call.

Havoc was perfectly delightful on the phone, but Mustang could hear the grimness underneath his words.

"…just do me one thing, will you?"

"Anything, Havoc."

"Give 'em hell…sir."

Mustang smiled into the receiver and bid the man a good afternoon.

The phone fell with a click and it was like Mustang was opening his eyes for the first time since the ordeal had come about. For a moment he didn't recognize the walls he stood under and didn't quite understand why he wasn't in uniform and why he could hear a great number of people conversing in the next room. He shook himself and muttered, "You've been living in this house for a week now. It's not that big."

It was a lie, he'd bought a six bedroom near-mansion of a home shortly after being named the successor to the country. He had no doubt a flock of people were hovering outside, hoping to get an interview out of him in regards to the charges put against him.

A shrill voice in the next room brought him back to reality once more.

They all turned upon spotting him there in the edge of the doorway—Breda, Fuery, Fallman, and Hawkeye. Her face was harsh for an instant, but in his presence she made every effort to remain calm and nonchalant, but in catching his eye, she found it impossible. The others shrank away from her in the slightest. She swallowed dryly and stiffened her spine.

"Relax," Roy muttered.

They took a collective breath, but Riza's was strangled.

"Sir," she pressed. She'd been chipping away at him all day. He simply held up a hand and walked right past her, not sparing her a glance, not a whisper, not even a breath as he crossed the room.

"Let it go, Hawkeye," Breda grunted as he slumped into a chair. For only having been in the house a week, Mustang had wasted no time in packing the place with furniture of the highest grade. "Besides, you standing that straight much longer is going to start killing your back."

She stared sharply after the man as he slid into the next room. Breda leaned forward, his arms across his chest, and spoke pointedly, "The Füher's going to be fine. Let it go."

She blinked. Her gaze fell to the floor, but her muscles wouldn't uncoil. With another short breath she left the room in the opposite direction and walked blindly through the massive halls if only to get away from the sets of eyes on her. After years of working so hard to stay their distance away from each other, Riza was shaking with the pressure of it all. In the two weeks since she watched him nearly destroy himself, he watched her bleed her life away and they both fought desperately for their country and their lives—barely coming away from it—they hadn't so much as fully embraced to celebrate their survival. Though she wasn't expecting it, not out of the hardass that was Mustang, it seemed peculiar that they now seemed to be spending even more time avoiding one and other.

Turning a corner, she nearly ran right into him. For the first time in years she uttered a gasp of surprise, and Roy gave her a sad smile in response.

"Don't look at me like that," she started, but the words fell into an inaudible whisper.

He brushed a hand over his neck to feign clumsiness and uttered, "Sorry."

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Attempting to find a way to keep myself busy now that I've been put under house arrest."

"No. You won't take a pardon and I want an explanation as to why."

Every trace of amusement was siphoned from his face. "I'm done saying no, Hawkeye, so stop asking."

Her eyes sharpened. "I can grant you a full legal pardon from all of this, Roy! Why won't you take it? You can't be Füher if the state sentences you to death."

"I doubt they'd go that far—"

"As if you'd settle for a life sentence. You'd rather die than rot in a cell. I know you, sir." A long pause rang in the air and she continued darkly, "Why you have to play the tragic hero—the whole country saw what you did two weeks ago. You could have easily been killed then, why are you trying to throw your life away without a fight now?"

Some faint spark flashed in the very depths of his eyes. Mustang moved suddenly; he edged her back with his hands on the wall on either side of her head. Her expression didn't change in the slightest, still hard and lined and determined to find the root of his objection. He smiled in that sad, snarky way of his, and her chin tilted up further, not buying the charade.

She saw what he was about to say in his eyes and cut him off. "You're playing the valiant card to win me over?" Riza ground her teeth together.

"It's not working?" he toyed.

But his face fell further with her response. "I knew…I knew ever since you were training with my father that there would never be anyone as good for me. You don't have to play the idiot with me." She watched the lines appear on his face and clenched her jaw. Men, she thought.

Mustang's fingers dug against the wall and his head dipped lower. Exactly what he had dreamed of hearing from her for years, what he had wanted for so long, he was now cursing. His mouth parted in the slightest and he hovered there, mere inches from her face, when he gnashed his teeth again.

She watched the silent torment with an unchanging expression. "Let me grant you the pardon, Roy," she whispered.

"Stop," he murmured. It almost sounded like a plea. "There are people waiting for this. Waiting for one of my closest men to let me off…" He glanced up again, catching her eye and wishing that he hadn't, "Waiting…"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Just do it, Roy."

His lips pressed against hers, and her eyes fell closed as she slipped into the euphoria of it. It was sweet, sad, fiery all at once as she wrenched his mouth open, confirming his deepest suspicions. He fell against her, pinning her there against the wall, but she gladly welcomed him by wrapping both arms around his back.

When they finally broke, he rested his forehead against hers. She had no breath left in her. Her eyes flashed over his face again and again, waiting for his eyes to open, waiting for him to say something. When he did, he felt as thought he physically ached. Riza Hawkeye looked simply sad. His lips twitched into a frown but before he let it show he threw his arms around her shoulders and held her tight; she automatically buried her face against his shoulder. It was impossible to tell who—so she assumed they were a collective entity as they stood there shaking.

She had wanted him so badly she felt she couldn't go another minute without.

He had wanted her so badly that now he was terrified to let himself feel.

Surely she would be ripped away from him. Some how or another, someone or something would get to her. The gold toothed doctor came to mind.

Suddenly she gagged, "You're crushing me."

Immediately they let go of one and other. Riza smiled faintly.

"Let's just elope," Mustang smirked.

"You're supposed to stay here," she replied dryly.

He stepped away and drew a long breath. "We couldn't anyway," he murmured, no longer looking at her. His heart hammered against his ribs as he spoke, he couldn't believe the words were still fighting to get out of him after that, but they slipped out nonetheless, "This is exactly what the skeptics are waiting for. Me to be involved with one of my subordinates… Even as Füher…some rules even I can't break." The sad smile returned.

She said nothing because she knew he had thought it over previously. There were days when she caught him not quite asleep but not really awake either, some days when he shamelessly stared at her, all of the calls under their codenames…the way he had fought against every fiber of his being not to save her when she had been dying beneath Central…

If there had been a way, Mustang would have found it.

"Take the pardon," she began.

"I told you I can't," he growled.

"If you think that will tarnish your reputation, then take the pardon and be with me. You can keep your job and at least have some happiness in your life. You are the Füher, Roy. You make the rules. I know this country is important to you and I know you have to make it right, and you will, but you have to make things right for yourself first," she stepped towards him and touched his arm, "before you can do anything for anyone else."

He smiled faintly. Never again would he find a right hand as good as hers.

She stepped closer and hovered, tantalizingly, her eyes half-lidded as she breathed against his lips, entirely with honesty, "You deserve happiness, Roy. You've earned it."

"Thank you, Riza," he whispered, "for everything."