AN: Hey guys! So, I recently picked FMA: Brotherhood back up again and had forgotten how much I love it. And how much I love Royai. So here is a thing I wrote. Take it or leave it as you like.
I don't own the brilliantly written and beautiful show FMA: Brotherhood. If I did, well.
Edited 12/14 to fix an error I forgot about prior to posting.
I wipe my brow as I reload my rifle, ducking behind the short wall of the trench for protection. I hear an explosion off in the distance and turn my attention to the right; taking in the surreally beautiful sunset on the horizon of the desert contrasting with this land covered in ugly war and elsewhere placed bloodstained rivers. I heave a sigh as I turn around and place my rifle into an advantageous position, looking for my next target amongst the houses.
Houses where people lived in peace; where they were never expecting to be brutally murdered by other humans.
It's disgusting. I hate myself for going along with the Führer's plan, and I know I am not the only one who loathes being used as a human pawn. I hear Hughes' sobs in the dead of night when he thinks everyone else is asleep. I know my commanding officer, and long time friend, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, is in serious turmoil over all the innocent souls he has slain in the name of the Führer.
Me? I simply look away from my emotions. I ignore the pain welling in my chest, the tears threatening to pool over my eyelids, and the numbness that slowly seeps into my being. I am a pawn and nothing more.
Or at least I'd rather believe that versus crumbling in a sea of grief and guilt, stripping me of my humanity.
Lately, I have been having horrible flashbacks. I subconsciously remembered every face I killed. It forces me to a halt, contemplating the true meaning of this war. I highly doubt that the Ishvalans have caused any sort of ruckus that warrants a near genocide.
I am brought back to the present as I see someone running across the street to duck for cover. I look through my viewfinder to see white hair. The person turns their head to look over their shoulder and I gaze into piercing red eyes from afar. I inhale, turning my emotions off for the moment, and pull the trigger. I know I don't miss my target, and as confirmation the Ishvalan falls to the ground, unmoving. I take a deep breath, refocusing.
"Nice shot," I hear someone say next to me. I quickly turn my head and glare at the young man next to me I have never met before. He gives me a smirk as he takes a swig from a large flask, quirking a brow.
"What? It was," he sits down in the trench, taking another long haul. On my rifle, I turn the safety on and gather my bags.
"I'm leaving. It's your shift now," I say harshly as I walk away, down a set of stairs and into a secondary trench made deeper for walking safely. Not that our target had any weapons anyway. I hiss in frustration.
I continue along the trench, not really paying attention to where I am going, until I make it back to the barracks. Thankful to find myself alone, I set my things down next to my bunk, take off my coat, and lie down, placing my arm over my eyes. I frown slightly.
I have never truly been able to relax here. There is too much death, too much tension between the soldiers. I am lucky even to have Hughes and Lieutenant Colonel Mustang in my group. They make me sane again—human again. They are riding in this same boat with me, and facing the same hardships. They say that I am the strong one in the group, but that isn't true.
No one here is strong. We are all cowards, claiming that our actions are justified under the name of the Führer. But no one really believes that.
Before I know it, I am falling into yet another restless sleep.
Had I known that this day would be the day that changed my life for the worse, I wouldn't have crawled out of bed.
I sit at my post, gun pointed at today's target area, and ready for my next victim to walk in my path. No one walks on the roads all morning, making me believe that my job as a sniper is now obsolete, that the Ishvalans know better than to walk on the roads.
Or so I thought.
Another Ishvalan crosses my path and I look through my viewfinder, only to pause just before pulling the trigger.
A young Ishvalan boy, maybe ten at most, falls to the ground from exhaustion. I instantly pull my rifle so the crosshair no longer aims at the boy's chest. I instantly grow cold as panic spreads through my entire being. I realize that I can't shoot this boy. I couldn't live with myself if I did. I turn away, slinging my rifle over my shoulder, and find the quickest route to the boy from where I currently am. I begin descending the wall of the trench leading to where the boy is when it hits me.
I am willingly standing against the command of the Führer, something I never would have thought myself capable of. Something ignites inside me that hasn't been present for what feels like forever.
I feel alive again.
I quicken my pace to the boy. Once I reach the buildings, I duck between pillars of ruined houses so as not to be spotted. I only have about one hundred feet to go when I feel a pair of arms grab at my waist, pulling me backwards. I fight to escape the death grip of my captor, but can't break free. They pull me into the closest still-standing building just as I see the bombs explode. I gasp.
"No!" I struggle harder to remove myself, to get to the boy who is in severe danger, but the arms simply grip me tighter, pressing me against my captor's chest. Another bomb goes off closer to our location and knocks us to the ground. I turn on my captor, pulling my pistol out of my belt loop only to slowly drop my arm in disbelief.
My commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, lies on the ground clenching his side. Blood spurts out between his fingers at irregular intervals. I put my gun back in my belt and kneel in front of him, grabbing a roll of bandage from my side satchel. I begin to strip him of his clothing as another bomb explodes in the distance.
"What happened, sir?" I say as I pull his shirt over his head. He hisses in pain.
"Sniper grazed me from behind," he says through clenched teeth. "I saw you heading toward the village and rushed over to intercept. Turns out our troops really need to get their eyes checked. And need to work on their aim." He rests his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes. I set to work, wrapping the bandage around his torso as tightly as I can.
"Have you lost a lot of blood, sir?" I ask, continuing to wrap the bandage.
"Will you cut it out with calling me 'sir', Riza? I think we've past that point in our relationship." He grunts when I tie off the bandage, lifting his head to meet my eyes. "Don't you?"
I look away; making sure my pistol is loaded and ready, when he places his hand on mine.
"Riza." I look to him, tears on the brink of flowing. He squeezes my hand. "Why were you down here to begin with?" It takes me a moment to realize that he isn't asking as my superior, but as my friend. I sigh.
"There was an Ishvalan boy I neglected to shoot, further down the road you grabbed me on," I begin, not really knowing how best to communicate my deliberate insubordination to my commanding officer. Then it hits me and I don't care what he thinks.
There is no way the boy survived those bombs. The tears begin to flow over as I plop on the ground, falling to my back. I lay on loosed rubble, but I don't care. That boy is dead because I didn't reach him in time, because I wasn't quick enough.
I punch the ground below me and wallow in my grief—a grief I don't fully understand. I never knew the boy. I sob openly, not caring if Roy sees.
Actually, I want him to see. I want him to see what this war is really doing to me rather than bottling it up inside, never to break the seal. At least someone can know where I am at now. I cover my mouth with my hand as another sob racks my lungs.
I feel his arms wrap around me and pull me up to a sitting position, holding me close. The action is so foreign to me that I freeze, my eyes widening. I look up to take in his expression—anger, sadness, and a hint of something else. Seemingly from nowhere, warmth slowly begins to form in the pit of my stomach and spreads throughout the rest of my body, causing me to shiver slightly. I rest my head just below his collar bone and smell his familiar scent.
I am still slightly numb from the loss of the unknown boy, but Roy continues to hold me until I regain my composure.
SIX YEARS LATER
"Those Elric brothers, I swear," I hear Roy mutter as he bursts into the office, slamming the door behind him. I stand and turn to him in greeting, but he plops down on his chair and drops his head into his hand, sighing.
"What did they do now?" I ask out of routine rather than curiosity. I bring a pile of papers to his desk and set them on the corner. He lifts his head and glares at them like they are evil incarnate.
"They are stubborn as mules, those two. Don't listen to a word I say," he trails off, shaking his head and removing his transmutation gloves.
"I know the feeling," I mumble before he continues, not even realizing he is providing the perfect example of the point I just made.
"They just do whatever they want! Don't they realize that if they truly want to achieve their goal, they are in a no-compromising situation? If they truly want their bodies back, they need to be smarter about how they get to that point." He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.
"You know the Elric brothers, Colonel," I push the papers closer to him as I smile softly. "They will only do things if they see it benefiting their situation. But they are still young," I find his pen and set it next to the papers. "They have already seen far too many cruel things in this world and simply desire to see no more of it."
I turn to go back to my desk and my own paper work when I feel his hand grab the sleeve of my jacket.
"They're not the only ones who have seen cruel things," he nearly whispers. I turn back, knowing that tone of voice all too well. I move to stand in front of him as he wraps his arms tightly around my waist. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bringing a hand to hold his head close to my stomach.
This has become a bit of a routine for us. When either of us is feeling incompetent, depressed, or simply remembering painful memories of the war, we seek out the comfort of the other. We desire to be grounded to something more permanent than our memories—the fact that we are alive.
Roy's hands slowly trailing up my back brings my attention to the present growing feeling in my stomach. I've only recently discovered my feelings for him, and it still startles me when they suddenly appear. Seeing as I am not very experienced in this area of life, I am not as confident when placed into this type of situation.
I bring a hand up to brush his unruly mop of black hair away from his face as he pulls me flush against him. I freeze.
"Roy," I begin, but his grip on my back tightens almost painfully.
"Riza," I hear him mumble as he loosens his grip, only to stand and capture me in another tight embrace, pushing me against the wall. Even though we have done things like this in the past, his sheer closeness still sends shivers down my spine as I take a deep breath of his scent—like he had taken a shower just prior to attending a campfire. Enticing.
Unsure of myself, I slowly snake my arms up to wrap around his back and he instantly relaxes to the touch. He lowers his head to the nook of my neck as he breathes heavily, fighting off the memories.
He slowly calms down, loosening his grip around my back, and heaves a sigh.
"I wish we lived together," he suddenly says as he backs away, "for the times that these things happen late at night. I hate the two in the morning commute to be with each other. Especially when we end up sleeping at each other's places due to the inhuman hours of the night already, anyway."
I stay silent as he takes in my shocked expression and I feel a blush rise in my cheeks. Normally, I don't blush, but there's just something about Roy that makes me so—alive. That's the word. He's one of the only people on this planet who could hurt me emotionally. He has no idea the level of power he holds over me.
Or maybe he does?
These moments of closeness have been happening more periodically over the years, this past year especially. The necessity for it has also increased, on both ends. It's a routine. Something we can count on being there. Something we can rely on.
Only we know what each other is going through simply by experiencing it together. And with the recent death of Hughes on top of that…
"Riza," he tilts my chin upward gingerly to look at him and I realize I haven't responded to his sudden remark. Is he waiting for me to consent living with him? I furrow my eyebrows.
"Colonel, I—" The door to the office is suddenly burst open by Jean, carrying a rather large pile of papers. Thankfully, he was distracted by ensuring he was still holding all the pages long enough for Roy to back away from me a bit. I instantly scold myself when I notice how suddenly cold I feel.
Stupid, I think as I walk back to my desk and sit down.
"Hey Colonel," Jean says cheerily, "look at all the things you get to sign off on! Must be tough being a higher ranking officer, huh?" He laughs, despite the glare Roy is giving him. Then he smiles mischievously.
"Wouldn't you love to find out?" Roy pushes him toward his chair and forces him to sit down and shoves a pen in his hands.
"No, thanks," he says, clearly intimidated by the thought of needing to sign all those papers he just brought in.
"I'll take some off your hands, Colonel," I chime in as I look over my own documents, "if you trust me with forging your signature and my judgment for what I deem to be fit for the requests at hand."
They both fall silent, and then Jean laughs.
"Hawkeye, you are too generous to the Colonel," he flips his hand carelessly. "You're making him feel like the Führer himself, all high and mighty. Soon enough he'll be making house calls if you don't keep your distance."
You have no idea, I think. I feel a blush begin to creep up on my face just as Jean sneezes. Roy gives him an indignant look.
"Jean, best not give me any ideas," he walks back to his desk, motioning for Jean to leave his chair. Jean stands up and laughs.
"Sorry, Hawkeye," he whispers as he passes my desk. "I didn't mean to give him any additional incentive to visit you," he winks at me as he walks out the door. My face flushes. He knew. Somehow, he knew how I feel about him. I run my fingers through my bangs, holding them away from my forehead.
"Riza," I look up to Roy at his desk. "Why so flushed?" He smirks.
"Why the sudden need to move in together?" I jibe back, turning once again to my own pile of papers. He stays silent for a bit.
"You don't want to?" He asks shyly, so out of his character that it forces me to look at him again.
"I…" What? What do I want? He looks at me expectantly. Plopping my arm to the side of my stack of papers, I contemplate.
We do make a fair amount of house calls, steadily increasing in quantity. We lose so much sleep from the commute from one side of Central to the other that it logically makes sense for us to move in together. My dog, Black Hayate, also likes him. And I suppose the same could be said the other way around.
But what would that be like? Living with someone else? And a man, at that.
I wonder, since we have technically slept together before, if we would end up just having one bedroom. One bed. I look his way again to see him studying me. I shiver.
I answer before a different path of logic could settle.
"Let's do it," I answer softly. His eyes widen momentarily, and then he nods.
"That's the last of it," I call when I set the box down on the kitchen floor of our new apartment. It's small, but serves our purposes. And the main deciding factor was that pets are allowed here. Black Hayate pads his way over to me and begins licking my hand. I smile.
"Good. Now," Roy then walks into the room in only jeans, revealing the scar on his side from the gunshot wound I bandaged up that night. I tense immediately, then remember that I will simply have to get used to that. "Let's set up the kennel for Black Hayate and the bed. It's getting late, so I would like to get as much work done as I can before sundown."
"Of course," I respond, scratching the backs of Black Hayate's ears as I stand.
I set to work on the kennel as Roy began assembling the bed in the main bedroom. There is a second bedroom, but we decided to use it for Black Hayate's kennel and in-home office. I have a feeling that I will be the one using this room the most often seeing as Roy hates being at the office even for a second.
As l begin to assemble the kennel, I turn to look out the window and watch the sun set slowly over the horizon. It is made of the same colors as the one that occurred the night prior to the incident with the poor Ishvalan boy.
My breathing begins to accelerate at an alarming pace as I fall to the ground, remembering. My ears begin to ring and muffle out all other sound. I feel something bumping into me, but can't completely place it.
Not again.
I fall fast into the unwanted zone of my memories, forced to experience these moments over and over again like clockwork. I barely make the connection that I am lying on the floor, curled into a ball, suddenly freezing.
I watch as, in my mind, the boy walks out onto the road. I cry out to him, to make him stop. He doesn't hear me at first. I call out louder. I am screaming. He doesn't hear me. I begin sobbing. He then turns around, an expression of fear crosses his features.
Then the explosions engulf him.
I continue falling into darkness, awaiting a helping hand. All I do is float in nothingness.
When I return to consciousness, I am lying in the bed and it is completely dark outside. There is no light source in the room, save for the bright beams of moonlight. I sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, and walk over to the window. It is only then that I realize that I have been changed out of my clothes from earlier into simply an oversized button down shirt and shorts. I immediately flush, realizing that it was Roy who changed me, and into one of his shirts none the less. I rest my forehead against the cool window pane to clear my head, placing my hands on the window sill below to keep my balance.
I then hear the door to the bedroom open and freeze.
"Oh, you're up," he sounds relieved. He sets something on the counter in the bathroom and shortly after makes his way toward me. I nod in delayed response.
"I have to apologize, Riza," he states, grabbing my hand and giving me a top to bottom glance."You broke out in a cold sweat, so I changed you out of your clothes not too long ago into the first ones I could find." His cheeks flush when he admits it, looking away.
"Don't worry about it. That's fine," I hold my other hand up, stopping him from continuing. "Thank you," I say quietly.
"You're welcome," he says. The silence between us grows. I know he wants to talk, so I let him instigate.
"So, have you had many attacks like that?" His expression is laced with worry. I simply nod.
"Yes," I admit. "They have happened every sunset, that contain the same color pallet, since the one that occurred the night before—" he cuts me off by pulling me into his embrace.
"The night before the bombings in the village," he recalls with a whisper, finishing my sentence for me. I nod into his chest, tears threatening to overflow.
We remain like that for a long while, silent and close. He begins running his hand through my hair to soothe me. I finally bring my arms up to wrap around him and he knows that I have calmed down. He takes in a hesitant breath.
"How many times has this happened and you didn't call me? I was rarely at your place around sunset." He is too intuitive.
He sounds so sad. Like my happiness also played a direct impact on his happiness. My lack of response is confirmation that this happened well more than he knew.
"Well," he says as he pulls away, running a hand through his hair. "I can tell you these things. First, now that I know that, I'm glad I recommended moving in together. And as an added bonus, I don't have to commute back to a separate house at late hours in the night. Second, this should have happened sooner. Third, this has confirmed something that I have been in debate with myself over many years."
I look up to him and see his expression. It leaves me speechless for a bit, how tender his features are.
"Oh? And what is that, pray tell." I lightly trail my fingers up his arm to his shoulder and back down. I have no idea where that impulsive motion came from. He takes in a shaky breath.
"That I have loved you since the day of the bombings in that village," he whispers, slowly touching his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. I continue to look at him as he presses his lips delicately to mine.
My mind is processing this at two separate speeds—painfully slow, and also at an extremely high rate, causing my insides to burn. I respond timidly to him after a bit, closing my eyes, slipping my hands behind his neck and pulling closer.
I had no idea that this would feel so—normal, right, filling. As he pulls me closer to him by the buttons of my shirt, he turns, pressing me against the wall. His knee finds the section of wall between my thighs, pinning me there. I am overwhelmed. I succumb to the feel of his hands on my hip and upper rib cage. I slip my fingers through his front belt loops, holding him close, as we part for a breath. I begin laughing softly.
"You weren't going to wait for my response before you made a move on me? Roy, Roy, Roy," I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "You were always the impatient one. I am glad to see that doesn't change across the board." He skims his hand over my rib cage, his forehead still touching mine.
"I think your response to that kiss was answer enough," he laughs softly, and then a look of seriousness crosses his features. "But I would still like to hear your response in the form of a sentence." He places a hand under my chin, pressing his thumb with light pressure on my lower lip. I smile.
"I love you too, Roy."
I am forced to end my confession there due to Roy covering my mouth with his again as we give in to those years of loneliness, finally alleviated with the finding of a new invaluable solace in each other.