Rating: M (not smut)
Pairing: Royai/Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Word Count: 2199
Title: Love is Blind
Description: Royai post-Promised Day, adjusting to changes both good and bad.
A/N: Comments are always appreciated. Enjoy!
Riza
My breathing is shallow, and I can feel the blood seeping into my clothes. My hair.
I hear the sound of metal sliding against itself, and suddenly he's gone from my side. He cries out, and I watch helplessly as he's pinned down.
"Colonel!" I shout, trying to move. To get to him. My vision is blurring, but I fight to keep my eyes open. He needs me. I can't fail now. "Colonel!" I scream again, but I'm too late.
I jerk awake and bolt upright, my neck screaming in pain. I reach a trembling hand up to feel the wound, letting out a slow breath when my fingers brush a mostly healed scar, telling me the pain I'm feeling is psychological. Somehow knowing that doesn't help.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel sweat running down my back, causing the thin material of my nightgown to stick to my skin. I hunch over, holding my head in my hands and flinching when I realize I'm crying.
I swallow and wipe at my face. It was just a nightmare. Well, another one. It's been a month since the Promised Day, and still I can't seem to get a full night's sleep.
"Lieutenant?"
I jump at the voice and look up to see a dark figure standing in my doorway.
"Are you all right? I heard shouting."
"I'm fine, sir," I murmur, forcing my voice not to shake. "Just a dream."
It's quiet for a minute, and then I hear him fumbling around in the dark. Without thinking, I slide out of my bed and rush toward him just as he trips and falls into me.
"Shit," he hisses. "I thought I could manage."
"What were you planning to do?" I ask, guiding him over to my bed.
"Comfort you," he mumbles. "I figured… Well, if you don't mind, I thought…"
"You thought what?" I frown, feeling for the edge of my mattress and sitting down.
"We…" He inches forward and sits down beside me before sliding his arm around my shoulders and pressing his forehead to my temple. "We could stay together tonight."
"We are staying together," I tell him softly. "There's only a wall separating us."
"I mean closer together than that."
I open my mouth to protest, but he slides his scarred hand over my face, and I feel a lump form in my throat.
I failed to protect him. His hands. His vision. I was supposed to prevent this.
"Sleep with me, Lieutenant," he whispers.
"Sir…"
"My mind won't turn off."
I squeeze my eyes shut and reach up to take his hand, gently running my fingers over the raised line across his palm.
"Okay."
In the dark, we're both equally impaired, but somehow, we manage to shift under the covers, the narrow bed forcing us into each other's arms. This isn't actually the first time this has happened since I moved in with him a week ago—purely to help him adjust. But…the more frequently it happens, the harder it will be to stop.
And we will have to stop. Dr. Marcoh is coming tomorrow to use the philosopher's stone to return his eyesight. Once that happens…everything will go back to the way it was.
Roy
If I concentrate hard enough, I can see her face. At least, that's what I tell myself as I lie awake staring at a sleeping Riza. Unfortunately, I can look all I want and still everything is left up to my imagination. My memory. I know she's facing me because I can feel her warm breath on my collar bone. If I tilt my head down, my nose brushes her hair. I've always loved the smell of her hair. At least those bastards didn't get to take that away from me.
She moves, and I can hear her breathing change. She's waking up.
"Sir?" Her sleepy voice makes my chest constrict.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," I murmur, reluctantly removing my hand that's pressed against her back. "At least, I think it's morning."
"Mmm." She mumbles as she sits up, and I hear her stretch. "Dr. Marcoh is coming today," she says softly.
"I know," I reply, propping myself up on my elbow.
She takes a breath like she's about to say something more when she's interrupted by the sound of dog paws tapping on the hardwood floor.
"Good morning, Black Hayate," I chuckle when the footsteps turn to a light, rhythmic thumping beside the bed.
"He's ready for his walk." Riza smirks. "I'll get changed and then take him out. You'll be okay on your own?"
"I'll probably just stay in bed, honestly. One of the few perks of being blind: I get to sleep in."
"Well, hopefully, you won't be enjoying those perks much longer."
I laugh softly as I feel her exit the bed. I try not to listen to the sounds of her undressing and redressing. I'm surprised she doesn't say something, even though there's no chance of me peeking.
When I hear the front door close behind them, I sigh into the empty room. As much as I hope she's right, that Dr. Marcoh's theory is correct, and he can bring my sight back today… I'm also a little disappointed. I've enjoyed the last week I've had with Hawkeye. Having her to myself. Having her close at all times.
I'm not ready to give that up.
And I know she's always close, and her being at my side isn't a new thing, but it's never been this…intimate before. I'm addicted to touching her.
It burns me to think about going back to the way things were. Subordinate and superior. Always within arm's reach but never being allowed to reach for her…
I groan and rub my scarred hands over my face. What a fucking no-win situation this is.
Riza
Waiting is an art I mastered a long time ago. As a sniper with the military, waiting was my entire life. Waiting for the right target. The right timing. The right wind. The right breath.
Even before that I was a dab hand at it. When I lived with my father, I spent every single moment—awake or asleep—waiting for my chance at freedom. To get out of that damned house. Out from under his thumb.
There was a time I waited for Roy—the colonel—to make a move in our relationship. Something other than formalities or something related to my father's research. Anything, in fact. A slightly lingering look. Or a seemingly accidental graze of his hand.
After Ishval, I quit waiting for that. My heart was bruised, and I had to nurse that wound in private, in the dead of night in my apartment, until I'd moved on.
Then I started waiting for the day we righted all the wrongs we and others committed during that time. Waiting to stand with our transgressions exposed for what they were. For the judgement to come down. For justice to be served.
I'm still waiting for that day.
But in all my life, I have never felt the weight of impatience bearing down upon me like it is right now as I'm standing outside the colonel's bedroom while Dr. Marcoh attempts to return his eyesight.
They've been in there for several hours. I was under the impression this would be quick. The doctor seemed very optimistic about the results. He assured us Havoc had regained full mobility and was eager to get back to work.
Which reminds me that Rebecca asked about him after the Promised Day excitement died down. I should try to set that up.
But I can't think about that right now. For someone as practiced at waiting as I am, I'm freaking out. God, I don't think I've ever sweat this much in my life.
A sound from inside the room snags my attention, and I jerk away from the wall. I hear voices, but I can't make out their tones, much less their words. A loud crashing sound makes me jump, and I immediately grab the door knob only for it to be pulled open.
I take a step back and blink up at Dr. Marcoh.
One look at his face and I already know what he's going to say.
"No," I whisper.
He shakes his head slowly and drops his chin.
"I'm so sorry. I tried everything I knew to do."
"No!" I repeat though it comes out choked.
I look past him at the bed where Roy is sitting up, hunched over with his hands buried in his hair. His fingers are gripped so tight his knuckles are white. I can't make out his expression, but I don't have to.
My eyes start watering, and I turn away, my hand coming up to cover my mouth where my lower lip has begun to tremble. I can't cry. Not now. I need to be strong for him. That's what I'm supposed to do. But…
Two tears cut trails down my cheeks, and I swipe at them.
This isn't right. This isn't how things were supposed to go. It's not like he chose to attempt human transmutation! Those bastards forced him! He should be able to reverse it! The Elrics managed to get their original bodies back! Why is this any different?!
"Ms. Hawkeye…"
Dr. Marcoh's voice is soft behind me. I start to turn toward him when my stomach lurches, and I double over, afraid I might vomit.
"He could use a friend right now."
I look up at him, and he recoils. I don't know what I look like exactly, but I can imagine. I'm sure my eyes are red with the tears I'm fighting. My face flushed with anger and despair. I want to be there for him, but I don't know what good that would even do.
"I'll let myself out."
He gives a parting nod and starts for the door. I stand up to my full height and call after him.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me," he murmurs. "I failed."
"Then thank you for trying."
He sighs and nods before grabbing coat and slipping out the door.
I take another minute to compose myself and then I go to the kitchen. There's not a lot I can do right now, but I can make a pot of tea. After it's brewed, I fix a tray and carry it back to the colonel's bedroom.
"Sir…" I start softly. "I, um, made tea."
"…thank you, Riza."
I jerk at the casual use of my name and blink at him.
"There's no point in formalities now," he mutters as if he can read my mind. "As soon as Grumman hears about my permanent blindness I'll be given a medical discharge."
My hands start trembling, and I almost lose hold of the tray. I quickly set it down on the bed and climb up beside him, dropping my hand to where his is resting on the mattress.
"It's not the end of the world," I whisper, even though it sort of feels like it.
"I'll never be able to do it," he replies, his voice dropping. "My fucked-up dream of fixing this country… I'll never see that day. Or any day ever again."
"Well…I guess you'll have to find a new dream," I tell him gently.
"…or an old one," he says after a second.
"What?"
"Nothing." He shakes his head. "Just a thought. You said there was tea?"
"Yes. Here." I pour him a cup and lift it to his mouth. "It's hot, sir."
His hand catches my wrist, and his other hand come up to slide over my fingers, holding the cup with me.
"Call me 'Roy,' Riza," he whispers, bringing the edge of the cup to his lips.
He sips a bit before lowering the cup again, and I suppress a shiver when the edge of my fingers brushes his mouth. Almost like a kiss.
"Sir, I–"
"I'm as good as discharged," he repeats. "Please."
He lets go of the teacup, and I set it back on the tray.
"If you're leaving the military, so am I," I announce suddenly.
"What?" He blinks and turns toward me. "Why?"
"You have to ask?" I whisper. "You're the only reason I stayed. If you're not there, then I have no reason to be there either. I'll turn in my resignation as soon as your discharge is finalized."
"But, Hawkeye–"
"You told me to call you, 'Roy,'" I remind him. "So, you should call me, 'Riza,' like you did before."
"I didn't mean for you to–"
"You need me here to help you out, don't you?"
"Well, only for a little longer," he stammers. "I'll be fine after I–"
"Roy," I murmur. "Do you want me to stay?"
Silence follows my question, and I reach out to touch his cheek.
"Because I…don't want to go," I add softly.
His eyes squeeze shut, and I wait as his hand reaches out toward me. I take his wrist and put his palm against my face.
"Riza," he whispers, pulling me toward him until our foreheads are touching. "I never want you to leave."