The day Riza left his side was one of the longest days Roy has ever known.
He remembers that day well. Disoriented from sleeplessness, Roy had sat in his car long after dropping Riza off at her apartment for what was to be the last time for a long time. He was still reeling from the events of the day before—a surprise encounter with Homunculi, the discovery that then-Führer Bradley was himself a Homunculus, and finally, the shock of having his team taken away from him, his greatest strength and only certain allies in the dangerous conspiracy he had found himself in.
Working in secret, he could deal with. Roy had been doing it for years; being definitively branded as an enemy of the government wouldn't stop him from seeing his plans through. But in losing his confidant, his source of strength and hope, a deep vulnerability of his had been unearthed and far too easily exploited. The Führer had done his worst.
Roy gradually settled into that punitive isolation as the weeks passed. For a time, his entire underground operation had been forced to a halt, due to both the absence of his immediate team and the threat of surveillance looming over his head. He was never more grateful for his wide-spanning network throughout Amestris, whose support and effort soon helped him pick up where he left off. One by one, too, he established contact once again with each of his main team, who escaped scrutiny as the military's top brass kept their eyes on him. Their work had become more difficult, but no less possible.
When all was said and done, however, Riza's absence was the most difficult thing he'd had to endure. It was not a matter of her diminished role in their underground work, which was a deliberate consequence of working directly under the Führer. No, it was something much more personal that drummed stubbornly, indignantly against Roy's chest without Riza by his side. He cannot remember now when he put a name to it, but there was no mistaking the emptiness that took hold of him when she was taken away.
The first few, lucky times they ran into each other at work were briefly happy and hopeful, and then uncomfortable. Meeting by chance often felt like meeting for the first time, especially as there was only little they could say to each other:
"Hello, Lieutenant."
"Colonel."
"I hope you're doing all right?"
"Well enough. And you?"
"I've been better."
It was the same everywhere, such as in the corridors of Central Headquarters, or in conference halls—places they had all been in together, and hardly ever by chance. Even their lengthier interactions had been left to circumstance, with no room to discuss important matters. One crucial noon at the mess hall comes to mind; in very little time, Riza had only barely managed to relay to him her discovery about Selim Bradley. And each time, as quickly as they had met, they would have to part ways again—not knowing when the next chance would be.
Losing freedom this way had frustrated Roy to no end. He found himself repeatedly confronted by the realization that within his plans, Riza had been the surest part of it all. From the moment she had walked into his office all those years ago and pledged her loyalty to him, he hadn't imagined the way forward without her. She was not a coincidence in his life, but a certainty.
At some point, he began to be thankful for all the little ways she remained within reach. Passing each other between their respective offices, finding themselves even briefly in the same meetings. Fleeting and lucky as those moments were, they were all he had for the time being. The only choice then, albeit difficult, was to settle.
A month passes after the Promised Day. The military has spent this time restoring many things to normalcy, from the corrupted top brass to their battle-worn headquarters. As the dust settles, Lieutenant General Grumman assumes the position of Führer and oversees the investigations and repairs.
The days unfold before Roy, who feels a strange sense of detachment from the changes that happen all around him. He heals from his injuries slowly; first he regains his vision, then the use of his scarred hands. Radio and newspaper journalists storm the headquarters day in, day out, and Roy is thankful that Major Armstrong and his men have voluntarily relieved him of having to deal with them—Lieutenant Ross does so most eagerly.
And then, his old team is transferred back to his office in Central one by one. Havoc, still unaccustomed to having regained his legs' functionality by the Philosopher's Stone, pushes himself to return among them even as he undergoes physical therapy. Falman doesn't return from Briggs, but Roy understands, choosing to be happy for the new normalcy he had chosen.
Still, nothing truly feels right until the morning Riza walks into his office again.
He turns from his window as the door closes behind her. It's as if no time has passed; weary as she is, Riza looks and moves the same way she has always done, except for something in her eyes—somehow, they are warmer than he remembers them. Home.
A strong wave of emotion crashes in Roy's chest, and in only three strides he has crossed the room to her, pulling her tightly into his arms. Let them see us, he thinks recklessly, determinedly—I don't care who sees anymore.
"I missed you so much," he manages, his voice thick with emotion.
For a moment, her eyes are wide with surprise. She doesn't move; she doesn't need to. He feels her thunderous heartbeat from through her chest to his, almost loud enough to break the silence. Slowly, Riza embraces him back, and next to that moment, the past several months they've endured apart suddenly mean nothing. Roy makes his next choice.
"I am never, ever going to let anyone take you away again."
He's never been more certain of anything in his life.