When she figured out that she loved him, it hadn't been anything special.
She met his eyes from across the room, and after the passing of several seconds, a subtle smile came to be. Whether it began from her, or from him, she could not say, but it was there and she laid the memory along the rest.
Though what was there, exactly?
It was the sight of him in all of his being, with a gaze so dark that it could have been enough to send a shiver down her spine if she hadn't known otherwise. She knew he didn't mean anything of the sort as he gave her the look, the one filled with gentle yet wide curiosity as he found her staring, as strange as it had been for her character. After all, Riza Hawkeye was not one to stare, especially without suspicion twisted amongst her thoughts. But in spite so, it had been a time where she rearranged little bits and pieces in her mind, more so each and every moment she shared with the man, only to come to the conclusion that hey, maybe she did think of him as something more than the superior officer, and definitely something more than the boy who once lived in the same house as I.
It was a simple realisation, none that took her by surprise.
And as she thought of it now in the middle of the kitchen, absently chopping the carrots before her as the pot of meat lightly sizzled on the stove, she felt a tug on the corners of her lips. It had been years since then, maybe even close to a decade if she were to remember correctly. But nonetheless, the walk through memory lane ended with one thing in her mind—or in this case, one person, though who was there to correct her, anyway?
Sliding the pieced carrots onto a plate that consisted of prepared onions and celery stems, the homely civilized lieutenant diverted her attention to the browning short ribs. She pushed them around the pot with a wooden spoon (as one did) and scrunched her nose slightly at the bland aroma. It was one of those few rare nights where she was bothered to cook dinner, a strange yearning for a childhood that had once been filled with innocent wonders and imaginations of the 'real world'. Although cooking was not exactly her forte, when it came to superb and delicate dishes, she knew enough to keep her stomach satisfied with a variety.
And all had been learnt since she was old enough to rely on herself rather than on her father; which was to say had been an age that was barely reaching the years of adolescence.
So yes, cooking did serve as a connection between her and those times before blood covered her hands.
Ah, there it was. . . the colour she was waiting for.
With the beef coming to the right shade of brown, Riza added the vegetables.
Almost immediately, a new blend of scent took over the air, the onion and celery even stronger than the others. But such was soon subdued as water came into the mixture—six cups to be exact, all poured into the pot after she sautéed the ingredients altogether.
Then just as she adjusted the heat into the right temperature, placing the lid on in order for it to simmer, there was a loud knock on her door.
Paws shuffled against the wooden flooring, a bark heard from the trustworthy Black Hayate. And before she could get to the entrance, the dog had set himself in front of it, patiently waiting for his mistress on all fours. She kept a smile hidden, however, thankful for the discipline she had implemented on him as strict as she seemed to be. In the end, she scratched the back of his neck as she threw a glance towards the clock up on the wall.
Five-thirty in the afternoon on a Saturday. . . now, who was bothered to pay her a visit during the weekend?
With caution, she turned the knob and gradually pulled the door open, only to find the man of the hour standing on the other side; a bouquet in hand and the most child-like grin on his face.
"Flowers for your thoughts?"
If he had been hoping for a less composed reaction, then he had most certainly come to the wrong place. Though despite her silence, her eyes steady on the roses and lavenders held before her, the colonel – no, Roy, as he would have corrected her if she said his rank out loud – never did lose the look of happiness, as a person could have described it. There was a tenuous twinkle in his gaze, the grin moving into a smile as he gave the bouquet a small shake.
"Are you going to take this any time soon or should I come back a little later?"
Snapping out of her reverie, she gave a short reply of a question in return. "What are you doing here?"
That was when he dropped his arm to his side, an overly-exaggerated sigh leaving him, "Can't I pay a visit to my favourite First Lieutenant? Is that such a wrong thing to do as a superior officer?"
"Sir, if you've only come to for a short visit, then the flowers were unneeded."
"But the flowers are needed." With such a comment, the smile was then replaced with a soft frown, the same expression he often wore when it came to the paperwork she piled on his desk. It was a look that she may have missed throughout a certain number of months, though it was a truth that she'd very much like to keep to herself and herself only.
"And please do tell why in the world they're needed, Colonel?" An eyebrow was lifted for the extra effect, harsh amusement overlaying her features in a way that basically told him two simple words.
Humour me.
Although, instead of giving a proper answer, he said, "We're off-duty. How many times do I have to tell you that it's 'Roy'. Roy. Not 'Colonel' or 'Sir', but Roy. You always act as if we didn't know each other outside the military, Lieutenant," Ah, the irony in his scolding, "And I'll tell you once you let me in—I mean. . . You aregoing to let me in, right?"
It was Riza's turn to sigh, but she still stepped aside and widened the gap, enough for him to enter without hesitation. And upon his entrance, Black Hayate let out another bark, earning a scratch from the guest on the very same spot where his mistress did the same only moments before.
Thud, click.
At the sound of the door closing, Roy turned and faced Riza in his full height, standing close with a short distance between them. It would have been a sight that could have intimidated others, or at least activated imagination that none could call all too creative. But afraid she was not, and stoic her expression was kept. With her arms folded just below her chest, her stance relaxed with a hip slightly cocked to the side as she met his stare head on, it had all been the basic imagery that conveyed their equality in control. Besides, he was not that much taller than her, and with the fact that she basically knew almost all of his secrets and incidences from when they were children, such was far from aiding his well-groomed reputation around her.
All in all, it was an unspoken truth that she was the one to be followed, no matter the situation given.
True to her label as The Queen in terms of chess pieces, as Roy once mentioned.
Silence was held by both, their eyes speaking more than their own voices did. But the message was still sent across and the man held the bouquet up again, the question repeated.
"Flowers for your thoughts?"
This time, Riza did take the bouquet and allowed a hint of a smile to grace her lips. It had been a small act, one that was especially unexpected out of all things. Though in consideration of the events that tied them together, that led them to be so close yet so far from each other, it was also an act of tranquillity that she appreciated wholeheartedly.
"Thank you, Col—"
"Roy."
". . . Thank you, Roy."
And there they were, mirroring the smile off one another as if they had nothing better to do. And who knows, maybe they could have stayed there for hours like the lovestruck teenagers they once were. But like always, reality called and one of them had to look away first.
Further into the apartment they went, Roy following the other closely behind, while Hayate trotted back to his designated spot just under the window. It wasn't such a wide space, obviously big enough for a single person with the right necessities and furniture placed here and there. Though even when it came to the basic aspect of furniture, nothing screamed out too fancy or expensive, for all were just right enough for the sake of simplicity. Everything was neat and tidy, there were fewer boxes around in comparison to the last time he had been there, and if Roy were to judge, he'd say that the place definitely had her name written all over.
"Dinner won't be ready until later," Riza began, moving around the kitchen once more, in search for a vase (probably the one that he bought her a few months ago) in the several built-in cupboards, "Would you like a cup of coffee in the meantime?"
"Hm? Oh, no, it's all right." Taking a seat on the table across from the kitchen, the man kept to himself for a while. However, it wasn't long before he spoke up and asked, "What are you cooking, anyway? Beef stew?"
A moment went by and an answer was received. "Is the smell that distinct?"
"You cooked it enough during my apprenticeship for me to know it like I know the back of my hand." It had all been playful teasing, though the sort that fell into genuine ease as he watched Riza pull out a large vase (definitely the one he bought) from one of the higher cupboards. "Plus, I may have been craving it for a while now, so I guess you can say that my senses have heightened when it comes to it."
"A coincidence, then."
"It must be my lucky day."
"So are you going to tell me what these flowers are for?" With the question asked in pure curiosity, Roy could have missed the tone of seriousness if he had not been paying close attention. But by the sink she stood, an unwrapped bouquet on the countertop beside her, as one by one, she fitted them into the vase. Although her gaze was not on him, it almost felt undeniably heavy for her to know that he was watching her closely, as though she would have disappeared if he were to look elsewhere.
However, it wasn't like it was anything new; he had always paid her close attention during moments of domesticity, even back then, when they were no older than eighteen. And yet in spite of the familiarity of positions, the cold chill from watchful eyes was far from being unnoticed by Riza herself.
It sat on the nape of her neck, gradually crawling its way down until it wrapped itself around her waist. Then before she knew it, warmth was laid to rest within her stomach, heartbeat loud for her ears only. If she were a person without control, her fingers would have trembled, but external responses were kept under wraps and she remained seemingly unaffected.
"A show of my appreciation, is all," Was the answer given with a slight shrug of a shoulder, "I was actually on my way to Madame's bar to see how the renovations are going, but a kind florist stopped me and asked if I knew of a special woman deserving of flowers. Obviously I couldn't lie, so I bought the bouquet and gave it to the one who deserved it the most."
"So you coming here was entirely unintended?"
"Not entirely. . . I would have dropped by sooner or later, considering how I haven't gotten the chance to talk to you outside the office since I got released from the hospital. How is the neck and the shoulder?"
"Bearable—just a couple of additions to the scars I already have." Despite being said nonchalantly, Roy winced inwardly.
He had known about the scars all too well.
Wasn't he the cause and reason as to how and why she got them in the first place?
He tried to lightly laugh it off, the sudden weight filling the space of his chest, although there was nothing to laugh at in the first place. And it should have earned him a strange glance at the least, but Riza understood just as much; even to the extent where she began to feel slightly guilty for being so careless with her choice of words.
So just like that, quietude comforted them . . . which was soon broken by no one other than Roy Mustang.
"I'm sorry."
Caught off-guard by words spoken far too loud for the two of them, Riza froze as she inserted the last rose alongside the others. It lasted no more than a second, however, being one who was always quick to regain her composure. After all, she couldn't very well be the type to have her actions delayed, particularly if the circumstances weren't quite as safe as that moment then.
Well, physically safe, so to speak.
"It's not your fault, Roy."
"But it is. All of the scars that you have are because of me."
"No, I got them because of my actions and decisions alone."
"And all of your decisions involve me."
"I chose this path not only for you, you know."
"But you would have never considered choosing it if we never met!"
Silence.
"Would you rather that you never became my father's apprentice?" She asked.
". . . If it meant to keep you safe, then yes."
It was not until this point when Riza finally turned around, only for brown eyes to find a defeated man not far from where she stood. It was a sight she dreaded to see, for it did not suit him well as much as the few moments of his pride did. She then let out a breath, her hands resting against the edge of the kitchen counter.
"I was so close to losing you, Riza—so close. You almost died in front of me and I. . . I couldn't even do a damn thing about it. My mind just blanked out while I watched you bleed, and then I tried coming up with the perfect formula for human transmutation; all within seconds in my head. Then I thought of Hughes. . . then I thought of all the times I should have told you, but didn't."
"—the moment I realised that I loved you." With the sudden change of subject with a statement that more or less came out of nowhere, Roy's bubble of melancholy popped instantly. He tore his gaze from the floor, and watched as the woman pushed herself off the countertop. There had been a crease between her brows, an adorable expression that she tended to have whenever she attempted to recollect her thoughts.
"What?"
"Flowers for my thoughts, right?" Approaching him gradually, Riza gave Roy the time to recall the words he spoke upon seeing her for the first time that day. And when realisation had taken its hit, she stood before him, close enough for his reach. "I was thinking about the moment when I first realised that I loved you."
Bravely, she met his eyes, to which were lost in more ways than one by the supposed confession. Whether it was due to her spoken feelings, or the truth of what lurked in that head of hers, adjustment took a while to close itself around Roy's own reaction.
He stared, dumbfounded as he was. Minutes were dragging on, and neither moved a bit.
But then he had let it out, that breathy chuckle of his that she came to adore in secrecy.
Onyx coloured eyes softened and a hand reached out for the woman's, fingers intertwining as palm went against palm.
It was silence that spoke in all of its loudness around them; the two individuals being the only things that mattered in that room right there and then. And with the contact of innocent intimacy, it was as if things had fallen onto their rightful places. However, that was not to say that they had not known of the existence of the 'humanly emotion' between them. For despite being never spoken out loud until then – until she had let it out for no one but him to hear – it was always written through the actions in means of survival and protection.
After all, everyone knew that he needed her as much as she needed him.
"Should I be concerned with the use of past tense there, Lieutenant?" And back to the playful banter Roy went, in contradiction to the sentiment that laid bare across his face.
"I doubt it's anything to worry about that much, Sir," And of course, it was only right for her to play along, "Considering how it is something that I was doing before you came."
"Mm. . . I was really referring to your use of past tense with the word 'love'."
"Ah. . . well then, I can't exactly comment on that."
"Ouch, you certainly know how to play with a man's feelings."
"Learnt from the best, Sir."
Without a return of reply, Roy tugged her closer and enclosed his arms around her waist, only to rest the side of his face against the flatness of her stomach as she stood between his legs. Admittedly, he found solace in the feel of her warmth, more so as elegant yet calloused fingers freely ran through the thickness of his hair, massaging his scalp as they did so.
The walls were down, and the masks were off, as neither hid behind the ranks of Colonel or Lieutenant, nor the titles of The Flame Alchemist or The Hawk's Eye.
Vulnerable they both were, hearts worn on sleeves dirtied by wars all too unforgettable. But in spite of being scarred and battered, their lives inching towards the boundaries of brokenness with each snap of the fingers, with each pull of the trigger, they had still loved the other with all of what was left of them.
And for the both of them, that was more than enough.
"I don't deserve you," Roy said, "But I can't lose you, either. What do you supposed I should do?"
"I'm afraid we're on the same page with that . . . but I'm sure you know that I can't lose you, too." It was an honest remark, fading into a whisper as it reached its end. But even so, if Roy tightening his hold around her was any form of indication, then he had surely heard her nonetheless.
"That doesn't make anything easier for me, Riza."
"To be frank, I don't remember saying that I was going to help you with your 'problem', Roy."
"Still would have been nice if you did."
"Do you want me to tell you that I don't love you?"
"So you do love me?"
Riza could not suppress the urge to roll her eyes and the light shake of her head. She then sighed, which was followed by the mutter of a single word.
"Honestly. . ."