Roy Mustang was a man of firm resolve and strict composure. Emotions were reserved, open affection bridled simply because it was dangerous to care. Sentiment harbored risk – for him, yes, but more importantly for the very people he couldn't afford to lose – not to mention the fact that it freed a place for hurt and loss in his heart, created an additional enclave for vulnerability. That much had been proven upon Hughes' death, and damn him for having been so useless when they had come close to taking Hawkeye away from him too.
He had found it increasingly difficult to rein in his emotions – slippery things that they were – since the promised day had passed. Subtle hints slipped through hairline cracks – not as subtle as before – and smiles and longing glances dragged out longer than was probably deemed appropriate. But could you really blame a man? No, not after he had come so close to losing what he loved most, what kept him anchored to the earth.
Something had happened, something had snapped when they were beneath central, and then somehow clicked into place in the aftermath. It's not as though the emotions hadn't been there before – they always had been. He knew, and she knew, and an unspoken code fit between. But somewhere along the line rules had begun to fade. He figured it started during the months they were forced apart, a slow and steady tension, pushing, pushing – until it all came crashing down, with Hawkeye clutching at her neck and blood pooling on the ground and black eyes wide with fear, pain, and desperation.
Tension, thankfully, was followed by unwinding relief – relief at being alive, at being whole and at the other's side without the constant threat of monsters and shadows looming overhead. The minute he had regained his eyesight, he knew that trying to keep the affection out of his gaze was a futile endeavor. She meant too much – everyone knew it at this point – and no threat was left to take her away from him. Things were safe, or at least safer than they had ever been before.
The end of a crisis had marked the beginning of an era of reconstruction and atonement, and while there was a heavy amount of work to attend to concerning Ishval, it was somehow lighter than anything they had ever had to do before. It was not an obligation, but a self-driven duty to repent for their sins.
The atmosphere seemed to have loosened since Fuhrer Grumman came into power, and Roy found his thoughts straying more and more frequently towards his lieutenant – and he couldn't figure whether or not the fact that the both of them had become less reserved in their displays of emotion lately alarmed him or elated him.
At certain times, he couldn't help but form a smile – which Hawkeye had rather endearingly dubbed 'idiotic' – from sneaking over his lips when he looked at her from across the room. The way her mouth thinned in mock irritation, of course, would only encourage him to repeat the action in the future.
The distractions would never go so far as to interfere with work, though – she wouldn't allow that – but he certainly took more breaks than he intended during the day as a result of her entrancing movements. Of course he had noticed the way she played with the loose ends of hair as the base of neck before, but never had he really allowed himself to watch her as she did so. Never had he risked fixing his eyes on her for more than a few seconds when she stretched in her chair. Every motion seemed a hundred times as important now that he had come so close to losing it all.
He had become less hesitant in thinking of her as Riza rather than Hawkeye or Lieutenant – although the latter had somehow acquired a respectful sort of intimacy, the same way Colonel resonated affection when played across her lips.
One afternoon, however, Mustang's adjutant was occupying too much of the space inside his head for him to brush it aside as he normally did. Slowly, yet ever efficiently, he churned out a battle plan – nothing complex, no grand confession, no flowers or candles or jewelry. Those things simply didn't speak to either of them. She would understand with just a few words and perhaps a well-timed action on his part – all that remained to be accounted for was a little bit of resolve, which he was more than willing to provide after all these years of distance.
Before he could plot further, Roy was lulled out of reverie, first by her delicate footsteps, and then by the gentle fluctuation of her voice.
"The files have all been moved to the archive room," she informed him, taking measures steps as she approached his desk. "Are you all done with these?"
Roy tried to compose himself as quickly as possible, glancing down at the paperwork stacked under his nose, pulling his eyes away from hers rather remorsefully. He cleared his throat.
"Nearly there," he replied casually before stretching in his chair. "But I think I'll take them home to finish overnight. There are still some things I want to look over."
"Look them over now," she replied, somewhere between a suggestion and a command.
"And keep you afterhours at the office on my account?" He paused to square the stack against the wooden surface, then tucked the papers under his arm. "I think we've worked enough for today."
Riza let out the smallest sigh of defeat, and Roy swore he caught her mumbling something about a stack of unfinished paperwork before she turned away from him. He unintentionally followed the sway of her hips and the shifting of her shoulders with his eyes as she walked on towards the front of the room, making sure to keep close behind.
Once they reached the door, Hawkeye grabbed one of the two coats hanging on the rack, and Mustang took the other.
"Hold on, Sir." Her voice stopped just as he was about to slip his right arm through the sleeve. "This one's yours," she explained, extending the coat out to its proper owner. Roy smiled and took it from her wordlessly, leaving Riza waiting with an open hand for hers in return. When he showed no sign of giving it up, the Lieutenant's eyebrows drew together and the end of her lips dipped down to form the lightest frown. Roy nearly had to bite his tongue to refrain from letting her know how sexy she looked when she donned that expression. If she ever found out that that was what was running through his head, he could be sure he'd never get to see it again.
"Colonel Roy Mustang," she said, her tone chiding yet playful at once. His eyes shot up to meet hers instantly, and he found that he couldn't pull them away – not that he wanted to in the least. "My coat please."
Riza almost immediately regretted what she had said, for when the words left her lips, a mischievous smirk crept over Roy's face. He took a step closer, and she made no move to back away.
"I was just waiting for you to ask," he told her, holding the coat open. Riza sighed before turning around and slipping her arms through the sleeves. He let his hands rest on her shoulder a bit longer than way necessary, but she made no move to pull away – in fact, he could have sworn he had felt her lean lightly into his touch for a brief second.
Once his hands were free again, he threw his own coat on with far less grace and smiled at her. Riza thanked him with a nod and a half smile of her own, and then her hand was on the door handle, and his was at the light switch.
