A/N: This is my first attempt at a Royai fic. My sister's friend introduced her to FMA and pretty soon I was hooked. This takes place during Episode 13: Fullmetal VS Flame and there are spoilers for the manga as well (chapter 66 or so...).

I've tried my best to proof read this and have corrected a couple of typos and grammatical errors since it was first posted up, but if you do find any more mistakes, just let me know. Royai forever!

As his ebony eyes scanned the cracked ground before him, Roy Mustang took a deep breath and sighed heavily. His arms and joints were aching and for the millionth time that evening, he fervently wished he had not agreed to duel with a certain fair-haired State Alchemist. Then again, he hadn't had much say in the matter anyway, considering the Fuhrer himself had endorsed—and was immensely interested in— the battle. After hours of digging and hauling pieces of concrete (he had to move them either by shovel or hand since that 'Fullmetal shrimp' hadn't even offered to help him with alchemy, opting instead to run off with his brother as soon as his side was done), Roy had finally finished getting rid of the piles of rocks and laying them out as well as he could for the maintenance crew.

He turned his gaze towards the dark blue sky, taking a moment to study the stars. For a brief second, he was reminded of the last time he had done that—six years ago, in a field of sand, a barren desert, dirt-stained and sweaty soldiers around him, campfires crackling almost soothingly. He immediately pushed the thoughts aside as he closed his eyes. He had done enough reminiscing for the day. He would not openly admit it, but somehow, after talking about the Ishbal War with Edward, he felt as if a little bit of the load on his shoulders had been lifted away.

He bent down to take his shovel, wincing slightly as his blood- and soil-smeared hand touched the hard wood. From the corner of his eyes, he suddenly noticed the light coming from the second floor of the military headquarters building—his office. It was already almost a quarter to nine at night and most of the officers had gone home, save for the guards on duty. Roy knew there was no way (in hell, he might add) that Havoc, Breda, Fuery or Falman had stayed back for some overtime, but Hawkeye, on the other hand…

He made his way into the building and up the stairs to his office. One of the double doors was ajar, lined with bright yellow light in the dim hallway. As he nudged it open, he was greeted with an excited yap and a black and white dog appeared by his feet. He recognized it as the creature Fuery was holding earlier that day, but why had the Master Sergeant left it here?

"All done, Colonel?" Riza's voice shifted his attention to her. She was at her desk, a hand raised in a quick salute, and a small pile of papers beside her. He inwardly groaned as he remembered the report he was assigned to complete. He had intended to write it up today (after much procrastination…) but how was he to know he had to spend almost the whole evening cleaning up the grounds of headquarters?

"Yes, finally," Roy answered, setting his shovel by the wall, the dog sniffing at it inquisitively. "Working late, Lieutenant?"

She nodded towards the file she was holding. "Just finishing up your report, sir," she said rather dryly.

"Ahh," he heaved a sigh of relief, a slightly guilty expression on his face. She had saved his six so many times already now. "Thank you, Lieutenant, I had completely forgotten about that. Lunch tomorrow to pay you back?" He raised his eyebrows inquiringly with a dashing smile that he knew most women loved. Of course, he knew Hawkeye wasn't 'most women' but it was still worth a try…

Riza sighed as well, getting up to place the file on his desk. He noticed his military jacket she had been holding on to before draped over his chair. "That's quite alright, sir, although I really would suggest that you stop procrastinating future paperwork," she said. "I can't always—" She stopped abruptly, her sharp eyes suddenly noticing the reddish stains on his hands. "Sir, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, walking towards him in concern.

"What? Oh, this. Well, there were some pretty huge rocks to drag around and I couldn't use the shovel... plus, Edward didn't want to help out with my side." He gingerly wiggled his fingers, frowning at the stings of pain. She took his hand to examine the extend of his injury (When was the last time we touched? He wondered). The blood had already dried and patches of dirt and soil filled the cracks and cuts in his skin.

"I suppose fire alchemy is the only thing you can do, huh…" It sounded more like a flat statement than a question; he didn't know whether or not to be offended by her words. "I'll get the med. kit. You should take a seat, sir," she added.

Roy lowered himself onto one of the chairs by the desks as he watched the little black and white puppy trail behind the blonde Lieutenant. "Hawkeye, why did Fuery leave that dog here?"

"He didn't, sir," replied Riza, retrieving a white box from the cupboard and placing it on the table. "He couldn't find anyone to take it home, so I decided to adopt it."

"I wouldn't have minded having it for myself…"

"After you freaked him out with your singing, sir, I doubt he'd like you taking care of Hayate." She chose to conveniently leave out the part about her scaring the dog and her colleagues with her rather questionable disciplinary method.

His dark eyebrows arched up. "Hayate?"

"Black Hayate," she answered, kneeling to stroke the playful puppy's head. "He's not very civilized, I noticed, but after this afternoon I hope he's toilet-trained." Roy stared at her, blinking as an uncharacteristic smirk appeared on her face. What does she mean by that?

"I'll go get a washcloth, sir." She disappeared behind the door. Her new pet seemed to consider following her, then decided on sniffing at Roy's pants instead. He smiled slightly as he watched it. He wasn't lying when he had told Fuery he liked dogs. Who wouldn't like slaves—er, wage-free servants? He eyed Hayate curiously. They just sit around, sleep and watch the house. And think about all the paperwork they won't have to do… Plus, he probably gets to see Hawkeye coming out of the shower…

The roguish smile on his lips widened at the thought. It was no surprise that he found the First Lieutenant attractive—hell, he was sure other guys thought she was pretty too, when she didn't have a gun in her hands, that is. He had known her since she was in her late teens. She was an only child and since he was her father's apprentice, they had forged a sort of brother-sister relationship during the years he lived with them. As time passed, they drifted apart; he had joined the military and she had attended a boarding school. When he met her again in camp, back in Ishbal, it was as if an entirely new individual had taken over her body. Her eyes no longer held her innocence; they had seen blood, death, war. After the rebellion, they formed a new relationship—this time one between an officer and his subordinate. Memories of fishing by the creek and helping out with house chores were shed away with the slither of time.

He was still smiling when Riza returned with the damp cloth. She looked at him in puzzlement but just shrugged and sat down beside him. They were silent for the next few minutes, Hayate panting a little by the desk. Roy watched her as she cleaned his hands, revealing the smooth skin under the blood and soil. Unlike hers, his hands had spent most of their time in pyrotex gloves over the years, safe from the rough grip and recoil of a gun.

"You have remarkably soft skin for a man." Once again, he didn't know if he should have been offended by her remark. Was she suggesting he was girly? Sure, he used moisturizers once in a while, but did she have to point it out like that…? He made a face.

"It was a compliment, sir," she sighed, reaching for the bottle of iodine.

"I'm sure it was." Roy smirked as a tiny grin unexpectedly touched her lips. They fell silent again while she poured a little of the yellow liquid onto another cloth and proceeded to clean the cuts and gashes. The soft material felt cool and soothing against his skin but he found himself preferring her gentle touch.

"Do you want me to bandage them, sir?" she asked when she was done. In truth, the cuts on his hands felt only like grazes to him but if it was a reasonable excuse for more close contact with her…

"Mmm, sure…" Even before he finished answering, she had already taken out a spotless roll of gauze bandage.

"The cuts are small so I won't bother with the pads," she said, beginning to wrap his hands.

"Looks like you still remember a couple of things from the first aid course, huh?" he commented, noticing how neat and precise she dressed him. His words reminded him of the only time he had been forced to use such skills—attending to a fallen comrade during one of the many ambushes the military unleashed on the Ishbalans. He remembered panicking as he tried to suppress the gushing blood from the soldier's neck, then feeling utterly useless when the man fell limp in his crimson-bathed hands.

Roy wanted to chuckle bitterly. Ever since the duel with Fullmetal, everything seemed to be reminding him about the Ishbalan war—the memories he so frantically tried to forget; the past he never wanted to talk about. As he watched his blonde Lieutenant finish bandaging his left hand, a random thought suddenly struck him. On impulse, and without even thinking, he murmured, "Riza?"

Her mahogany eyes shot up to look at him immediately, surprised but wary. When was the last time he had called her that? He couldn't even remember. He tore himself away from her inquiring gaze to study his wrapped hand, her slender fingers poised over his. Then he turned back to her and quietly asked, "If you had to kill a child to protect me… would you do it?"

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before resuming her task of dressing his other hand. "Naturally, I'd try to use less violent means to neutralize him," she replied, ever the practical person. "But if I was left with no choice…" she continued slowly after a pause. "Then yes, I would kill him."

"Without hesitation?"

"… If your life was at stake, sir, yes, without hesitation." She snipped the gauze and completed the bandage, taking a brief second to admire her handiwork. Not too shabby, Hawkeye, she mentally remarked. Then she raised her gaze to his dark eyes, remembering his question, and her answer. "Does that… make me seem cruel, sir?" Her eyebrows arched slightly.

He flashed her a thin smile and shook his head. "No," he said warmly. She was his protector, his confidant, his comrade; the person who watched his back and made sure he did not—would not—stray from his path. If it had happened to her… "If it was you… I'd do the same…" he added.

Riza didn't know why, but the fact that he said that out loud evoked a fuzzy feeling in her insides, and she was fairly sure she was beginning to blush. Quickly replacing everything in the medical kit, she got up to return it to the cupboard, already sensing the awkwardness rising into the air. It was strange to think that they had been very close when he was studying with her father; right now she felt as if the chemistry between them had reached a whole new level and for the first time in her life, she was uncertain of what to do.

"Riza…" There it was—her name again. Why did it feel so foreign, hearing it from his mouth? "Just now, during the fight with Fullmetal… were you watching me?" His tone was vibrant, low.

His words mystified her, but knowing him all too well, she instinctively felt that he wanted her to read between the lines. She sensed something was amiss. Is he talking about… what happened at the end? The fact that he faltered, even for a brief second, had not escaped her sharp sight. Something must have been on his mind. "Of course, sir," she replied, then continued softly, "I… I saw you stop just as you were about to deal the finishing blow to Edward, if that's what you meant…"

When the corners of his eyes twitched, she knew she had hit the nail on the head. He was studying his hands again with profound interest but she could tell it was only because he didn't want to meet her expectant look. With a patient sigh, she set herself down beside him once more, Black Hayate wagging his tail happily by her feet, completely unconcerned by the growing tension of their situation. Her fingers unconsciously reached out to run through the soft black fur. "Is there something you want to talk about, sir?" she asked in the gentle manner only he knew she possessed.

Roy hesitated. A part of him refused to answer her question, and yet, another part yearned to tell her about the familiar glint of anger and frustration in Edward's eyes as he knelt before him, defeated. When will all this end? A voice spat in his mind. Will the flames of my past never die out?

There was a short silence as he wrestled with the thoughts in his head, Riza still waiting patiently. Finally, he exhaled loudly and shifted restlessly in his chair. "There was a boy—" he blurted. "…An Ishbalan boy."

She didn't react to his response. Somehow in the corner of her mind, she could already tell the matter was regarding the rebellion years ago.

"He had a rifle in his hands, and he looked at me the same way Edward did," he continued, almost under his breath. "He was… shaking. I was standing in front of him, ready to attack, but his eyes—something in them stopped me. He was terrified; terrified, but furious as well." Roy turned and fixed his gaze to hers, a distant look in his black orbs. "I knew it was either him or me, but seeing that look in his eyes… that look of sheer hopelessness and desperation, I just… I just couldn't do it."

Riza reached out to rest her hand in his, their fingers not intertwining but touching lightly. The expression on her face was soft and understanding. It was a small gesture, but enough to let him know she cared.

"I remember how he suddenly cried out and lifted his weapon, and then I just snapped," Roy said, his thumb brushing her skin with a feather's touch. "A frightened boy, but in the end, one who was not frightened enough to fear death. Even when he was burning, he didn't scream, Riza, and all I did was stand there and watch—just like that time with the Rockbells. Useless…"

She lowered her eyes to stare pensively at the table, a wave of melancholy clouding her countenance. "We have done things in that war that no other human beings should ever do," she stated quietly. "Men, women and children; countless of innocents massacred under so-called orders of justice from the higher-ups… but that's exactly why we're still fighting now, sir. A different battle this time; one that would change our future and maybe, somehow, help us atone for our sins in the past." Turning back to him, she murmured, "I still remember that dream you told me about, that day in the cemetery, after my father's funeral. It's a wonderful dream; one I knew—and still know— I could safely trust my back to, and I'd do anything for you to accomplish that. I'd kill, I'd bleed, I'd die for you, Roy… you know that, don't you?"

He stared at her as her words slowly sank in. Unbeknownst to him, his hand, with a mind of its own, had grasped hers tightly, his fingers curling around her palm the way a child would hold onto his mother. Then, almost impulsively, his actions surprising even himself, he edged forward and grabbed her in a hug, burying his face in the golden ocean of her hair. His startling behaviour evoked a soft gasp from her and she immediately stiffened, then gradually relaxed. He was reminded of the time he had consoled her when the doctor had announced her father's death. She was crying then, but right now, he would gladly admit that the emotional one between the two of them was probably him.

"Your father told me to take care of you," he whispered, inhaling the scent of lilies in her hair. "But it looks like you're the one looking out for me instead, huh?"

She did not answer but just leaned into his embrace, her steady breathing by his ear. When he slowly pulled away, there was a strange expression in her brown-tinted eyes, one that he could not read. It was then that he realized the unsettling coil of warmth in the pit of his stomach and the sudden urge to move closer to her. His bandaged hand reached out to cup her chin gently, his fingers running lightly over her warm cheek, a new, foreign emotion between them. If felt nothing like the feelings they had as they were growing up; it wasn't between a brother and a sister, an officer and his aide, but this time, one between a man and a woman.

Before he could think it through, Roy was already closing the gap between them. He saw her eyes widen slightly, but even as he moved in, she showed no signs of backing off. Neither did she inch closer to him. He felt her hand reach out to rest against his chest and for a brief moment, he thought she was going to shove him away and thrust the barrel of her gun in his face, but she only touched his cotton shirt, fingers tangling in his buttons and white collar.

He longed to kiss her, but even when they were close enough, only inches apart, something seemed to be stopping him. It was as if they shared the same pole of a magnet, unable to touch no matter how much they wanted to. By then, warning bells were ringing in his head, calls of fraternization and court-martial echoing deafeningly. As if she had heard them herself, she inhaled sharply and swallowed the lump in her throat, forcefully tearing her gaze away from his yearning look. The hand on his chest left to move to the one still touching her face.

"Roy…" Her tone was one of regret but also desire. "This isn't… I can't—" She stopped abruptly to face him, unable to say anymore, although her eyes spoke volumes— I want you, Roy, but we shouldn't…

He lowered his head in consideration, his hand still tentatively caressing her cheek, not wanting to let go but finally drawing away as well. "I'm sorry, Riza, that was… I just… I'm sorry…" He couldn't verbalize his thoughts, all of a sudden; the only thing he could do was apologize. Had he merely been caught in the moment? No, he knew now that their attraction was mutual, but under the circumstances, nothing could possibly happen. "… I promised your father I'd take care of you," he repeated, giving her a watery grin. "And that means I can't jeopardize your position in the military, no matter how much I want this…" No matter how much I want you, he added in his mind. And God, I do, I do want you, Riza…so much…

"I know," was her soft reply, almost as if she had heard his wanton plea. Their eyes fixed on each other silently for a moment; he drinking in her elegant beauty and she suppressing the desperate ache within her. It's better this way, they inwardly told themselves. If they hadn't stopped, the consequences of their actions would have been severe. In the eyes of their enemies, she could be his liability, and he, hers; in the eyes of their superiors, it was forbidden. They would be demoted, court-martialed, transferred away, separated… and then what would become of his dream, his ambition? How would he survive with the knowledge that she would not be by his side until the end of his days? How would she wake up each day, knowing she would not be there to watch his back?

No, it was better this way. The wants of the heart were strong—even suffocating, at times—but they were still no match for the harsh realities of life.

"I should go, sir," Riza broke their silence, already reverting to her usual self. He said nothing and just observed her as she got up, tugged on her coat and bent down to pick up Black Hayate. The dog gave a happy yap, squirming slightly in her arms, its pink tongue lolling and utterly oblivious of what had happened. She paused to look at him one last time and said, in her normal business-like tone, "You should head home and get some rest, sir. Don't stay up too late."

"I will. Actually, I just remembered… I'm supposed to meet Hughes at the bar after this," he pointed out. She nodded and headed towards the door, but stopped when he called out, "Ri—uh, Hawkeye?"

She turned expectantly to him, seeing a small smile lingering on his lips. "Thank you…" he warmly said. "For listening, I mean. I… didn't really want to talk about it before, but now I'm glad I did. Makes me feel much better."

"I'm glad I could help." The smile she returned him belied the hint of sadness in her eyes. She casually saluted and opened the door. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Lieutenant." As he watched the wooden frame shut behind her, he wondered how they had managed to build up the walls around them in a matter of seconds; switching from their true personas to the stiff masks they wore every day. It felt almost automatic—as if there was a switch somewhere about them which they could flick on and off.

How long were they both supposed to do that? Roy Mustang honestly didn't know.

"You look terrible," Maes remarked as he brought the glass of whisky to his lips and gestured to the bartender to bring another for the sooty-haired man climbing into the seat beside him. "Well it's good to see you too, Hughes," muttered Roy.

"What happened to your hands?"

Despite the sudden grumpiness that had overwhelmed him (maybe he was tired? Or maybe he was still thinking about what had happened in the office…), Roy couldn't resist a secretive smile. "I was touched by an angel," he replied almost inaudibly.

Maes stared at him, an eyebrow arched up. "What? I didn't catch that."

"Nothing." Roy grunted, seemingly nonchalant, and began to unwrap his bandages. "I was cleaning up the courtyard at headquarters and just hurt myself a little, that's all." He stuffed the white material into his pocket and reached for his drink, taking a sip with a contented sigh. He could still smell the trace of iodine from his palm.

"Hmm…" Maes shrugged with a small shake of his head before his expression turned serious. "Anyway, I found something that you might want to know about."

"Oh?" Black eyes sparked with interest shifted towards him.

"You know Lior, that city in the East? Looks like Hakuro and his men are taking over the place for a while…"

A/N: Hope that was alright... I love reviews, so... XD