A/N: Written very late at night. I thought this up as I showered. It was originally going to be something along these lines, but then it took on a life of its own. I'm sure all you other authors out there know what I'm talking about.
I've been almost constantly in a sort of philosophical, calm mood ever since a few days after Mother's day. Mum and I ended up in a car crash that was not our fault and wouldn't have happened if the other people had been watching where they were going. I got out practically uninjured. A few bruises, grazes and a small cut on my leg (only god knows how) and a few aches and pain. I was practically healed two days after the accident which I found odd. Mum came out worse than me. She re-aggravated a few old injuries, and is still recovering.
Disclaimer: sighs Not mine. Never will be. All I own is the plot of this story. I don't even own the title. My best friend came up with it after I read the story to her and told her I needed a title. sigh
Summary: The time as you prepare to shower, the shower itself and it's afterglow, are often the best times to mull over your life…
Rain Drop Reflections
The war was finally over. The camps had been deconstructed. The refugees had been sent to camps. The soldiers had been sent home.
She was not sure if she was happy about being sent home though.
She was not sad to leave. Oh, no. She was glad to leave that retched place behind. If she never saw that place again, it would be too soon.
She just wasn't too comfortable with knowing that she had a beautiful, spacious apartment to come home to, while others had nothing.
She tossed her bags aside by her door. One landed with a quiet 'whump' on the soft carpeting. The other landed with a heavy 'THUD' and the sound of shifting and protesting metal.
Absently, she removed her boots and socks and dropped them by the door.
Without a sound, she walked down the hall. Though she did not try, her footfalls made no sound. Being in a war, where stealth and speed were everything, did that to a person.
She entered her spacious bathroom. Immediately, she was confronted with her reflection in the large mirror that covered half of the wall.
She recoiled when she saw the person in the mirror. This was not the her she remembered.
She removed the blue uniform jacket and dropped it carelessly to the floor. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She then pulled off her brown turtleneck top and dropped it on top of the jacket.
Gazing at her mostly exposed chest, she examined the new scars. She ran her thumb over the small scar below her left collarbone. It had been caused by a bullet. It almost killed her.
Expertly, she undid her holsters and put them on the sink. She then undid her belt and pants and dropped them to the floor.
She stepped out of the fabric pooled around her ankles, and walked closer to the mirror.
Stretching her arms upward, she looked at her armpits. They were quite hairy from not having been shaved in a long time. She lowered her arms and ran a hand up each leg. They were in much the same condition.
She studied her short hair in the reflection. The blonde strands hung limply around her face and on her head. The hair was lank, oily and grimy. It had gone weeks without being washed.
She gently reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She dropped it to the floor and covered her bare chest with her hands and arms.
She turned around so that her back was to the mirror and turned her head so she could see her back's reflection. She saw it. Some of it was distorted by a large scar, but it was still there.
She sighed deeply and walked over to the shower. She turned the taps on and waited for it to heat up. Once she was content with the temperature, she removed her last article of clothing and dropped them in the pile.
She stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain shut to give her some semblance of privacy.
Once in, she discovered that the water was still too cold for her liking, despite the fact that the temperature was already higher than most people could stand.
The water instantly heated up and she watched as the steam rose. The water burned her skin, but to her it felt good.
A contented sigh escaped her lips.
The first thing she did was scrub her hands and nails, trying to remove unseen dirt and blood. After doing that, she shaved her armpits and legs, making them smooth again.
The next thing she did was wash her hair. She put shampoo and conditioner through it two or three times before being satisfied that it was at least somewhat clean.
Finally, she scrubbed her body, trying to rid herself of the stench of war.
When she finished washing, she simply stood under the scolding hot water, letting it run over her body.
Finally, the water's heat became too much for her and she turned the shower off.
As she stepped out she grabbed her towel and quickly dabbed the excess water off of her hair. She stepped in front of the mirror again and used her towel to wipe some of the condensed steam off of the mirror. She wiped off just enough to allow her to see her face.
Her eyes were different. Before the war, they had been a vivid red. Now they were a dull, almost lifeless and empty, reddy-brown.
She tore her gaze away from the mirror and looked around the steam-filled room as she wrapped the towel around herself.
She exited the bathroom with one final glance at the stranger in the mirror and switched the light off.
She entered her room and quickly changed into her bed clothes. Her towel lay in a heap of fabric on the floor. Not bothering to pick it up as she normally would, she moved to get into bed. She stopped, however, when she heard rain begin to pelt her window.
Smiling slightly, she exited her bedroom and headed into the lounge room to wait for him.
It was a tradition. Whenever it rained, he would come to her. This happened every time it rained, even in Ishbal.
Rain was his enemy and he felt defenceless when the Heaven's cried.
Maybe, Heaven cried for the people they'd killed. Or maybe, it cried for the soldiers' souls. She often wondered.
20 minutes later, she heard a knock on her door
She went to the door and looked through the peephole to check that it was him. It was.
She opened the door and stared at the tall man before her, framed by the doorway.
His hair was as black as coal and his eyes were as dark as the outside midnight sky.
"Roy…" she sighed.
"Riza…" he said back, equally as soft.
Without another word, she grabbed his hand and closed the door. She noted that he was wearing a pair of sweat pants and a loose, baggy T-shirt. He was barely wet. It was then that she saw that he had deposited an umbrella near the door.
Gently, she led him down the hall and to her bedroom. They both wore a serene smile as they walked.
They both crawled into the bed and under the covers. He lay with his stomach to her back, one arm draped loosely across her waist and the other straight out beside him, acting as her pillow.
Both were asleep almost instantly.
The reason he always came to her when it rained was because he did not feel safe on his own or with anyone else but her. She was his loyal subordinate, his friend, his protector and maybe even one day, his lover…
R&R please!
A/N: Please have a read of my other story 'Firecracker'. It's about my OC Cassie who is a State Alchemist who gets transferred into Maes Hughes' division. Chaos ensues. It is slightly AU and is set in 1910 instead of 1914. There will eventually be some slight ROYAI and possibly some HavocxOC.
I loooooove Royai.
glances out window to see a hill that was never there before with a glowing sign at the top of it
Me: Huh…? 0o reads sign
It reads: ROYAI
Me: gasps very audibly Oh my GOD! raids fridge and grabs offerings of food for the dramatically glowing ROYAI sign Hmm… Hesitates on chocolate but ends up grabbing it OH! BTW, all you Royai fans are welcome to come worship the sign is running on spot while speaking being careful not to drop anything Okay? runs out door and up to sign and begins to worship it
