TW for mentions of an accidental overdose on anxiety medications.

Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am

An inexhaustible ache had kept Riza awake for most of Roy's hospitalization. When he - they - had finally been released, Riza had caught them a cab home to their studio, and in her last show of energy, brought them safely back to an empty and quiet apartment.

Everything in it looked hauntingly out of place, including, Riza thought, the two of them. The room had been as she'd left it when the EMTs came, a cluttered mess with a nest of sheets arranged on Roy's bed. Her own bed had remained unfolded with the comforter pulled back, and Roy stood in the middle of the room uncertainly looking at both beds.

The frantic disarray that spilled across the room reflected urgency and fear but stopped short at Roy, whose body looked more like a crime scene than an emergency. He was gaunt - stretched tighter and thinner than she had ever seen him before, like wax paper over muscle and bones. The roundness of his cheeks had sharpened slightly, losing the softness in his face and when he breathed she said the labored hesitance there.

In, out, in again she counted, watching him as he stood in silence. Shadows played under his eyes, smudged darker than any eyeliner he'd ever used. When he turned to look at her, he did so with a complacent look in his eyes. Something had been stolen from him. Something, Riza knew, was gone the moment he woke up in the hospital.

That didn't mean it was irreplaceable, however.

More than anything else Riza hated what she did next, returning the bullet to the gun as she handed him his lowered prescription dosage with a bottle of water. Despite all protests and frustration, the medical staff had insisted cutting off all medications would produce even more adverse effects. If Roy was going to stop taking ativan, then he needed to slowly lower the dosage over time and he needed someone to monitor him, someone to watch as he tipped back blue pills and tightly swallowed them with water. Riza looked away as he swallowed uncertainly. They both grimaced, and Riza set her purse on their kitchen counter, her keys sliding into a glass dish.

Not sure of what to say, Riza simply set aside the medication. Roy exhaled deeply, his breath ragged. Riza bit her lip, hands reaching out before she could second guess herself, or what she was doing. And Roy, silent but regarding her with curiosity, said nothing as she brought her hands to his worn shirt.

There was a means and method to repair, and it was near ten p.m., late enough that their combined weariness dragged on them both. Riza's fingers neatly slid under the hem of his shirt, waiting for his brief nod before she pulled the soft black shirt up and over his head. His ribs pressed visibly against his skin, and Riza tossed his shirt aside as Roy stripped to his boxers. For all that they were close, Riza had no intentions of removing his jeans for him.

There were some things he just wouldn't be ready for her to do, and so she slipped on one of his nightshirts, a large The Cure tee. Kicking off her own pants she turned back to him, pulling her hair from its tight and messy ponytail. She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging away the tension in her scalp before she sucked in a bracing breath, and gently nudged Roy towards her bed.

Startled, he stumbled a half-step towards her mattress. Riza moved to guide him gently down, watching him run his hands over his hair and glance up at her nervously when he landed back on the bed. Stepping back, Riza waited for Roy to relax fractionally when she gave him a worn smile in response.

"I know you insisted on giving me the better mattress, but I thought," Riza said carefully, looking at the floor as she spoke. "You might prefer something more comfortable than what you've been sleeping on," she said, biting her lip - on Hospital beds, and floors, car seats, and not at all.

She didn't say please, but then Roy seemed to intrinsically understand this was not something he could fight her on. Whether or not he realized it was for her comfort, she couldn't say, but he rolled back onto the bed, pressing up against the wall. Riza lifted her comforter up over him, before sliding in beside him. In the brief moment before she finished tucking herself in, Riza caught Roy's soft and low exhale of relief, eyes fluttering closed.

"If you feel like it's hard to breathe, or anything, you can just wake me up this way. I'll be right here, all night." It was a good reason, but an excuse more than anything to hold him close. Without prompting, Roy wound his arms around her waist and pulled her in tightly, as if she might float away if he didn't hold her down.

His head dropped to her chest, face buried against her collarbone as he mumbled a quiet and small - "Thank you."

Riza brushed his bangs back, softly stroking black hair as his lashes brushed against her skin, and his nose pressed to her shirt collar. In an odd way, she felt all of seventeen again, holding Roy this close and holding back how much it meant, and Roy felt young, younger than ever - and old, too old and too worn to hold on alone anymore. He was an idealist down to the bone, and bigger in heart and talent and goodness than anyone Riza had ever met, but holding him in her arms, she was reminded just how small and human he was.

She cuddled closer, wrapping herself into his embrace and pressed a light kiss to his furrowed brow. Under all the ideals, he was just Roy. Hardly any different from the teenager she had first met, and eventually, accidentally grown to depend so much on.

Someday, Riza would tell him as much and what he meant to her.

On the first night back from the hospital, Riza said nothing more at all.