Spit it into her voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot whiskey you downed for courage. Feel as ashamed as you do walking into work in last night's clothes. Wake up cringing for days, waiting for her to mention it.
"You'll be able to make it back okay, Roy Boy?"
Madame Christmas had at least six heads when he lifted his gaze from the bottom of his glass, and each of her faces was wearing the same expression of motherly concern.
He tapped a finger against the side of the glass.
"One for the road?" he slurred, then snorted at how stupid his voice sounded. The empty glass slid away from him, directed by a firm hand, and then he was being helped to his feet, his coat finding its way up his shoulders.
"Thanks, Vanessa," he heard Christmas' voice from far away.
He knew he was a sorry sight, and he suddenly felt the need to get out of there as quickly as possible.
"I'm just gonna—"
He took a wobbling step away from the bar, and shook off the hands that were still trying to steady him.
"I…have to make a call," deliberately articulating each word so he would be understood.
"One of us can call someone to come get you," Vanessa's voice offered to his right.
"No…"
He patted her fingers clumsily, and staggered towards the phone at the back of the building. He fed the machine, impatiently jamming the coins into the slot, and dialed a familiar number.
At the moment, he was too damn drunk to feel guilty that this wasn't the first time she'd seen him like this.
The buzzing lasted way too long. She was probably already asleep, or just ignoring the phone. Only one person would call her at such an hour, and tonight she might just feel like letting him stew in his alcoholic haze. Then, there was a click.
*Hello?*
"Heeyyyy, lieutenant. How're things?"
Her pause, and the tone of voice she answered with, should have been setting off all kinds of warning bells in his head. Currently his head was too drowsy and slow to care.
*You need someone to pick you up.*
It wasn't a question.
"They won't let me leave unless someone's here to take care of me."
She was silent for a few seconds, and he found a thread on his coat to unravel while he waited.
*Can you stay on the line while I get ready? I don't want you to collapse before I'm on my way over.*
"I can do that."
He closed his eyes and let his head lean against the wall of the building, loosely holding the phone to his ear. He could easily imagine her setting down the instrument, walking over to her room to put on a sweater and some shoes. She wouldn't bother putting on a bra. He hummed into the mouthpiece.
"I could've called Havoc, I guess, but he's probably more wasted than I am at some other bar," he mumbled. "Plus, he'd never stop giving me shit for it."
She couldn't hear him. He was being an idiot. Now she was probably pulling her hair into its clip, and a few strands would slip out to curl around her ears and the nape of her neck.
"Thanks for doing this, Ri—lieutenant."
He couldn't even say her name when he was blind drunk and knew she couldn't hear him. The small part of him still clinging to professionalism must be stronger than he thought.
Now she was patting Black Hayate's head, letting him know she'd be back soon.
"It's awful of me to drag you out like this just to pick me up, but I guess I'm used to it by now. You keep picking me up and dusting me off…"
Now she would take her bag from the table, checking that her key was inside.
"And maybe that's why I love you. What do you think, lieutenant?"
He laughed at himself. Asking questions to a dead phone line. It made him think, ever so briefly, of the night Hughes had called him.
Now she would walk back to the phone, picking it up to make sure he was still there. He waited for her to ask him a question—yell at him, maybe. No, she wouldn't yell at him, he was pretty sure of that. He did hear something—it might have been static, but it also sounded like a gasp. Moments later, her voice came through to him, wavering slightly on the first syllable. Might have been a bad connection.
*You still there? Colonel?*
"Mustang reporting for duty."
*I'll be there in five minutes. Try not to pass out, sir.*
"Don't worry about me, lieutenant."
The line clicked again, and he reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall to seek out a chair until his rescuer arrived.
His mouth was filled with sand and something else bad-tasting. The sunlight lancing through the thin skin of his eyelids felt like it might splinter his head apart from the inside.
"Hhhhnnggg."
Footsteps approached where he lay, as he fought to keep his stomach from rolling.
"I see you're awake."
She didn't speak loudly, but the slight vibrations in the silence reverberated like a gong between his temples.
"Unfortunately," he groaned.
She made a "hmm"-ing sound, and when he was able to unstick his eyelids, he saw her standing with two cups of coffee. From the scent, it was dark and extraordinarily strong. He was lying on her couch, and Black Hayate was standing up against the side to try and sniff his toes.
He dragged a hand over his eyes and—very slowly—sat up.
"Thanks."
He took the cup from her and watched her move around the apartment, getting ready for the day. She was wearing a loose, long-sleeved shirt and black pants, and he glanced down at his own situation, grimacing at the sticky state of his shirt. His center of balance shifted unpleasantly, and he shut his eyes.
Maybe that's why I love you.
His eyes shot open again.
Shit.
He heard her moving around in her bedroom, and then she appeared again in her doorway. She gave him an appraising glance.
"Is the coffee helping?"
He hadn't tried it yet, so he sucked in a scalding mouthful and nearly screamed. He nodded stiffly instead, and hoped she wouldn't notice the tears that had sprung to the corners of his eyes.
Every second was bringing him more memories of what he had been like last night. Mumbling nonsense over the phone…her slinging his arm over her shoulder as she half dragged him outside the building…him insisting in garbled confusion that he couldn't bother her by crashing at her place…and finally letting himself be persuaded to sleep on her couch for the remainder of the night. When she had thrown a blanket over him, he had caught a whiff of whatever shampoo she used. Her hair had still been slightly damp from a shower, and he fell asleep with that scent carrying into his dreams.
Setting the cup down on the table next to the couch, he rubbed a forearm across his sore eyes. All he could do was hope that she hadn't been close enough to the earpiece of her telephone to hear his slurred confession.
"I can drive you home once I'm ready," she called from one room over.
He had already caused so much damage.
"No, it's fine. I'll walk back."
She came into the living room again, eyebrows drawn upward. Now he saw the gray shadows under her eyes, and a wave of shame hit him. Her skepticism was obvious, so he wove some persuasion into his tone.
"Really. The walk will do me good."
She pinned him with her signature stare. He didn't look away, and eventually decided there was nothing different in the way she addressed him, or in the mood of her eyes. Well…maybe something was different, but it might have just been her exhaustion. The extra lines on her forehead could also be chalked up to not getting quite enough rest.
She nodded slowly.
"If you're sure."
He gathered his coat from where it had fallen to the floor and ran one hand through his messy hair.
"I am."
On his way out the door, he said quietly, "Thanks, Hawkeye."
Maybe she would hear the words that were missing from his goodbye.