Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.
Song: Let Love In - The Goo Goo Dolls
Now I'm banging on the door of an angel
The end of fear is where we begin
The moment we decided to let love in
"Riza!" He pounded his fist against the door again. The paint was peeling in places, showing signs of neglect. "Riza, open the door!" He paused for a moment before raising his fist once more. Then the doorknob rattled and a few moments later the object of his frustrations opened inward revealing his first Lieutenant, wearing a look of surprise on her face and a heavy black sweater.
"Sir!" she exclaimed, her look changing rapidly to one of half panic. "Sir, what are you doing here?" He pushed past her into her apartment. With a single glance he saw that nothing was out of place and his breathing eased. She appeared at his side.
"Sir, you shouldn't be here." Her voice was firm, her expression neutral, but the panic was still there. He wished he knew what had happened, but staring into her eyes wouldn't tell him anything he didn't already know. He tore his eyes away from hers and looked around the apartment again.
He saw her familiar black coat, draped across the back of a chair at the kitchen table. Her shoes on the floor beneath the chair. Little things he normally wouldn't notice.
"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, trying to read something out of her expression.
"No," she said, and he was surprised by the spark of anger in her voice. "I'm not going anywhere. But you should be. You've got to leave before"- She broke off, realizing too late that she had said too much.
"Before what?" he asked. In that split second she had composed herself, and her voice was smooth and calm when she answered.
"Before it gets too dark." He could see right through the lie this time. He took a moment to look at her, to really look at her. There was a cut across her cheek and he though that maybe she looked a bit paler than usual, though that could just be his imagination.
"What happened?" he asked, not expecting an answer. She didn't give him one. After a long moment he dug in the pockets of his coat until he unearthed the handful of flowers he'd brought her. They were crumpled and partially wilted from being inside his pocket, but he saw the small half smile that lit her face when he handed them to her and knew that it didn't make a difference to her.
"I thought I told you I didn't have a vase." When she looked at him, her eyes were laughing. He let out a small sigh, relieved to have distracted her from her problems. She retrieved a cup from a kitchen cupboard and filled it half with water before gently placing the flowers inside. She set the makeshift vase on the counter beneath the window and turned to face him.
"You really shouldn't be here." Her face was grim, her jaw set, the brief spark of laughter vanished.
"What happened? What's wrong?" he asked again, though he knew it was useless. She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. She wanted to tell him, that much was clear. So why didn't she? His first thought was that someone had threatened her - Bradley no doubt. Still, there was no way he would know what happened inside her apartment, was there? So why-
"I'm fine sir." There was a finality in her tone that told him not to ask again. So he didn't.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?" He couldn't resist slipping in one last question, pleading with her. Her fingers clenched on the edge of the counter top, her knuckles white.
She didn't answer.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked after a few minutes, when it was clear he wasn't leaving. He smiled slightly at the resigned undertone in her voice.
"Tea would be nice," he replied. She put the tea kettle on the stove.
"You can take your coat off if you'd like," she said without looking at him, keeping her tone neutral. He complied, draping his coat and scarf over the back of a kitchen chair. She pulled two worn, plain brown mugs from a cupboard and began to measure out the tea leaves. With a start he realized that they had once belonged to her father. Apparently she had kept some things from the old house after all. When the tea kettle began to whistle she poured out the hot water and set the two mugs on the table.
Sitting in one of the chairs she smiled at him as he hovered awkwardly in the doorway and said, "You don't have to stand." He pulled out one of the chairs and took his seat. The tea was too hot for him to drink, but she lifted hers to her lips and took a small sip; she'd always liked her tea scalding hot. When she set the mug down her hands were shaking.
He didn't say anything, but she knew he noticed.
They sat without speaking for several minutes.
"You really shouldn't be here," she said at last, breaking the silence.
"I'm not leaving until I know you're okay," he replied. She looked down at her hands and remained silent.
"Is it Bradley?" She looked up at him then. "If he hurt you I'll..." His voice trailed off.
"It's not me I'm worried about," she said, and that said it all. Though her voice was soft, the words were weighted.
It all made sense to him then. The panic in her face when she'd answered the door to find him waiting. Her refusal to answer his questions. Someone was using him against her. He slumped in the chair.
God he was such a fool. He'd thought that she was being used against him, and that she was safe as long as he didn't do anything stupid. He hadn't stopped to think that the situation could easily be reversed.
"Damn," he mumbled. She knew he understood. They sat there in silence for another moment, their gazes averted. There was no sound except for Hayate's soft whuffing sighs and the steady tick of the clock on the wall.
"You should go," she said after a long, heavy silence, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Broken. He stood stiffly. The sound of the chair legs scraping on the floor was too loud, the lights overhead too harsh.
"I suppose I should." He pulled his jacket on. Suddenly the comfortable warmth of the room and the tea weren't enough to keep him warm. She followed him to the door, arms folded in front of her, shoulders hunched, still not meeting his eyes.
He opened the door, some distant part of his mind taking note of the peeling paint and the way the doorknob rattled unhealthily in his hand. He paused in the doorway, not able to bring himself to leave her like this.
"Thanks for stopping by," she said, though the words were empty. She kept her eyes on the ground, keeping him out.
He sighed.
"Why does everything have to be so difficult?" he asked angrily. She looked up at him, clutching her sweater tighter around her.
"Would it be worth it if it were easy?" He couldn't help but spot the irony in that statement.
It would be so easy, not to leave. If she asked him to stay, he would in an instant. But he knew she couldn't. Wouldn't.
Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his jacket. When he pulled away she didn't move, just stood there with her eyes closed.
"I have to go," he whispered. With that he left, closing the door behind him, a flake of red paint leaving with him.
Outside it had started to rain.
As he fumbled with the keys to the car, he couldn't resist one look back. She stood in the window, silhouetted against the kitchen lights. She looked so small, standing there, her arms wrapped around herself as though that was all that was holding her together.
That night he realized, for the first time, that she is his weak spot. And he is hers.
Haha. Something I took more than an hour to write. And I am quite satisfied with the results. :D