I dedicate this one shot to my beta, who's a slut for a strong independent woman who don't need no man, and the self-sacrificing bitch baby men they fall in love with.
She wakes with a start, hurled from some half remembered nightmare. Fire, and homunculi and blood. So much blood and...
Darkness living, breathing darkness waiting for her to drop her guard. Breaths come in great gulping gasps of air. Sweat drips down her back, clammy skin making the fabric cling to it. The blankets are strew about her legs, the sheet wrapped tightly around an ankle dragging her down.
And down.
And down.
It's sucking her down into the dark. She scrambles for the gun that always rests on the table next to her bed.
"No, no, no, no, no!" she says, finding the nightstand empty. Nothing but a half-full glass that falls to the floor when she jostles the table. Water soaks into the rug, and in the dark of the night, the ghosts in her mind turn it to stain to blood, his blood. Panting for breath dries out her throat and leaves her voice a hoarse whisper.
Roy is awake in an instant. Enough moonlight streams through the window to illuminate the barest outlines of the room. Enough to navigate by. Which is good because experience has taught him not to startle her further. No sudden bright lights.
It's been years since the Promised Day, since they rebuilt Amestris, and still the nightmares come. They're fewer and further between now, but on occasions such as tonight, the terror grips her like the smokey tendrils of Pride's shadow form. This particular dream an especially bad one, if her actions the way she's thrown herself from the bed is any indication.
He finds her tucked into the corner of the room, furthest from the door. The curtains brush the tops of her feet, a phantom hand reaching for her again. The ticking of the clock beats a steady drum in the dark.
"Riza," he says, as he slips from the bed, keeping his voice low and soothing. There's no familiarity in the brown eyes that meet his gaze and he realizes she's still trapped in the nightmare. He crouches down, taking care to stay as unthreatening as possible. "Riza."
Roy holds out a hand. He pauses when she flinches. It's up to her, it's always up to her to make the next move. He can't touch her, pull her to him in his own desperation to make things better. The first time he tried, he'd ended up with a black eye and the heart wrenching moments it'd taken to coax her out of this same corner dragged on for an eternity.
"Lieutenant," he says. A hint of desperation creeps into his voice, but the sound of her former rank on his lips does the trick. All at once, she throws herself into his arms. Lap suddenly full, he wraps his arms around her, crushing her body to his.
"Colonel," she says, She sinks into his embrace, her face nestling into the crook of his neck, tears streaming down her face. His cheek brushes against the top of her head with his nod, and even though the title is far too outdated, he won't argue it.
"It's ok. You're ok," he says, rubbing her back in soft circles. The thin tank top she wore to bed soaked through with sweat, she trembles in his arms. He buries his face in her hair as rocks the two of them back and forth. He whispers and coos nonsense into the darkness of the room, voice much calmer and steadier than he feels. "We're ok."