Author's note: I seem to have fallen back into Royai, probably because of the recently launched Brotherhood series – which is incredibly awesome.
This started as a drabble and by the time I finished with it turned into a oneshot. :/ Yeah…
Also, some of you who read this may recognize me from my Phoenix Wright fics. If that is indeed the case, check out my profile please. I left a little note.
inspired by: a work of the same name by jackiejealousy on DA.
xxx
It had been raining that day.
Riza could remember that part clearly, which was ironic. At the time, the windows in the kitchen of her spartan apartment were smeared with the gray and silver of the falling water. All she saw out the windows on the way to the door was a smudged, misty world.
When she opened the door, she remembered she had been surprised by the familiar face, partially masked by the wet, matted blanket of silky black hair that matched splotches of the darkening sky outside, obscured through patches and pouches of water adhering to her windowpanes in raindrops.
"Hello," he said, warmly. It was unlike the voice she had heard in the desert. In the desert there had definitely been fear, a quavering foundation of resolve. At the time she hadn't held it against him. An internal earthquake was to be expected when one's ideals were hastily and harshly crushed. He seemed to have gotten over it now, propelled by some even stronger will.
"...Hey."She stated suddenly, realizing her awkward reception. Mentally she cursed herself a thousand times for her idiocy.
He smiled a little, but almost sadly. "I apologize, I really should have called-".
"No, no it's fine. I was just, a little surprised. I wasn't expecting anyone. Here, come in." Their childhood personas resumed for a moment. She meekly tidied up her already tidy apartment, lifting a thin stack of files from her sofa and putting them on the coffee table and offering him a seat to make him more comfortable. He was still ever aware of her compassion, and how it had been armored by a resolve similar to his own in the desert. She could feel his obsidian eyes trace her movements and then linger back to the files on the coffee table.
"Military transcripts?" Roy Mustang asked. "You're definitely staying in the military, then?"
Riza looked at him solemnly. "Yes," she answered, unsure of where this path was leading.
He looked away from her a moment, closing his eyes and allowing a sigh to escape him. It was both pained and relieved at the same time. "It's rather selfish of me to say so, but I suppose I had rather hoped as much," he said softly.
"Oh?" she replied. The blonde sat on the couch next to him, her presence friendly and familiar.
"The higher ups are considering stationing me in Central. I know they will, but there's still a matter of time before they will. I know you have real family here, with General Grumman, but should I be given the freedom to choose my own team, I would like you to be a part of it-"
Before he could continue or she could respond, a shrill whistle came from her small kitchen. She offered a small smile. "I put a kettle on earlier. There's two cups worth. I could make you some if you'd like." She stood, and turned to face him.
"You know I'm not all that sentimental, but you must realize that you are family to me. I will go with you if you need me to," Riza stated, her calm voice a contrast to the screaming kettle. She turned and walked to the stove and ceased the noise.
She observed, as she poured the steaming, slightly boiling water into two plain mugs, that the liquid was very much like the resolve and power she saw in her houseguest, the unchecked potential her father saw. It had only been enhanced, bolstered by the heat of desert and battle, and she was sure, as she made the tea and the water grew stained and richer in color, that it would be her and whatever soldiers that were going to be selected as components of his team that would enrich this resolve, that would carry his cause behind him into fruition. She would not rest until it was safe and satisfactory for him to do so also.
Riza let out a smaller, inaudible sigh of her own as she withdrew the bags of herbs and crushed tea leaves. It was her heart there on the end of the strings, coloring the water, his potential and power. It was everything her father had wished against, but she supposed he had also wished against the military and the mixture of his daughter in the military would've probably sent him to his grave a second time had he survived Roy's enlistment.
Hawkeye reasoned that regardless of whether her heart was indeed swallowed in the still bubbling water, she would accompany him anyway. She would follow this man as long as he needed and would follow him wherever he saw fit. If only to further his cause, she pledged herself, her heart, and her gun.