LOOK HOW LATE I AM LOL

I'm kidding. I never planned on writing anything for Royai Week (although I've been thinking about it for the past, like, eight years), but ya girl just finished binge watching FMA:B.

Currently undertaking a massive task known as long-form Arnold/Helga (yes, you read that correctly) fanfiction. Needed something to exercise the writing muscles.

You can find me on tumblr at malahmente.

Unbeta'd.

—

propinquity (pro-ping-kwi-tee)

n. the state of being close to someone or something; proximity.

n. close kinship.

—

Roy Mustang has come to rely on Riza Hawkeye for things he didn't even realize.

In the morning, she leaves a fresh cup of coffee (black, no creamer, exactly two teaspoons of sugar) for him on his desk, still steaming the second he walks through the door. All the reports he has to get done that day are stacked in order of urgency, the bottom two or three marked as needed for the next day (but still there in case he wanted to get ahead, which was almost never, but he appreciated it all the same).

The years that followed Ishval brought her to him, whether by fate or sheer dumb luck. He had known her for years at that point, and war had hardened her from her innocent youth. At the time, he felt a closeness, maybe from familiarity, or maybe the hell that was war helped them understand each other better. Regardless, he trusted her. He trusted her with his plans, his goals.

He trusted her to watch his back and shoot him, should he stray from the path. He trusted her to hold him accountable for the things he had yet to atone for. He trusted her to remind him of the past he had come from and the future he was headed to. When he climbed, she would watch him. And should he fall, she would catch him.

Roy didn't particularly care for love stories; he was a pragmatic person, a scientist, ideal in his pursuits of lofty goals but—and even he could admit it—too single-minded on anything other than that. However, it could not be denied that every successful man—neither good or bad, merely successful—in history was married to a woman.

Roy knew this. Hell, every single male on earth knew it. Women were fantastic motivators.

(In his particular case, she motivated him more out of fear than anything else, but that was beside the point.)

Things changed when Bradley assigned her out of Roy's office, assigned everyone out of Roy's office, and his most trusted circle had broken into fragments, scattered all across the country.

His focus shifted, from straight ahead to all around him. He supposed it was part of the plan, to make him lose his footing, because the people that held him up were no longer available to him. Riza was the closest, within range but out of reach, and when he closed his eyes and imagined her next to Bradley's side he opened them again to erase the image, but the bitter coldness of the situation still made his fingers tingle with utter hatred for the Fuhrer.

The fucking Fuhrer took her away. The fucking military, a beacon and symbol of hope and protection for its citizens, perverted her ideals and her desire to serve the people of Amestris. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of this.

Mustang ran a hand over his face.

"Colonel? Are you all right?"

He looked over at his new assistant—a receptionist, not a lieutenant, who was adequate at her job, but she was of no use to him.

"I'm fine," he answered, getting up from his chair. "I'm going for a walk."

"Of course."

He strode out of his office, both familiar and jarringly different, with faces of people he couldn't bring himself to remember the names of. He'd strolled the hallways and tensed when he came across Riza standing guard at one of the doors on the far end of the hallway, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

He should avoid her.

"Hawkeye."

Riza blinked, not knowing why she was so surprised to find Roy walking up to her. She knew he worked in this part of the building.

She saluted. "Colonel."

Roy tried to find the words. "I hope you're doing well."

Riza nodded. "The Fuhrer has been… considerate."

"I'm sure. He'd only take the best to be under his team," Roy breathed, and after a moment, he eyed Riza's saluting arm. "At ease, Lieutenant," he said lowly.

She lowered her arm but before it could land at her side, he gently caught her wrist. She said nothing but did not pull away from him.

The door beside them opened and Mustang stepped back. Not to display any (outward) animosity, Mustang saluted. "Fuhrer Bradley."

He anticipated the sharp look from Bradley. "Mustang. What are you doing here?"

"Taking a break from paperwork," Roy fibbed smoothly. "And I happened to come across my former lieutenant." Making no eye contact with Riza, he continued, "The office doesn't run the same without her."

Bradley nodded, staring at him with his harsh eye. "Indeed. She's very efficient." The eye flashed. "It's a shame you no longer have someone of her caliber working for you."

Roy could have imagined Riza's miniscule change in expression from stoic to shocked, but he couldn't be sure. He barely bit back a bristle himself. "Yes, sir. She's very valuable," he said, admitting it with a great deal of disdain, though he tried not to look it.

Riza's eyes flickered over to him.

Mustang saluted again, ignoring her. "I must be off, sir. I still have some paperwork to catch up on."

"Very well," Bradley said lowly, walking away. "Let's go, Hawkeye." Riza followed him with one last imperceptible glance at Roy that sent his whole body cold. He watched her follow the man, not perfectly in step. He could read her like an open book. Hesitation, apprehension. He had to commend that she was hiding things well.

But still. He knew her toowell.

Walking back to his office, he let his secretary know that he was heading off early. Grabbing his coat, one of his new men joked on the way out, "Who's the lucky lady today, sir?"

Roy smirked, and waved a note he picked out of his pocket. "There's only been one."

Another soldier laughed. "There he goes about Elizabeth again!"

"Man, if she's as beautiful as the Colonel says she is, we should see this woman at least once in our lives!"

"Yeah, Colonel! You never shut up about her."

"The face that launched a thousand tanks!"

"It's a thousand ships, dumbass." That was one of the female officers.

"Whatever. Same shit."

"Have a good evening, gentlemen," Roy called with a wave, a large, coy grin on his face as he walked out.

When the door shut, his grin vanished. He walked out of the building and flagged a car to bring him home. At the safety of his apartment, he pulled out a strip of paper he'd pilfered earlier from Riza's sleeve.

Roy,

The flowers haven't bloomed yet, so I haven't had any customers recently. It's a slow business day.

And, as always, the honeysuckles are yours.

— E

Roy smiled, a curve that lifted half of his face. At least she was safe now. Even if she was out of reach, the distance and uncertainty grated at his nerves, she was still safe.

And, most importantly, she was still behind him.

He normally burned all correspondences, so there was no paper trail. He stuck this one in his pocket and brushed his fingertips against it all the way home.