Sight and Observation
As she walked through the door, one could see the light creases on her uniform, and at close look, the deeper folds at where her elbow bent when she reached back for the gun in her holster, always ready and prepared for what is to come. Glance carefully, and one would see her darkened sleeves, the little bit of gunpowder from her pre-breakfast range practice. Then up to her eyes, hazel and piercing, those that could spot another from many miles away, long before one would notice.
Look deeply, one could begin to see the sorrow she had behind those piercing hazel eyes, the ones that had seen too many a life taken away with the pull of her finger. Examine closely, and you'd see the how the gunpowder had spread in those thin layers; shots fired quickly, steady and precise, so that the enemy would never have a chance to come any closer. Observe carefully, and you'd see those light folds had been fixed from the long periods of wait, trigger by her finger, eyes straight in the scope, body not moving, watching, so that no one would ever be near.
Carefully, slowly, and only when she had enough trust, would she ever lower that facade of a woman who would never waver, never falter and never yield. Firm fingers ready to pull the trigger would relax, her arms would come down, and her eyes would soften. The lips that gave ever so rare a smile would curve upwards, the tense shoulders slacken.
If she had ever let you see and know that behind the facade, there was no need for speech nor acknowledgment, for her eyes would speak in the mouth's stead. A single look and you would know what she meant.
He was proud, but grateful. Not for the spark that he held in his hand, the power that he wielded that made too many an enemy yield. Not for the brightness in his head, the wit that allowed him to make his climb up the hierarchy. Not for the fire in his eyes, the vision that he held, looking to the top, imagining seeing the world revolutionize at his hands. He was proud and grateful for the one that gifted him the secrets to the flame he held at the tip of his fingers, the one that ensured that his overconfidence will not cost him more than he could lose, and the one that watched his back as he looked to the front, so that no one could put a blade through it.
There she was, the one who had trusted him the most, and the one he had trusted even more so.
"Colonel," the all too familiar voice called him from his seemingly thoughtless gaze. Roy sat up, startled by her call, realizing that she was long past the doorway. His eyes trailed towards the Lieutenant, noticing that piercing glare she had.
"Lieutenant, it is already getting late, are you not planning to leave?" asked Roy, seeing the orange that had shone through the glass windows.
"Colonel, had it slipped your mind that the General wanted to see you at six thirty?" Riza reminded, her tone nearly a sigh.
His eyes widened a little, raised eyebrows displaying his sudden realization. Roy let out a sigh of relief, eyes darting quickly to the clock, knowing now that there was still a little time. "What would I do without you?" he said, lips curving up so slightly as he watched Riza let out another sigh. Her lips curved up likewise, and her eyes softened.
"You'd be useless, Colonel," she said, causing the corners of his lips to turn downwards very quickly.
The way her eyes had looked towards him was nearly teasing, but her tone as cold as ever. Roy stood up from his seat, then took a few steps from his desk towards the doorway, stopping briefly as she moved a little to the side. His hand reached over to her shoulder, lightly touching her relaxed arm, then continued towards the door.
Hearing the sound of her boots behind his own, Roy said in almost a whisper, "I know. I'd be quite useless."
A/N:
My eyes are tired
My shoulder blades, sore and stiff
But I will still write.
I still am going to write. No promises its going to be frequent, but look forward to more Royai and more.
