Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

Notes: First things first - the bit in italics at the start is the summary of what happened at the end of the last chapter for those who didn't read it. It has a few pieces of the chapter taken out, but I left enough in there to get the message of what really happened through. At least, I hope I did. Hey, guess what! There's only one chapter after this, and then an epilogue . . . so it's really almost finished. Wow. It feels like it's been ages, but . . . not nearly long enough. You know? Thanks to all of my readers, and hugs and kisses to all of my reviewers :)

Chapter Twenty: In Which Guilt Is Rejected

She couldn't remember the last time that Roy had kissed her like this. It all seemed like a distant memory. Maybe she and Roy had never kissed like this.

With a sudden jolt she realised what she was doing.

"Emlyn, stop it . . . Please . . . Stop it!"

Then he did stop, for a moment. He grabbed roughly at her hands with a strength she hadn't noticed in him before, and stared her right in the eyes. "Shut. Up."

Something inside of her withered at that point and she couldn't help but feel as though she'd betrayed Roy.

Roy was feeling apprehensive all evening. He and Addy had had a silent dinner together, in which the only moving of hands was to operate knife and forks. Addy may have been upset, but Roy didn't notice because he was too busy trying to think through his next conversation with Riza.

Although he had absolutely no clue as to what time she would come home, he could try to prepare himself. She only said that she was going out for dinner, so it if took . . . a quarter of an hour to get to the place, and an hour to eat, then she'd be back at about nine.

But, he reminded himself, Riza likes to hang around and talk. That could very well add another hour until she arrived home. In that case, he decided to call her. Even if he could just say he was sorry, it might be a better idea for him to call her while she was having fun with friends than to speak with her when she arrived home and wasn't as happy anymore.

After dinner he called her mobile, but she didn't answer. Instead he was redirected to her voicemail. His initial reaction was to hang up – he didn't like leaving messages – but then he realised that this could be his only chance at apologising without interruptions. She wouldn't be able to leave just after he said the horrible sounding part of his apology before he managed to choke the rest out, and she couldn't interrupt him in the middle either. She'd have to listen to the whole thing, wouldn't she?

"Riza, about what I said earlier – I didn't mean it the way it sounded," he told the machine desperately. "I didn't think before I spoke, and didn't realise that it would make you angry. I say things before thinking, and I really hope that you won't yell at me . . . I just wanted to apologise for what I've said, and . . . I . . . I love you, Riza. I'll see you when you come home. I hope you're having fun with your friend at dinner. Bye."

He hung up and looked at the phone wistfully. Hopefully that didn't sound too bad. And he'd followed Addy's suggestion – that might do a little good, since nothing else had seemed to work.

That night Roy reluctantly got into bed at ten o'clock, still waiting for Riza to come home. He lay awake, tossing and turning on the empty bed, and whenever he heard a car coming down the street his ears would prick up, only to leave him even more worried about what he was supposed to say when they just drove right past. Twice a car stopped, and he got up to see if it was her, but no – it was just the neighbours.

Finally, when the clock read '10:21' in neon green, a car pulled up outside. When Roy got out of bed to look through the window there was a taxi in front of the house. A somewhat familiar figure hopped out, and after loitering around the driver's window – he assumed the person was paying the driver – they then made their way to the front door.

Roy bit his lip. That was Riza, then. He took his final moments to contemplate what he should do – would it be better if he stayed and waited for her to come to him before he spoke to her, or should he go meet her where she was?

Unsure, he waited anxiously for a while, listening for footsteps. Finally, he could hear her coming upstairs, but then instead of coming into their room, she continued along the hall. Maybe she was going to say goodnight to Addy. He padded away from the window and back to bed, crawling in, but staying seated rather than lying down.

He couldn't keep his eyes closed. Alternating between watching the door, waiting for it to open, and looking at the time glowing on the clock, he finally grew impatient when the numbers clicked over to '10:28'. He pulled back the bedcovers and wandered out into the dark hall.

"Riza?"

When he opened Addy's door the room was still black, and he didn't see her at first. Then slowly, he noticed her sitting on the floor by Addy's bed.

"Riza?" he whispered, tiptoeing in carefully so as not to wake up Addy. He saw her head turn towards him sharply and almost groaned – she wasn't still mad, was she? "I'm sorry. I . . . I didn't think before I spoke."

She stood up, rubbing up and down her arms quickly as though to get rid of the chill of the night. "No, it's okay."

Had he heard her correctly? Roy didn't know whether to clean out his ears or to get her to say it again. "It is?"

Stepping past him, she walked out of the room – her footsteps weren't making the usual clicking high-heel sound, and he assumed that she must have taken her shoes off. She did seem a little bit shorter. Roy followed after her, slowly closing Addy's door behind them. Riza put out a hand to stop him.

"I'm going to sleep in there with her tonight," she mumbled. Somehow her voice didn't have the power it usually had in it. Granted, the power was usually because she was directly opposed to everything he was saying – at least it seemed that way – but it just seemed gone.

Pulling it shut anyway, so that their conversation didn't disturb Addy, he was confused, and a little hurt. "But . . . I won't come and bother you if you want to sleep on the lounge. You don't have to hide behind Addy, or anything."

"No," she said quickly. "I– I don't want to sleep on the lounge. I don't mind sleeping in Addy's room." The frown on his face only deepened as she edged back towards the door.

"You can sleep in our bed, you know," he pointed out.

Shaking her head, her hand drifted towards the doorknob, and she began to fiddle with it, letting her fingers run over it as though she was itching to get away. "No, I wouldn't want to take it from you," she said, and once again the difference in her tone struck him. Had she been unsettled by his message? He shouldn't have taken Addy's advice after all!

A little hurt and not understanding why she was acting this way – but then again, he never really understood – he shrugged. "Unless you especially don't want to sleep in the same bed as me, I don't see there being any problem with it."

Even in the dim light he could see her expression change. Her eyes widened a little making her look surprised. "You don't have any problems with that? Even now?"

"No," he said, shrugging again.

Something must have happened to shake her up this much – it definitely wasn't his doing. Maybe she'd spoken to her friend about the argument over dinner, and her friend had pointed out that she was being too harsh on him. He didn't know how it had gotten to the point that she seemed surprised he'd still sleep in the same bed as her after their argument, and although it was nice that she wasn't shouting at him, he was disconcerted. They could talk about it further in the morning.

She looked so relieved and confused that he continued on. "It's just a stupid argument, anyway. We've decided to stay together – if you could possibly forgive me, that is."

Her face fell and his heart sunk. What had he said wrong? Oh no . . . That wasn't . . . No, she wasn't crying, but her face had scrunched up as though she was trying very hard not to. Was he supposed to do something?

Finally it seemed that she had gained enough control over herself to be able to speak, because her next sentence completely mystified him.

"If you can forgive me, too."

A total mind blank manifested at that point, and his stomach gave a lurch. This was not just a plea to forgive her for always yelling at him, and for always being angry – there was something bigger – something deeper – behind this.

She took a shuddering breath and continued. "Tonight, I . . . I slept with Emlyn."

It was like being turned to stone. His lips twitched to let out a cry of "What? . . . Who?" but she rambled on, playing miserably with the shoes she held in her hand as she looked at her bare feet.

"I was just . . . so angry at you, for what you said, and my phone battery died, so I had to go and borrow his phone to call a taxi, but . . . I was angry at you, Roy," she told him, her tone holding a little more clarity as she gave a pained look in his direction before looking back at her feet again. "And then . . . and then Emlyn said I shouldn't go home when I was that angry, so I was going to wait until I calmed down, but he kissed me."

This time she didn't look away. He could make out her eyes in the dark, and at that moment they latched onto his, a hint of desperation gleaming in them. "Do you know how long it's been since someone kissed me? Properly?"

Well, no, he didn't really, although he assumed it was in the vicinity of an hour ago. Right now he was too shocked to even think about it, although logic told him that the last time before that was most likely that one time they'd tried to get the spark back in their marriage after the affair, but it hadn't worked out. Huh. The affair. His affair – seeing as there wasn't just one anymore.

She had half turned away now, and seemed more to be talking down the hallway than to him. He didn't want to listen, but couldn't move, and so even as he tried to block out what she was saying, it still came to him.

"It wasn't right - I knew it wasn't right. So I told him to stop, but he wouldn't." Suddenly, Roy's ears pricked up.

He reached out and grabbed at her forearm, ignoring the way she flinched beneath his hand. "Wait, what?"

As a soccer player he'd sat through many a lecture, paying more attention in some than in others. They'd been spoken to about the sorts of things the media might do with the events of their life, and warned that they were in the public's eye. As such they had more to lose than the average man, should they ever be found doing the wrong thing. Every now and then, they'd been given scenarios in which something wasn't right, especially things that the media would catch onto and make a big deal out of.

And somehow, this sounded just like one of the date-rape scenarios they'd been given.

Now looking directly at him, Riza trembled in his hands. She was shrinking away from him slightly, almost as though afraid of what his reaction might be. "I slept with him, Roy. I . . . I cheated on you . . ."

"No," he said, gripping her arms tighter. "You said that you told him to stop." This wasn't just a matter of his own pride anymore – she hadn't taken off with some other person like . . . like he did to her.

She sniffed and nodded quickly, eyes wide. Her muscles were tense beneath his hands.

"Then it's rape," he told her simply.

Shocked, she was soon shaking her head. "No, he wouldn't do that–"

"Riza," Roy said, loosening his grip on her shoulder. "He raped you."

He didn't know what to do. He felt as though he should be holding her, comforting her, but having just been through the ordeal that it seemed she had, he wasn't sure if he should move closer – she might take it the wrong way.

Brown eyes fixed on his, her perpetual look of horror and confusion hadn't changed. "What am I supposed to do?"

There was no doubt in his mind as to the oncoming course of action. "Call the cops, tell them where he lives and have them arrest him," he said with entire confidence in the idea.

The look on her face didn't change. "But . . ."

He gritted his teeth. "Either you tell the police about it, or let me know where he lives and I'll beat the bastard half to death."

"Roy, I . . ." She cut off as his gaze softened painfully.

Something inside of him was tearing – a cold ache had manifested itself in his chest – and knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't be the same again. Considering their recent history, he didn't know yet whether that could be a good thing or a bad thing, but all he felt now was the imminent knowledge that his wife had been hurt, and he hadn't been there to protect her. In fact, if it hadn't been for his own behaviour, it was likely she wouldn't have been in that position in the first place.

He reached up, putting one hand lightly on the back of her neck, and weakly rested his forehead against hers, too worried to notice the way she froze instead of moving away. "Riza . . . Please, just tell the police."