The Promised Conversation

"Sir, I cannot condone your drunkenness. At your age?"

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was lightly supporting her superior officer, Colonel Roy Mustang, as they walked home from several rounds of drinks with their colleagues.

"I'm not drunk," he protested.

She glared sharply and he shrunk back as much as he could while still relying on her shoulder to even out his balance.

"Maybe I had a bit too much."

They continued on their stroll forward. He wasn't extremely inebriated, but just enough that he'd tripped on the door frame on the way out of the bar and somehow managed to scrape up his cheek. As his adjutant, Riza had offered to patch up the unit's commanding officer before sending him home.

It was a mild evening with clear skies. The colonel looked up at the stars and let out a relaxed sigh. "Damn, it was good to see Havoc ready for action again."

Riza hid a small smile; she wouldn't chide him too much for drinking. It wasn't every day that a squadmate who had been forced into early retirement from injury, was allowed to return through seemingly miraculous recovery. She could not begrudge the team's desire to celebrate hard.

All of them - Havoc, Fuery, Falman, Breda, Mustang and herself had been through a lot in the past few years. Unfortunate and strange circumstances that had changed them all, for better or for worse. But such was the nature of war - it had a tendency to leave one with scars, inside and out.

The pair made their way to Riza's apartment and Mustang was quickly seated on a chair at the kitchen table. She returned with a few basic first aid supplies.

"This won't take a minute, sir," she said as she got to work disinfecting the wound.

Dabbing his cheek, she found herself looking at his eyes, which were currently roaming around her kitchen, distracted.

Those eyes had been snuffed out once. At that time, she had been prepared to guide him into the future, through the shadows of it all. Yet, she would always remember the day his light came back.

The red crackling energy subsided as Doctor Marcoh stepped back. Riza knelt on the ground by Mustang's knees and leaned forward.

"Sir?"

He blinked, squinting, perhaps at the brightness, perhaps to conceal the traces of fear - had the technique actually worked?

A few seconds later his gaze fell on her and his eyes widened.

"Lieutenant," he murmured as if in awe, reaching out to touch her face.

He froze, remembering where they were. He dropped his arms and gave her a helpless smile. "I suppose this means I have to do my own paperwork again."

Riza immediately sighed, with a mild, almost performative annoyance. She was rewarded when his face washed with relief.

"Ah, I don't believe I would have missed those looks at all. They always make me feel like I'm an idiot."

"Then don't be an idiot, sir."

At that point, Doctor Marcoh stepped out of the room, presumably to give them privacy.

"Lieutenant."

She tried to remember what happened next.

"Lieutenant?"

She snapped back to her apartment, where her hands had slowed to a stop during her reminiscing. The colonel was regarding her with concern.

"Just about done, sir." She cut off a bit of tape to hold the bandage in place and delicately placed it on his skin. "There."

Mustang poked at the results of her administrations. "What would I do without you, Lieutenant?"

"Apparently let your wounds become infected, subsequently leading to illness and your death." Riza answered smartly, bringing the medical supplies back to one of the cabinets.

He scoffed. "What makes you think that I couldn't take care of myself?"

"Aside from the fact that your own rent house is devoid of anything save for that miserable sofa?"

Startled, he sputtered a little. "How do you know about that? You've never been there."

Returning, she dropped into the other chair around the table. "People talk. You should know that." She crossed her arms. "In any case, you must be able to function independently to some extent, but until I receive transfer orders, you are welcome to rely on me."

"Do you want transfer orders?"

She cocked her head and glanced at the ceiling as she contemplated his question. "Not particularly, however I am not so closed minded that I would ignore a good opportunity, military or otherwise."

"And what offer could I make to you such that you would reject those opportunities each and every time?"

This sharply drew her attention back onto him. His face was still mildly flushed from the effects of the alcohol, yet his eyes were clear and focused directly on her.

"What are you asking, sir?" Her nerves thrummed a little.

"Will you stay?"

Her heart thudded in her chest and her hands, hidden by her crossed arms, trembled slightly.

He'd asked much to the same effect before, but it was always in uniform, on opposite sides of a desk, in a military office. The colonel had always maintained the strictest propriety in their relationship, no doubt out of respect for her and to quash any rumors that she had somehow received her position through anything but merit.

True, there had been moments, many scattered across the years that they had known each other, where they had toed the line. When he erased the evil her father had etched into her back. When she thought he had perished at the hands of the homunculus, Lust. When she had nearly died on The Promised Day. Even in those exceptional circumstances, they had never crossed that line.

Despite all that, here they were, at her kitchen table, once again faced with the very same line. The man she would follow into hell was looking at her seriously, his dark eyes unwavering.

She took a moment to calm herself. To consider the situation rationally, Mustang would regret this exchange once the social lubricant had worn off. Riza would have to steer him back in the right direction.

"Of course, sir."

His face brightened, mixed with surprise. He opened his mouth to speak. Riza got there first.

"Of course I will stay, sir. This is my apartment. Why would I leave it when I am already home?"

Now his crumpled in confusion, followed by dismay. "That's not what I meant -"

"And I think that is enough chatter for one night, don't you think?" She stood, pushing back her chair. "Are you alright to get back to your place on your own?"

Glumly he nodded, getting to his feet as well. "Yes. Thank you for the bandages." He trudged to the door, a few feet ahead of her. He stepped out into the hall and turned around to face her.

She was taken aback. Maybe it was because it was her apartment and not a battlefield. Maybe it was their civilian clothes instead of their operation gear. Maybe it was the complete normalness of their conversation. Maybe it was his expression, despondent, with his head hanging, bangs drooping, and eyes fixed on the floor. Once again, her heart betrayed her, fluttering nervously like butterfly wings.

"Have a good evening, Lieutenant," he murmured and turned to leave.

Something twinged in her chest and she couldn't stop herself.

"Next time." She blurted out.

His head jerked up and his eyes locked with hers, questioning. As much as she wanted to avert her own gaze, she was not to be defeated.

"The next time you ask, you might try it sober." At that, she abruptly swivelled to face her door. "Have a nice evening...Roy."

Without a second to spare, she stepped into her home and closed the door, letting herself lean against the wood, catching her breath. Then she slowly slid to the floor.

What did I do?!

Black Hayate padded in from the other room and nudged her with a cold, wet nose. She raised a brow at her dog.

"Where were you? I could have used your support, you know."

She gave him a tight hug, burying her face in his black and white fur, her ears catching a cheerful whistle and light footsteps fading down the hallway.

A/N: Well, it looks like it happened again. 4 years later, I re-watch Brotherhood and I get the urge to write a bit more about my favorite couple. See you again in 4 years after my next watching? haha. I also recommend checking out The Promise Night, which is kind of like a prequel for this.