92. Happiness?
Hawkeye's laugh, when released, was bright and dark all at once, a suddenness and pitch matched almost exactly by the combined noises of bells and gunfire. (Almost, but not quite; any other attempt to reproduce the quality of her voice by artificial means left Roy feeling somehow cheated, as if there was no substance to digest. Once he had encountered the real Riza Hawkeye, he supposed, there could be no replacing of her.)
She didn't laugh often or loudly, but when she did—kindly and throatily, muting the tonality of her careful voice—Roy needed no other forms of acknowledgement.
He did wonder, ruefully, if her laughter was just in fact another tactic by which she kept her distance from him. Hawkeye was clever like that, and shrewd enough to be able to use it effectively against him. He wanted to kiss her, but when she seemed—not happy, but perhaps amused—it seemed such a shame to interrupt. Possibly, Roy thought (though not without some humor of his own), that was what she found funny.