Just Talk

It seems that yours truly here is in an incredibly inspired mood, seeing how it is that I've managed to produce three awful stories in the span on two days. This one is pure RoyAi. 'Nuff said.

Oh yeah, disclaimer: I own nooooothing! Noooothing! Repeat noooothing! Look at all the pretty 'oooooo's. Read my typed letters! NOTHING! Meaning, FMA not mine!

"Talk to me Hawkeye, talk to me." He said one morning. One gloved hand rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, the other hand balancing a fountain pen on the tip. Light streamed through the glass window behind him, his shadow outlined on the paperwork littered across the table.

"What do you want me to say, Colonel?" She asked, a little taken aback by the request. He was unusually melancholy for a sunny day, for any day.

"Anything, anything you want. I hate this silence. I want to hear your voice. I need your voice." He muttered, resting his forehead in his palm.

Hawkeye blushed slightly, "Uh, colonel, sir. I don't know what to say." She stammered, "You've, you've never asked me to do anything like this."

"I know, I know it's a strange thing to say. But I want, I want a way out." He rubbed his eyes. His fingers traced his jaw line, pulling at the skin. His black eyes looked up, searching for her gaze, he found her amber orbs. His eyes held such depth, such hollow emptiness that for the brief moment that their gaze locked, she felt as if she had fallen into a deep pit of cold, loneliness. There was silent pleading in the look he gave her, not just asking to talk, but something else.

He mused for a few moments, mind wandering through the ocean of his memories. Wading in the shallow water that lapped at his feet, he wandered out further. He was going to be swallowed by the waves. He was going to let himself drown in the ocean, to the sound of her voice.

She looked at him with concerned eyes. She was at a loss as to how she could help him. His pain was so obvious and so stark, she wanted to do so much, but she couldn't do anything.

Slowly, he rose from his seat and turned to face the window. "You still haven't said anything." He glanced over his shoulder back at her. A soft, pained smile crossed his lips.

"I, I," She began, mouth opening and then closing. "When I was a kid, I had this doll. It was a porcelain doll that my grandfather gave me. It had such beautiful blue eyes, such soft hair and a pretty white dress. It's silly, because at one point, I wanted to grow up just like that doll." She chuckled lightly and walked over to the edge of his desk. One hand touched the soft mahogany surface, fingertips feeling the wood, the other touched a necklace through the fabric of her uniform.

"And here I am," She said with a light shrug, "In the military, gun, uniform and all. My life didn't quite turn out the way I imagined."

"Did you like the way it turned out, though?" He asked softly. She had almost forgotten that he was listening.

She was hesitant to answer the question, "Yes, yes I liked the way it turned it out."

"Why?"

The question startled her. She began walking towards the window, hand sliding across the table. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from her boots with each step. She didn't know how to answer the question. All that had happened, all the twists and turns that her life had taken. Then, she met him and threw herself off a cliff, praying that he would catch her. And he did.

"I don't know exactly why. I can't put it in words." She said inaudibly, almost a whisper. Her hand touched the window sill. "But there's one thing I do know." The same hand touched the edge of his sleeve. He turned to look at her. She stepped closer and caught him in an embrace.

He jumped slightly at the touch of her body against him, the warmth of her body and her soft golden hair against his face. "I know that you are the reason why." She whispered into his uniform, "You are the reason why I like the way my life turned out. You caught me when I fell."

"No," He said, "It's the other way around." She was his boat, he was going to sail away with her by his side. He wasn't alone anymore.

"Thank you." His lifted her chin, and gazed into her eyes. Melting in the caramel softness of her irises, he mouthed three silent words and pressed his lips against hers. He relished in the tenderness of her soft pink lips as his hand cradled her chin.

Breaking away from the kiss, his gentle eyes settled on her flushed face. "You know," He said with a grin, "I'd really like to see you in that dress."