Hello and welcome to my Universe!

This will be a Royai Hospital (and post hospital) Angst-Sweetness shipping series followig the Promised Day. Manga/Brotherhood (2009 Anime) verse. Focuses on Roy and Riza's recovery and coping with his blindness until Havoc completes his therapy.

English is not my native language, so I appreciate it if you let me know about any errors or typos. I appreciate reviews even more - speeds up updating too :D

I hope you'll enjoy! Would love to know if you did :)

Chapter 1

The sun shone in through the window on his right, bathing half of the room in warm light. He closed his eyes. It was pitch-black. Not even the rays of sun reached him behind his lids. Something they should have. He opened his eyes. Pitch-black. A sharp sigh threatened to escape him, but he suppressed it.

The first night at the hospital – at least the first one they had not been drugged into unconsciousness by anaesthetisation – had been restless, neither of them able to sleep for even a single tour of the minute hand of the clock.

The second night had been worse. Riza had startled them both out of their eventual sleep with a scream. She had panted, gripped her sheets – or so he had imagined – as the horrors only slowly abated from within her. (Something he could never do anymore; open his eyes to have the nightly terrors his brain spun into his dreams disappear by replacing the images with reality.)

She had screamed his rank.

Hayate had jumped up on her bed, the rustling of the appeasing wagging of his tail having made Roy want to climb over himself. But the nurses had heard, soon swarming his poor Lieutenant, checking her pulse, her temperature, her injuries. All the while he had lied there. Unable to see. Unable to comfort his closest friend.

Leaving him only to listen – listen to the sound of her breathing, desperately burning it into his mind, more than he ever had before. It almost sounded different without the visible rising and falling of her chest, somehow alarming at all times merely out of the concern of not knowing; not seeing her face. Anything for that matter.

She had kept on suffering for days, turning into a week, stretching even more days after that. Breathing shallowly, shivering and mute, Riza had made Roy suffer alongside her. The nurses had rattled with what he could only guess were I.V. poles – poles as in plural. Their hushed, concerned whispers had trained his hearing, up to the point where he had perceived the words 'fever' and 'haematoma', no matter how quiet.

Riza had been quietest when it came to words. Her screams had abated only gradually, never failing to make him bolt upright in bed – only to find her fighting a nightmare, or perhaps too delirious to realise that she had been awake and in hospital.

Roy had seldom appreciated the solitude of his own thoughts, but those first two weeks, he had cursed it. Stuck with himself, stuck with uselessly listening to his Lieutenant pant and groan, he had tried in vain to be grateful for their survival.

The nurses might have called it decency that his sight was gone in the face of Riza having to be washed and changed but he called it cruelty. Never in his life had he wished more to see her; find her gaze, catch a glimpse of a smile even if it was a false one to reassure him.

Steps now echoed along the hallways, wheels squeaking. Muffled voices travelled behind the closed doors. Inside, there reigned a comfortable silence.

Riza lifted her hand off her faithful dog to turn a page of her book. A quiet noise, hardly noticeable. About as common as the rustle of a leaf on the tree outside the window. She didn't actively register it, its existence fading in as it faded out right after.

His ears perked at the sound.

Only just having awoken, it was the first noise he heard inside their room. The hustle of the nurses, doctors and patients outside was something as naturally fitting as those of officers and Privates back in the office, but he now perceived every step and every unintelligible word where they faintly came through the walls or door.

It was almost as if having become a child again; as if having to learn all over which information one had to filter out as not to become overwhelmed. It was amazing what a lost sense could do. Amazing and terrifying. For now, he chose the latter.

Turning onto his side, his pillow rustled loudly in his ear, further blocking out the noise from all around. Feeling the edge of the mattress in front of him, Roy scooted back slightly, then settled. A moment of silence passed until he decided to break it.

"Lieutenant?" His voice was hoarse, croaking from sleep. He inwardly cursed at it. Not wanting to miss her reply, he swallowed instead of clearing his throat.

"Yes, Colonel?" Riza scanned the final paragraph before flipping another page.

"You're reading."

Tearing her gaze off her book, she turned her head. Sightless eyes stared up at her, at least the general direction of her face. He was getting better at it. Still, her brow creased in pity. She released a sigh under her breath, eyes never straying from his. Somehow, it helped him find them.

"I'm reading," she affirmed. Her voice was as soft as the hum of a bee. "I have my legs stretched out and my pillows are stacked for me to lean on. The blanket reaches my ribs where Hayate is lying on his front." She smiled down at her loyal companion who blinked at her at the sound of his name. "My right hand is stroking his back and with the other, I hold my book," she elaborated.

Roy loved when she did so, she knew. His smile would grow with every of her words, a glow of peace and calm returning to his veiled eyes. Sometimes, he would close them, if only out of habit, looking much as if imagining the surroundings she described to him. He seemed to feel less helpless, easing her own conscience in return.

"And your hair?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she playfully teased. A grin spread across his lips. "My hair is still undone," she then said, gaze flashing back to his. "And a proper mess," she admitted. Placing her book down, she ran a hand through the from the night slightly dishevelled tresses. There hadn't been a day following her gradual recovery when he hadn't asked her about it, and she never included it in her report. She liked him asking.

Roy released a deep sigh. "This might be the worst part…" he said, receiving a puzzled look. Not that he could see, she realised, but he seemed to feel it. "Now I finally share a room with a beautiful woman, and I can't even enjoy the view," he lamented. She had to chuckle. It hadn't gone unnoticed that when she changed, his brows would rise, all senses alert to catch whatever susurration would tell him about what he was currently missing out on.

He never asked, but she could detect the enquiry on his lips: the desire to have an audio accompaniment to her undressing. She never even changed in the bathroom either.

"I did think about that," she disclosed. The teasing spark of her eyes was ringing in her tone. "Sometimes I thought you weren't blind and that you're just pretending."

"Hey," he nagged, conjuring another smile onto her lips.

"But you don't always face me when I change so I've dropped that theory."

"Noted," Roy grinned. "That wasn't very strategical of you, my dear Lieutenant. Now you've revealed the ultimate cover to me should I be getting my sight back and choose to deny it," he smirked but so did she. It bothered her constantly how he couldn't see her face; how she couldn't share a smile or glare where it was needed.

"Maybe it was strategical…" she muttered. She bit her tongue as not to laugh at how he lifted his head off the pillow to be able to hear. His brow furrowed, mind racing at her words. She had to giggle this time. "There, now you have something to think about," she said with triumph. She wouldn't have to feel bad for being able to read while he wasn't.

"I always have something to think about," he defended himself. She strongly exhaled through her nose in quiet laughter. He pouted in response, having heard.

Just then, the door opened. Turning towards it, Riza watched a pair of nurses enter, a third with a clipboard on their heels. Hayate stiffened, getting up, stepping on Riza's stomach which she grimaced at. Gently, she shoved him off, keeping her hand on his collar, just in case.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" the woman with the clipboard asked and Riza nodded. "Daily check-up," she announced, halting the others when her gaze fell onto the dog. "Please don't bring him this time." She grimaced in recollection of the day before where Hayate had scared the hell out of the doctor, almost biting him when labelling him as a threat to his mommy.

"Of course." Riza apologetically bowed her head. "Hayate." She pointed at the floor. He obeyed, watching her with urgent eyes as the other two nurses wheeled her out. "Stay with the Colonel; I'll be back soon," she promised as he sat down, visibly torn between being a good boy and jumping back up onto her bed.

"Wow, he listens so well," he man who pushed her bed out the door complimented before closing the door. Roy growled at that, squinting his eyes in the direction of the fading voices.

"Colonel Mustang, please stop treating every male nurse with such hostility," the remaining woman sighed in annoyance. Neither she nor Riza would tell him that the doctor was a man too; that it was the same who was seeing to him. Not that he would refuse treatment – he did refuse treatment of the Philosopher's Stone for as long as his men had not been helped, namely Havoc – but he might have started to utter threats like he did with every man who came for his Lieutenant, no matter how professional. He felt powerless without his sight, neither able to witness any inappropriate approaches nor do something against it other than verbally protest.

Even then, he couldn't be sure to have heard right. He couldn't see it happen. He couldn't prevent it from happening with a glare, and he couldn't get up and loom over anyone because he A: couldn't see where anyone or anything was – and he had had his fair share of running into I.V. poles or beds – and B: he didn't know whether he was taller.

He could have screamed with frustration, opting for a sharp exhale instead.

The nurse was already pulling on his arm. He sat up, waiting for her to have attached the tourniquet.

"Pump," she instructed even though they had repeated the procedure for days now. Closing and opening his fist repeatedly, Roy saw the whitening of his knuckles in front of his inner eye. It burned like hell. He forgot to add the bandages, sometimes deliberately excluding them from the mental image. Wishing that his mind would allow the same with his Lieutenant's injuries.

They looked by far worse in his head than in reality.

"Another thing," the nurse interrupted his thoughts. "Please don't take patients out with you; you have a walking aid," she scolded.

"I'm not stumbling around with that stupid stick." He scowled in the direction of his nightstand, knowing the blind person's cane to be leaning against it. They had argued about it countless times already, no one able to convince him to use the stick to move about. How dishonouring would that look? The great Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist and Hero of Ishval, now of the Promised Day, prodding around with a stick as not to smack headfirst into walls. Pathetic. That was definitely not something he would let the public see, not even within the hospital.

No one but Riza. But then again, she was usually his guide, preventing said miserable scenario from happening.

"Then hire someone to do it." The nurse began to grow impatient, not letting her mood reflect in her actions as she briskly, yet not forcefully took the tourniquet off. "Or call a member of the staff," she cut in when he opened his mouth to argue. Yes, the Lieutenant was his adjutant. No, she was not in the condition to walk him around the facilities – he could hear the words before she spoke them.

Choosing not to answer and fire up another debate, he ceased any complaints until she was finished with ascertaining his condition.

"All good," she announced, her shoes clacking towards the door.

"When is—"

"I don't know," she groaned at the anticipated question. "Probably another few minutes." She closed the door behind her before he could persist any further. Both he and Hayate huffed, waiting – one more impatiently than the other – for the Lieutenant's return.

Fortunately, the few minutes didn't stretch. The bed was wheeled in less than a quarter of an hour later. Not only that, but a familiar voice chatted with her, having taken over the bed from a nurse.

"No, nobody told us," Riza was saying, becoming louder the nearer the bed squeaked.

"Well, they're here alright, and they send their regards," Breda passed on in someone's stead. "Oh, and Havoc's therapy's just a wing down, so he might stop by sometime."

"How is he faring? Did the Philosopher's Stone really revive the nerves to his legs?" Riza asked. The bed came to a halt after some scratching of turning it with the headboard against the wall. Another shuffle was heard, Breda's voice travelling the room where he now encircled the Colonel's bed to distance himself from Hayate. The bedsheets rustled next, telling Roy that the dog had jumped up to welcome his owner.

"It did, though he needs a lot of practise," Breda illuminated. "Oi, chief," he finally greeted, seeing as his raised hand hadn't been perceived. None of the team apart from Riza were truly used to Roy being blind. Not that he himself had come to terms with it yet either. "What's with the grumpy face? You'll be next in line for Dr Marcoh's miracle treatment." Breda grinned.

Roy let out a sigh.

"Not until Havoc's fully recovered." He crossed his arms. "If something doesn't work and he only notices too late, he couldn't get any help with the stone's powers used up for my eyes," he argued. However faintly, he could hear Riza exhale with concern.

"It's a Philosopher's Stone; I thought these things were all-powerful."

"And yet, we used the one of 'Father' up within the span of minutes," Roy gave back. He didn't see the exchanged glances between his First and Second Lieutenant, but he could guess. It wasn't his fault that things had ended this way, he inwardly growled, and they could do well with judging his foul mood less often. The nurses picking on his every breath was enough to bear day after day. And he was blind, for heaven's sake – how could anyone blame him for not brimming with positivity?

An awkward silence stretched between them for another moment. The quiet ticking of the clock was the only thing to be heard. And the steps outside, of course, but Roy wondered whether he was the only one who discerned them this clearly.

"Anyway," Breda dared breaking the tension, if somewhat tentatively, "I brought you guys some goodies." He produced a bag that rustled the more he dug his hand in. He must have presented something, because Hawkeye gave a hum of approvement. All things Roy could merely assume and imagine, his fingers itching to snap for something, anything to explode. He wasn't one to mope about fate and unfairness, but he did grudge having paid such a high price when already having sacrificed a lot and not being rewarded for it. At least not as he had hoped.

"Colonel?" Riza brought him back to reality. He sighed, relaxing his arms, if only slightly. "Don't you want to know what he brought?" she asked. He harked for a moment, perceiving nothing when trying to locate Breda. Had he left without Roy noticing?

"He's gone, isn't he?"

"Yes," she affirmed. He returned a huff. Turning away, he flopped down lower on his pillows, accidentally hitting his head in the progress. "Colonel?" Damnit, she sounded concerned. He didn't want to annoy her with his bad mood; she wasn't responsible for it and anyway – she was all that kept him from pouting all day.

She didn't raise her voice again, most likely reading him flawlessly. As usual. Simply knowing how he felt, something she seemed to be the only person capable of in all of Amestris.

The steps outside never stopped, voices mingled in between – audible, unintelligible – and the hands of the clock rhythmically continued their pace while a more and more comfortable silence settled. Roy could hear Hayate panting, then the bag rustling on his Lieutenant's bed. She chided her dog quietly, prudent not to disturb her superior.

He hardly noticed to have drifted off at some point, because the next thing his ears picked up was neither rustling nor a dog. It was a scraping, slowly and carefully, and an image formed in his mind without his consent. It nearly made his mouth water.

A blade ran up her shin. Guided by slim fingers where they slickly trailed a line of glistening soap up her pale legs, the razor cleared a path through most subtle, blonde stubbles. Shining, smooth and perfectly sculpted, her shins tempted him to reach out, to brush, touch, sink his fingertips into her calves, her thighs. Her thighs. Oh, how he longed to lotion them for her, to delve into the soft flesh and run his hands up, higher and higher…

"Colonel?" He nearly winced when she raised her voice. Not without a self-conscious check of his crotch – luckily finding nothing to be standing at attention – he finally turned around. "Are you alright?" Riza moved from where she had sat on her bed, coming towards him. He became aware of the shortness of his own breath. The estimating hand on his forehead to feel his temperature didn't help his blush abate. Not only embarrassed, but disappointed about his fantasy having been interrupted – though still grateful for it to have been interrupted in time – he merely sighed.

"Fine," he vaguely grumbled.

"Are you sure?" she insisted, sounding just as worried as before. He hummed his agreement, and after another moment, she retreated.

He froze when the sound returned, tender scratching of what he couldn't interpret any other way than a razor grazing up her attractive legs. He pursed his lips, listening intently. What felt like a minute passed, until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"… Lieutenant?" he quietly raised his voice. He opened his eyes, knowing it did nothing. But he was turned to her now, and it would be rude to keep them shut.

"Sir?" She didn't stop for a second, lulling and torturing his ears at the same time.

He sat up. "What are you doing?" he asked, just as hesitatingly as before.

"Peeing an apple," she casually informed. His shoulders slumped. Unasked, his head flooded with new images – Hawkeye sitting on her bed, perhaps on the side of her bed, those beautiful legs merely dangling over the side while the only alluring thing there remained was the way she might have bitten her lip while focusing on the apple. Or traced it with her tongue, he invented. Still, he couldn't help a sigh of disappointment.

"You sound disappointed," she observed immediately. "Would you rather have a different kind of fruit?" He wanted to scream and cry at the same time. She was the cutest thing; so innocent, so pure and yet so agonisingly gorgeous. It made his chest constrict for an instant. The snapping-itch was back, though right now, he would have contented himself with slamming his head against something too.

Catching himself, Roy decided not to ruin her entire day by being morose.

"How about something sweet instead?" he wiggled his brows. He didn't know that she wasn't looking, though the rustling of the bag told him.

"There's the chocolate Breda brought," she kindly offered. It tore at his heart how much of an idiot he was being. How she was never angry with him, never impatient, never resentful, having to endure his crankiness and his sudden mood swings, handling them all with such grace, he didn't dare impose another burden upon her.

"Never mind," he mumbled, turning his head away again. Turning to 'look out the window', would he have been able to see anything. Why they hadn't granted her the view and parked him closer to the bathroom, he didn't know. Perhaps they really had it out for him. But at least he had the tenuous warmth of the sun.

He froze from head to toe when there was suddenly a pair of lips on his cheek.

Just as briefly as they had come, they vanished again. Stunned, he reacted too late, regretting how she had already retreated.

"Don't forget the apple," Riza gently reminded. A plate clanked against the wood of his nightstand.

A long silence passed. She had returned to her bed, but he couldn't move.

Another minute. Then another.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

He hesitated. She waited, never rushing him. His lips tightened. The blush had returned.

"Please don't peel it next time," he said, not even having touched the apple yet.

"Oh? Do you like eating the peel?" she asked, completely oblivious to his struggle. His sweet Lieutenant – his saving grace and his merciless tormentor.

"It's…" he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Not after everything she had done – and still did – for him. His face kept glowing. "…healthier anyway."