HELLO, WE'RE NOT DEAD. In fact, so undead that it's Ana's birthday today and we worked so dang hard for this super extra long chapter which. Honestly, I've never written so much for just one chapter. It's a christmas miracle. AND ANA'S BIRTHDAY. So make sure to give her your well wishes because she's have the reason we have this story to tell you! Hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
a single glance is more than enough / francisco x. alarcón, sonnets to madness and other misfortunes, iii
A different world comes into view.
At the first glimpse, Riza is painfully reminded that she's never left the comfortable country tones of the East and that it never occurred to her to do so. East City is surrounded by so many backwater towns that the center has always looked like a glorious beacon of civilization and technological progress. Through the car side window, however, the impression of what East City is minimized to the illuminated metropolis that is Central, Amestris. The towering buildings, the skylines of vibrant light emanating from Central, even at this distance, makes East City look like a quaint, little hamlet in comparison.
It's a little past eight in the evening with only a few vestiges of sunlight remaining in the horizon. Nonetheless, the city sidewalks are lively with the populace out enjoying the breezy, almost balmy spring night - walking, talking, laughing, begging. Sidewalk cafes and restaurants dot along the busy main street that cuts into the heart of the city bourough, glittering with colorful signs, endless amount of stores along the wide streets. There's little doubt the stars above are visible because of all this, but it's breathtaking in its own right how alive the cityscape feels. In the past, she doubted there was much to see and now she struggles to fend off the typical touristy gape, suddenly converted into a fascinated child.
The car turns into the property for what Maes calls "the apartment building". This "building" stretches up into the sky, tall and shiny likes its neighbors, sitting on the corner of a busy block. The view of the main building cuts short from a turn into an underground garage accessed with a key card, and they navigate through a confusing maze of parking levels, until the car is parked and the car ride over. Riza glances over and gives a tentative sigh. He only squeezes her fingers in response with a small, trying-to-be reassuring smile.
Outside the car, Riza stretches out her legs after being stuck in a seat for hours. "Is this your first time in Central?" Maes asks her as he hands her the overnight bag from the trunk.
Hoisting hers over her shoulder, she responds, "First time out of the East City metro actually."
"Seriously?" he asks incredulously and taps Roy's torso with the back of his hand. "You haven't taken her out of the East?"
Roy frowns with an are you kidding me? kind of look. "The circumstances have been limited in the last few months," he intones and says reassuringly to Riza, "Not that I haven't thought about it."
Their voices echo in these sublevels, ricocheting from the concrete below, above and from the pillars around them. "There isn't an expectation to be taken anywhere or to go anywhere. It's a non-issue."
"Sure, but there's merit in taking opportunities to travelling," Maes chimes in thoughtfully before telling her the elevator to the apartment is this way.
The elevator chimes and its doors open on the seventeenth floor, letting the festive music on this floor spill in like water.
"It's a party, but… you knew that." Maes grins a little guiltily.
Riza isn't ashamed that she's lived a very modest life - she's never had the chance to act or think in materialistic ways, but she understands, more now than ever, that her interpretation of the term 'apartment' clearly doesn't match up to theirs. Apartments, to her, remind her of living space that are small and cramped for way too much money for rent. Apartments are for people that don't own homes for one reason or another. Her experiences gave her a limited scope of what life is beyond the means of student and there's little extravagance with Roy and his sparsely decorated home to give her clue. With Rebecca, and especially Olivier, wealth was portrayed not only in the size of the home, but also landscapes, interior design, the crazy necessity of having curtains match the upholstery of the furniture, and so forth.
The Hughes household wasn't an exception, but there was no way she could have guessed it stepping in. It was less like walking into her own modest apartment and more like walking into a home - a house. A house with a foyer, several thresholds leading into different parts of the house, chandelier, and rug that color coordinated with the rest of the room underneath. It's welcoming with luminescent surfaces to match the city and charming with itty bitty rainboots lined up on the side.
To the right, Maes sets his keys down slowly on the table as if someone could hear them sneak in amidst the party music. That portion of the foyer is set up with an ornate mirror hung over sleek table of dark wood. Riza spies a large floral arrangement further along the dark side table. Well-arranged without a petal out of place.
Pulling her out her admiration, Maes throws his arm around her shoulders and draws the both of them close, speaking just above the volume of the music. "If we mingle into the crowd, maybe she won't real-" He doesn't finish the thought, because the idea is dashed before it can be uttered.
"Maes. Hughes."
The voice is sharp enough to cut through the noise and clear enough to hear the inflection and tone. The arm over her shoulder tenses and the man in question turns rigid like he's been placed in subzero temperatures.
At the end of the hall, a silhouette outlines the shape of woman standing with hands at her hips, pose matching the tone. She recognizes it as something Rebecca would do (like that first morning after), but the stance before her carries more room for intimidation. It's motherly, it's powerful. Riza guesses this is Gracia Hughes, mentioned endlessly in the car, and true to her name, she does not stomp towards them but rather glides gracefully towards them, despite the brisk pace to her stride. Her light brown hair shines from the chandelier overhead and ruffles with each step but never settles in an unseemingly place. Everything about the woman politely announces refinement and elegance. She is focused on her husband and he shrinks smaller with each step towards him. Gracia's disapproval is subtle, never unsightly: a slight crease to her brow, the smallest frown to her lips, and green eyes narrowed only just.
And then she notices Roy a couple steps away from Maes, just as still. The delicate woman gasps, her arms shoot out from the core of her body like vines and she lunges into hug that's anything but graceful. Like a brother coming home. She says something Riza can't hear, but Roy smiles warmly - contagiously, because Riza feels the corners of her lips curve from watching them. Gracia steps back with a playful quirk to the edge of her mouth. "Too good to RSVP, are you?"
"I'm so sorry, Gracia. You know mail tends to get lost in the East," he jokes and the smile that accompanies it looks too good on him. Beside him, Maes relaxes slightly.
The cadence in which the words leave her mouth doesn't match the woman either. It's exaggerated. Riza doesn't know why she picks up on it but the thought leaves her mind as soon as Gracia turns to face Riza properly. Lost in her thoughts, she realises too late Roy is introducing her. His arm curls around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side and she won't lie - it's a much appreciated comfort in this foreign environment.
"A pleasure to meet you," Gracia says in a manner that gave more towards her appearance. Not that Riza has her squared away in a predefined box just yet, but Mrs. Hughes looks like she stepped right out of the same magazine her foyer could be found in.
Riza blinks and smiles courteously. "I'm sorry for dropping in like this without much notice." She takes her hand awkwardly like a fish out of water. Instead of a dainty, limp greet, the handshake is firm, purposeful.
Gracia waves a hand in the air as if to swat away her absurd apology. "Don't you worry, Riza. We're used to guests dropping in, especially Roy," Gracia assures her. "The one who should worry is this clown-" she swats at her husband's arm, "-for disappearing on the day of his daughter's birthday. Going out to run errands, mi trasero."
My ass, or 'behind', if she wants to be technical. She's heard him use it when talking with his sisters.
"I did. I went to fetch her dearest godfather and tomorrow is the real treat after all."
"Ah, ah." Gracia snaps her fingers, twice. "I don't want to hear it. You couldhave warned me, Maes Hughes but we can talk about this later." She waves them to come forward. "Come in, come in. We haven't cut her cake yet." Gracia smiles warmly at her. "Riza, so lovely to finally meet you. Let's go get you a drink. I'll return her, you two - go and say hi to the birthday girl."
Riza can feel herself being led away into even more unfamiliar territory. Gracia guides her with two classically manicured hands on her shoulders towards one of the archways out of the foyer. "What are you in the mood for? Sangria? Red?"
As Riza tries to process it - half expecting to wake up from this absurd dream, she hears Roy behind them in between the pauses of music, "Gracia."
They both turn and there's something distinctly different on his face too. "Que pasa?"
"She's not …" He pauses like he's thinking, eyes shifting briefly towards Riza before they go back to Gracia, and then he continues in Spanish with more ease, but more advanced than she can pick up. Is he worried? Her gut curls uncomfortably.
Gracia shakes her head and Riza watches as his expression eases, the line of tension in his shoulders relaxing subtly. She'd have missed it if not for the way his eyes soften, the way she's seen them do so many times before. "You can relax. It's just a birthday party for Elicia."
Gracia's assurances might work for Roy, who nods and flashes her a quick smile before being dragged back towards the lounge, but for Riza… it seems like an impossible request. She can feel her heart beating heavily in her throat, nervous energy coursing through her. He might be comfortable here, a familiar if not a missing part of the Hughes' life - but she finds it difficult to trust so easily. Being left alone with Gracia, no matter how kind her intentions might be, is intimidating. One hard line of questioning from Maes was certainly more than enough. Riza isn't sure she has the stamina to deal with another round, less so alone.
Gracia ushers her through a high archway and leads her to what other would call a 'dream kitchen'. The area is impressive and spacious. Countertops almost sparkle from the recessed lights hitting the right places and even she knows the cabinetry is crafted to a higher quality. It's marginally quieter in here, the benchtops lining the wall of the kitchen piled high with platters on platters of food with backsplashes that looked to be made with tiny hands. The smell alone reminds her how long the trip took; she picks up sniffs of sauteed onions and garlic, bell peppers and tomatoes. There's a lingering smell of some fried food that's been ventilated but still clings to the porous material; scents of home cooking.
"It smells absolutely wonderful in here."
Gracia pivots slightly and a subtle smile graces her face with pride. "Thank you, but I can't say it was all me. I had some family help me organize this excessive buffet." She busies herself assembling a small plate of a couple of sliders and a kebab comprising of grapes and assorted cheeses before passing it to Riza. "Please eat," she tells her. "I know food on a student budget can be pretty meagre."
Disappointed doesn't accurately describe what she felt, but Riza was hoping for better. Guard up, she steels herself. "Why else would I agree to go to another home? Free food," she replies dryly.
Gracia picks up an empty wine glass wordlessly and Riza feels the curling sensation in her gut tighten. "Maes came in with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face which means that he was right and I was wrong. At least while you're here you'll distract him from bragging too much." She pours a red drink with pieces of ice and fruit swimming around into the glass. "Respectfully, I may not know how you two came about, but I trust Roy's judgement enough to leave my little girl with him in the worst case scenario." She knocks on wooden cabinet door as if to ward away the bad juju. "And my husband didn't spend years of specialized interrogation in the military to - oh, I say too much. Simply put: any friend of Roy's is a friend of ours." Gracia smiles approvingly and hands the drink to her. "Sangria?"
"No alcohol, thank you," Riza declines. It's simply one bombshell after another. The amount of wine and spirit bottles on the table could probably stock a club and then some, but it seems like the safer idea to stay sober, at least for now. Considering her only ally is otherwise engaged in the apartment, Riza feels far too uncomfortable drinking with a relative stranger. Gracia merely nods, and passes her an empty glass.
"There's juices and soda on the smaller table - just there."
Riza eyes the assortment in plastic bottles lined across the table, and opts for ginger ale, hoping it'll settle the nerves that began to rattle. Her nose scrunches with the flight of the bubbles while watching Gracia watch her, patiently, swirling her rejected sangria in the glass without spilling a drop. Riza feels her mouth stretch into a nervous smile, and she busies herself with taking a sip. She's well aware of what the real reason is behind this whole business - in the long drive over, it had become quickly apparent that Maes struggled not to ask any more prying questions. But here, in their house, on their ground, Riza knows she's lost the protection afforded by societal niceties.
"What's your field of study Riza?" The question is fairly innocuous and the tone doesn't merit any suspicion, but Riza knows that there's a myriad of other inferences to be made under the surface now. She's ill at ease knowing that they know.
"Bachelor's of Science," she explains, figuring that if she keeps her answers short, but truthful, Gracia won't go digging too far. "Originally I majored in organic chemistry but I quickly realised I did much better in the theory papers compared to the labs, so now most of my study is focused on the literature coming out."
"An incredibly dry topic, I remember." Gracia nods. "I imagine Roy would be good at it - he's always been the engaging sort when it comes to science. Plenty of passion for his work there."
"A subject is only as good as the person teaching it."
Gracia takes another sip of sangria with a knowing and perhaps pleased look. "You don't need to work yourself up tonight. My daughter will make sure the attention is firmly on her."
Unsurprisingly, Riza still feels tense. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind."
Before another weighted reply could be volleyed, the sounds of heels clicking rapidly approach and another woman enters into the kitchen. She look like she originates from same vintage as Gracia - immaculately put together, all elegance and poise. Pressed dress with no wrinkles, even for a child's party.
Unseen for the second time, the newcomer goes straight for the hostess, fragrance wafting in her wake and enough to permeate the food smells. "Gracia! You didn't mention that Roy was coming-" she says, until she notices Riza. "Oh! Forgive me, always the ditz - didn't mean to intrude. I'm Aubrey. Cute shoes." She extends a hand, classically manicured in the same fashion as Gracia's."New people aren't usually a norm for these gatherings. I work with Gracia, so I'll guess you're an acquaintance of Maes?"
Riza glances at her worn, sweaty ballet flats she slipped at the last minute, before taking her hand. This handshake is a lot less firm, flimsy. "Via proxy," Riza responds. "I'm Roy's plus one."
Aubrey pauses, a deep frown digging into her forehead as she draws back her hand. "Are you?" She asks with a less energetic feel and Riza's response seeps in. "We're friends, but I suppose heading out for the east causes people to lose touch completely," she says and it sounds wistful. "I'm sorry - how exactly do you know Roy?"
"This is Riza Hawkeye," Gracia offers and amends, "A colleague of his and clearly an important one for Roy to bring all the way from East City. The reason why my husband did a disappearing act after lunch; he brought the two of them back for the party."
Aubrey's eyebrows raise and her mouth opens slightly, but only briefly until it stretches into a cordial smile.
Riza is appreciative of Gracia for filling in an explanation to avoid her own. However, there's politics going on here - beyond her ken, and she chews on her lip, steadily avoiding either scrutinizing gaze and looking around for an escape route.
"I see, what an interesting development," Aubrey manages, smoothing down the pleats of her silk skirt. Every so often, she purses her thin lips, wrinkling the skin around it with each glance aimed Riza's way. The way she holds herself now - it's defensive, Riza realises. "In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Interesting how?"
The probe appears to catch the woman off-guard; her response comes slow, perhaps calculated. "When Roy left, hardly anyone heard of him afterwards. Disappeared off social media, the whole kit and caboodle. The only way to know anything about him was to ask Maes."
"A rarity these days," Gracia adds.
Riza hums into her cup, distractedly agreeing. "You said you worked with Gracia?" She hedges after a pause that stretches on awkwardly.
"Aubrey works for me at my private practice as a physician technician," Gracia tactfully supplies; answering for others appears to be her hobby. "She's invaluable."
Aubrey's smile has grown wooden, accepting the glass of sangria Gracia passes her. Her fingers wiggle on the stem of her wine glass as she turns her shoulders to face Riza directly, interested. "A colleague, was it? What do you do?"
Riza nods, breathes. "Paperwork he's not to keen on doing himself, vetting through scientific journals that aid him in his research. Can't say I blame him for outsourcing to an assistant." She keeps her tone light, nonplussed - doing her best impression of a postgrad student at the very least. She's still being watched critically, examined like a protozoa under a microscope judging by the way her eyelids narrow slightly but not obviously.
"How long have you been working with him?"
It's not hard to translate that sentence into what she's really asking: how long has this been going on? This behaviour seems entirely bizarre considering the circumstances. Entirely too interested.
Were you in love with her?
I was. At one point. In the end, we wanted different things.
She swallows down the suspicion erupting from that midnight exchange - she can't be sure. The Hughes were just as interested, except that was within the realm of reason with someone so close. Riza knows nothing about the blonde before her. She keeps her answers vague: "Just started this year. As a professor, he brings a lot to the table for the scientific community."
"Professor," Aubrey laughs, exposing pearly whites, matching the color of her pearl earrings. "That's a term for him I certainly haven't gotten used to. Can't believe it's been years now." Aubrey drains her glass and passes it to Gracia. "I should get going now, someone has to keep an eye on the kid if he won't," she mentions and drops kisses on Gracia's cheeks.
She doesn't want to admit that her hackles are raised now, that there's this ugly feeling of smugness settling on her - but it's becoming increasingly difficult not to feel like that. Aubrey, with her perfect manicure and form-fitting dress only reinforces the divide that exists between her and Roy. It's a divide that is becoming increasingly apparent, considering the company he keeps.
The company he left behind, she reminds herself.
"A pleasure Riza," Aubrey says distantly, waving her fingers delicately, rings sparkling in the light. "Maybe we'll see more of each other soon." She ducks out of the kitchen, and Riza's left with the distinct impression that she's failed whatever benchmark was set.
"Please forgive Aubrey," Gracia says after a moment, moving around the kitchen island to put the used wine glass with the other dirty dishes. "She takes a bit of warming up to."
"No worries, being ambushed seems to be the theme for today," Riza replies rather coldly. She turns to Gracia, whose face is suspiciously devoid of any emotional markers. Riza can almost see an excuse on her lips but she decides to interject before it can be said. "Is your practice just a general one, or are you a specialist?"
There's genuine guilt on her face now, but her response doesn't betray her. "I work in gynecology, and my practice is focused primarily on women's health. It's the only one in Central District."
"Oh, you struck me as a pediatric type." An unfair response - a judgemental response, Riza admits to herself.
"I thought about working in pediatrics, but there was a real and desperate need for competent practices, not just old men with antiquated ideas." She stops herself and smiles. "You don't need to hear that old story. There'll be plenty of time to talk after the party." Here, she checks her watch. "It's unfortunate that you came at the tail end of the party because we need to start wrapping up soon." She looks over to the crowd in the living room behind Riza. "If only I can find where my daughter went…"
As if on cue, a loud squealing turns Riza's head towards the archway to the other side of the home. Roy struggles to walk into the kitchen as several children attach themselves to his limbs and another tries to scale his torso. "You're still here." His eyes shift to Gracia. "And you're in one piece. You have my thanks, Gracia."
She huffs prettily, busying herself with arranging the platters on the kitchen island. "I am the perfect host, Roy," she replies. "Unlike my husband, who runs off without warning to where he's gone, and you-!" She points a finger at him accusingly. "You're not off the hook either as far as I'm concerned."
The kids are still scrambling over him like he's made of monkey bars. "I see you've made some friends," Riza teases.
He catches her eye as he peels off a four year old and winks brazenly. "We go waaay back," he explains, feinting playfully with open arms at the gaggle of children; they disperse, squealing. Some hide behind Gracia's legs and around the island counter, before one of them knocks past the covered table and scatters the spread of napkins on the kitchen floor. Riza can see the accident before it occurs - another child skids, slips, and bumps his head from the fall. The inevitable cry freezes everyone including a few adults just by the kitchen archway. Gracia gathers him into her arms and asks him - very seriously to Riza's surprise - if he needs to go to the Emergency Room. The boy shakes his head, holding his temple with one hand. "Then it's not so serious," she tells him and loudly orders the rest of them to play elsewhere and they quickly leave. Except for one.
Roy captures the remaining girl and she squeals, giggling while shaking her arms and legs. "And where do you think you're going?" He asks her, tickling her. He has the biggest grin on his face and she's never seen him quite so… free. It's a completely different facet to him that's utterly foreign to her. It's endearing, how his whole manner changes with this child - clearly, he cares about her. It must be the birthday girl, Riza surmises - enjoying this little display to a new side of him. "Okay, okay. Let's calm down." Roy stops his tickling assault and lets her settle on his hip; that's another different look to him. "Elicia, this is Riza. Can you say hi?"
Elicia's face is red from being tickled and tossed. She pushes the light brown tendrils that came loose from her pigtails away from her face. "Hi," she greets. No smile, no gleam in her that she had moments before. Riza doesn't have much experience with children herself, it doesn't bother her as much as she feels it ought to.
But she can be friendly, so Riza smiles and steps in a little closer. "Hello Elicia. Happy birthday."
The toddler blinks at her.
Blocking his voice with his hand from Elicia's direction, Roy whispers, "Ask her how old she is."
She's nothing if not obedient. "How old are you today?"
Elicia's little fingers closes in on her palm, but she thinks about it, keeping it close to her dress. She's about to answer until another finger goes up at the last moment and she proudly displays three toddler-sized fingers.
It's adorable. Riza doesn't know if it's the equally proud grin on Roy's face or the kid alone, but it is incredibly delightful. "Wow, that's three whole years." She shrugs and grimaces at how clunky and awkward she sounds, the inexperience with kids rearing its head again, but she tries to find some common ground regardless. "My birthday is this weekend too, Elicia."
The grin slides off of Roy's face and it's like it transfers over to Elicia, because she gasps with delight. In unison, they say "It is?" and "How many?"
Riza throws a glance over to Roy before going back to Elicia and holding up two fingers in one hand and one on the other. This fascinates the child. The light gleams in her eyes is undoubtedly inherited from her father.
Roy says something she can't hear right as the sound of cheering rolls into the kitchen and drowns out his words. Elicia squirms, no longer complacent in his arms, and he lets her slide down instead of placing her down. Not once does he break his concerned look away from her.
His mouth keeps moving, so Riza leans in. "Sorry, what?" she half-yells.
He leans in also but closer, words tickling the inside the shell of her ear. "When is it?" he asks loudly and she barely can barely hear him despite their proximity. It becomes a weird dance of twisting and tilting heads to communicate with each other:
"When is what?"
"Your birthday! Is it today?"
She shakes her head emphatically. "No."
"Then when?"
The day has been so long already, and she needs to think for a minute to what the current day is. "Tomorrow," she responds.
Roy frowns, before tearing his eyes away to someone behind him - Maes. She can't hear what they're saying, even as close as she is to them.
Instead, she peeks around them to look at what is causing such a jubilant ruckus. There's a wall of people surrounding the spacious living room area, blocking her view from the main event. Roy taps her arm and gestures her to follow her into the living room. Eventually they wiggle their way around the other partygoers - it was somewhat staggering how many people could actually fit in. When Riza can finally see above the crowd, she spies a blindfolded child with a stick swinging and missing the object overhead.
A piñata. The last time she laid eyes on one was coincidentally for her sixteenth birthday when Rebecca snuck in one in past the dorms - because like hell is a few rules gonna stop Rebecca Anne Catalina from celebrating her best friend's sweet sixteenth in style, dormitory rules be damned.
This one was a lot bigger than her 500 cenz contraband - and as they reach where Gracia is standing with an increasingly fussy Elicia, Riza can hardly fault the kid for wanting her turn. It's a beautiful piece - a bright pink and glittery unicorn. Certainly made from a better ilk than the ones she's familiar with.
It's incredibly entertaining to watch the children try to hit it, and she notices, embarrassingly sooner rather than later, that the crowd was instructing the child with the blindfold where to hit. Enough space was given to ensure no one got hurt from a swing gone rogue and a burly man to the side was manning the rope that changed the height of the target.
It takes two more children frantically missing and occasionally hitting before the piñata falls to the floor and the kids rush in and excavate it for the candy. It's almost... barbaric with the way the children scramble over one another but the room roars in laughter.
Another piñata is strung up for the adults who want to participate - which Roy surprisingly does. Maybe that shouldn't be too unexpected, considering his character. His smile is wide and mischievous as he nears her, stick and blindfolded extended but she shakes her head. These people might not know her as anyone more than someone who came with Roy but she still feels so awkward with so many eyes on her. The crowd jeers good-naturedly.
He offers her the stick once more and Riza lets her shoulders slump before accepting it and turning around so he can tie the cloth around her eyes. "Not what I imagined would be happening the first time I blindfolded you," he murmurs in her ear as he ties the knot firmly and Riza can't help but snort.
She's spun around maybe four or five times before she feels his hands on her shoulder, stabilising her. "If I whack it down it won't be me wearing this," she promises. Roy snickers, before drawing back. The noises all around her are distracting - part of the challenge, she guesses.
The language the partygoers use doesn't change for her but by this point she's got the hang of it. Arriba! Abajo! She misses the first couple of times, but on the fourth swing her aim is true. The crowd cheers and impossibly manages to increase their volume. Riza stills, and counts to three before raising her arms once more. The solid thwack that falls makes all the children scream in delight, and she pushes the blindfold down as they all push past her, chubby hands outstretched.
A man motions to her to pass back the stick and blindfold, and she's momentarily confused as she twists to find where Roy is in the room. The adults are dispersing, and it takes her a while to spot him in the corner by the bookshelf stuffed with what looks like medical tomes, listening intently to whatever Maes is talking about. His eyes slide to her as she nears, and it's hard not to respond in kind to the wide grin he gives her. She's not used to seeing him smile so freely like he is - cheeks dimpling and the skin around his eyes crinkling. She likes this side of him - it's not entirely foreign to her, but she's… bewildered by the open affection: the amount of it, certainly. His arm slips around her shoulders easily and he draws her close to him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.
"I should've known better than to bet against her," he tells Maes, pride evident in his voice.
Maes sniggers, shaking his head. "I'm wagering that wasn't a fluke, correct?"
Riza tries her best not to sound too pleased. "I may… have been well-known back home in the claybird circles."
"It's a wonder you weren't picked up by the Eastern Branch with a skill like that."
"I gave it up when I left for boarding school. It wasn't an 'appropriate sport' for a young woman like myself."
"Bah. What a joke." Maes makes a face. "If you ever want to try your hand at proper targets again, let me know. There's a few people I work with who could do with some humble pie in their diet." He winks at the two of them, before ducking down and capturing Elicia from the pile of children still wrestling over the remains of the piñata.
She watches him leave, and for a moment, Riza thinks they are - or she is, perhaps - attracting looks from the others in the room. It makes sense that she'd stand out a little in the environment - everyone else here seems to be familiar with each other to a certain degree, and while Riza is fairly certain she's the youngest out of the adults here, it's by no means a significant amount.
Roy's arm moves from her shoulders to rest against her back, his hand splayed comfortably over her hip. "Are you having fun?" he asks.
She meets his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the day. "Of course. Are their parties always this big?"
He hums in thought. "It depends, but you can always count on at least this much chaos. Normally I'd expect more but we all have to be good role models for the little ones."
"You mean being good role models to the little ones currently having a fight to the death over some chocolate?"
"It's a sacred, time-honoured tradition," he tells her indignantly, but she can hear the laughter tucked away in his voice. "Plus it teaches them survival skills - this is just as much an education as any classroom."
"I suppose you were the piñata king in your day."
"Piñata overlord to you, avecilla."
The children are still combing through the tattered remains of the pink unicorn when Gracia carries in the cake, adorned with lit sparklers. Much like the rest of the party, the cake is a decadent, opulent affair. There's three tiers, immaculately frosted in ombre pink roses, and the part-Amestrian, part-Spanish 'Happy Birthday' they sing is almost deafening in the lounge. Gracia is efficient about cutting and dismantling the tiers, and it's an amusing sight watching Elicia toddle around the room and thrust pieces of cake into peoples' faces. She's given a piece that has dark swirls in it, and Roy swaps it with his, a soft pink slice that smells strongly of strawberries.
She's left with no option but to sit on his lap because of course the chairs she spied before mysteriously vanished to other parts of the house unknown, and she's certain that she's become as pink as the cake she's eating. Her embarrassment is quickly forgotten - the cake is delicious - and she finishes it quickly, despite the nervousness she still feels lingering in her gut. People seem to trickle out in twos and threes, some carrying exhausted or sleeping children, cherubic faces smeared with cake and frosting.
Nobody seems perplexed by their arrangement and over the course of an hour, Riza meets many of Roy's former colleagues. It's somewhat peculiar how fascinated they all seem to be with her - sure, she looked younger than a fair few of them, but one man - Fuery - was only twenty-three himself. Roy's hand is warm on her thigh, and he idly draws meandering patterns as he catches up with old friends. She supposes that being the most recent newcomer to this group means a certain amount of attention, and she has to remind herself that Roy appears wholly unconcerned with introducing her to these people.
She watches as a weary Elicia is passed from her mother to her father, the two of them disappearing down the hallway. Music begins to emanate from the other side of the lounge: she recognises some of it from Roy's collection. The adults that remain are either conversing or dancing to some soft music, compared to the fast paced drums of before - Maes comes back after a short while and all but sweeps his wife into arms, the two of them laughing and stumbling. Their open affection towards one another is sweet, if not a little foreign to her: in a different life, Riza wonders if she could've had the opportunity to grow up in an environment like this, with a warm, inviting family.
She's roused from her wool-gathering by Roy shifting under her. She twists to face him better, hand raising instinctively to brush his hair away from his eyes. The temperature of the room pales in comparison to how warm his skin feels under her fingertips.
"Bed?" he asks her softly and she nods, sliding off his lap. It's been a long day - much longer than she anticipated - and the promise of a quiet space after all this is what she craves right now. Roy groans as he pushes himself out of the armchair, making his way over to where Maes and Gracia are swaying from side to side. They don't stop their slow rhythm, but over her husband's shoulder, Gracia's fingers raise and flutter in acquiescence.
Her fascination of the view from the guest bedroom doesn't waver. The bright lights of Central twinkle below her, flecks of gold in a dark sea of blue-black as she approaches the window - which she quickly realises is actually a sliding door, leading onto a small balcony. She watches the traffic on the highway towards the north, how the light snakes and bends, and then shifts her attention to the reflection in the window.
She supposes she really shouldn't be surprised when Roy crosses over the threshold, dropping onto the bed and groaning in delight. This room - the guest room, supposedly - is bigger than her lounge, and better decked out than any bedroom she's been in - including Roy's. Much like the rest of the house, she's reminded of those interior design catalogues; There's throw rugs on throw rugs with even more throw pillows and yet another bouquet of fresh flowers on top of a large dresser in the corner. Roy is nearly swallowed by the bed - both for its size and duvet that seems to be made of nothing but air.
Riza draws the plush, floor-length curtains to a close. Roy sits up as he slowly unbuttoning his shirt and he winks at her when he catches her gazing.
"How're you feeling?" he asks, fingers slowing as she turns and approaches him. Slipping into his lap, she cups his jaw and kisses him sweetly, her tongue brushing against his lightly.
"I'm… alright," she answers after a moment, linking her fingers at the base of his head. "Tired. Long trip, long day."
Roy's hands settle on her thighs, stroking the exposed skin softly. The air is cooler in here than in the lounge, and she's aware of the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You did very well," he tells her. There's no mistaking the pride in his voice. "A true baptism of fire if I ever saw one." She laughs at this, ducking her head in embarassment.
"It wasn't terrible," she admits. "That much attention isn't a regular occurence."
"Tomorrow will be just us," he promises her, catching the corner of her mouth for another quick kiss. He's quiet for a moment, fingers sliding over her shirt and catching on the underside of her hem. "Why didn't tell me about your birthday earlier?" He asks her solemnly with a look on him to match.
Riza maneuvers her way out of his lap to a seat on the bed next to him. Truthfully she answers, "It's just an arbitrary day. I could choose any day to celebrate and it would be exactly the same." He looks incredulous, as if he heard her say the sky outside is green. "I could be wined and dined at any given day."
Roy cocks his head to the side, contemplating. "For tomorrow, I think I could arrange that. Get you a bottle of champagne and everything, since you'll be legal, after all."
"You've met my roommate, do you think I've been deprived of champagne until now? You'll have to try harder to impress me, and not just wine with fruity bits in it."
"That also can be arranged." He says it low, with a different type of sincerity, and it's times like this that she finds herself questioning him and herself and how they got here. Like a reminder that it can go away just as quickly as it began.
"Why so adamant about this?"
His shoulders rise with an inhale as he thinks about, his dark eyes lose focus as he assembles his thoughts. There's a hum sounds from his chest that she's felt against her cheek before. "It's your birthday," he says and thumb goes over her fingers that are leaning against the bed. "And I don't think I've taken you on a proper date before."
Before, her quip would have been "professors don't date their student assistants". It's so clear in her head that she can even her the inflection in which she says it; a distancing measure to keep vulnerability away. Now, excitement flutters in her stomach at the prospect where no one will recognize him, where she can properly call him hers. Her lips split her face into a wide grin and says, "Then it's a date." She opens her duffle bag and fishes out her toothbrush. "Now, can you tell me where's the bathroom?"
Rubbing his neck, Roy gestures with a nod to a door partially obscured by the curtains. "There's an ensuite just through there. You could shower if you want to." Pushing himself off the bed, he slides the door open, and crouches down beside the sink to find the towels. Riza trails in after him, her jaw growing slack once more.
"Silly me, I thought this was just a second closet," she says, accepting the plush towels handed to her. The shower next to her is one of those modern, open-stall kinds with a removable head as well as a larger rainfall-styled one hanging from the ceiling. The silver finish twinkles brightly in the light. "Everything just oozes money, I'm afraid to touch anything."
"Military is big bucks on its own and Maes was good at what he did before he left to be a stay-at-home dad. Gracia is on a board of directors for Central General, and does some hours in a private practice as well. Between what he did earn and what she gets now, this is a fairly modest house." He leans against the sinktop, a strange smirk pulling at his lips.
"Calling this modest is funny to you? I know my flat isn't comparable to a five star hotel, but this bathroom alone is nearly as big as my bedroom." She exaggerates, but for an ensuite in the guest bedroom, this is absurdly spacious.
"No. Well, yes, ironically. But that's not-" The smirk grows and he moves closer to her, taking the towels from her arms and sets them down behind him on the countertop. "I'm just remembering the last time I was here."
Riza feels like she's missing some vital piece of information. "Care to share with the rest of the class? I'd like to smirk too after the day I've had"
"Just with you. On your knees, if you don't mind." His voice is slipping into that rougher cadence she loves so much where t's are more pronounced and o's are elongated.
"On my knees? That's a strange learning environment." Her toothbrush is tossed onto the towels, forgotten, and she closes the gap between them, pushing his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. She loves the feeling of his skin under hers, the curve of his biceps as she pushes the shirt further down. She moves to kiss him, but pulls herself back, licking her lips. "Please share with the class, sir," she tells him, savouring the way the address rolls off her tongue. The Adam's apple in his throat bobs conspicuously and she draws back, fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt. The urge to kiss him is overwhelming, even more so with the way that his mouth parts, dark eyes watching her intently.
A second wind appears from the thought of doing away with the tense evening with a little fun. Riza feels no shame in how she proceeds, however wantonly.
"The last time I was here…" she begins, thoroughly enjoying how he watches her hungrily, "...how did I look? Was I wearing anything in particular?" She shouldn't feel the pride she does in that moment except learning that his disappearance after the kiss in library had by no means abated his desire for her, but rather encouraged it - rewarded her with confidence and swelled her with pride she's never embraced before.
He shakes his head shortly, still seemingly glued to the spot. She wastes no time in removing her top, unzipping her pants. By the time she's fully naked, a pool of fabric around her feet, his hand has drifted to his groin, and she can just see the faint outline of him against the dark fabric of his trousers. Part of her simply wants to drop to her knees for him then and there - but another, darker part of her wants to see if she can resist his honeyed requests, and for how long. The idea of him making her kneel is a dangerous one, one that makes the throbbing in between her thighs a million times worse. Riza knows he'd never really hurt her. But the idea of being manhandled? The possibility is too tempting to ignore. There's something primal about the whole thing, the way all her sense goes out of her head when he lays his hands on her. In another time, with a different person, she'd allow herself to run scared, to close herself off from what she feels.
With him it's like she needn't have worried. In truth, it's the scariest part about their relationship. She's never exposed herself openly with anyone, emotions laid out and ripe for the perusal. Vulnerable. He knows her better than anyone - in some ways, better than Rebecca - and while addressing what that means for her immediate future and beyond is somewhat terrifying, what is more terrifying is that she doesn't want an existence where he no longer plays a part in her life. Tonight encouraged this train of thought - being able to enjoy his touch without fear of reproving glances, of harsh whispers. She knows he enjoyed it, and so did she. She meant was she said - before in the Roy's apartment: she hasn't thought about beyond the trimester and she isn't sure she wants to back to how they existed before… or if she will be able to.
She steps into the shower, and fiddles with the valves to turn the water on, the sounds of him undressing behind her, and she barely has time to turn round before he's crowding her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, kissing her deeply. His length is poking against her, and her hands instinctively trails down his torso and her fingers curl around to grip him steadily. He groans once, huffs twice as she strokes him gently, dipping his head to kiss along the long line of her neck. They're firm, insistent, pushing past the sensation of ticklish into something that she feels settle in her own groin. Her head tilts back to the wall and his mouth meets hers once more.
There's a sweetness on his tongue now, whether it's from the cake or the alcohol is irrelevant. His hands rest firmly on her hips, drawing her close, fingers gripping against her wet skin. Her lips swell as their tongues meet and there's an occasional moan from either of them. Her skin rises with bumps from the kind of shivers she knows isn't from the cool tiles behind her or because the water is only half-hitting her. It's in anticipation, because if she's frank this type of slow but steady seduction aids to escalate her more, pushes her body against him more, stroke just a little more. She's utterly powerless to do otherwise.
Fueled by this fevered desire to reenact his fantasy, she musters the willpower to push him away from her slightly, and the disgruntled noise coming from him is nearly enough for her to drag him back and forget about what she wants to do to him. She gets to her knees, sliding down his frame with hands on him for balance.
His cock, the visual reminder of what renders her vulnerable in between the knees, is right there. She grips it purposefully again, opens her mouth and drags her tongue along the underside. A hand over her slams loudly against the tile. A strained noise erupts from his throat as her mouth slowly takes him in, wetting his cock with saliva. Her wet hair moves with her as she repeats the in-and-out motion, using her tongue to move against the underside at the base.
A hot tingling sensation pools at the bottom of her abdomen when she looks up because fuck her sideways Roy Mustang is a sight, a treat, pink and blushing and gasping as he watches her with absolutely nothing but unadulterated lust in his eyes. She pushes her fringe out of the way, and kisses the head delicately, tongue swiping at the precum that beads there and he makes the same, strained noise but it's become rougher now, granular and coarse.
She takes him deeper into her mouth now and closes her eyes when his hands fists in her hair, guiding her. He's openly moaning now, and it echoes off the tiled walls, reverberating down into her core. She shifts her weight from one knee to the other, and the slickness between her thighs is unsurprising: she feels it in between her lips without even having to touch. His grip in her hair tightens and Roy squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving and gasping above her.
"Riza - please-"
She changes tactics with not just bobbing her head, she uses her tongue, the plush of her lips to swirl all around him, from the head to the shaft to the base while occasionally clutching his balls and he damn near squeaks, breath hitching and moaning in the comedown. "I can't-" he chokes, but she merely kisses back along his length and flattens her tongue along the underside and hums. His fingers are properly knotted in her hair now, pulling and releasing harshly as his grunts and moans increase in volume and fervour. She knows how this fantasy ends, the image he conjured all those months before. Perhaps she should feeling more guilty for indulging such a debased and depraved action, but at this point she can hardly bring herself to care.
Roy's arms brace his weight against the shower wall when he cums, and it's all sorts of gorgeous watching him and the way his face tenses and relaxes as she continues to stroke him. He spills over her lips, and she makes no effort to catch the threads that drip down to her chest - not until he opens his eyes, and watches her swipe her fingers along her skin.
"You really can't do that to me," he manages, panting heavily. Riza raises her eyebrows briefly in defiance, and licks her fingers clean. The tiles are digging harshly into her knees now, she can feel goosebumps all over her skin from where the water has cooled off.
"Those requests lose any sense of authority when it's clear you enjoy it so thoroughly," she replies, grabbing at his hands for balance as she pulls herself back up. Her knees protest and Riza sucks in a gasp as the blood rushes back through. His hands rest firmly on the rise of her ass, and she slides her arms around his neck.
"Did you like it?" she asks, and it's endearing to see the way the blush tint over his cheeks.
"Yes," he tells her emphatically. "I shouldn't like it as much as I do."
"Me on my knees?"
Roy laughs sheepishly coupled with a boyish smile. "Yes, but I meant that particular context."
She pokes her tongue out slightly and confesses, "If it makes you feel better, I wasn't a saint after the library incident either."
"Is that right?"
A smile grows on her face, wide and unabashed. "Perhaps I could show you."
When Riza wakes, the bed is lonely and wide with only her in it. A few minutes pass to gather her bearings and she realises why the mattress feels different, or why there's a lack of freshly-brewed coffee lingering in the air. She pushes herself up slowly, stretching her back and arms and waiting for the satisfying pop as her joints roll over each other. Her head turns towards the window where the sun streams in and she sees once more the fascinating cityscape. Outside she can hear the sounds of the city: car engines, the occasional siren wailing.
Central.
It feels like a dream - half-remembered and hazy in the warm morning light. Her hand drifted to her side, palm flat on the cool sheets. Roy must've already gotten up, she wishes he hadn't so she wouldn't have to exit the bedroom alone.
Riza yawns, rubbing the sleep at the corners of her eyes.
She drags herself out of bed after a good five minutes of dozing, the sunlight becoming too bright for her to ignore. It takes her a few moments to realise that Roy's sweater is not a good choice to wear on it's own, sans underwear, and so she spends another few minutes of fumbling through her duffle bag to find pants and socks.
The apartment is quiet as she walks down the hallway towards the kitchen - a far cry from the hustle and bustle of last night. She runs a hand through her hair to pull it up quickly, wincing at the knots that catch on her fingers. Normally she was good about brushing her hair out after getting it wet but… distractions were abundant last night.
Gracia greets her with a wide smile as she enters the kitchen. The room smells of cinnamon and sugar and furniture that was tucked away last night has been place in the middle of the vast kitchen floor.
"Sleep well?" Gracia asks. She gestures for Riza to take a seat, and busies herself with the kettle.
Riza laughs nervously. "I did, thank you." She feels awkward phrasing it like that, but saying 'I slept great thanks, Roy really outdid himself last night,' is utterly out of the question.
"Tea or coffee? I have black and herbal."
She's been spoiled with Roy's addiction. "Coffee please."
Wordlessly, Gracia nods and busies herself with a french press behind her. No longer captivated by the hostess, Riza takes the opportunity to properly appreciate the surroundings. It's even more spacious than last night, transformed from the absence of food platters on refined kitchenware and drinks and people. It surprises her how cozy and vibrant the whole set-up feels. There's a round dining table in the corner where the family of three usually breaks their fast. It's adorned with a high chair and covered in a white table cloth, drinking in sunlight from the windowed doors that probably lead out to a breezy balcony overlooking Central City. The whole apartment is like this actually, vibrant and welcoming. Warm and homey are the first adjectives she would associate with it. It's a far cry from the environments of her childhood.
She's still taken aback with how much money she's surrounded by. Unlike most displays of wealth, theirs favor subtler accents, not gaudy or ostentatious in the slightest; it's in the large windows and long curtains flowing curtains, the vaulted high ceilings and the overall classical touch to the decor.
A cup of steaming coffee - black, of course - is slid to her, along with a sugar bowl and a creamer. Riza mumbles a "thank you", humbled by her hospitality and beauty of the house.
"Are you hungry? The boys went out to get ingredients for a proper breakfast, but there's a few leftovers from what the guests didn't take if you'd like me to put that on a plate for you. Plus, some pastries I've warmed up."
Riza smiles into her cup, shaking her head after the first tiny sip, testing the temperature of the liquid. "I can wait. Thank you." Settling opposite of Riza, Gracia waves her hand in the middle of her own sip like it isn't a big deal for her, but she feels the need to get the point across. "For that and for taking us in such short notice, again. Your house is…" she looks around briefly and slightly breathless finishes. "Very beautiful."
Gracia returns the smile looking into her ceramic cup, the steam rising from it outlined by the morning light. "Thank you, we're very fortunate to be where we are. To provide for our family without worry. It's all I could ask for."
It's admirable, Riza notes, she's done more than just provide. She and her husband have created a nurturing environment for their child, together. An attentive father, a living mother, and candy-filled papier mache unicorns for her birthday. It's something she would have look forward to in another life.
The coffee tastes bitter on the second sip.
"Roy mentioned you were still sleeping when he left. 'Dead to the world' were the exact words he used."
It's her turn to turn to smile down to her cup, tucking a rebel strand of loose hair behind her ear. Riza nods. "I probably was - it's a really comfortable bed."
"Does Roy not own comfortable bedding?"
"No, no. Far better than what I personally own. The day was long, that's all."
Gracia hums and is silent for the two palpable seconds that follow, like she was processing the information. "I hope the party wasn't too much for you. Children's parties are usually a quieter event, but we like to have our traditions."
"I can't say I have a point of reference."
"How do you mean?" she asks gently, adding a curious tilt to her head.
"I didn't grow up going to 'traditional' children's parties - as in, with games and cake and friends. It's safe to assume this is my first."
It's not long before the gears click into place for Gracia. She's not surprised; Riza imagines that being a doctor means that Gracia has seen people from all walks of life. Whether Gracia's objective is to craftily weedle out information out of Riza or not, most people resort to awkward silence once they reach this point. Unless they possess enough morbid curiosity to ask one more question, and for a brief moment, quietude settles over the warm breakfast nook without fail.
"I know it's not exactly my place to ask…"
Riza raises her eyebrows expectantly, anticipating the "what happened to your parents" question.
"But if I don't ask it certainly no-one else will. You and Roy - are you using protection?"
Riza chokes on her coffee and nearly cracks the cup as she slams it down on the tabletop. Her eyes water and her tongue burns, but not as much as her face currently is. If she was blushing before, she's positively scarlet now. Gracia seems unfazed by the reaction, and simply waits.
Oh, fuck. She's serious. Even for Riza, that joke tastes dry to her.
"I- uh-" Riza stammers, chokes, and coughs, accepting the cloth napkin nonchalantly handed to her from across the table. "Hm. I don't know if that's-"
"Any of my business?"
"Relevant, more like?"
Gracia shrugs casually. Despite her brash interjection, Gracia's composure hasn't faltered. Her eyes utilize same probing quality that she experienced under the scrutiny of her husband.
Birds of a feather, apparently.
"To you it might not seem that way. In my line of work, I deal with far too many unprepared pregnancies in my job as it is. The last thing I need is for Roy to dive head first into become a father when neither of you are prepared for parenthood."
Parenthood? Who said anything about parenthood?
Blindsided by the bizarre turn in conversation, Riza tries to find the words to rationalize where this is coming from.
"I suppose I'm just...taken aback." Gracia realizes her word choice and shakes head and hands. "Not by your age, or you in particular, but rather... His choice of you: a younger paramour, not quite at the stage to be seriously thinking about raising children. Especially when his last relationship hinged on if she would or wouldn't and he seemed so adamant about what he wanted. Choices are choices, I'm sure, but you have so much to enjoy still."
Her mouth begins to feel stuffed with cotton wool. "I'm sorry, where exactly is this coming from?"
"Protection: firstly, if you're using it or not and secondly, what kind?"
Is this what having a mother is like?An overstep of boundaries and privacy? She will never know for 's list of female mentors is an alarmingly short one, but she's never encountered this kind of questioning before; a drilling sort, swift and sharp, that it has her responding just as quick: "I have an IUD." It was the most logical solution, especially after the time with the port wine. Quick, but far from painless those first few days.
Seeing the woman across the table visibly relax, Riza follows up with: "Not that my personal, preventative measures are anyone's concern, may I ask why you needed to know?"
"Surely-" Gracia starts, but stops just as quick. Cracks show themselves across the face of the good doctor. Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare a little, visibly tensing up in her spring dress and covering her mouth with her hand as it slowly opens. "I am so, so sorry. I thought you two had talked about it. What I heard-" Gracia covers her face and the skin of her neck is flushed. She mutters "stupid, stupid" into her palms while shaking her head. She sighs and by this point, Riza is thoroughly confused. Her arms fall with a sigh, bangs blown out of her face and she hardly looks disheveled. "I truly am sorry. I made assumptions which were based on sources I should've known better about."
"Sources?" What sources, who else knew? What else did Riza not know?
She nods solemnly to the side. "Greta."
Unworried, untroubled, Riza casually asks, "One of his sisters?"
The disbelief is written clear as day across her face. "He's told you about his sisters but not of Greta?"
"No, who is she?"
Gracia sighs. "It's not...well, I suppose it doesn't really matter too much by this point. Greta and Roy… used to be involved."
"Wait. She's 'axe'?" It doesn't add up in her head. "But I thought Aubrey was..." she trails off, feeling as confused as her tablemate.
"Axe?" Gracia's brow furrows disapprovingly. It permeates into her tone of her question: "Is that what he calls her?"
Riza is not so unsocialized to ignore these cues. Gracia suddenly appears guarded when she cups her elbows over the surface of the table; clearly, her and this Greta were on more familiar terms. Awkwardly, she tries to recover as Gracia's stares, or even glares - Riza finds it hard to differentiate on her soft face - into her coffee. "I'm sorry if I've offended you."
"No, no." Gracia shakes her head again, taking in a breath to straighten herself in her seat. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's most likely my husband who provided the moniker. And to answer your other question - no, Aubrey and Roy never dated. Her behaviour now, in hindsight I realise..." She trails off, pensive as she moves towards the kitchen sink to rinse out her cup. "I'd prefer you ask Roy about this when you get a moment alone. I like you, Riza, and you ought to know what to expect, if you ever meet her."
More to her coffee than to her hostess, Riza comments, "It sounds like serious business, this ex."
Gracia smiles in response, but doesn't comment further. She shifts the topic to lighter things - asking about how East City compares to Central, what she is planning to do with her study - and it works well enough. She has an affable attitude that lends itself well to small talk - no doubt honed after many years of conversing with patients.
After her coffee, Riza excuses herself to go change. Gracia laughs heartily that there's no need to be that polite. Riza only nods timidly and her cheeks are on fire enroute to the guest room.
Halfway through, she hears the noises of a family returning: a toddler squealing, bags rustling, and murmurs from a conversation. Even from this distance, she hears her name mentioned, followed by footsteps drawing nearer and nearer, echoing from the wooden floorboards.
When he knocks, she's in the middle of putting on her pearl earrings. She watches him enter from the reflection of the floor mirror. He wishes her happy birthday, hugging her from behind and kissing her cheek. He explains why he left without telling her in the morning, but that brunch should be ready in a few minutes.
Riza frowns, kneeling down to look through her duffle bag. "Surely there wasn't a need to go out for more groceries?"
He shrugs non-committedly, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "They like to make a fuss over guests," Roy explains, holding out her oversized cardigan. "It's easier to just go with it than try and fight them."
The spread for brunch is absurd. It's half as big as the options for last night's party, but undoubtedly excessive for four people and a toddler. Riza finds herself drawn to the fresh fruit more than the mountain of pastries that Elicia is tackling with a determined expression on her face - she even spies on of those ridiculous gift melons, split cleanly in two.
After it, they find themselves fighting off a food coma over the sheets of the guest bed. A siesta before the festivities, he says and adds jokingly, like the ones she used to take.
She smiles warmly and shifts on the bed to face him properly. It's almost too much to do. Gracia's advice lingers at the back of her head, and she figures now is as good a time as any. "Tell me about Greta."
His sleepy expression falls apart and his eyes open, staring at the ceiling for long time - like he's processing if he heard her right, and then he looks right at her, still disorientated. "What?"
"'Axe', right?" She probes further, carefully tucking her arm underneath her head.
The tense look on his face dissolves without prompting and he settles back into his pillow. With his eyes closed, he asks in return, "Why the sudden interest?"
"Are you really going to dodge the questions of the birthday girl?"
He opens one eyes and glares at her with it. "If you don't celebrate it, you're not allowed to pull that card on me."
The side of her lips slants up, a finger taps his shoulder lightly. "You're the one celebrating it for me now."
His eye closes once more and he frowns, probably trying to find an argument where he wins but it would go against what he was genuinely trying to do here. She should feel guilty for playing so dirty, but something about what Gracia said stuck and made an itch Riza needed scratched.
"What do you want to know?" He's cagey, letting her ask specifics so he doesn't have to divulge into it himself. Doesn't he know she invented this tactic?
"Give me an overview, Professor. A synopsis. An abstract, if you please."
He snorts, grinning. Roy mumbles an "all right" and groans as he moves to his side, propping his head on his hand. He sighs, eyes unfocusing as he tries to find where to begin. "It was back in undergrad and I was a very different person then. Eager, bright-eyed, and ready to prove myself academically and socially. We met at a party tagging along with Maes and Gracia and she was there. A cousin to Gracia."
Heat creeps onto her cheeks. "They're closely related?"
"No, I don't think so. Family friends just became family at some point. I believe they explained Gracia's grandmother and Greta's grandmother were cousins by marriage or something, if you wanted to get really technical about it.
"We dated throughout college. Moved in together. Stayed together for seven years. Proposed. We broke up about two years ago."
She tries not to frown at the detached description; part of her is afraid of touching on something he might not want to revisit. "Was she your only serious relationship?"
He's been toying with her free hand this entire time and with this question, he lifts her hand to kiss it before mumbling against it, "At the time."
The gesture and statement go over her head, but she softly asks, "Seven years is nothing to blink at. How did it end?"
Roy looks down at where he's settled her free hand and caresses the back of it with his thumb. "We wanted different things."
"I know. You've told me that before."
"So I have," he says, almost lamentably. He flattens her hand and looks directly at her. Riza almost thinks she sees him faltering in those almond shaped eyes. Roy breathes out through his nose and then it scrunches a little. "It's embarrassing."
Caught off guard, she dryly echoes back, "Embarrassing?"
"It's multifaceted and part of the reason I didn't say anything before is because it could have prompted a conversation prematurely."
His eyes stay on her as she sits up. "Like what?"
"Children," he answers softly, and the fractures of Gracia's conversation form into pieces that fit into this puzzle. "She kept stringing me along with the topic to the point where I felt she was answering just to placate me. Growing up the way I did, you can't help but have an idea of what a mother and father should be like. Unrealistic, I now realize, but back then, I didn't want the mother of my children to be… indifferent about them, and I wasn't about to pressure her into something so life-changing that she had no particular interest in.
"That, along with an increasing divide on opinions, and behavioral things from both our ends made me realize we grew into people all wrong for each other. There have been times I've wondered and admitted I may have been unfair to her, regardless if it was in reciprocation. We couldn't have been healthy for each other in the long run."
Papi x favor
it willb e diff this time
Unbidden, those texts rise up from the forgotten recesses of her mind. Clearly she had a different perspective on their failed relationship, but there's a sliver of vindication for the way his voice has become thoughtful, contemplative. It's not the kind of tone she associates with indecision. Riza swallows as if to dislodge the sudden weight in the room. His behavior towards the kids and Elicia wasn't enough to tip her off, but it made a lot more sense now. "Then why be with me?" She asks it without thinking. It's more curious than accusatory and she hopes it comes across that way.
"Hm?"
"You could have found someone to be with you and have children, easily, within those two years."
Roy nods slowly. "I could have."
"Then?"
"Then, people come to their senses or they change what they want or they shelve it for a few years. It depends with the partner." She watches him sit up now, part of his cheek red from being smushed against his palm. "Where we are - where you are especially, in your life at the moment - I would hate to burden you with a choice like that before it's even a possibility. What I wanted with her was a result of that relationship and it doesn't transfer immediately to what I want with you."
What he wants with her. An impossibility, it feels like now, more than ever before. But he prefaced the discussion about the prematurity of this particular topic and gave her the impression it wasn't something that didn't need to be discussed right now. Then…
"What do you want with me?"
Roy's eyes narrow and he smirks; she doesn't know what she said that elicited that reaction. "You're not as observant as I thought, if you have to ask." He moves himself closer to close the space between them. Hands cradle her face and he kisses her soundly. For as many times as they kissed before, she can't place why this kiss has the ability to take her breath away. Maybe it was the sugar she could still taste on his lips or the warmth of his mouth or the slow, caressing manner of this kiss that felt deep and yet, wasn't. When it ends, his hands fall to hers.
"For one, Riza Hawkeye," he says, barely above a whisper - like it's a secret for their ears only, "What I want with you is simply you."
"Smooth," she quips breathlessly. Earnest or not, his charming lines are a wonderful package to all that is Roy Mustang, but it's becoming increasingly hard to be resistant to them. He's slowly disassembling her with every dimpled smile.
"And two," he continues, licking his lips. "To celebrate this birthday and all the birthdays that weren't remembered with you."