To say Riza wasn't very fond of needles was a gross understatement. On a good day, she could keep her panic hidden behind a grimace as she listened to that day's fresh pain being prepared, clutching at the sheets of her father's bed and praying that she would pass out to spare herself the agony. On a bad day, of which she tended to have more of, she would break down in full-blown sobs, begging for a day's respite from the carving and itching and fresh heat that exploded like fireworks on her back. Most of the time, her cries were ignored, but sometimes she would catch a hoarse, mumbled apology before hell started all over again.
Years of growth and maturity didn't make this fear go away. Riza's bad days were just as bad, her good just as tolerable. It was almost silly, if you were an outsider looking in, the idea of a lauded military sniper could be so shaken by a needle. It was silly, to those who didn't know what she carried on her back.
To those who weren't Roy Mustang.
He'd seen firsthand how much scarring still remained from her father's actions, in every sense. Back before he knew just how far Master Hawkeye would go in the name of his research, Roy had to take a then 17 year old Riza to the hospital after a dinner prep accident caused a severly deep cut on her inner arm, close to her veins. The alchemy student noted the flash of fear in her eyes at the mention of stitches, the uninjured hand at her side beginning to tremble when the doctor began preparing for the minor procedure.
She hadn't cried, screamed, or outright refused the doctor's care, but the look of pure panic in her eyes and the shaking that overtook her body were dead giveaways on how uncomfortable she was. Roy's hand found her's with ease, holding it tightly and running his thumb along her knuckles in an attempt to distract and calm her. The look of unending gratitude she gave him had been enough to increase the speed of Roy's heart, and he didn't release her hand until they were nearly back home.
Even now, he noticed how visibly uncomfortable she got anytime IVs were involved, no matter who they were intended for. Roy wished he could still just grab her hand and never let go whenever he noticed the near imperceptible shift in her mood. Instead, he let his gaze soften towards her, and that single empathetic, understanding look was enough to calm her nerves.
To Riza, it didn't matter how Roy showed his compassion towards her and her phobia. The fact that he was able to truly understand was more than enough.
So, it's been a hot minute, huh? Yeah, honestly both life and just feeling unmotivated has been delaying this, not to mention this is the first thing I've liked that I've written for this in AGES. Anyways. Update today AND tomorrow because I'm crazy.