A/N: I had a lot of trouble with this prompt. I wanted to jump out of the box, but I may have tripped up. This is inspired by Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf. This is in the same future as my fic for Forgotten. After he regained his sight, Roy convinced Riza that they should not wait until it was safe for them to become lovers.

The word count is about T for mild sexual situations.

Neither FMA nor PatW are mine.

"What's with that radio?" asked Roy with a puzzled expression. Riza was setting it up on her night table. She used to sleep on the left, but since Roy had begun sharing her bed, she felt it was better for her to be between him and the door as her window was inaccessible from outside. So, she was setting it up on the right side of the bed. She held a typed sheet- instructions.

"Fuery gave this to me. He calls it a radio alarm. It's like an alarm clock, but it will play a radio broadcast instead of a buzzer or a bell."

"Why'd he give it to you?" Roy grumbled. "Shouldn't his commanding officer get first crack?"

Riza smirked. "He was going to, but I convinced him that a radio would never wake you up- that you need a loud alarm clock. Since he- like the rest of your team- is well-acquainted with your sleeping habits, he agreed and gave it to me."

That shut him up.

When Riza was satisfied that that it was set up correctly, they cooked a light dinner. They had begun to develop a nice rhythm of working together in the kitchen. Afterwards, Riza did make him read and sign two reports, but it was basically a lovely, relaxed evening. Of course, they made sure that there was time to go to bed before it was time to go to bed. They both slept better since they had begun sleeping together, but eventually...

… the radio crackled on. Riza had chosen a classical music station, and she had been awaken by a bassoon solo. She began to tickle her General who was still snoring. "Roy. Roy!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's just time to get up. But Roy, does this music remind you of anything?'

He looked confused for several seconds and suddenly gave out a belly laugh. "Do you mean the game?"

She nodded, giggling. "You said that my father sounded like a cranky old bassoon. For a week after you said that, I could barely face him without laughing. I tried so hard to hold the chuckles in until I left his laboratory."

"I had an image of him as a bassoon with legs following me, relentlessly. Doot doot doot doot dum," Roy intoned while pinching his nose. "Pursued by a nasally judgmental musical instrument. But you liked your teacher's voice."

"Mrs. Maxwell. She was a great teacher, and she did sound like a celesta. Her voice was musical and had that chime-like sound. I could listen to her for hours. Well, you know! I told you to come to school and listen to her."

"Yes. I sneaked away one day when your father was extra preoccupied and listened outside your classroom window. You were right. I bet she could sing well, too."

"And you almost got caught!"

He groaned. "I shouldn't have stood on that rickety rock. It's a good thing that I had kept up my cross-country running. Imagine what tune the bassoon would have played had I been caught."

"You said that I was a viola. I was really upset until you explained."

"I immediately knew that you were a stringed instrument. Not shrill like a violin could be. You were mellow despite your situation. The viola is the least known of the strings. People listening to music barely notice it. It's mysterious. But it's there, making beautiful music. Quietly supporting the other instruments.

"There's another reason that I chose the viola that I never told you."

"I don't like the sound of this. Are you going to tell me now?"

"Well, if you remember, we started playing the game after I returned from summer break. I was surprised that Master Hawkeye had wanted me to take time off, but I decided that he wanted me out of your house when you were home all day with no school. It didn't really help, because when I got back in the fall, you had, um, blossomed. You had become curvy. You still wore shapeless clothes, but you had turned into a girl. A beautiful girl. You were not the least bit androgynous, anymore. The curves of the strings reminded me of your new curves." He leered at her and she snorted.

"Don't think I didn't know you were always trying to sneak looks at my breasts. You're lucky I never told Father. He would have bassooned you with flame alchemy. You told me that you were a tuba. Your voice was already deep, and you liked its shiny brass color. I said 'okay,' but I lied."

"What? I'm devastated! What instrument was I if I wasn't a tuba? What about now? Did I ever grow into my tuba-osity? Oh, Riza, this hurts." He gave her his best pout.

"At first, I thought you might be cymbals, because of how noisy you were crashing through the woods and scaring any eatable animals away. But you got better. You actually were a good student, and I understood why Father put up with you. So, I decided that you were a clarinet. The clarinet reminds me of a cat. You had become more stealthy like a cat and kind of sneaky like a cat. Like when you'd try to check me out."

He laughed. "I do like being thought of as sneaky and stealthy, but I don't care very much what instrument I am anymore, as long as the music I make is with you," he cooed.

She shut the radio alarm off and said, "I think that I am up for a duet right now."

A/N: Sorry for the corny ending. Thanks for reading. Take care.