Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.

Theme: 083. Crowd

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

Angles

083. Crowd

"This is a stick up."

Riza is toting her gun – all for Riza and Riza for all – at the man sitting behind the desk of the bank, her face completely calm. She chose the one furthest from the capital center to give herself time, a response period of twenty minutes. She did the math and packed her bullets in and was out. It had been a week without food, and already Roy was failing to keep up. Of course, he would never condone crime; but in this case it was a necessity.

"Do not make it difficult for yourself. This gun is loaded."

She could see his frantic hands scrabbling for the panic button. But the crowd around them has wisely hit the floor. For all the men in there more than twice her size, the only one who looks remotely defiant is a child in the corner; and the man in front of her does not hesitate again once she has caught him out.

"I do not want to hurt you. All the money you have on hand, please."

Then again, she probably would not hesitate either with the barrel of a buretta aimed at her face. He loads the money from his desk silently into the briefcase in front of him, but makes no move to defy her orders. She grabs the briefcase, and walks through the parted crowd; and as soon as she steps out the door and on to the street she runs to the closest manhole cover to swing beneath the streets. Just in time, she hears the unmistakable sound of the army police beginning to fill out above her, their standard issue rifle butts scraping the floor as they handled the instruments poorly. Roy comes into view, his disappointed face barely visible in the dark.

"I have made baby Elizabeth a gun wielding criminal. Another reason for the death sentence."

He is not pleased in the slightest, and her cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet. Well, he had the time to plan out how they were going to survive; and instead they lived like sewer rats, his taut muscle and firepower ebbing away from the lack of nutrition and the damp. Soldiers could not be held in the rapture of a weak commander.

"You would not be of any use if you starved before we even got started."

He sulks, but says nothing in retaliation; although she knows payback will come. His sarcasm makes it evident. When she dares to surface again it is with her jacket collar pulled up and a wig to disguise herself, and although there is a brief moment of panic when she thinks the baker recognises her, it quickly passes. Better her than Roy, a traitor to the cause. She would get a lashing and years in prison. He would get the death sentence. She returns with raisin bread, and after some hesitation from a week of not having rich food, cream cakes. His favourite. Hopefully it would make some peace between them.

"Have a cream cake."

He finally breaks his silence by offering her the sweet. She accepts it gingerly and reluctantly takes a bite. She instantly regrets it. Although it is delicious, she had been right; it is too rich after her diet of the past week. However she persists, glad for some form of nutrition.

"There is cream on your lip."

She tells him as she looks up, and he is watching her wit amusement. His grin becomes wicked, and he reaches over to grab her cheek before kissing her. He runs his tongue along her lips, smudging the cream across them. And when he finally stops, she sits shivering and cold from the moment of heated contact.

"That will teach you not to steal."

She frowns. It is not a punishment if she enjoys it.

I know this one is a bit abstract to the theme, but I have not updated in forever and this needs to come to a close. So close and yet so far from finishing, and it has been going on for years. I'm starting to feel a bit bad about it.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.