It was a short walk to the bedroom. He deposited her gently in a sitting position at the edge of her bed, realizing with a faint sense of apprehension that she couldn't sleep in her uniform. He glanced around the room and spotted a set of women's pajamas folded on the dresser. He brought them over and set them on the bed.
She hadn't moved from where he put her, half-closed eyes dully fixed on the floor. Before he could stop to consider whether it was appropriate—or if he cared—he knelt in front of her and reached for the buckle of her shoulder holster. Her hand covered his.
"I can do it," she said, trying to add a determined edge to her voice. It was difficult when she couldn't manage to speak much louder than a whisper.
"I know," he responded softly. "But you don't have to."
Her hand dropped away.
It was quick work for him to remove the holsters and unhook the odd half-skirt that covered their uniform trousers. As he was working her last boot free, he felt her head come to rest on his shoulder, spreading heat into his skin through his jacket and shirt. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into his face, her soft breath so close to his ear, and for a moment all he could see, hear, smell or think about was her.
"Thank you." The words were so quiet he almost missed them, but the closeness of her voice sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
Not trusting himself to speak, he reached a hand up and rested it like a gentle caress on the back of her head. Lingering only a moment, he rose to his feet and pulled the set of pajamas he had found closer.
"Can you change?" he asked. She nodded slowly. He didn't quite trust the answer, but the alarms he had been steadily ignoring in the back of his mind shouted that helping his subordinate change would go beyond any strained definition of propriety.
"I'll be right outside," he said, leaving the room. True to his word, he waited just outside the door, practically holding his breath and hoping he wouldn't hear her fall. When enough time had passed, he cautiously swung the door open and looked inside. She had managed to change and pull back the sheets before falling asleep. As he gently pulled the covers up to her shoulders, Black Hayate jumped up on the bed and nestled near his master, letting out a quiet whuff.
Roy glanced at the small dog and couldn't help but feel a small pang of jealousy at how simple it was for him to be near her; how effortlessly he could express his affection. He almost laughed at that. The great Colonel—nearly General—Mustang, Flame Alchemist, envious of a tiny dog. He reached down and adjusted the covers slightly. In her sleep, Riza's breathing harshened and her brow knit together against against some unseen pain. His heart dropped. He hated seeing her like this, how powerless he felt to help her.
"Food," he thought. "And medicine." That, at least, was something he could do.
Some time and several colorful curses later, Roy had prepared a tray of water, broth, and some painkillers he'd found in a cabinet. (The rice porridge had been an abject failure. He might not be an expert chef, but he'd never seen it turn black like that before. He'd have to buy her a new bag of rice… and possibly a new pot.)
Not wishing to disturb her sleep, he rounded the corner as silently as possible—and was surprised to see her eyes open, tracking his movements as she absently rubbed Black Hayate's head. The dog seemed very pleased with himself, the lucky devil. He smiled and set the tray down on the bedside table, then sat on the edge of the bed before he could stop to consider whether it was a good idea.
He scanned her features. Despite somehow managing to look pale and flushed at the same time, her eyes were brighter and more alert. Well, truth be told, the fact that her eyes were open at all was an improvement. He didn't miss that even though she was awake, she hadn't pushed herself upright.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine, sir," she said automatically.
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes and gave in. "Fine. Like I was run over by a truck."
Roy suppressed the urge to laugh at the unexpectedly honest answer. "What hurts?"
Now Riza's eyebrow twitched upward. "It'd be faster to tell you what doesn't. Sir," she tacked on. She sighed. "Joints, mostly."
"Well, that's to be expected at your age," the colonel said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
He was rewarded with a glare. "May I remind you, sir, that you are older than I am?"
"And yet as fresh as a daisy," he said cheerfully. Even if she was still weak, the fact that she had improved enough to tease him was wonderful.
She grumbled something unintelligible and moved to push herself upright. Roy caught the slight grimace in her expression and the tremble in her arms, and swiftly looped an arm around her back to help her up.
"Colonel, that's not necess-"
"Relax, Lieutenant," he said. "That's an order." He quickly stacked the pillows so she could lean back in a sitting position, then picked up the glass of water. "Here, you must be thirsty."
She took the glass gratefully. Her hand shook under its weight—or perhaps that was the fever, Roy thought, noting the gooseflesh on her partially exposed arm despite the warmth of the room—but she managed to drink half the water before passing back the glass. He placed it back on the tray.
"Broth?" he offered.
She eyed the bowl suspiciously. "Sorry, sir. I can't eat your cooking."
He raised an eyebrow. "Can't?"
He caught a glint in her eye as her mouth twitched upward. "I'm under strict orders not to die."
He tilted his head back and laughed, drawing his free hand across his face in embarrassment. "You smelled that, did you?"
"I suspect the whole floor can, sir."
He chuckled. "I don't understand how something as simple as rice porridge can go so wrong. Even Black Hayate wouldn't touch the stuff."
"If you feed that to my dog, sir, I'll shoot you," she said politely.
Roy laughed again, enjoying the light teasing with all his heart. He'd burn a thousand meals if it meant spending more time with his lieutenant.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant. The broth came from a can, all I did was warm it. I don't think even I can mess that up."
"Even so, sir, I'll pass. But I appreciate it."
He glanced at her, realizing she must have a reason to turn it down other than his admittedly appalling cooking skills.
"Nauseous?"
She closed her eyes and sighed reluctantly. "Even the water made me queasy."
He nodded. "Take these, at least," he said, handing her the two painkillers. The fact that she didn't argue was a true testament to how badly she felt.
As she attempted to wash them down with a sip of water, one of the small pills caught in her sore throat and she inhaled water. She immediately pitched forward in a violent coughing fit. Pain wracked her body with each cough, aching muscles and pounding head and lack of oxygen causing her vision to gray at the edges. Roy's hand hovered helplessly behind her, his face twisted in concern. After a few terrible moments, the coughing finally subsided and she sagged back into his arm, gasping raggedly for breath.
Not wishing to press her into speaking, Roy gently squeezed her arm. The gesture was to reassure himself as much as her. As her heavy breaths started to regain more control, his eye caught a thin, silvery mark on her neck, just above the collar of her shirt. Her scar. It should be much larger, really; an ugly, gaping thing that nearly took her life, but May's alkahestry had shrunk the wound.
It was bad enough this way.
"Does it hurt?" he found himself asking.
Riza's eyes darted up to him immediately at the soft hoarseness of his tone. His gaze was fixed on her neck.
Oh.
She dropped her gaze for a moment and concentrated on breathing. She didn't want to tell him how the scar still pulled when she turned her head, how the swelling in her sore throat made it ache and burn, how sometimes, when she awoke in the night, her hands flew to her throat to staunch the flow of blood that was no longer there.
Exhausted, she let her head fall the short distance to rest on his chest, and felt more than heard his breath catch at the motion. This wasn't the time for lies.
"Sometimes."
She didn't have to see his eyes to know they were swirling with the same mix of emotions she felt. Deep down, she knew that even acknowledging their most selfish impulses would ruin them both, but she found herself too tired to care. Too tired to fight the other voice, the quietest one in her mind, the one that said "This isn't the colonel. This is Roy. The boy you knew as a child. The man you love more than your own life."
She reached for his free hand and took it in her own, gently drawing her thumb over the thick white scar marring its center. She knew the hand currently wrapped around her back bore a similar mark.
"And you?"
Roy found he couldn't speak. He was keenly aware of her warmth in his arms, her hand holding his, the sensation of her thumb brushing over his sensitive skin and sense-dulled scar. He was overcome by the desire to stay there forever with her in his arms, not colonel and lieutenant, not officer and subordinate, just... them. Roy and Riza. The way they should be. The way they might never be. He wondered, not for the first time, if his vision for the future was worth it at all if she could not be at his side.
He swallowed thickly.
"Sometimes."
She hummed. Her thumb had stopped drawing small circles on his hand, but she had yet to release it.
The touch burned into his hand.
They sat that way for a small eternity, neither wishing to move, neither needing to speak.
But the dream couldn't last forever. Eventually, he felt her breathing become even and slow. Pressing his reluctant muscles into motion, Roy gently laid her back to rest on the pillows. His hand lingered on her arm as he slowly withdrew, communicating through touch what he could not through words.
"Good night, my Lieutenant," he whispered.
As his hand passed hers, she grasped it. Her eyes drifted open for a moment to meet his, and the softness there told him all he needed.
I love you too.
Now comes the part where I shamelessly beg you to leave a review if you liked it. Or if you didn't like it. I can take criticism. *sniffs back tears* :p
Honestly though, I'd love to hear your thoughts since it's my first time writing for FMA (and my first time writing anything this blatantly shippy, lol)
Thanks for getting this far! :)