"I swear the only reason Grumman's doing it is so he can get me into a dress."
Riza Hawkeye grumbles as she checks her appearance in the bathroom mirror, rubbing at the little speck of red lipstick that has made its way onto her front tooth.
"I know, remind me to send him a thank you card," Roy Mustang's voice sounds from the bedroom.
Riza sighs and turns towards him, stopping in the doorway. He looks up from the dresser, giving her a warm smile.
"Help me with these?" he asks, holding out a pair of cufflinks. Riza crosses the room and takes one, working it into the buttonhole at his sleeve. "Relax," he says. "A few hours of dinner, drinks, a little dancing, and then it's all over."
Fuhrer-President King Grumman is holding an inaugural ball at the fuhrer's mansion. Top military and political figures, dignitaries from other countries (including Ishbal), Amestris' elite, and, of course, hordes of press will all be in attendance. To keep with the celebratory mood, so he'd said, military personnel are to come dressed in formal attire, no uniforms allowed, and Riza hasn't stopped grumbling about the edict since she'd heard.
Riza sighs again as she slips the first cufflink into place and holds out her hand for the other. Since his apartment building had burned down after The Promised Day, Roy has unofficially moved in with at her Central apartment. Military records, of course, don't reflect the change, but soon, they'll be moving East, where Roy will assume Grumman's old command post, and they'll have to maintain separate residences again. Riza knows she'll miss moments like this.
Grumman had all but given them his blessing to disregard the military's anti-fraternization policy. He'd promised to run interference for them where he could and keep the rumor mill at bay, while personally maintaining a level of plausible deniability. After all they'd been through, there'd been no use hiding their feelings any longer after The Promised Day.
They stay professional at the office. The only people who "officially" know are Rebecca Catalina and Gracia Hughes, though Riza is certain most of their team suspects that things have changed between the General and Lieutenant Colonel. They are all smart enough not to ask, and Roy and Riza try to be smart enough not to give anyone reason to be suspicious.
The work hasn't stopped. Roy's determination to rise to the position of fuhrer is as strong as ever, and they're both determined to do everything possible to help the Ishballan people. They're determined to bring about justice and initiate war crimes tribunals.
It's not a misguided belief that they're somehow "owed" this for their part in bringing down Father and the homunculi, but when Grumman had announced to them his intention to look the other way….well, they've found that they work better together, now, than they ever did when they held themselves apart. The wholeness of their partnership lends itself to a constancy which transcends the officer/subordinate relationship, leaving Riza and Roy, two individuals who operate as one heart, one mind.
They make a great team.
She finishes attaching the second cufflink and steps back to adjust Mustang's bowtie.
"I'm perfectly relaxed," she says. "Just irritated." He turns to retrieve his tuxedo jacket from the bed and shrugs it on. Riza looks down at her dress. "Can you see my gun holster?"
Roy's eyes rove over the red satin, taking in all the places it clings to her curves. He licks his lips. "No," he answers, his voice pitched lower than it had been a moment before, "But I'd love to find out where you're hiding it." He reaches for her, but Riza squirms out of his grasp.
"Nope. Lipstick," she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on her high heeled shoes. Roy sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
"I thought that we were supposed to attend this soiree unarmed, anyways," he says.
"No visible weapons. Besides, you should talk."
Shoes fastened, Riza stands.
"What, can't a man wear a nice pair of gloves with a formal tuxedo?" Roy grins as he tugs his gloves, now devoid of a transmutation circle, onto his hands. He no longer needs a circle to transmit since passing through the Gateway, but the ignition cloth material is still the easiest way for him to get the spark required for flame alchemy.
"Most men's gloves aren't made of ignition cloth," Riza smirks. "As your aide, I should chastise you, but as your bodyguard, I must say I approve."
She eyes herself in the full-length mirror next to her bureau. Critically, she takes in the silhouette of the sheath-style ball gown. She hadn't wanted to wear bright red, but the dressmakers hadn't had a lot of options in a style that suited her needs. It has a long slit up one side, and the neckline is high at both the front and back.
She frowns, biting slightly at her lower lip, and asks, "You can't see any of the array at all, right?" Roy steps up behind her. Gently, he traces along her back with his fingertips.
"The lines start here," he says, circling, so she can feel where the lines of ink begin. "And move over to here." Riza shivers slightly at the feel of his touch through the thin layer of material. "It's completely covered." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in through her nose. Roy's hands move down to her hips, and he gently squeezes. "Riza."
She meets his gaze in the mirror.
"You look lovely, sweetheart." She smiles and turns to face him, giving in to the swoop of his mouth towards hers as she accepts his gentle kiss.
"You look very nice, too," she says, pulling away to collect her wrap and handbag. "But you're wearing my lipstick now."
Roy makes a slight whining sound as he steps closer to the mirror, pulling off his glove to wipe at his mouth.
"Damnit, why is that so sexy?"
—-
The dinner is a formal affair, an impossibly long banquet table, at the top of which Grumman presides, Olivier Armstrong at one side, Roy at the other. Major General Hakuro sits on Armstrong's other side, Riza across from him.
Hakuro is one of the only other high-ranking officers who has, so far, been spared even a discharge. These three would each maintain a command in the North, East, and West, respectively, with another commander- Brigadier General Loman Huller- maintaining his post in the south. Tensions with Aerugo are still high, making it impossible for Huller to attend the celebrations.
"Now, no shop-talk this evening, ladies and gentlemen, if you please," Grumman says, wagging a finger at each of them in turn. "Tonight's a celebration, of all we've accomplished."
Armstrong inclines her head, and Roy takes a sip of his whiskey. His second, Riza notes.
"How are things in the frigid north?" he asks, smirking.
"My men are operating at full effectiveness, as usual," Armstrong snaps, without missing a beat. "Can you say the same for your operations in the East?"
"Both of you, please," Riza groans. "Did the Fuhrer-President not just ask you to keep things civil?"
They glare at one another. Hakuro clears his throat significantly.
"Well, since nobody asked," he drawls. "My family is happy to move out West. My wife's found us a house and is going back and forth weekends."
"Ah," Grumman says, "I'm sorry she couldn't join us this evening. It's such a pleasure to share formal occasions with those we hold dearest." He doesn't glance in Roy and Riza's direction, but she knows her grandfather's words are for her, another little seed indicative of his approval for the path she and Roy are creating for themselves.
The future, they have learned, is a relative concept. The immediate road ahead- moving to the East, starting work with the fledgling Ishballan government, rooting out any remaining corruption that lingers at East City headquarters- can be handled together. They've learned to rely on the strength they have in each other. Discretion can be managed.
For the road farther ahead - elections, presidency, war crimes tribunals- they'll wait to see what comes, and they'll take things in together, day by day.
—-
"Dance with me." His voice is a low growl at the back of her neck, his gloved hand resting at her waist. Riza frowns and takes a step away, turning to face him.
Roy is slightly flushed, setting down an empty whiskey glass on the cocktail table next to her soda water. Fourth?
"I'm fine," she says blandly, glancing over the other dancers. Havoc and Rebecca are both laughing as they swirl to the music, and Edward is attempting a two-step with a slightly harangued-looking Maria Ross. "Why don't you go dance with Ross? FullMetal looks like he could use the reprieve."
"Because," Roy says, stepping closer to her again, "I want to dance with you."
"Don't forget, I am armed," she says lightly, teasing as she avoids him.
"And that is sexy as hell."
"Roy, hush." Her eyes dart around the room. Her little table is otherwise empty, close to the ensemble of musicians, tucked into a corner so she can see the comings and goings.
"Nobody cares," he grumbles, reaching for her again. Her eyes flash a warning, no longer playful.
"Knock it off."
He frowns at her as he walks away, and a few minutes later she sees him dancing with a pretty redhead. The woman's dress is low-cut, and Riza thinks she must look like someone's maiden aunt in comparison, but it can't be helped.
Discretion.
She sighs and sips her soda water as Rebecca wanders over to the table, holding her high-heeled shoes in one hand.
"Havoc can actually dance," she laughs. "He's still an asshole, of course, but-." She shrugs and plops her shoes on the tabletop, taking a sip from her glass of wine. "Having any fun?"
"Oh, sure," Riza mutters, her eyes continuing to flit across the dance floor. Rebecca downs the rest of her wine, then reaches for Riza's glass, grimacing when she tastes only soda water.
"Ugh, you're not even drinking?" she asks.
"Technically, I'm on duty," Riza replies dryly, and Rebecca chuckles.
"You're always on duty, even when you're not," she accuses.
"Exactly." Riza focuses her eyes on Roy, who now stands with Havoc on the other side of the ballroom. Both have drinks in hand and are talking animatedly.
Rebecca follows her friend's gaze and frowns.
"What a pig, he hasn't even asked you to dance?"
"Oh, he's asked," Riza mutters. She watches as another woman approaches, clearly trying to catch the men's attention. Her ice-blue gown is entirely open at the back, displaying lovely, creamy skin. The three talk, then Havoc reaches for the woman's hand, only to be stopped by Roy, who takes her arm in his, laughing. Riza has to force her jaw to relax when she realizes she's clenching her teeth.
Roy glances their way as he takes to the dance floor with the blonde woman, his hand at her waist, moving flawlessly through the steps, every inch the charmer.
"No, he did not," Rebecca growls, watching.
"Didn't what, Bex?" Riza asks with a slight huff. Her best friend had been supportive, when she'd finally confessed to her affair with her commanding officer, but Catalina is protective of her friend. She tends to place blame on Mustang for things that can't be helped. Sometimes it's helpful, to have someone to confide in who is unconditionally on her side, but at other times Riza wishes Rebecca could be more supportive of Roy, too.
"He's dancing with that tramp, taunting you about it!" Rebecca cries, pointing. Riza grabs her hand.
"Keep your voice down," she insists. This kind of moment is why she'd been against the idea of an inaugural ball from the onset. None of them need the drama that follows along with the combination of alcohol and dancing. "Of course he's dancing with other women, it's to be expected."
"Then why aren't you out there dancing with other men?" Rebecca asks, glowering at Mustang.
"Because I don't want to be, Bex." Riza sighs. "I just want to do my job, maintain security, watch out for the General, and wait for the whole thing to be over with."
The song ends, and she scowls as she watches Roy give the woman a low bow, kissing the back of her hand and then heading towards the bar.
"Well, it's not fair," Rebecca grumps, crossing her arms against the emerald green taffeta of her ball gown.
"Life isn't fair."
—-
"Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye!" Mustang's voice is only a little over-loud in the crowded ballroom, but Riza cringes anyways.
"General Mustang, sir. Major General Hakuro, sir." Not in uniform, Riza doesn't salute, but stands straight and gives each man a curt nod as they approach her table. Hakuro returns the nod.
"A pleasure, as always, Lieutenant Colonel," he grumbles. Roy takes a long swig of his drink, and puts his arm around Hakuro's back, laughing.
"That's right, I forget you two know each other," he says jovially, but Riza doesn't like the glitter in his eyes. "Didn't you used to work under the Major General, here, Hawkeye?"
"I did, sir."
"That must have been, what-? Five or six years ago now?"
"That sounds about right," Hakuro says tightly. He is visibly discomfited by Mustang's arm over his shoulder, companionable as the gesture seems.
"You know what's funny?" Mustang asks, and Riza shoots him a warning glare. "Hawkeye gathered a lot of useful intel for me when she was working for your office!"
Hakuro grits his teeth and looks away. Mustang is now the higher ranking officer, so he can't respond, but it seems he isn't surprised to hear that Hawkeye had been passing information to Mustang, considering their closeness in the intermeaning years.
"It was a long time ago," he grunts, shrugging off the General's arm. Riza remains silent, taking a measured sip of her soda water.
"She's great isn't she?" Mustang continues. "I bet you had no idea."
"General," Riza says cautiously, warning.
"Seriously, Hawkeye, you're the perfect spy! Nobody ever knows what you're thinking, where your loyalties lie." He raises his glass as if to toast her, and Riza grits her teeth.
"Yes, well," Hakuro mumbles. "The Lieutenant Colonel's work for me was always more than adequate, above and beyond the required. That's all there is to it."
"Thank you, Major General."
"Oh, ho!" Mustang crows. "Now look at that, that's a match made in heaven, that is!"
"Sir?" Riza and Hakuro trade an uneasy look.
"Why, the two of you, together, after all these years, complimenting each other," Mustang gestures vaguely between them. "That's the stuff of dreams, right there. Maybe you should go and work for Hakuro again, Lieutenant." If Hakuro notices the incorrect rank, he doesn't comment, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I don't think-," Riza starts to say, but Mustang cuts her off.
"C'mon, I could use a spy in his office again," he says in a mock whisper, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at Hakuro.
"Piss off, Mustang," Hakuro snaps, his patience finally at breaking point as he turns and stomps off.
Roy watches him go, draining his glass and setting it empty on the table.
"Well, that was fun," he mutters, chuckling under his breath.
"What's wrong with you?" Riza snaps. She continues to scan the crowd around them, not looking at him as they speak, standing side by side. "We need his goodwill to continue. You've attained the higher rank, you don't have to curry favor, but-."
"Lighten up, it's a party," Roy grumbles. "Come dance with me." He tries once again to slide an arm around her waist, but Riza pulls away.
"I told you before we came, I'm not dancing. I'm staying here, keeping an eye out."
"Ah, the Hawk's Eye," Roy says.
"Don't," Riza replies sharply. She hates the moniker, hates the notoriety, hates the way it reminds her of sand and blood, and he knows that.
"Now, don't be that way, Lieutenant. Have a drink, have some fun for a change," Roy grumbles, walking away. Riza watches him head back to the bar, the unease in her chest growing.
—-
"General, it's getting late." Roy turns his head to glower at his aide and bodyguard.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant Colonel," he says. "Have you met Ms. Bridger?" He turns to introduce Riza to the blonde woman in the ice-blue, backless gown that he'd danced with before.
"How do you do, ma'am," Riza says politely, nodding.
"Henriette, please," the woman replies, extending a hand. Her fingers are soft and smooth, elegantly painted with light pink polish. Riza thinks of the calluses and chipped nails on her own hand and tries not to grimace as she returns the handshake.
"Ms. Bridger is a professor at Central University," Roy says. "Political science."
Bridger gives him a simpering smile that Riza doesn't like.
"General Mustang was just telling me some of his ideas," she says.
"Indeed," Riza tries to smile politely. "General, it is late, if you'll pardon me."
"Oh, of course," Mustang says, pretending to smack his own forehead as though he'd only just remembered something. "The Lieutenant Colonel drove me here; she's on duty tonight." He finishes the whiskey from the glass in his hand. "I suppose it's time to head home."
The party has certainly wound down, fewer than two dozen people remaining, and Riza is more anxious than ever for the night to be over.
"Be a dear, Lieutenant and pull the car around while I say goodnight to Ms. Bridger, will you?" Roy's eyes taunt her, something cruel and hard darkening the light she normally finds there.
"Of course, sir," she says. "Ms. Bridger." She nods at the other woman and goes to get the car, collecting her wrap and handbag from the coat check. She glances back to see Roy and the professor, drinks in hand once more, still talking animatedly.
—-
When Roy finally appears outside the grand mansion, it's with Henriette Bridger on his arm. He glances over his shoulder at Hawkeye, who waits in the large circular driveway, standing next to his car. He walks Henriette over to her own vehicle, and bows low over her hand, kissing the back of it as he bids her a formal farewell.
His eyes seem to glitter in the blackness as he approaches Riza. Surprising her, he moves towards the driver's side door.
"Get in the car, Hawkeye," he says casually.
"I'm more than happy to drive, sir," she says, opening the passenger door, and gesturing to him.
"Nonsense, you've been working all night. Allow me." He holds out a hand for his car key, but Riza shakes her head, her eyes hard, warning.
"I'm on duty, sir."
"Just give me the keys, Lieutenant," he says, feigning a casual laugh.
Another car pulls behind his in the driveway, the head lamps illuminating the two of them.
"You've had too much to drink, sir," Riza says as quietly as she can. "Please get in the car."
"I'm fine."
"Roy."
He crosses his arms over his chest, staring her down, then gives a little laugh.
"Oh, whatever, sure," he says, walking around the front end of the car to the passenger's seat. "Come on, Hawkeye, let's go." She closes the door behind him, then settles herself in the driver's seat and starts the car.
They are both silent until they reach the edge of the mansion's grounds. Riza raises a hand to the guard at the gate, who waves them through.
Once they are on the road, she glances over at Roy who stares out the window, looking away from her.
"You're drunk," she says quietly. It's not a question, nor an accusation, but a firm statement.
"Ha, hardly. Do I sound drunk to you?"
"No," Riza admits, her eyes narrowing but still focused on the road. "But you never do. You had at least six servings of alcohol tonight, and you're being very careful with your pronunciation."
"What, were you counting?" he asks, petulant.
"It's my job to watch you," she replies.
"Not to babysit me," he snaps. Riza sighs.
"What were you trying to do back there, make me jealous?" she asks, and he snorts.
"Of course not."
"Seemed like it," she presses, frowning.
"She's a nice woman. We had an interesting conversation."
"Okay. Fine." Riza doesn't want to argue with him, not when he's like this.
"She has aspirations for politics," he says. "Vanessa pointed her out to me."
That surprises Riza. She hadn't even noticed Roy's adopted sister among the crowd, and she says as much.
"Not tonight, at a lunch, a few weeks back."
"You didn't mention."
"Do I have to tell you everything?" He hangs one hand out his open window. "There's no point trying to make you jealous, anyways," he sneers. "You're too callous."
Riza's heart pounds furiously, but she doesn't respond to the jeer. Fortunately, they are near her apartment complex now. She pulls into his typical parking spot and turns off the ignition, exiting the vehicle and heading up the stairs to her building, abandoning the protocol of opening the door for her commanding officer.
He catches up to her at the door, boxing her in with his body as she pulls the key from her handbag, fitting it into the lock. He scrapes his teeth lightly along the back of her neck.
She turns the door handle and pushes inside, but Roy overbalances.
He stumbles over her, cursing. He doesn't fall, but catches himself against the wall and frowns at her.
She pushes the door closed and bends to greet Hayate, murmuring quietly to the dog.
"Just a minute, boy, let me get changed and we'll go for a walk," she says.
"I'll walk him," Roy grunts, reaching for the leash that hangs next to the door. "C'mon, Second Lieutenant."
"No, it's dark," Riza protests, and the dog sits obediently by her knee.
"Fine, we'll go together," Roy kneels to attach the leash to Hayate's collar, but the pup remains sitting by Riza, waiting for her signal.
"Roy, please," she says quietly. "Just…go lie down, I'll be back in a few minutes."
"I'm fine," he says heatedly, but hands over the leash.
Riza decides not to take time to change and leaves, closing the door behind her. She mutters to her dog, "Let's make it quick, boy."
—-
When she returns to the apartment, she finds Roy sitting on the couch. He's taken off his tuxedo jacket and tie, his shirt collar is unbuttoned, and his sleeves are, too, rolled up to his elbows. He holds a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling it as he stares into the flame he had obviously sparked into existence in the fireplace.
Hesitantly, she slides off her high-heeled shoes, and goes over to him.
"I wish you wouldn't transmute when you've been drinking," she says quietly, watching his face. Roy shrugs.
"I know…I know today has been hard for you," she whispers.
"And what makes you think that?" he grunts, sipping his drink.
"Because it's been a year. Since Maes died."
The words fall, heavy, between them, and Roy goes quiet for a long time.
"I didn't think you realized," he finally mumbles. "I was trying not to-. Damn."
"Of course I knew," she replies sadly. "I miss him, too."
"Planning a ball on the anniversary of his death. Celebrating and dancing on his grave." The darkness in Roy's voice is an old familiar friend that Riza doesn't welcome. "I make myself sick."
"Roy," she whispers, reaching for his hand, removing the glass of whiskey and setting it on the coffee table. "It wasn't your fault."
"I know that!" He flinches his arm away from her.
"Then stop punishing yourself," she beseeches. "Drinking, picking a fight with Hakuro, flirting with-." She wants to say, "that woman", but the words taste wrong in her mouth, and she stops, swallowing. "It's self-sabotage," she says instead.
He doesn't respond, continuing to stare into the warm glow of the fire. She reaches for his hand again, but he twists it away from her.
Riza takes a deep breath, feeling hurt and rejected. First he spends the night fawning over another woman, and now he won't let me in.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she offers.
His derisive snort is answer enough, but he barks sarcastically, "Yes, clearly."
Retreating, Riza picks up the nearly empty glass from the coffee table.
"I'll make some tea," she says, gently squeezing Roy's shoulder as she passes.
"No need. Bring me the bottle."
Suddenly, the tight control she's been holding onto all evening vanishes, and rage whips through her. He isn't the only person hurting, and he doesn't have the right to self-destruct this way. She grabs the whiskey bottle he'd left on the counter and slams it whole into the kitchen sink, where it shatters.
Roy jumps to his feet, clapping his hands, his fingers poised to transmute at the sound, but stops when he sees the scene before him.
"What the fuck, Riza?" he bellows.
"You're done," she replies, grabbing the kettle from the stove and pouring water from the sink. "You've had more than enough to drink."
"I'm a grown man, I can decide-."
"Stop it, Roy!" she shouts back. "Just stop!"
His face is shrouded in darkness, the only light in the room from the fire that lays slowly dying in the hearth. He turns suddenly and walks into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, locking it.
Riza abandons her efforts with the kettle and goes after him, jiggling the handle.
"Roy, open the door," she calls. "You're going to have to be a grown man and talk to me!" She hears a clap and a thump, and tries the door handle again. It no longer jiggles. He's locked it with alchemy. "Roy!" she calls again, louder, banging on the door.
Fuck, if we don't stop there's going to be MPs showing up.
She abandons her banging and rests her head against the door, tears threatening.
"Roy, please," she whispers. "Please open the door."
She stays that way for several minutes, then starts to back away, figuring she might as well make herself comfortable on the couch, where she will apparently be sleeping. Then, she hears the sound of breaking glass.
"General?" she shouts, hammering on the door this time, his title coming out with a flash of adrenaline. "What happened?" There's no answer, and she swears, pounding on the door again.
When he still doesn't respond, she steps back and reaches beneath the slit of her dress for her holster. She feels the fabric tear as she comes away with the gun, and points it at the door handle. She fires, just once, but the door swings open.
Riza enters the room gun first, sweeping right, then left, seeing nobody. She moves to the bathroom.
Roy stands, alone, facing the mirror over the sink, which is broken. He holds his right hand in front of his face, in a fist, looking dazed. His knuckles are covered in blood.
"Shit!" Riza clicks the safety on, tosses her pistol on the bed, and goes to him. "Roy, what the hell?"
"There's blood," he mutters thickly, staring at his own hand, his eyes distant. "Blood."
"Yeah, I see. What did you do?"
He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. She can tell: he punched his own reflection in the mirror.
"Blood….On my hand," he whispers. Riza takes his other arm and leads him to sit on the closed toilet seat. He follows, docile.
"I see it. Hold on." Her feet are bare, and there are shards of glass. She grabs a towel from the rack and uses it to cushion her foot, kicking the glass away. "Here," she says, bending in front of him. "Roy, let me see."
She surveys the damage briefly, then stands and reaches for the First-Aid box she keeps in the cabinet over his head.
"Blood on my hands," he whispers again. Riza recognizes the signs of dissociation, and kneels before him again.
"Roy," she says quietly. "Roy, I'm here. Let me look at your hand, please." Her voice breaks. He lowers his hand to his lap obediently. Carefully, she picks through the larger shards of glass and removes the white glove. His poor hands she thinks, seeing the white scars from the transmutation circle he'd once carved onto the back, then the scars from the place Bradley's swords had pierced his skin. Marcoh had healed the damage to his hands, that time, but the scars remained.
It was a lucky thing he'd still been wearing his glove, and once she's removed it, only a few pieces of glass remain embedded in the knuckles, which she is able to carefully remove with a pair of tweezers. The cuts aren't bad. He has been extremely fortunate.
Roy sits quietly, staring down at the floor while she works. Twice more, she hears him whisper, "Blood on my hands," and Riza feels his teardrops land on her as she tends to his wound.
When she finishes bandaging it, she calls his name softly, looking up into his face.
"Roy."
His eyes meet hers, and they are clearer, now.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. His voice is so flat, so defeated. "S-stupid."
"It's okay," she reassures him. "You're okay."
"I'm not okay," he admits, closing his eyes tightly as tears burn behind them once more.
"Okay," she says. "Then you don't have to be." She rises and holds out her hand to him. He puts his uninjured hand into hers, following her into the bedroom. "Careful," she murmurs, hearing a piece of glass crunch under his shoe. She directs him to sit on the edge of the bed, then kneels and unlaces his shoes, removing them and his socks. She inspects the bottom of the shoes, and, seeing no larger pieces of glass, sets them down on the dresser to remind herself to clean them later.
She undoes the buttons on his shirt and pants, and, as he undresses, she fishes for a nightgown for herself in the dresser. Roy sits on the bed in his boxer shorts and undershirt, and she walks back to him, then turns. "Can you get my zipper?" she asks.
He does, and as the fabric parts to reveal the scars on her back, a sudden, broken sob tears from his throat.
"Oh, Roy," she gasps, horrified, trying to turn to him, but his hands hold her hips. He presses his face against the tender skin of her shoulder, and she can feel his tears sliding down her back. "Roy," she whispers helplessly, as he clings to her.
"I'm sorry," he moans. "So much blood on my hands."
"It's okay," Riza murmurs. "I'm okay, Roy." She clasps his hands gently in hers, and he releases her to turn in his arms. She lets the dress pool around her feet, and gathers him into her arms, holding him against her chest as his larger frame is wracked with sobs. She threads her fingers through his hair again and again, holding him, whispering, "I'm here. I'm here with you now, Roy."
Slowly, slowly, his shudders cease, and Roy takes in a great gulp of air, hiccupping.
"I feel like a l-little boy," he mumbles, leaning back from her, finally.
"It's alright," Riza says again, reaching for her discarded nightgown and pulling it on, finally stepping out of the pool of satin at her feet. She climbs onto the bed and reaches for him. Roy comes willingly into her arms.
"I miss him so much," he whispers, his eyes closing on another wave of tears as they lay back together. Riza's breath catches.
"I do, too," she says quietly. "We'll go to see Gracia and Elicia tomorrow, would you like that?" She, too, feels at odds, almost like a parent cajoling a tantruming child, as he nods.
"Yes, I-I should have called," he adds.
"No, it's okay," Riza says quickly. "I spoke to Gracia this morning. She's okay."
"No," Roy contradicts her. "No, she's not." Riza nods, sadly.
—-
Eventually they both doze, and when Riza wakes in the very early morning, his breaths remain deep and even, so she shifts slightly, then pulls out of his embrace and pads to the bathroom.
Riza carefully cleans up the broken glass, as quietly as possible, then cleans up the glass in the kitchen, from the whiskey bottle, too, throwing out the towel she had used to protect her feet in the bathroom. She washes the makeup from her face, brushes out her long hair, and quietly returns to the bed. Roy shifts as she approaches, holding his arms open for her, and she slides gratefully back into his embrace.
"It's Sunday. Go back to sleep," she whispers, placing a kiss to his chest, over his heart. Roy shrugs. "You should rest." She feels his nod, and her heart aches for him. "Is your hand okay?"
"Think so," he mumbles. "I've had worse." He reflexively clenches and re-opens his other fist. "I'm sorry," he says again.
"It wasn't your fault," she says quickly.
"No, I'm sorry for drinking like that. For flirting with that woman, trying to make you jealous."
"Okay, that was your fault," she admits, but continues to hold him close. "And I forgive you." She feels his arms tighten around her, feels his gratitude seep into her skin.
"I'm such an idiot. Will you smooth things over with Hakuro? He likes you." She waits a beat before he adds, wrinkling his nose. "Not like that."
"Don't worry about it," she replies. "Breda tipped me after he saw the two of you argue, made sure he went to Chris' after. There should be photos, if we need them, but I'll go over there on Monday." Roy takes in a deep breath, nodding.
"That woman," he begins, and Riza starts to argue.
"Don't worry-."
"No, listen. We really did have an interesting conversation about politics. I'm glad Vanessa pointed her out. I think she has aspirations."
Riza files that information away for examination at a time when she can think more clearly, but she still can't help her next words as they tumble past her lips.
"Her dress was…rather unusual." The ice-blue, open-backed dress. Why does it matter?
Roy looks down at Riza, his brow furrowed, and she meets his gaze unflinchingly.
"I could never love another woman's back the way that I love yours," he says.
It's an odd compliment, not a thing one would commonly say to a lover, but the intimacy of it, the devotion with which he's kissed and touched her scars nearly every night they've been together, shows Riza his commitment. Nobody else could have ever understood.
"I love you, too," she says tiredly, choosing to let the matter drop. "Please, let's sleep a while longer." Roy nods and settles onto his back, leaving the bedside lamp on, and Riza curls into his side, one arm wrapped lazily across his chest, her head on his shoulder as they both drift off.