A shapeshifter, turned into Gracia Hughes to murder Maes. Could anything be more horrible? Riza creeps along the corridor. She has to find the Colonel and stop him, stop the homunculus.

She rounds the corner and comes face to face with Mustang, his fingers poised to attack, her gun in his face. She knows as she begins to follow it down the corridor, this must be the shapeshifter, and before she's even aware of raising her weapon, she's fired three shots into its head.

But, then it falls before her. And it's Roy.

His eyes are lifeless, his face registering surprise even in death as blood pools around him, wetting his hair.

No. No.

The scene changes. She's in the same labyrinthine corridors under Central City, but now the beaten homunculus is bleating feebly under the sole of Mustang's boot, and she's holding her gun to his head.

"If you want to shoot me, go ahead," he snarls. "Do it!"

The gun is shaking in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

"Do it, Lieutenant!"

No, no, no.

I have to do it, or I'll have failed him. I can't do it because I love him.

"NO!"

Riza shoots straight up in bed, already reaching for her pistol on the nightstand. She hears fumbling from the other side of the bed, the lamp clicks on, and she's pointing her gun at Roy, who faces her with his hands raised in surrender.

"It's me," he says. "Riza, it's me, only me."

In her dream, her hands shook, but in reality they're steady, her finger on the trigger, the safety already clicked off.

"Riza," his voice is firm but not threatening. "The gun isn't loaded. You can put it down. Relax, it's alright."

She remembers. She started taking the bullets out of her gun at night. Keeping it on her bedside table is just a habit now. Black Hayate whimpers from the dog bed in the corner, distraught at having his sleep disturbed.

She takes in a shaky breath and lowers the gun. Roy lowers his hands, his gaze never wavering from her face.

"It's okay," he says quietly.

Riza's eyes fill with tears, and she gasps, "I shot you."

"You didn't."

"I thought it was Envy, but I was wrong. You died at my hands."

"That's not what happened, Riza. You were right, you didn't shoot me. You'd never shoot me."

"I almost did," the tears fall, and she chokes on a sob.

Roy grimaces. "I know," he says quietly. "And you would have been right if you had."

"No," she moans, the gun falling uselessly to the bed as she covers her face with her hands.

"Shh," Roy whispers, his arms coming to wrap around her waist as he pulls her into him. "It's over."

He smooths his hand over her hair and drops kisses to the top of her head, rocking her gently.

"It's over, now," he says again.

It's been nearly six months since the Promised Day. Nightmares have been a part of both of their lives since Ishbal, but they're worse now, coming so frequently. She had to start taking the bullets out of her gun, because she was afraid she could wake up and actually shoot him. He's woken more than once, snapping his bare fingers as he battles enemies he can't see, his gloves tucked safely away with her ammunition in a lock-box in the kitchen.

"I'm okay," she says quietly, even as a harsh shudder rolls through her. "I'm s-"

"No," Roy interrupts. "No apologies. We promised."

Right. Right. This wasn't your fault.

Riza drops her hands from her face, tears drying, and leans against his bare chest. She's still breathing hard, and she can hear the rapid beat of his heart in her ear.

"We survived. We both survived, that's what matters."

"I know," she says quietly. "Damn. I'd rather have any other dream than that one."

"I know," Roy says. "Not many people can say they've literally lived through their worst nightmare."

"We both have," she whispers.

He rubs her back, and they sit in silence for so long that he hopes she's fallen asleep, but then Riza speaks again.

"I was so close," she moans, and she can feel it all over again- the gun warm in her hand from the heat of his flames, her pulse beating too loudly, the sting of tears that she refused to shed, the dread that squeezed in a vice around her innards.

"So was I," Roy says quietly. "I was just as close to losing myself. And you knew it, because you know me better than anyone. You brought me back and gave me strength."

She soaks in his words, her thirst for them unquenchable.

"It was your strength of character, your steadfast commitment that gave me strength to resist," he reminds her, again. "It was for you that I resisted committing taboo. You'd just shown me how easy it would be for me to cross the line, and you showed me why that couldn't happen."

There's a certain routine to this. It's a conversation they've had again and again, and she knows that she did the right thing. She knows how disastrous the consequences might've been if she had allowed him to give into his murderous vengeance, knows that the man who holds her now would have ceased to exist, as surely as if she'd pulled the trigger after all.

Yet, it haunts her, that moment. He's never given her the slightest remonstration for her actions, only praising her for saving him from himself.

"You did so well, Riza," he mumbles the words against her forehead. "You did exactly as I asked you, you did so well for me. You know that, right?"

She nods, but her breath catches on another sob.

"You're so good, Ria, so honest and good. You're so good for me."

He has to be careful, because he's hit on a nerve here before. He can't tell her she's a better person than he (she is) or she's stronger than he (she is), can't put himself down to build her up. That's not what she needs from him, and it would send his own mind down a dark path of recriminations that are neither useful nor accurate.

Riza isn't accustomed to being praised. It wasn't her father's way, wasn't a part of her formative years. She was praised at the Academy, for her quick wit and skill with guns, her accuracy, but those compliments fell falsely on her ears after the violence she'd wrought from those skills in Ishbal. Roy was generous with praise as a commanding officer, but never demonstrative.

Now, in their personal lives, it's different. She finds herself craving his words of admiration so intensely. They are the sweetest of balms for her aching soul.

Riza wraps her arms around him, and they shift to lie facing one another, holding each other close in the semi-darkness.

"I followed your orders," she says quietly, like a litany, she needs to repeat the words again.

"You did."

"I didn't die."

He huffs a little chuckle.

"I'm so glad," he says, tracing her cheek with his thumb.

"I guarded your back."

"Yes. You still do. I'll always trust you, Riza. Nobody else could have done that for me, could have brought me out of that moment, made me face my demons."

He feels her breaths come easier as the panic finally starts to recede.

"You're ok," he says quietly. "I'll never put you in that position again, never force you to make that choice."

"I know," she says, then a minute later. "I'm alright now."

Roy hugs her closer.

"Will you be able to sleep?" He asks.

Riza considers. It's been a few weeks since she's had a dream this intense. When the dreams are about Ishbal, she doesn't wake screaming, and she doesn't wake him, just slips quietly from the bed. She makes herself tea and sits up to watch the sky slowly turn from dark to hazy pink. Part of her still thinks she doesn't deserve to be comforted.

Dreams about more recent horrors, it depends. It took longer than usual, tonight, to come out of that vaguely fugue-like state where she feels as if she's more there than here. Her heart rate is still fast, the panic hasn't entirely dissipated. She's also exhausted after leading a special hand-to-hand combat training all week, and she knows how much her body needs the sleep, even if her mind doesn't want to allow her rest.

"I need to try to," she says honestly, giving a little shrug of one shoulder. His lips ghost gently over hers.

"Need help relaxing?" he asks.

She sighs. "It's late, you don't have to…."

"Who says I don't want to?" Roy asks, and his lips are warm as they press against hers.

She could lose herself so completely in his embrace. These particular dreams seem to leave her on-edge, hypervigilant. It's a physiological response, to let herself be calmed by sex, but it's also the reassurance of his skin on hers, the realness and nearness of him that lets her know, for sure, that the dream was wrong, and he's here now, taking her in his arms, taking her lips in a kiss, taking her.

Some nights she's so keyed up, needs him so badly it's fast and a little rough. Tonight, she's weary, and he seems to read her mood, knowing what she needs without her having to ask.

His kisses are slow and deep, possessive, but loving. He gently licks into her mouth, and she feels parts of herself soften that she didn't know were tense.

Riza pulls back and takes off her tank-top, and the feeling of his skin on hers is delicious. He's warm and alive and hers, finally.

She almost expects to find weariness in his gaze, a certain reluctance to be woken so abruptly and then needed so thoroughly, but all she sees is warmth and love and desire in his dark gaze as he looks over her with appreciation bordering on reverence.

His fingers trace the scars, always. He can't seem to help himself, as though he needs to make quite sure that they are healed, that the physical wounds are gone. The mental wounds are harder, but they make progress towards healing as they come together again in a harder kiss.

Riza's hands take in the warmth of him, running over hard planes of muscle covered by smooth skin. Roy kisses her neck, and the skin there is still so sensitive, though the wounds are long gone.

"You did so good, Ria," he says again. "You saved me, and you stayed so strong even after they hurt you."

Maybe it's this that she truly craves after the dreams. The praise that falls unfalteringly from his lips, the assurance that she was good, right, strong- all coupled with the pleasure of his hands and lips and body all around her.

She catches him in another kiss, and Roy moves over her, one thigh sliding between hers. She can feel him hard against her, and the ache in her stomach is soothed by this evidence that he wants her, needs her touch in the same way.

They're both breathing hard, and Roy rolls to the side, opening his arms to her. She slides into his embrace right away, her eyelids already feeling heavy.

The tension that rested so heavily inside her after the dream is gone, and the weariness is quickly catching up.

Roy threads his fingers through her long locks of hair, satisfied, listening to the sound of her breathing and feeling the little quivers of pleasure that continue to spasm through her.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"Hmm?"

"For being so honest with me, for letting me help you feel better." The continued praise wraps itself around her soul, and she lets out a contented sigh, snuggling her face into his neck.

She lets herself bask in the warmth of his love as she returns to slumber. Roy settles her down against her pillow, and reaches up to turn off the lamp.

They've made it through another night, and another day together awaits.