Chapter Text
Ever since The Promised Day, Riza Hawkeye has been struggling to navigate the newfound intimacy that’s bloomed between herself and her commanding officer- best friend- whatever the hell he is… Well, between her and Roy Mustang.
They’ve always been close, undeniably tied together their entire lives from the time they spent at her father’s estate when they were young, to the war, to the long, tumultuous years she’s spent serving under him. Since the very first day they met, they’ve existed in tandem with one another- by each other’s sides, watching each other’s backs, being each other’s eyes- one never quite whole without the other.
And yet, this new closeness- the comfortable silences, the stolen glances, the lingering touches that they’re sharing now… It all feels different. Softer. Riskier. Beautiful in a way that makes Riza’s chest tighten, and it’s as wonderful as it is petrifying.
Riza isn’t exactly sure when the line began to blur- when ‘friend’ and ‘trusted comrade’ started bleeding into something so tender and dangerous. Maybe it’s always been there. Maybe The Promised Day changed things. Regardless, it is very much there, nestled between Riza’s fraying self restraint and ever repressed yearning.
They haven’t done anything, of course. Haven’t even kissed, let alone had sex. Haven’t talked about it, haven’t started dating, haven’t addressed it at all. But it’s still very much there, in the way that he puts his hand on the small of her back when they walk around central and in the softly spoken praises of his that warm her deeper than they really should.
So, Riza copes the only way she knows how; she lies to herself.
She tells herself that he doesn’t treat her any differently than he treats the rest of their team. That, surely, he would’ve tore into Envy for hurting ‘his lieutenant’ had it been Havoc wrapped up in those sickly green tendrils. That he would’ve held Falman just as tightly if he’d been the one bleeding out from his throat, that he would’ve nuzzled into Falman’s hair with such blatant desperation. That he would’ve let Breda lean against him on the battlefield, that he would’ve held Breda upright with such a comfortable touch. That he would’ve asked Fuery to be his eyes and collapsed into his arms when it was all over.
The mental images make her snort.
She nearly bursts into full-blown laughter, imagining Roy cradling one of their teammate’s faces, staring down at them with such adoration. It’s unrealistic. Comical, really.
“What are you giggling about over there?”
Roy’s voice immediately snaps Riza from her thoughts. She startles, glancing over at him, cheeks burning bright red. They’re seated at their desks in his office, sunlight spilling across the unfinished paperwork sitting in front of them through the cracks in the blinds. They’re stationed back east, the wounds of the torment they suffered in central slowly but surely starting to heal as they work to rebuild Ishval just like they’d promised to each other after the war.
It’s been good. Too good. And that’s what frightens Riza the most, because even after all these years, she still doesn’t believe that she deserves good things. Worse than that, she believes she’s a liability that Roy can’t afford. He’s not even Fuhrer yet, the chair temporarily stolen by her conniving bastard of a grandfather. She doesn’t doubt that Roy will get elected once Grumman’s term is up, but she doesn’t want to sit back on her laurels before they even get there.
There’s still too much work to be done, and Riza is terrified that if she lets herself lean too far into this- into Roy- that she’ll become his greatest distraction yet.
“Nothing,” She lies after a little too long, though a flicker of amusement lingers in her tone as she stares down at her desk.
Roy stares at her for a moment longer. Then, he sets down his pen.
“You’ve been in your head a lot lately, lieutenant… Can we talk?”
The shift in his tone is immediate. The warmth drains from Riza’s chest, replaced by a slow, creeping dread. Her smile falls.
Roy’s expression is measured, but his hands betray him where they’re sat in front of him, clasping together in a way she’s only seen when he’s wracked with guilt. When he enlisted in the military. During the war. After the war. During The Promised Day. In the hospital after the fact. Now, those hands are without his gloves, mapped with so many scars that Riza can’t tell them apart as they wring together so tight that his knuckles and the skin underneath his fingernails burns white.
“What about?” Riza asks, wary, brow furrowed.
“I don’t want to have this conversation here,” Roy sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and looking towards the door. “Let me take you out.”
“Take me out?” The notion surprises her, though it’s not entirely inappropriate. It’s their lunch break, the clock having hit noon over fifteen minutes ago. She and Roy had stayed behind under the guise of catching up on paperwork, though now she wonders if that had been the real reason. Maybe she stayed because of him. Maybe he stayed because of her. The thought makes Riza’s heart flutter and ache all at once. Meanwhile, their team is probably blissfully unaware and halfway across town at Panda House, tearing through a platter of barbecued meat and a plethora of juicy military gossip. “Where to?”
“Well,” Roy pauses, standing up from his desk and walking over to where Riza is sitting. It’s stupid, how she instantly leans in when she doesn’t even mean to, Roy’s presence a magnet that draws her closer. “Wherever you want.”
A pause.
Riza has been asked out before- no, that’s not what this is, she tells herself- but she’s never accepted any of the propositions, at least not in recent years. So, most lunchtime outings have been with Rebecca, who merely drags Riza wherever she wants to go. Riza isn’t used to being asked what she wants. It feels more special than it should, especially coming from the ever decisive Roy Mustang.
“I… Don’t know if there’s anywhere I’d want to go, sir.”
“Ice cream,” Roy suddenly offers, a lopsided smile taking over his lips. “I’ll take you for ice cream.”
Riza pauses, tilting her head, thinking about it.
It’s not entirely out of the question for Roy to take the rest of their team out for a sweet treat. He’s done it before, after long days or rough missions. It doesn’t have to be anything romantic. It is romantic, obviously, but Riza is getting so good at lying to herself about it that it’s stopped phasing her for the most part.
“Alright, then,” Riza agrees, standing from her desk with a small smile. “We’ll go for ice cream.”
~
The drive is awkward and a little too quiet. Admittedly, it’s not very often that Roy asks to ‘talk’- let alone to take her out somewhere to talk- so Riza finds herself nervous enough that she can hear her own heartbeat in her chest as her mind spins with the possibilities. Is it about the homunculi? Some unknown consequence of The Promised Day? Or maybe it’s about them? God, that somehow feels even worse than the first two theories, and the fear that it is about them takes up more space in the back of her mind than it should.
He takes her to get ice cream, but they don’t go inside the parlor, opting for the drive through on the side of the building. Roy gets chocolate frozen yogurt, served in a waffle cone, as per usual, while Riza gets mango soft serve in a little paper cup. Roy drives with his right hand, the ice cream cone in his left as he parks in the back of the parlor’s lot.
They sit in silence for a moment, Roy licking at his ice cream like he’s stalling and Riza picking at hers with a spoon. She glances at him occasionally, waiting for him to say something- anything- but he doesn’t. Just looks forward while eating his ice cream, gripping the gear shift so hard that Riza can see the veins in his hand. Riza catches herself staring, wondering how those strong, massive hands would feel holding her, gripping her like that-
The thought is unwelcome. As soon as the mental images start to flash behind her eyelids, Riza turns toward the passenger window and rolls it down to get some cool air, the heat in the car suddenly entirely too much for her. This is spiraling too fast, and these damn feelings are coiling too tightly inside of Riza’s core, turning into something passionate and all consuming. As if things weren’t already bad enough.
She needs a distraction. So, she breaks the silence with-
“What was it that you were wanting to talk to me about?” -and her voice comes out far more even than she feels.
“Obviously, we’ve been busy since… Everything,” Roy begins, hesitant. He doesn’t give a title to ‘everything’, but she knows that he’s talking about The Promised Day; the rage, the violence, the desperation, the terror. Some of it was his fault. Most of it wasn’t. Riza tries not to think about it even though she has nightmares of the homunculi on an almost nightly basis and dreads seeing Roy in the state Envy had him in ever again. “But I wanted to apologize. For what happened underground. I know you’ve been thinking about it, about us, and part of me… Part of me just wanted to forget about it all, but I feel like you deserve to hear this, so I’m saying it now. I’m sorry, Riza.”
“Oh,” Riza says, because to be quite honest, she didn’t expect him to want to discuss it. She thought they’d said everything that needed to be said in that tunnel, with his hand on her hand lowering her gun. She thought they’d made up in the hospital when he held her through the nightmares and allowed her to help him until his vision was restored. Then again, she can admit to herself that they both have a horrible habit of skimming over issues that should garner some discussion. And maybe that’s what this is- an attempt from Roy to be better than they were. “I didn’t think we needed to talk about it any further.”
A soft exhale. Riza thinks it comes from Roy, but this conversation is making her feel so many things that it’s hard to tell what’s going on in detail.
“And that’s very kind of you, but I want us to be able to move forward,” Roy lets go of the gear shift and unbuckles his seatbelt. Then, he’s leaning closer. Riza glances at the ice cream cone in his hand- every part except for the cone itself is demolished, no doubt from him devouring it to soothe the nerves that are so evident in his tight expression. “And for us to be able to move forward, I feel like you need to know that I’m serious about this. About us. About our goals… I promise I won’t hurt you like that ever again.”
About us.
About.
Us.
Her mind clings to the two words like they’re a lifeline, like they’re a threat, both all at once. Us. It should be comforting. Instead, it terrifies her, because Roy was ‘serious’ about his friendship with Maes and his role as Elicia’s godfather… And look where that led him; down a path of rage, grief, and all-consuming vengeance.
Riza knows what true love looks like on Roy Mustang, whether it be platonic or romantic or any other kind. It’s dangerous. She’s dangerous to him and his goals.
“I-” Riza hesitates, swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat. She forces herself to meet Roy’s gaze, forces herself to answer. “Okay.”
Roy narrows his eyes, as if he doesn’t believe that Riza is ‘okay’ with it like she says she is. Riza doesn’t believe it either, but she lies to herself, lies to him. Again.
“Okay?” He asks.
“Okay,” She nods. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” He smiles something soft and far too loving that makes Riza’s heart pound. He’s gentle. Disarming. Dangerous. “I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my chest.”
“Then I’m glad.”
They fall into a comfortable silence after that, leaning as close as they can to one another without really meaning to, eating the rest of their ice creams. Roy tosses an arm over Riza’s shoulder and even though she knows that they really shouldn’t be like this, she doesn’t have the heart to push him away.
“We should do things like this more often,” Roy murmurs after finishing the last bite of his cone. “It’s nice just being with you.”
“You think so?”
“I do… Ah, you spilled some of your ice cream on me,” Roy complains and retracts the arm over her shoulders, though his voice is low and tinged with amusement as Riza turns to look at him. Just as he said, she somehow dripped her ice cream onto him- there’s a fat orange glob of it, clinging to the ridge of one of his sharp knuckles. She hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in him, and now, some of her ice cream is melting against the scarred skin on his hand. The worst part is- Roy hates mango ice cream. Half the time Riza gets it, he halfheartedly teases her about how gross it is and tries to convince her to try another flavor. “Gross… And they didn’t give us any napkins.”
“Oh, sorry,” Riza apologizes, the slight sting of guilt hot and embarrassing as it courses through her veins.
She sets her spoon down in the ice cream cup and reaches, hand twitching like it might do something- might help- but then Roy is extending his own ice-cream covered hand in her direction. Not away from her. Not to wipe it on his uniform or even on hers.
Towards her mouth. And the worst part is that Riza isn’t even offended.
‘Does he want me to…?’
No, actually. The worst part is that she wants it.
Riza’s eyes dart to Roy’s. He isn’t moving, isn’t teasing, isn’t commanding- at least not in the usual way. The air between them thickens, drawn tight with something dangerous, and he leans in slightly, just enough to make Riza’s breath hitch. It’s as if he’s inviting her. Daring her.
Riza’s heart pounds in her chest, in her head, in her ears. Loud and unrelenting just like it always is when Roy is around. Slowly, hesitantly, she leans forward to meet him, not breaking eye contact.
Her tongue brushes the curve of his knuckle. It’s warm, rough, and faintly salty beneath the lingering sweetness of mango. He stiffens just a little, more of a pleasured reaction than a recoil, and she feels it- feels him. There’s tension in his shoulders, but not the kind that tells her she should stop.
Not at all.
Though, really, Riza knows that she should stop whatever this is.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she draws her tongue over Roy’s scarred skin once more. It’s slower this time, more deliberate. Roy holds still, eyes locked on Riza’s.
When Riza pulls back, her lips are warm and her stomach is twisted into a tight knot. She lets out a shaky breath.
Did that really just happen?
The tension in the car is stifling now, and Roy’s expression has changed to one that’s unfamiliar. It’s like he’s caught between surprise and something heavier, something darker that Riza wants more of. Something heated. A flush has crept up his cheeks, subtle yet unmistakable, but his smirk is sharp enough to cut through whatever embarrassment he might have.
Roy leans in to whisper something, so Riza stays perfectly still- in case it’s important, because the air around them has stilled like it’s waiting, too- but she’s caught totally off guard when she hears his voice, husky and seductive and dangerous against the shell of her ear.
“Good girl.”
Oh.
Oh no.
The words land like a lit match on dry grass, setting Riza aflame and burning her from the inside out.
The startling intimacy, the suggestive praise, it’s everything Riza’s ever wanted. She sits there, in the passenger’s seat of Roy’s car, all but losing her mind as her face flushes with scalding heat. They break apart, with Roy refastening his seatbelt, shifting the car into drive, and pulling out of the lot with a smirk on his face as if nothing has happened. Meanwhile, Riza stares out the window, silent and flushed as she shovels a bite of the partially melted ice cream into her mouth like it might cool her down.
It doesn’t.
Nothing could, at this point- because she knows with absolute certainty that Roy would never say that to any of their teammates.
Just to Riza. Only to Riza. And suddenly, she can’t lie to herself anymore about what they are. Because just as Roy would never say something like that to any of his other subordinates, Riza would never lick mango ice cream off the hands of any of her other superior officers.
It’s always been like this.
The Promised Day didn’t start anything new, either. It just shattered what little remained of their self restraint, and now, in the stillness of the peace that’s followed, everything they’ve worked so hard to bury crashes over them like a tide that neither of them can hold back.
And Riza is terrified that, if she doesn’t pull them out, Roy will drown in it. Maybe they both will.
~
Riza tries her best to put some distance between them, to break it off- and she tries to make it as subtle as possible in an attempt not to hurt Roy any more than she knows this is going to. It’s little things, from actually going to lunch with the others instead of sitting alone in the office with him, to not bringing him his morning coffee just the way he likes it, to forcing herself not to lean into him when he’s around.
She knows that he notices and prays that he won’t talk about it, and three days pass, slow and torturous like nails dragging on chalkboard.
Three days since they went on their ice cream date. Three days and she can still hear the echo of his voice, low and deliberate in her ear.
‘Good girl.’
She hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about it. And that’s the problem, because he can just say things like that- do things like that- without questioning whether or not Riza will follow suit, and she does, because she always has.
It’s Thursday, which is good. Just one more day in the office and she can have the weekend to decompress from it all. Today was already difficult enough, leaving her exhausted as she sits on the edge of her bed with her fingers curled tight around a mug of black coffee that’s gone lukewarm.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, East City is unnervingly loud and dark. There’s a storm raging outside that makes Riza’s windows rattle as the wind howls outside. Rain slaps against the metal roof of her apartment, echoing, and the city outside is entirely black. The storm knocked the lights out half an hour ago and brought the dark along with it as it swept over in what felt like an instant.
Riza can’t help the anxiety that consumes her, how her skin crawls, how the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Black Hayate is laid at her feet, able to sense her nerves, waiting for her to give him a command- an order to attack whatever is bothering her. He did this frequently during the months she spent in captivity underneath Wrath and Pride, and of course, she never let him do anything. But he was there. Her constant protector, her friend, the only one other than Roy that seems to understand.
Roy.
Riza wishes he were here.
She lit a candle the moment the lights went out and placed it on the nightstand before barricading herself here in the bedroom, but it hasn’t helped. If anything, the shadows flickering on the wall terrify her more. She swears she sees soulless, unblinking red eyes in them. Black Hayate still growls at them. It’s just a candle, just shadows, she tells herself, but the internalized reminders do nothing to push the memories away.
It’s irrational, illogical, yet her fingers tremble as they lift the coffee mug. She doesn’t drink, just holds it to her lips like the moisture might keep her from drying out and falling apart.
Then, her phone rings.
Riza looks to the receiver on the wall. Black Hayate, who associates the phone with hearing Roy’s voice or having Roy come over, jumps up and trots over to it with a wagging tail, peering up at where it’s hung. Riza’s surprised it’s even still working- part of her wishes it weren’t, because she's fully aware that it’s Roy who’s calling without even having to pick it up.
Roy’s the only one who knows about her fear of the dark. They’ve both been terrified of it since The Promised Day, Riza from being tormented by Pride and Roy from losing his vision temporarily. They haven’t told anyone else but each other, so on nights that it’s a little too dark outside, he calls. Sometimes, he even comes over, because he seems to enjoy caring for her in that way, the same way she cares for him when he feels phantom pain on his side or in his hands.
But it’s because of all of that, that Riza remembers she can’t pick up the phone. She has to stick to this, to keep him from getting too close.
Still, she wants to. God, she wants to. More than anything. The sound of his voice, low and rumbly in the phone, would be grounding and steady- and the image of him driving over, showing up at her doorstep so she could fall into his arms, is so vivid that Riza almost breaks. She can already feel his solid body against hers, smell his cologne and his aftershave, hear his voice.
Then, she reminds herself of their goals. She can’t get in his way. She has to push him forward. And right now, surely, he has something to do that could get them closer to their goals- something that isn’t wasting his time comforting her.
So, she lets the phone ring.
The call ends.
The phone rings again. Riza lets it ring again… And again. It rings on and off all night.
Riza still doesn’t answer.
And she certainly doesn’t sleep.
~
A day and a week pass by. Hurting herself, hurting him, becomes Riza’s new normal. She thinks that, surely, if she goes on long enough, Roy will get frustrated and give up, act the way that he should; cold and professional. He never does, and Riza is so close to breaking and giving in to it- giving into him- that she arrives at headquarters hours early, praying that the silence of an empty, locked up office might give her a chance to harden her resolve.
But, when she walks in through the doors, lets out a sigh, and shuts and locks them behind her… She turns around to see that Roy is already there. Because of course he is. Because he knows her.
He’s standing by the windows, back leaning against the wall and arms crossed as Riza walks to her desk. The air between them thickens immediately, dense with an ungodly amount of tension. When she hangs her bag over the back of her chair, Roy speaks.
“Riza.”
Not ‘lieutenant’. He’s been getting more comfortable, calling her by her name lately when they’re alone even when he never would’ve done that before The Promised Day. Riza hates it. Hates that she loves it- hates that his voice is so steady. There’s an edge to it, sure, but it’s not anger. Just worry, which is horrible, because she wants him to be angry and wants him to hate her. She doesn’t deserve his concern.
“Sir,” Riza replies as stiffly as she possibly can.
He watches her for a beat too long, but she doesn’t falter or look away.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Roy says, voice tight and accusatory. “Ignoring me.”
Riza slowly inches towards the door.
“Yes, sir.”
Roy raises an eyebrow.
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Now, Riza is looking away, crossing her own arms. She can feel him glaring daggers into her.
“I know how you feel about the dark. Blackouts have been rolling through your neighborhood all week from the storms. Are you alright?”
“I have candles. The scented ones that you got me for my birthday last year- they’re vanilla, I think,” Riza whispers, because she is most definitely not alright. “I’ve been lighting them.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Riza pauses, then looks up again, meeting Roy’s gaze with practiced neutrality. It’s not easy, not when he looks like he’s genuinely worried, like Riza is something precious that he’s terrified of shattering if he says or does the wrong thing.
“I appreciate the concern,” Riza replies, voice trembling. She’s starting to break. She needs to get out of here, because the tenderness in his eyes, the frown on his lips, it’s entirely too much. “But it’s unnecessary.”
Roy just blinks.
“Unnecessary? Is that what this is to you now?”
“Yes,” She nods. “Unnecessary.”
Silence falls between them, brittle and strained. Roy shoves his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, gaze downcast. His jaw is tight and he’s making that face; he’s calculating, strategizing, trying to decide how far to push, whether to make an aggressive move or to let her retreat in their complicated, years long game of chess.
Riza wishes he wouldn’t make it so hard. Wishes he would get angry or irritated and lash out like he would with anyone else, something that would make it easier to justify what she’s doing, but he doesn’t. He just watches her with that infuriatingly soft mixture of adoration and concern in his charcoal eyes.
“Was it something I did?” He finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Was it… Because of what happened that day?”
“No, sir.”
It’s the truth. It’s not him, at least not entirely.
“Then talk to me,” He demands, tone hoarse with emotion. “Please?”
“I can’t, sir,” Riza firmly shuts him down, because she knows that if she doesn’t, he will manage to break down her walls. With the last of her self restraint, she turns for the door. “I’ll be back when I’m due for my shift.”
Then, she’s gone, and all she can do is pray that Roy isn’t as broken as she feels.
~
The rest of the day drags on, mind numbingly slow.
Riza returns to the office at seven in the morning, and with the rest of their team there, Roy isn’t able to talk to her about any of it. Riza convinces herself that it’s for the best, even though deep down all she wants is to be alone with him again. How is it that less than two weeks ago, they were so close to one another, eating ice cream in his car with him whispering in her ear- and now, they’re like this?
Riza supposes it’s her own fault.
Ten minutes before the work day is set to end, Roy leaves. No explanation. No anything. Just grabs his coat and walks out. Riza doesn’t know where he’s going and it takes everything in her not to ask. When the clock hits five, the rest of the team slowly files out. Havoc asks if she’s doing alright, and as per usual, Riza lies to him- lies to herself- and says that she’s fine. She stays behind to drown herself in paperwork. What does it matter? Roy is gone, anyway. It's not like things could possibly get any worse.
Unsurprisingly, things do somehow manage to get worse.
As if summoned by some cruel twist of fate, the door creaks open again. Riza hopes that it’s Roy, looks up to see if it’s him, but it’s not. Instead of Roy, a young sergeant stands awkwardly in the office entryway. Riza recognizes him, not by name, but by the way his eyes follow her whenever they pass in the hallway or sit across from one another in the cafeteria. He has an embarrassingly obvious crush on Riza, one that’s evident in the way he glances at her like he’s trying not to stare, evident in the blush that overtakes his cheeks every time she passes by him or meets his gaze.
He doesn’t matter to her, at least not in the way that Roy does. It’s unfair, really. He’s a good soldier; obedient, nice, if not a little shy. If he took her on a date, it would probably be fine. If he died, Riza would probably feel bad. But she doesn’t know him, and she doesn’t want to know him. Maybe he’s here on business. At least, she hopes that's the case.
He walks in, stops at the edge of Riza’d desk, and greets her with a sheepish smile. He asks how her day is going, and for what feels like the millionth time in the last couple weeks, Riza lies and says that she’s fine. Unlike Roy, the sergeant doesn’t even notice. Just believes her, says some boring pleasantries, and then starts talking. Rambling. His face is flushed, his words nervous, his big green eyes never quite meeting hers. They dip too often toward her chest and toward her lips. The sight is embarrassing and a little annoying, like watching Black Hayate beg for food, desperate in a way that makes Riza’s skin crawl since it’s coming from a grown man rather than from her beloved furry companion.
He isn’t Roy.
That’s the worst part- because even now, in this deeply uncomfortable moment with this tall, tan, blond, stocky green eyed man who couldn’t be more opposite to Roy, she’s still thinking about Roy. She hates that. Hates that she’s so tethered to Roy that even some overeager sergeant with a schoolboy crush turns her thoughts back to the man she’s been so desperately trying to push away.
She tunes out the sergeant’s words without really meaning to, her gaze unfocused. She’s not even listening and he doesn’t even care. Riza comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t like her, just that she’s pretty. Meanwhile, Roy is god knows where, probably mulling about how painfully in love with Riza he is no matter how she looks or how she treats him.
Suddenly, almost as if on cue, the door swings open. Roy storms in like he owns the place- and he does, really, because it is his office. He’s carrying two paper cups, one in each hand, and the exhaustion that was on his face before he left is painted over with something darker now. His jaw tightens when he sees the young man standing in front of Riza, and without hesitation, he crosses the room and places himself beside her.
Right beside her. As if nothing has happened between them. As if she's his, as if he's hers.
“Stop drooling over my lieutenant and get the fuck out of my office, you little shit,” Roy all but growls at the other man.
“Oh- um, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
With that, the sergeant quickly scurries away like a cockroach in the middle of the night, slipping out the office door in a rush, as if he fears that Roy might really crush him underneath the heel of his boot like a bug. The door shuts behind him with a sharp click.
Riza lets out a slow exhale and crosses her arms.
“What the hell was that?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.
“He was hitting on you,” Roy says with not so much as an ounce of remorse in his tone.
“Alright,” Riza concedes, because Roy isn’t wrong.
The sergeant was hitting on her, and even if she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s glad that Roy got jealous and stepped in. Maybe a little too glad.
“I brought you ice cream,” Roy’s voice is softer now, and he’s setting a cup of soft serve along with a plastic spoon on Riza’s desktop. “They were out of mango, so I got you vanilla, but if you don’t want that, you can have mine. It’s pistachio.”
“I thought your favorite was chocolate,” Riza says, brow furrowing.
She should leave, but she doesn’t. This is all too exhausting, and she feels herself breaking, leaning close to Roy without really meaning to.
“It is, but I got the pistachio in case you didn’t want the mango… I thought I remembered it being your favorite when we were kids. Figured I’d eat whichever you didn’t want,” He explains. “Go ahead and eat. You came in so early that I’m sure you didn’t eat breakfast and I know you didn’t eat lunch.”
Of course he’d notice that when she went to the cafeteria with the team this afternoon, she didn’t bother getting food, her stomach twisted into so many knots from what she’s been doing that she couldn’t bear the thought of eating. Of course he’d follow her to the cafeteria to check instead of locking himself in his office during lunch like he tends to. Riza can’t believe she didn’t notice.
“No, thank you. You can have both. I’ll eat dinner when I get home… By myself.”
“Alright, that is it,” Roy starts, setting his own ice cream down next to hers. Riza stands up, goes to leave, but his hands are on her shoulders to keep her from heading toward the door like she did this morning. “Sit down. That’s an order.”
“I’m off the clock,” Riza softly argues, still standing.
“Sit. Down,” Roy all but orders. Riza hates it, but the authority in his voice makes something dangerous start to unfurl- something hot and needy that settles deep in her core, making her heart pound in her chest. She tries her damndest to ignore it, even as she follows his command and sits back down in her chair. “We’re going to talk about this.”
“Talk about what, sir?”
“This,” Roy vaguely gestures to her with his hands, a deep frown taking over his face. “This thing you’ve been doing.”
“I haven’t been doing anything differently than I should. My work is fine.”
“I’m not worried about your work, I’m worried about us!” Roy exclaims, but still, he doesn’t sound angry. Just distressed. Just concerned. And that’s somehow even more terrifying than his anger ever could be. That word, ‘us’, keeps echoing over and over again in Riza’s ears. “Riza, it’s-“
“Lieutenant,” She coldly corrects, unable to meet his gaze as she does because it feels so wrong.
She loves the way her name sounds rolling off of his lips. He says it softly, with reverence, like it's a prayer. Just a sweet, low ‘ree-zuh’ that carries a fondness he doesn’t quite seem to have for anyone else. She adores it more than anything, yet she’s telling him to stop. She hates herself for it. Wishes she could take it all back and launch herself into his arms, but she’s already in too deep.
“What?” Roy blinks as if he can’t believe what’s happening right now.
“You called me ‘Riza’, sir. My rank is-“
“I know what your rank is, dammit!” He shouts- and then, much to her surprise, he sinks. Literally drops to his knees in front of her, his hands braced on her legs, his eyes panicked and wet with tears. “Riza, please. Please just talk to me. Tell me what I did. I’ll fix it, I’ll- I’ll do anything, just… Please. Don’t leave me.”
Riza’s heart breaks at the sight; Roy Mustang, on his knees, crying. She hasn’t seen him like this since The Promised Day.
“You really think this is your fault?” Riza whispers, hands already moving, cradling his face in her palms before she can stop herself.
“What else could it possibly be?” Roy murmurs, and he leans into one of her palms. He kisses her wrist. Her heart skips a beat. She should pull away, but she doesn’t- can’t- as he looks up at her with such pitifully sad, teary eyes. “I thought that… Maybe my apology triggered something, made you think about it again and realize that you’re too good for me and-”
“No, it’s not that,” Riza shakes her head, stroking a gentle thumb over Roy’s cheekbone. She’s breaking. She can feel it. She can’t, however, seem to make it stop. Maybe she can let herself break in front of him. Maybe he can put her back together. Maybe they’ll be fine, even if they allow themselves this. “We were just… Getting too close.”
“What do you mean ‘too close’?”
“You just… The way you look at me; there’s so much love there. And I know we haven’t ever talked about it, but we both know that I look at you the same way.”
“So we love each other,” Roy exhales, tired. “I’m still struggling to comprehend what that has to do with-“
“It’s not just that. We want each other, too. We’ve been teetering this line, crossing boundaries, testing each other to see what we can get away with, and I’ve come to this terrifying realization that I want you more than anything.”
“And I want you, too,” Roy breathes, clasping her hands, pulling them away from his face so he can hold them within his own.
“I know you do.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Roy stands up, pulls Riza up by her wrists and into his arms. Riza just allows it, so tired of fighting that she sinks into him like he’s the only thing that can keep her upright. “Why can’t we just… Do what we’ve been doing? Maybe even more than that?”
“I… I don’t want to be in front of you, in your way, distracting you from our goal,” Riza admits. “I want to be behind you, pushing you forward, making sure you stay on the right path.”
“It’s not just about what you want anymore. We're partners," Gently, Roy runs a hand over her back through her uniform, soothing her. “And I don’t want you to be behind me. I want you to be by my side, holding my hand. We can walk the right path together.”
Riza pulls back to look at him. There’s nothing but absolute certainty etched into his features. Absolute love.
“And you won’t get distracted from your goal?”
“Of course not. If anything, having you closer to me will be motivating. It always has been,” Roy insists, not so much as hesitating. “I mean that. I’m not going to hurt you again, Riza. I love you too much.”
Riza lets out a shaky sigh, the relief that washes over her body so overwhelming that she trembles against him.
“I love you, too, and I… I’m sorry for all this. I won’t hurt you again, either.”
And then Roy kisses her. It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s afraid she’ll pull away. But she doesn’t- no, she can’t.
So, she deepens it, tilting her head and wrapping her arms around his neck to secure herself to his strong frame.
Riza allows it to consume her like fire, allows herself to drown in the tide of everything they’ve been trying to bury for so long- and for the first time, she allows herself to drag Roy underwater along with her.