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His hands shake now. There's scars on them where they used to be smooth, were somehow still soft after everything they'd done but they never shook until now. The cuts were clean, the wounds are healing nicely, but the scars remain and the tremble won't go away. Even with the exercises. Even with the painkillers. Maybe with time.
She watches him look at his hands like he's observing them from the outside of his body. They never shook before. It bothers him, it bothers her that it bothers him and it scares her that he touches her more now and his hands don't shake when they're on her but they should, right? She's not exempt from this. Why is she exempt from this? Why won't his hands shake when he touches her?
She doesn't bring it up. She lets it rot with everything else they've never talked about. Their history festers with what they can't say but both know. A decade is a long time to look at someone. How could she not notice?
They go back to work. What else are they supposed to do? His hands shake now, she knows what death feels like from both ends and knows what he tastes like and they go back to work. They have a goal to accomplish after all.
—
“I’m sorry, it's late but-”
“I know,”
“I just- I needed to-”
“I know, Colonel,”
“You almost-”
Riza hangs up. She knows he’ll be over soon anyways.
This is how it goes now.
He’ll call, or maybe she’ll make the first move and pick up the phone. Do his hands shake when they dial her number? He’ll apologize because he always does. There's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before she almost bled out in his arms. It's not mean but it's not gentle either. Firm, almost afraid and definitely a little sadder than he used to sound. Desperation is a close enough description. It’s new, and it's been so long since there's been something new about him that she almost relishes the chance to learn about him again.
When she calls first her hands don't shake but her breaths are unsteady, unfulfilling because she can't see him and how is she supposed to know he's okay if she can't see him? The last time she couldn't see him he came back wrong, knowing too much and seeing nothing at all. It's cruel how that works both ways, she supposes. She tells him that one night and he laughs because it's the least funny thing she's ever said but he knows all too well what she means. He needs to see her too.
The first time it happened, he called and she answered. No, the first time it happened he couldn't see her and she couldn't speak and his hands had matching bandages covering them. Or actually, it was when her hands were dripping with blood and his were hot to the touch and they had sand in their boots. Maybe it was when both of their hands were shaking because they were in her childhood bedroom and they didn't want her father hearing. It started back when they had a future. She hates him but she doesn’t know who she is without him; she loves him more than she’s capable of holding inside her chest all by herself.
Riza wonders if his hands would shake if she opened her chest and reached in to rip out her heart and press it into his waiting palms. It’s already his so he might as well hold it. His hands have been covered in her blood before so what’s a little more? Would he be gentle with it? Would he wear it on a chain around his neck so everyone could see?
Devotion is a prison sentence, but now all of the guards are dead and the cell door is open and the threshold is so inviting. They could leave together, hand in hand and eyes looking towards a future for the first time in so long, but that would mean admitting they were locked up to begin with. That would mean giving the monster a name and a voice and letting it eat them whole. Instead it watches them from the shadows - a sensation Riza is intimately familiar with. They cannot have this, cannot call it love. There is no future for them, just a future with Mustang and Hawkeye but not Roy and Riza.
Roy called, so Riza hung up. He knocks at the door twice before letting himself in with the key she always gives him. She watches as he takes off his coat and tosses it on her kitchen table, watches him bend down to give Hayate a scratch under his chin, watches him walk over to where she’s seated on the couch. The light is warm from the lamp and cold from the moon where the curtains and windows are open; the slight spring breeze filtering through might be romantic if they could let it be. They can’t let it be, though.
He flexes his hands as he drops to the floor in front of her, smelling like cigarettes and folding his legs criss cross on the ground. He sighs when his head falls forward against the edge of the couch cushion.
“Don't you think it would have been easier if you had taken the shot?” he asks.
Yes, she thinks. There with her gun against his head beneath Central, or even in Ishval when he looked so small through her scope. It would have been much easier. But he ordered her to keep living and if she has to be cursed then so does he. They are so intertwined that she doesn’t know which parts of her are her and which parts are him.
Instead, she runs her fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead and humming in a way that he can interpret however he wants. Agreement or not, humor or sadness, it's all leading to the same place anyways. His hands are shaking where they rest in his lap.
“You have goals. I have to help you get there,” is what she says when he finally looks up at her. I am your favorite tool and I have been forged to help you so please let me fulfill my duty, she thinks and hopes and wants. He grabs her hand and brings it to his mouth, kisses each knuckle before sitting up straighter and leaning in to kiss her lips too.
Riza hates this part. She hates how much love is in her and how badly she wants to let it all out. She wants to call him by his name and let the moonlight be romantic. She wants to cook dinner with him, and talk about their day no matter how redundant it is because when are they not together anyways. She wants to make their bed in the morning, put her toothbrush next to his on the bathroom counter. She wants to laugh and smile and kiss his face while he laughs and smiles too.
But they can’t have that. They can’t let this get them in trouble, not after everything they’ve done and all of the time they’ve sacrificed to get here.
He’s gone in the morning. She gets to the office before him. They sit in meetings and make plans and his hands shake when she hands him a cup of coffee but they didn’t shake last night when they were on her hips and thighs. She’s positive they were steady the entire time.
—-
“I’m going out tonight. With Rebecca.”
“Oh.”
“I just wanted to let you know in case you called and I didn’t answer.”
“You didn't have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
Spring hasn't fully settled yet, so Riza keeps her hair down and wears a long sleeved black top and a plaid patterned mini skirt that she pretends she's wearing for herself. She and Rebecca meet at a bar for a few drinks. It's nice, normal in a way that she hasn't felt since they all got reassigned to Central. She wonders what her Colonel is doing right now.
“Ooh, Reez, what about that guy?” Rebecca points at a guy across the room. His hair is dark but still too light and his eyes look like they sleep well every night.
“He’s cute,” Riza agrees, turning to face her friend. “You should go talk to him.”
“What? No, not for me! You should go over! He's been checking you out all night,” and Riza wants to crawl out of her skin because his hands aren't the ones that match the bruises on the inside of her thighs. His name isn't the one that sits in her throat because saying it out loud is akin to letting him burn her again, letting them have something neither deserves.
“Oh, I don't thin-”
“Riza, why can't you let yourself have fun for one night?” Rebecca asks, her brows furrowed and her empty hand coming up to rest on her friend's shoulder.
“I’m happy,” Riza smiles when she answers.
“That's not what I asked. Don't lie,” Rebecca says and Riza downs the rest of her martini.
When they leave Rebecca gives her a crushing hug. She's headed back East tomorrow. The dust is settled and it's time to go home.
Riza walks home alone, except it takes longer and the front door she stands before isn't hers. She knocks twice before letting herself in with the key he always gives her. The windows are open but there's no lamplight, just him looking at her from where he's slumped on the couch.
“I thought you were going out,” Roy says, words muffled from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He has one glove on and snaps his fingers, the scent of tobacco filling the room instantly. He doesn't need the gloves anymore, not after The Truth set him free but old habits don't die as easily as that.
“I did,” Riza replies as she locks the door behind her. She lets herself enjoy the way he looks at her legs in her skirt. “You shouldn't smoke those,” she admonishes. He takes one last drag and stubs it out on the table.
The last time he smoked like this was when they returned from Ishval. Is this the price of being told you won? His white button down hangs open around his torso and his slacks are slung loosely around his hips, belt on but not buckled. It’s disgusting how badly she wants him. This sight is only for her, his lieutenant, his loyal dog who follows him like the perfect girl she could be. He takes the ignition glove off.
It's lazy how he pushes himself off of the couch. She wants to cut him open and live in his chest but settles for throwing her arms around his neck and crushing their lips together instead. He gathers her in his arms so easily, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as she wraps her legs around his waist.
There is no finesse to any of this; the need between them will never be fully satiated. They don't do this out of love, they do not let themselves be slow and soft and sweet with each other. To take their time would implicate them both in a feeling that cannot become anything more than a shared dream from their youth. Not with what they've done, not with the future they don't want but know they need. Hand in hand in front of the firing squad would be okay with her.
I wanted to kill you on the Promised Day, she wants to say. I wanted to do it in Ishval over and over and over again. She digs her fingers into his hair and tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth. I wanted to do it when you left me alone in that house. To tell him any of this would be futile- he’d know what she really means anyways. There is no her without him. The bites she left on his collarbones two days ago are still there. His hands are completely still while he holds her up.
“Please,” he says, like he can read her mind. Maybe he can, or maybe he was thinking the same things she was. Maybe he wanted to kill her when she asked him to burn the ink off of her back. Once he tried to tell her how much he still resents himself for doing that. She put her hand over his mouth and told him it was the first time since the war that she felt real.
Now they're in his bedroom and she's reminded of all of the reasons why she hates coming here. Everything smells like him. She wants to sleep in his bed and wear his shirts and draw the curtains closed as she kisses him goodnight. Instead she chokes on his name and silently begs him not to say hers either. Aren't those supposed to be sacred? They don't deserve them anymore. Riza hates how much she loves him, hates how beautiful he still is after everything. She loves how her skin feels pressed against his. Everything exists to be contradicted.
They can have this, each other, because it isn't what they really want. The love is watching from the corner as they gasp and touch and look and take and take and take. She comes undone beneath him and lets herself have this if only for a moment.
“It's late. You could stay…” Roy trails off and he's still inside her and she never wants to leave. They could stay like this forever. It's the closest they can get, the only way she knows they're both real. His heart is beating fast and her hands are on his face, caressing his cheeks and wiping fake tears from his eyes.
She nudges him in the side with her knee and he understands, helps her flip their positions so she's in his lap. His hands don't shake where they rest on her thighs. He knows she can't stay.
“I know you can't stay,” he says quietly. He's in her head now, taken up permanent residence between her skull and her brain.
“I have to help you get to the top,” she says, rolling her hips a little to see if he's still interested. He is.
“You have to help me,” he repeats. His hands are steady when they reach behind her to bring her even closer. She leans her forehead against his. They can have this. He kisses her and she doesn't know love but thinks it tastes something like this.
Riza leaves under the cover of darkness and pretends she doesn't notice how he watches her get dressed.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant,” he says. He snaps and lights another cigarette.
“You will,” she agrees. He'll always see her tomorrow. “Don't smoke those,” she adds as she picks up his shirt from the floor.
“Okay,” Roy says as he stubs it out on his nightstand. She doesn't kiss him goodnight when she draws the curtains closed.
His shirt is still in her hands when she gets home. She buries her face in it and screams silently.
—-
“Good morning, Colonel,” Riza says at work the next day when he walks in. She hands him a cup of coffee. His hands shake as he reaches out for it.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” Roy says back. She should have killed him when she had the chance.