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snowdog49 · 3 years ago

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The Song in Your Heart

Rating: T and Up Merry Late Christmas @nightofnyx8 and a happy new year. I’m your secret Santa for @fmasecretsanta

I hope that you enjoy it.

Summary: Riza makes stew for the team, but Roy thinks it’s just for the two of them.

Winter was an important time for Riza. The simplicity and quiet of the snow with the warmth of a fire brought her peace. It was easy for her to climb onto her couch with a blanket and read when it was snowing. Most of all, it was a good time to make her mother’s stew. A vivid memory she had was of her helping her mother make the stew while it was snowing outside. Since then, on a good snow, she’d make it. It touched her soul when the potato thickened broth would warm her stomach. Riza could feel her mother’s tender touch as she ate it.

This winter, December in fact, was the one-year anniversary of the team being officially together. She’d been in a good mood the past few weeks and the team had worked hard to keep up with additional work that had been put on them since the retirement of Colonel Bersten. Even Mustang had been up on his work more than usual. Riza felt that maybe celebrating their anniversary would be good for morale.

They’d gotten together before. It wasn’t something formal or exciting. They’d played cards, and went to team building courses, and there were always the nights they met at the bar for weekend drinks. It was not unnormal for her to talk to the guys about a rendezvous after work. So, she went to the store and got the ingredients, wondering if Lieutenant Breda would make some buttermilk bread. Lieutenant Havoc would probably bring some of his homebrew.

Friday, however, was busy. No one was in the office long enough, let alone all of them at once. She was busy herself, barely in the office, and nearly working through lunch to be sure that papers were going to be in on time. It wasn’t until the end of the day, when her shoulders and neck hurt, that she was able to finally sit down and talk with the team about their weekend plans.

They had filtered in, getting ready to leave and finishing their last tasks. She walked into the office and headed straight to her desk. Lieutenant Havoc was chewing on a cigarette as he leaned over a folder and Sergeant Fuery was putting his coat on. She could see the tired lines on Havoc’s brow as his finger glided down the paper. Lieutenant Breda walked in, shoulders sagging, as he made his way to his own desk. The heavier set man rubbed the back of his neck before nearly collapsing into his chair. They were all ready for a weekend.

As Warrant Officer Falman entered the office, Riza stood up from her desk. She could invite everyone at once and send them on their way. They didn’t look up from their stations but kept doing their thing till she cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” she announced. “I’m making my family recipe stew tomorrow night, maybe around 6:30, and would like to invite all of you to join me.”

Breda leaned back in his chair and nodded. “I would love to join you, Riza. It sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah,” Fuery added. “I will bring a pie for dessert.”

“I was hoping that Breda, you might bring some of that bread you make, and Havoc can you bring something to drink?”

Havoc nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

“What can I bring,” Falman asked as he sat down in his desk.

“Oh!” Havoc started to snap his fingers as he reeled in a thought. “You can bring that card game we played last month.”

“Yeah!” Fuery nodded.

“You only like it because you were good at it,” Breda laughed.

“It’s settled then,” Riza nodded and sat back down.

“This is exciting,” Fuery grinned. “It’s been a while since we had a good get together.”

The rest of the team nodded.

“Is everything turned in and ready for next week,” she asked, watching everyone finish their work.

“Yeah,” Havoc nodded as he shut his folder. “Just waiting for the clock to go by.”

“Why don’t you all head home early.” She smiled. “The colonel will be coming in late. Just be sure your papers are ready to be signed off and put them on his desk.”

They all nodded again, eager to pack up and get out the few minutes early that they could. Riza was not going to be able to go early. She was still waiting for Colonel Mustang to get out of his last meeting for the day. She’d sign off on as much as she could in the meantime. She was pretty good at forging Mustang’s signature at this point. He’d be tired and just want to go home when he got back.

The team left in better spirits than when they came in the room and it fell into a state of quiet. They piled their work nicely on Mustang’s desk and left with a happy wave over their shoulder. This would be a productive time in her day because she had so much quiet time to herself. She could get things done without a distraction.

She sipped her tea as she did some corrections on a paper that’d need to get rewritten, and then moved on to sign off forms for her colonel. She wanted to go home early too. But the tea warmed her, and the silence in the room brought her needed peace. She thought about walking Hayate when she got home and a hot sandwich out of the oven for dinner. It made her stomach rumble.

Riza opened her drawer to find half a chocolate bar left. No one else was there, so it was easy to indulge in a little sweets. It was a bar that Mustang had put in there for her; “for working late,” he told her. He was affectionate in a way. He’d been particularly attentive to her the past month. She smiled as she slipped the chocolate between her lips. She’d have to have him over for dinner just the two of them. She was sure he’d like that. Surely he missed their nights together also.

As she finished her piece of chocolate, the door to the office opened. Her colonel trudged in with a heavy sigh and a groan. His body lagged in the doorway for a moment, looking around to see the office empty. His dark eyes looked tired as he turned his gaze to her. He then looked to his desk and he made his way there.

“I see that everyone has gone home for the weekend,” he mumbled.

“I let them go,” she responded, standing up with a stack of papers in her arms. “Everything was done and they were tired.”

He huffed and collapsed in his chair. “How done am I then, Lieutenant?”

“Almost there,” she smiled and put the papers in front of him.

He picked up his pen and looked up at her. He’d been out of the office for most of the day and she was certain all he wanted to do was sit down and relax. However, there were only a few more tasks left. Hopefully, he understood. He pulled the first paper off the top of the pile and stared at it blankly, as if his mind was somewhere else.

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow,” she asked, pointing to the bottom of the paper for his signature.

He shook his head. “I don’t.” He looked up at her. “Do you have something in mind?” His voice changed from a tired military officer to one of curiosity. He looked up at her with a sly smile, one she was particularly fond of as it reminded her of younger days between them.

“Well, I’m making stew tomorrow and would like to invite you for dinner.” Riza let her lips curl gently in a smile.

Mustang leaned back in his chair and nodded. “I will bring some wine and dessert.”

“That will be fine,” Riza quickly agreed.

“Is there anything else I can bring?” His hand reached out and took hers. Silence filled the room as their fingers brushed purposefully. He looked down at her hand before pulling it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

Riza allowed the kiss, before pulling her hand back. “Just yourself is fine. It’s not a formal event.” She turned and walked back towards her desk.

“It’s been a while, Riza,” he admitted, calling her by her first name to informalize the setting.

“It has been,” Riza agreed. She would like to see more team get togethers and team training. She would readily agree that it’d been too long since a team function.

“Go home,” He ordered with a wave of his hand. “I will take it from here. I shouldn’t be more than an hour behind.”

“I dont mind staying,” she argued gently. “We don’t get enough alone time as it is.”

He nodded and turned back to his papers. “I couldnt agree more.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he hunched over his papers and looked through it with diligence. She could see his fatigue, yet he continued to flip through pages and finish the last of his work. People said he was lazy, but truth was he was a hard worker when he needed to be. The week had been especially stressful and she could only think about how he would love her stew. He had it before, so it wasn’t something new he was looking towards, but something more of comfort. It tasted like home to Riza, and she wanted to share that comfort with him and the team.

****

The smell of the hearty stew filled Riza’s home. It brought back memories of when she was younger, times were more innocent, and things were simple. It was easy to reminisce about days when a young alchemist entered her life. She made the stew for him then, though it was practiced for had her own touches to it yet. She could still remember the time he first hugged her after eating it, and thanked her for dinner.

As she remembered moments of Roy and her while they were younger, there was a knock on the door. Black Hayate jumped up from his bed and barked twice towards the door. She had imagined when she was younger filling the table full of people. There’d be laughter and joy, and happiness in her home. It was something that she looked forward to, because she didn’t have that as a child. That young alchemist planted such thoughts of community in her heart, and for that, she’d always want him at such parties.

Riza answered the door to see a young sergeant and an older warrant officer at the door. Falman had on a grey sweater with tan pants, looking casual with a genuine smile. That’s what she wanted, was a casual and easy going dinner. Fuery had on a black collared shirt, the top button undone, with a peacoat. Young Fuery instantly squatted down to greet Hayate. The dog jumped up to put his front paws on the sergeant’s knees and smiled brightly while getting a scratch.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Officer Falman handed her a cheese platter with crackers.

“Yeah,” Fuery nodded as he stood up. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“So have I,” Riza quickly agreed. “Come in. There’s wine on the counter and beer in the fridge.”

“Wait for us,” Lieutenant Breda called from down the hall.

She poked her head from her threshold and peered down the hall to see two men headed their way. It was odd to see them out of uniform and in such casual dress. She had seen them in civilian dress before, but seeing them every day in uniform made her believe in a way that they never wore anything else. She had to admit that she felt like she didn’t wear anything else on most days. Havoc lifted a bottle with a grin and Breda had a loaf of bread in his hand. As a young teen, she imagined how friends would come around a table, each bringing something to share. Her heart warmed and she couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re early,” Riza waved at them.

“We can smell the stew all the way down the stairs,” Havoc grinned. “I haven’t had stew in what feels like forever!”

Riza welcomed them in with a wave of her hand and lead them into her kitchen/dining room. Her place was small, purposely small because she didn’t need anything but space for herself. It might have been too small for a group gathering more than four people, and it’d be the only time she’d wish for more space, however, no one would complain. Space would be barely noticed in the wake of all the joyful conversation. Maybe she’d look for a bigger apartment next year. It didn’t matter at the time, she barely noticed it as it was.

“Please tell me this is apple cider,” Falman gasped as picked up Havoc’s bottle he brought.

Havoc grinned and leaned against a chair. “It’s the last bottle I have. Pa always makes the best cider.”

Riza handed them some glasses.

“He made a pear cider last year.”

“That sounds amazing,” Breda moaned. “I’m seriously going to marry into your family just for your family’s food.”

The group laughed while Jean wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “My sister gets married this spring but my brother is still available.”

Breda shrugged his friend off and huffed. “What about your sister, Melissa?”

“Dude,” Havoc blinked. “She’s six years younger than you.”

“You’re right. Fuery, it’s on you.”

Fuery blinked a few times while turning bright red. “Me? Why do I have to do it?”

Falman stepped away from the three men and stood next to Riza. He leaned against the counter and smelled the stew. “Is this an old family recipe?”

Riza nodded and poured him some wine. “When I was younger, I found an old cookbook of my mother’s. I think that it was originally my grandmother’s, but it had scribbles in it for certain recipes.” She poured herself some wine.

“A cookbook? So the recipe isn’t original?”

She chuckled. “I don’t follow the recipe, I follow my mother’s notes.” She took a sip of the wine and turned her head to see Havoc pouring a glass for Fuery.

Falman looked over his shoulder and smiled as Breda teased Havoc. “I really didn’t take you for a cook?”

She raised her eyebrow. “We all have to eat, the least we can do is enjoy it.”

“Did you grow up-”

A knock on the door broke their conversation and Riza turned to answer it. Havoc leaned back in his chair, looking into the doorway. “Did Mustang make it?”

“I hope so,” Fuery rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving.”

Riza smiled, excited to herself that Roy had finally arrived. She’d been anxious to see him. It wasn’t like it was a moment they could cherish together, but seeing him outside of work was always a pleasure. It reminded her that there was life outside of work, and to cherish the ones you love. She had no one from her past left except for Roy, therefore he was essentially all she had left close to her. Seeing him outside of work reminded her that he was still just the man that she fell in love with a man, not an alchemist.

As she opened the door, the wafting scent of his aftershave coated her senses. It made her heart skip a beat. He knew exactly what to do to get her immediate attention, and it started with his aftershave. He was dressed up nicely, with a bottle of wine in one hand and cheesecake in the other. He stood tall in his suit, puffing out his chest. His tie was tucked into his vest, and his black jacket hugged his form. It about made Riza drool.

Roy grinned at her reaction and leaned forward to kiss her as her eyes met his.

“Damn,” Havoc called from behind Riza. “Mustang can clean up!”

He instantly stopped, his face turning bright red, and looked up and over her shoulder. “Uh…”

“Come in,” Riza tried to cover for them. “I should have told you it wasn’t a formal event. It’s casual, sir.”

Roy stood up straight and nodded. “Maybe everyone else should have come formal. They’ve never had your stew before.”

Riza welcomed her colonel into the apartment, taking the cheesecake from him. “Havoc brought a card game for us all to play.”

Roy awkwardly entered the room, standing in the kitchen area. He looked over towards the simmering pot. “You guys are in for a world of flavor.”

“Stop it,” Riza laughed. “It’s just stew.”

“It smells like home,” Havoc argued. “Let’s dish this stuff up!”

****

At the end of the night, after two bottles of wine had been consumed, and dishes piled in the sink, Breda stood up and patted his stomach. “It’s time for me to go home and sleep off this meal.”

“I agree,” Falman nodded.

Fuery nodded enthusiastically. “I wish I had room for thirds.”

“Shame on all of you for not having thirds,” Roy joked. “Shame on Havoc for not bringing more cider.”

“It was probably best he didn’t,” Riza laughed.

“Yeah, we’re all walking home,” Falman agreed, reaching for his glass of water.

It’d been exactly what Riza needed. The tight space that they had was filled with joy and laughter the whole night. The loaf of bread was nearly analated while there was maybe one bowl of stew left in the pot. Her heart felt full, and she felt complete with the team that she was part of. There was more than just a sense of unity. She loved and cared for each one of the men. Bringing them together brought a sense of unity.

“You don’t happen to make cookies, do you?” Roy raised his eyebrow, knowing her answer.

Riza chuckled. “I’ve brought cookies to the office before.”

“Wait,” Fuery blinked. “You made those cookies?”

“Holy shit,” Havoc gasped as his jaw landed in his lap. “Our Hawkeye has a womanly side.”

“She can be a woman and not cook,” Roy frowned.

“I bake bread,” Breda reminded. “Maybe I should try my hand at some sweets.”

“You guys should have a bake off,” Havoc snapped with the realization.

Breda laughed.

“I must admit, I think a little competition would be good for the team.” Roy grinned and took a drink of his whiskey.

“I’m in,” Fuery nodded, his cheeks pink from intoxication.

“We will all make cookies,” Roy nodded.

“Why do I feel that you only want to eat cookies all day,” Havoc squinted his eyes at his commanding officer.

Roy grinned. “I will be the judge.”

Falman stood up next to Breda. “I think it’s time I get going anyway. I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“Me as well,” Breda agreed. He started to walk towards the door. “Riza, thank you for dinner.”

“Amen,” Havoc called out. “Hats off to Hawkeye!”

“I want the recipe,” Breda nodded. “I will trade you my buttermilk bread recipe.”

“I can share it,” Riza agreed. She would love to share her mother’s recipe.

As the team started to leave, Roy stayed in his seat. He waited till everyone had departed before reaching into his pocket. Riza turned to him, sitting down in her seat next to him. They sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the silence that filled the room after the party. After a minute, Roy turned to face her.

“I got you something,” he said softly.

Riza turned to face him and got out of her seat. “I got you something too.” She moved into her bedroom, disappearing for a second. “I wasn’t planning on giving it to you till the new year, but I suppose now is a good time.” She emerged from her bedroom with a small wrapped box. “It’s nothing too fancy, but it reminded me of you when I saw it.” She sat back in her seat softly and held out her gift.

Roy pulled his hand from his pocket and took the gift. He blinked a few times. “You didn’t have to.” He pulled at the ribbon.

“It’s nothing special,” she insisted quietly.

Roy carefully unwrapped the box, the size of his hand, and opened it slowly. He reached into the tissue paper and pulled out a white, opaque stone, with flashes of bright orange as he rolled it in his hand. “Fire opal,” he breathed. It looked as if a dragon had breathed fire into a stone. Attached to it was a small chain.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

She watched as he looked at it, fascinated with the orange that flashed through it.

“It should be able to attach to your pocket watch chain,” she instructed, “if you wanted.”

He looked up at her, his eyes near watering. “Riza,” he breathed. “It’s beautiful.” He got up and leaned forward to his lips meeting hers. They stayed like that, frozen in the moment. He smelled so good, and his lips were soft against hers. They slipped as he pulled back and Riza couldn’t hold back licking her lips to taste the whiskey he left behind. It made her body shiver.

“Oh,” he sat back and reached into his pocket. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even wrap it.”

Riza looked as he pulled something small from his pocket and held it out to her. She raised her palm, accepting it. He put it in her hand and Riza instantly looked at it as his hand receded. It was a small item but Riza recognized it immediately. Her gentle fingers turned the crank and a song instantly played.

When they were younger, Riza listened to a lot of radio. One particular song would come on and she’d always find herself singing while doing her chores. Roy would find her singing. It was a gentle tune, nothing too exciting, but it had enough motion to it that Riza couldn’t help but sway side to side and sing with the soft voice that accompanied the violin. As the song played, the simple tones of notes that tinged in the air, Riza instantly recognized it and her heart stopped.

“I saw it in a store and when I heard it, I thought of you.” His voice was tender and his hand reached out for her.

“How did you remember?” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“I will never forget.”

She flung herself forward onto him, holding the player close to her heart as she captured his lips against hers. She breathed him in, pressing against him. She wanted to be as close to him as she could physically be.

He didn’t leave right away. They cleaned the dishes together, taking Hayate out one last time before they retired to bed. Her fingers intertwined with his as she pulled him towards her door. The lights turned off, and the lingering aroma of the stew lingered in the air. Riza felt as if she was at home, right where she was meant to be.

#fma secret santa 2021 #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Team Mustang #introspection #gift exchanges #fanfic #FMAB

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by-nina · 4 years ago

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For auld lang syne, my dear (Counterpoint)

AO3 | FFN Part II of For auld lang syne, my dear Rating: T (alcohol, mild language) Genre: Fluff/Romance/Angst Word Count: 2,151

A/N: Part two of For auld lang syne, my dear coming through! This was supposed to be the second part of my FMA Secret Santa work this year. Even though it officially isn’t, it’s still something I wanted to make with the prompts I was given. So here you go and I hope you like this one, @megthemighty! (My first Havolina!)

Happy New Year to you all, and I hope we’re all able to dance our way through better days.

It sometimes seems like it was only yesterday that she heard that old holiday song on a train platform, saying goodbye to a boy who once brightened a few lonely days, hoping for a dance that would never come. On most days, she’s able to bury that moment away like it happened in another life.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Riza is far from home and the quiet holiday mornings she used to spend alone by the fire. The change is stark before she even reaches Central. Closer and closer to the city, the air grows a little warmer and the sky fades into a duller shade of black, compensated by the brilliant lanterns and ornaments adorning every building. Everything else is a blur from there. A party with more guests than she personally knows, a glass of champagne in hand, a nicer dress than the ones she usually wears on a night out in town.

Riza would be perfectly happy to just sit back and let the night play out around her. She’s here because Rebecca had convinced her to come along, insisting that they try something a little different from the usual year-end festivities in the East. But home is all that Riza looks for the whole night. Thankfully, no one is a happier reminder of it than Rebecca. With all her energy, they may as well be back home, dancing the night away at the town plaza.

Then, they find Lieutenant Havoc by himself at the party, and Riza finally begins to truly have a great time. It’s almost as if she and her two dear friends have got their own little world in the corner of the room. Sometimes she jumps into the conversation, laughing along to inside jokes about their respective hometowns and from their days at the military academy. She’s equally happy just to listen as Rebecca and Havoc get carried away with their thoughts—some oddly specific and similar, others wildly different and conflicting.

“… and what difference does it make if you do it tonight?”

Havoc leans back in his chair smugly, as though he’s certain the argument is over. “Look, everyone gets emotional on New Year’s Eve. It could be good or bad, but when you get carried away, it’s not like it’ll be the same the next morning.”

“Bullshit, you’ll be fine! You’ve been single for, what, a month?”

Riza sets her glass down on a side table. “I’m sorry, what are you two talking about?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Mister Loverboy here thinks that he shouldn’t try and find a girlfriend tonight because it’s New Year’s Eve, and nobody can commit.”

Even Riza, who is far behind the other two in terms of dating experience, fails to grasp the idea. “What?”

Havoc makes a comically scandalized face. “You two are ganging up on me! Hear me out—Hawkeye, as our voice of reason and the most level-headed person in this room—”

“Hey! You don’t get points for flattery, Havoc!”

“—do you think you could find a boyfriend or a girlfriend right here in this party, on New Year’s Eve, while everyone is drunk and emotional and, well, they’ve all got too much on their mind right now, don’t they?”

Rebecca and Havoc watch Riza expectantly as she picks up her glass again, considering the question as she sips the last of her drink. As if it will help her think clearly. “I’ve got good news for you, Havoc,” Riza finally says after a while. “You can definitely find a girlfriend in this party, on New Year’s Eve.”

“See?” Rebecca places a hand on Riza’s shoulder and grins at Havoc. “That’s the voice of reason for you!”

Riza continues, “I think that sometimes, trusting someone enough to be vulnerable around them is a good start. And your relationship shouldn’t just revolve around the first spark, anyway. It’s your choice whether or not you’re going to work on it. If you like someone enough, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to do that.”

They look at her like she has just read their fortunes.

“Well, well, those are some big words from you, Riza!” Rebecca says. “Do you actually have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”

“You know I don’t, Rebecca. But what point were you trying to make against Havoc, anyway?”

“That if there’s someone he likes, but he won’t do anything about it tonight just because it’s New Year’s Eve, then he’s a coward.”

Havoc grabs at his chest dramatically and hunches forward, exaggerating the look of pain on his face. “Ladies, you’re breaking my heart! All I want is to have a lasting relationship with a good woman! I’m telling you, I’ll treat her like a princess, and every day I’ll tell her how much I love—”

“Her boobs,” Riza and Rebecca say in unison, bored, but with a hint of knowing laughter.

Rebecca reaches forward as Havoc takes out a cigarette from the pack he has been keeping in his coat pocket. She pushes his hand aside and grabs the pack, then tucks it between the cushions of the couch that she and Riza are occupying. “Put that thing away, you’ll never find a good woman smelling like smoke. Let’s dance.”

“What the—”

“Your girlfriend’s not just gonna waltz in and find you here on your ass, Havoc. Dance floor, now. Riza, let’s go!”

Riza waves off the invitation, chuckling. “I’ll be fine here, thanks. You two have fun.”

Rebecca drags Havoc out into the dancing crowd, and Riza sits back contentedly with a newly filled glass of bubbly. She doesn’t know how much time she spends watching her friends under the sparkling lights, their laughter ringing so loudly that it seems to carry over the music and the chatter around the room, but she does notice how they change. The more they dance, the closer they seem to get to each other. They become locked in a gaze, eyes glinting with more than enjoyment. Even the way they move seems to say that they’ve got every part each other memorized.

Time goes by quickly from then on, and suddenly midnight is only a few minutes away. The music changes with Rebecca and Havoc still out on the dance floor; they exchange a look of understanding and recognition. And perhaps it’s because they had grown up with the song as well—or maybe Rebecca and Havoc are so intoxicated now that they are both made entirely of warmth—but Riza senses feelings of comfort and home being communicated between them, all without words. They might have gone back in time to their childhoods, or they might have come up with a world with just the two of them there on the dance floor.

Riza smiles.

How could she have never seen it coming?

Then again, there are many things that Riza never saw coming, like those distant memories that come with the music now filling the room. It sometimes seems like it was only yesterday that she heard that old holiday song on a train platform, saying goodbye to a boy who once brightened a few lonely days, hoping for a dance that would never come.

On most days, Riza is able to bury that moment away like it happened in another life. She can look at the man the boy has become without imagining what might have been or thinking that she might still feel the way she did before. That other life ended in Ishval, and although she has kept the Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang in the life she lives now, it has been strictly out of duty. She swore to follow him and protect him; there is nothing more to it. Nothing about a dance, no vestiges of a precious shared past.

But sometimes, she is reminded of the past without warning, like now.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

Roy Mustang isn’t supposed to be here.

He hadn’t planned on going to any party tonight. It was supposed to be like all the other year-end holidays he has spent in this city. Unpeaceful, a blur of faces both familiar and unfamiliar at Madame Christmas’ bar, the promise of a quieter morning with family once all the festivities were over. But then he ran into Havoc earlier this evening, the latter making his way to this fancy new lounge that had opened at the northeast side of town.

“Come on, Chief,” Havoc had said, “you need to get out more often. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

The invitation wasn’t even an appealing one, at least to Roy. It’s been many years since he last truly enjoyed New Year’s Eve, because throughout these many years he has changed so much. He has been in the military for what feels like a lifetime now, gone to hell and back during the war in Ishval, and he no longer feels the holidays the way he did when he was a young boy. He does remember some things, though, like breakfast made from the leftovers of New Year’s Eve dinner, the market filled with toys and books and rare delicacies, the music.

And her.

Riza hardly looks different from the young girl who saw him board a train for Central many New Year’s Eves ago, but he knows better than anyone that that isn’t true. She’s about as distant from her younger self as he is from his. She’s also easier to imagine back in that time than Roy finds himself to be. At most, he can point out how much longer her hair has grown since that day—it’s not yet past her shoulders, but it frames her face differently. Beautifully.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

The music has changed to a familiar old tune, and perhaps it’s why he calls her attention without thinking. Roy wishes he hadn’t. She was watching the crowd’s merrymaking just now, with a warm, lovely smile that he had been lucky to see once before. He didn’t mean to make it go away. But when Riza hears his voice, her expression changes, and she rises to her feet so quickly that she almost loses her balance. There is a deep pink hue on her cheeks.

“Lieutenant Colonel.”

He laughs a little. “I’m sorry, that was so formal. It’s New Year’s Eve. Just call me…”

Roy stops himself.

“… Mustang.”

Riza nods slowly, then sits back down. Roy gingerly occupies the spot at the other end of the same couch. They’re silent for a few moments, listening to the holiday song played by the live band from the other side of the room, sung by the crowd in varying degrees of drunkenness.

“You should be dancing too,” Roy finally says. He isn’t sure if he means it as a suggestion or an invitation.

She smiles in a resigned manner, reaching down slightly to rub her ankles. “My feet are aching from these shoes.” Riza pauses. “How about you?”

Roy shakes his head. “I’ve had too much to drink.”

How easily they lie to each other.

Riza resumes watching the crowd, so she doesn’t see Roy watching her as the song plays on, or perhaps she pretends that she doesn’t. He tries not to think of all the reasons they have to deny each other a dance. He takes comfort in the memory of her twirling on the platform of Cameron Station, of singing for her in the living room of her childhood home. And if he’d truly had as much to drink as he claimed he did, he would have abandoned all judgment to take her out to the dance floor, just to have those things again.

For old times’ sake, Roy tells himself.

The spell breaks at the stroke of midnight, when the song ends and jubilant greetings ring out around the room. Roy and Riza return to the present and exchange cordial, if tentative smiles, once again becoming Lieutenant Hawkeye and Lieutenant Colonel Mustang. No complicated past, no uncertain future. Only the present in which they are able to welcome the new year together, if not in the way either of them had hoped.

“Happy New Year,” they tell each other.

Riza hesitates to take Roy’s hand when he offers it. When she finally does, her hand feels rougher than he remembers, her grip turned firm by the mastery of her self-control. He knows she is wary of the lines they cannot cross, even though they’ve been far past that point for much of her lives. But he won’t do that to her. Roy would never offer her something he knows he cannot give. He cares for her far too deeply to do that.

For now, he puts his faith in better, kinder years to come.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Royai #Havolina #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Rebecca Catalina #Jean Havoc #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #romance #angst #pining #mutual pining #writing #written by nina

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liquorisce · 4 years ago

Text

... tell me i’m beautiful?

pairing: royai, roy mustang x riza hawkeye

fandom: Full Metal Alchemist (Brotherhood/Manga)

summary: on some nights Riza is delicate. and Roy is possessive. (warning: unhealthy amounts of pining.) (also havoc is a good friend) 3677 words.

a/n: i saw on my tumblr feed that it’s fma day (3.10) (the day when the greatest angst of our generation was born), and i was hit with major feels for full metal alchemist. it truly is one of the greatest stories of our generation. anyway, here is some old royai from my wip notes that i had to dust the cobwebs off of (that my anxious ass never had the balls to post). my writing style has changed over the years, but my heart is still so full for these two, so it was fun to rewrite.

The buzz around the Eastern Headquarters is that one of the Top ranks is getting hitched and that it’s going to be a fancy affair, traditional with a masquerade ball.

When Roy sees an invite in his post, he’s rather surprised. But the wedding is in Central and it’s an excuse to see his best friend, so it doesn’t seem so bad after all.

“Lieutenant,” he asks, just as she is about to leave for the day, “what’s all this I hear about a ball at the General’s wedding?”

“It seems we must be accompanied with a date, Sir. You received the invitation four weeks ago.” He detects some annoyance in her words, but he lets it pass, because his brain has begun to imagine Hawkeye in a dress, especially one of those grand, frilly ones.

“Then you will accompany me.”

It was acceptable, the way he states it like it’s the obvious course of action, because he is her superior after all. But it also ticks her off, that he expects it, without even bothering to ask. She may be his subordinate but there are times when she wishes he would just see her as a woman.

“That won’t be possible, Sir.”

She is just as shocked with her own coldness as he is, his eyebrows twitching in question.

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised Havoc I would go as his date.”

His eyes narrow and she sees a flicker of emotion awash in the dark of his eyes and she almost feels as if she’s done something wrong.

But she hasn’t, and she will not apologise. She clenches her fist.

“Ah,” he drawls, not missing a beat, “have you decided what to wear yet?”

That wasn’t the question she was expecting and it throws her off balance.

“I,” she pauses for a moment, to regain her composure, “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

She doesn’t want to engage in his banter anymore, because there are feelings involved - mostly hers, and they are irrational, she thinks - and expectations, expectations that have no basis but are yet difficult to do away with. So she hastens to the door.

He’s quiet for a minute, but because he can’t help himself, he murmurs, “… You should wear green. It suits you."

…

She ends up wearing a dress, it’s slinky, tighter than the clothes she’s used to, slipping past her knees. Somehow she finds herself in heels, black strapped ones she’s borrowed from a friend that she clearly cannot walk in. It lacks the comfort of her boots but she deals with it, because apparently this is the price that comes along with looking pretty.

The dress is borrowed too, but she doesn’t miss the fact that out of all the dresses Rebecca paraded as options, she reached for the dark green one. … Apparently it suited her.

At least that is what she is assured of when Havoc comes to pick her up, his eyes popping in surprise when he sees her.

"Wow,” he let’s out a loose whistle, “you clean up real good, don’t you?"

She blushes and it’s another rare sight. "The Hawkeye blushing?” He teases, “I’ve got to be dreaming."

They make their way to the wedding and Havoc dives headfirst to the bar. She isn’t surprised. She looks around, her eyes seeking whom she had stubbornly decided not to care about and she sees him with a woman - obviously - hanging onto his every word.

An officer of sorts, she guesses, but not from their division, because Roy has unleashed his charm, his eyes twinkling flirtatiously.

She averts her eyes to the bar and to her date, who despite his melancholy has ordered an extra drink for her, a cocktail which he swears is the best he’s ever had. The thought of alcohol seems far more appealing than watching her superior with yet another woman.

…

"Did you want to dance, Lieutenant?"

She’s a few drinks down, he’s had even more and his words are beginning to slur.

"I’m sorry,” he says and he sounds genuinely remorseful. “I just… I can’t get her out of my head."

She pats his head comfortingly and he slumps a little on the counter. "You loved her that much?"

He nods gloomily and Riza pretends to ignore the glisten of his eyes. Havoc’s eyes rest on the newly married couple, a little envious of the ingenuity of their smiles.

"You know, I actually thought we would make it there."

He doesn’t have to say it but Riza knows he’s talking about the altar, of dreams of marriage that he harboured for his ex-girlfriend. He was painful to watch these past few weeks, ever since Rebecca ended things with him, and when he asked her to the wedding, she couldn’t help but agree.

Besides, she had made sure Roy had seen the invitation days ago and if he hadn’t asked her by then, it was quite likely he never would.

"I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” she says comfortingly. “Even we soldiers are allowed to be happy eventually.” She isn’t sure she believes it, but for someone as pure as Havoc, surely fate can be kinder.

He tries his best to put on a smile, nodding with the optimism in her words. “Well hopefully I find happiness before my hair turns grey,” he jokes, making her giggle.

It feels nice, letting her hair down with a friend, even though she would rather let her hair and a lot of other things down with a certain someone else, but she tries not to think of it.

When she turns, the smile is wiped clean off her face, because her gaze catches the eyes of that same someone else, eyes dark as night, hair even darker, swept back to show off the handsome angles of his face. He is with someone else, a pretty brunette with her back bare and his hand splayed on it, and they are moving to the music but his eyes are on her, intense, questioning… reprimanding her almost.

For what? She thinks heatedly, he has no right to look at her like that, like he’s displeased with her, when she cannot even express just how unhappy she is with him.

“But seriously, Lieutenant,” Havoc says, hesitating for a moment, but choosing honesty, “you look amazing tonight. I must be the envy of every man in here."

She lets herself bask in his appreciative gaze and her cheeks heat up. "You really think so?"

He nods, smiling at her. "You sound surprised. A woman like you must be used to such compliments, isn’t it?”

She laughs ruefully. Compliments? She couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever called her pretty. At least not since she entered the military. “You’re the first, Havoc."

His mouth almost gaped open in surprise.

She went on, her frustration further driven by the alcohol in her blood. "No one’s ever even asked me out,” she says, helplessly. “Sure, there had been a few men who seemed interested, but even they never tried to take things further."

The Lieutenant didn’t date, everyone knew that. But listening to her open up about it, doubting herself, he felt for her.

Because he was one of those men too, a long, long time ago.

He remembers when he first joined the unit, newly assigned to Eastern, full of smiles.

The place really was swarming with beautiful women, just as he had heard. He figured he would get on here just fine.

And when he first entered the office of the Major Roy Mustang whom he was assigned to, he thought his heart was going to stop.

He had never seen anyone like her, young, strong, leaning over the table and giving the Major a piece of her mind. She scolded him like she had the authority to, and he listened, even though there was a formal apology attached to her rant in the end.

He was stunned, unable to do anything but watch when she turned around and stalked out of the room, because the view from the front was even better than behind, a round heart-shaped face framed in short blonde hair, deep brown eyes and a body that would make anyone’s thoughts stain the darkest shade of impurity.

Life, of course, had very different plans for them, even though they got closer, just like he wished. One afternoon, Rebecca walked into the office and threw her arms around Riza, and Havoc soon learnt that love was far more nuanced than admiration at first sight.

"At first I thought it was the uniform,” she confesses, “I thought maybe I was just scaring the men away."

You have no idea, he thinks, sighing. Riza Hawkeye was made of fire, and it turned men on even if they were afraid of being burnt by it.

"But my friend Jessica had absolutely no problem when it came to this sort of thing."

She casts her eyes lower, twirling the remnants of her whiskey. "Maybe there’s just something wrong with me."

Her lips lift up in a sardonic grin. "I’m a pretty pathetic Lieutenant, huh?” She rests her forehead against the counter. “I can’t believe I’m here at a wedding, crying over men.” Sighing, she murmurs, “I suppose these feelings are par for course when you have couples dancing all around you."

He rests his hand over the back of her head, ruffling the softness of her locks. "It isn’t pathetic,” he murmurs comfortingly, “You’re only human, after all. We’re all just idiots who want nothing more than to be loved."

He leaves out the part where he willingly offers himself up for the job, spurred a little by his already broken heart and embers of a decade-old attraction that never went away. He could make her feel special, take her out on all the dates she feels she missed out on, tell her she’s beautiful till she never doubts it ever again. It would be a selfish distraction, but Havoc is a romantic, and maybe, just maybe, it would lead them down a different path to happiness.

But he remembers what made him give up that mission in the first place, all those years ago, cold, blazing eyes that delivered a threat far worse than his words.

"There will be no fraternisation within this unit,” he had stated calmly before even Havoc had gotten a chance to admit to it himself. “If I find out you’ve laid a hand on her, I will have you transferred out of Eastern before you know it."

Back then he didn’t know if Major Roy Mustang even had that sort of power. But something else told him that if he didn’t listen it would be his burnt corpse they would be carrying out of Eastern.

Even now Havoc knows it’s useless, that he cannot even comfort her the way he really wants to, because he knows his eyes are here, they don’t leave her, always watching from the corner, staking claim.

"Thanks Havoc,” she says, trying for warm but still sounding miserable, lacing her fingers with his for a brief second in appreciation of his effort to make her feel better.

He sighs. “Would you mind if I went outside for a smoke?” They didn’t allow smoking in the ballroom, and his cravings had kicked in three drinks ago.

“Sure,” she says, “I’ll come with you."

He looks surprised because the Lieutenant has never approved of his smoking, but he thinks maybe she would prefer it to her own company tonight.

But when she tries to stand it’s like the blood has drained from her head, and she falters. Gingerly, she rubs a hand to her forehead.

"On second thought, I think I’ll stay here.” She gets back onto her seat, “I’ve had too much to drink."

"Will you be alright?” He asks, and it is more out of courtesy than anything else because he knows that if she isn’t, he will be by her side in seconds to take care of her.

She assures him she’s fine, that a drink of water will make everything better, even though fine is far from what she feels. Having let out her feelings, she doesn’t feel the light headedness that most claim, just empty and dejected because it is more than just never being told she’s pretty or going out on dates. If only her sorrows were as commonplace as wishing for love. If only she didn’t desire a very specific love. A love she will never have.

“Excuse me,” she mumbles to the waiter,“ could I have a glass of water please?"

He hurries away to get it and she rests her head against the counter. As she closes her eyes, she wonders how they do it, all those women he talks to, all the willing females he engages with. Is it all the giggling?

Does Roy like it if his women show a lot of skin? She remembers the woman from earlier, pale pink fabric shimmering off her dainty frame. Or maybe he likes the petite ones.

She sighs dejectedly. At 5'5”, she had curves that filled out every inch of her uniform and a full chest that had been a major cause of discomfort during military school. She was anything but petite.

In the end what bothers her most is that it probably doesn’t matter if she isn’t skinny or she doesn’t wear clothes that dip to the small of her back. Military rules state they couldn’t be together and it seems Roy wasn’t the least bit tempted to break them.

“I’m afraid all the dancing has made my head spin,” he tells her. “It was really lovely to have the pleasure of your company…” He pauses at the end, awkward because he just spent the last 40 minutes dancing her in circles but he can’t, for the love of God, remember her name.

“It’s Elizabeth,” she purrs, laughing, “You’re just like the rumours say, Colonel! So terrible with names."

She comes closer, her breath damp on the shell of his ear, "And so incredibly handsome."

"I’m flattered,” he says, untangling himself from her, smiling the way he knows is probably misleading, but in this situation it’s polite.

He can’t quite explain it but he is struck by this inexplicable urge to see his own Elizabeth, a sharp contrast to this one’s dark hair and light eyes, her beauty stemming from self-respect that is sorely lacking in most of the women that threw themselves at him.

He can’t pretend that he’s a saint and that there haven’t been a few that have followed him into bed, but there is nothing more than frustration at play here, a compromise of sorts where he can make believe that the girl in front of him is one with pale hair that shimmers and eyes that would always show him the light.

Where he can dream that the lips he kisses are the same bow shaped ones that admonish him at work.

Looking over at the bar counter, he sees that she’s still there, this time with Havoc nowhere to be seen. There’s a small, selfish part of him that rejoices in this fact, because their intimacy and hand-holding had him seeing red a little while ago.

It isn’t fair that he wants her like this, so irrationally and so selfishly, he knows it, but he can’t stop himself from this desire and he knows it often scares men away from her.

He knows there have been times when he has deliberately scared men off of her. He wonders how she would react if she learns of it. Would she have preferred their affections?

When he comes closer he sees that her head is resting on the counter, eyes closed. “Lieutenant,” he calls, but she doesn’t stir. Roy is known to be a little paranoid when it comes to his aide and the tension creeps onto his face, furrowing it’s way between his eyebrows.

He tries calling her again, this time placing his hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Her head turns to the side and he can see that her mouth is parted slightly and her breaths are even.

Has she… Passed out?! Laughing to himself, he occupies the seat beside her, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. He could happily stay like this forever, wrapped up in the softness of her hair and skin, watching her without interruption as she sleeps. There’s a mole just under her ear, a tiny black little thing and he wonders if he could reach down and kiss it. It would be quick, no one would ever know it.

He could press his lips to her skin, touch his tongue to her earlobe, take it between his teeth maybe, the way he’s always wanted to when they are alone in his office and he is tempted to misuse his rank.

He gives in to this sweet compulsion and bends down, lips pressing ever so lightly against the mark.

She smells sweet, of the lavender she’s been partial to ever since she was a teenager, wrapped in this very same fragrance when she would finish her shower.

Roy knows this because every time she would be anywhere nearby his attention as an apprentice would falter, often earning him rebukes from her father.

He had promised himself just one, but it’s a promise ill-kept because his lips inch further along her jawline, featherlight brushes of temptation going against everything he has worked for.

But what good is his ambition when all it brings him is turmoil, and this cruel deprivation of her? When all he feels every day when he looks at her is longing, immense and painful, to the point of desperation.

Reason loses it’s shine further when he can feel her pulse flutter, and the softest murmur of his name brushes his ear.

“Roy,” she mumbles and it’s so maddening, the effect his name on her lips has, he considers giving her orders to never address him Colonel ever again, “I wore green. Just like you told me to.”

His eyes widen, remembering the day he’d asked her to accompany him. She had this look in her eyes, disappointment, frustration - or was it disgust - and he dared to hope she’d go with it anyway, but she didn’t. And the feeling of rejection, of being rejected by Riza, isn’t one he can shake so easily.

“What?” She had asked confused, when the statement he hadn’t intended to say out loud - he liked her in green, and that was something he kept secret, it brought out her eyes - had clearly been heard. “It suits you,” he’d said simply, and her temper had flared. Narrowing her eyes, she had said, “What I choose to wear is none of your business, Sir."

She’d emphasized the last word with as much sarcasm as one could possibly fit into one syllable.

He had laughed that day… a frustrated laugh, but now seeing that she actually listened to him, he thinks maybe what he thought mattered much more than what she let on.

"I even wore heels,” she whispers, still drunk, slurring the s’s.

“You did,” he says slowly, because he noticed, just like he notices everything, the way it made her legs look endless, the way it made her hips sway when she walked in with Havoc. He runs an idle finger across her cheek.

“Do I look pretty, Colonel?"

When she speaks these words, he hears the uncertainty behind the pink lips that she licks, barely inches from his.

He could tell her that yes, she’s pretty, but he’d rather show her. With kisses sweeping all over her body, and caresses earning soft sighs from her full mouth.

He could.

And he almost does.

He almost kisses her, full on the mouth, tongue flicking across hers, telling her that pretty is an understatement and that the first time he saw her, he was already mesmerised.

But he is mindful of their surroundings, not wanting to cause her any further disrespect by acting out the increasingly lewd fantasies churning in his mind. Because he doubts a kiss would stay just that, a kiss and nothing more, not when it is Riza underneath him, lips pliant and sweet, testing his restraint.

"Havoc,” he says harshly when he comes to realise the looming figure behind him, keeping his distance but well within hearing radius. “Take her home."

He’s surprised at first, because he was sure he had witnessed something deeper, more intimate between those two tonight. Havoc had seen the Colonel flush, and stroke her skin tenderly, the Lieutenant’s eyes dazed and gazing at him with blatant desire.

"Sir, sh-shouldn’t you?” He stutters, clearly asking something inappropriate and out of turn but he can’t help it. There is no one in the entire hall who could have missed the palpable chemistry between the two of them.

But he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head, his eyes dark and stormy, and tells him to make sure she has a glass of water before she’s put to bed.

When Havoc walks her out, one hand around her waist and the other firmly holding her arm around his shoulder he realises that he’s a bit irritated with this years-old game of hide-and-seek. His broken heart was urging him to slap some sense into the Colonel and yell, because people who’ve found love - the real kind - have no business denying it.

“I think it should be fairly clear by now why you so rarely get propositioned by men,” he says dryly.

She makes a noise, questioning, barely able to take in his sarcasm or even his words for that matter, as her eyes droop shut.

He takes in the rare sight of a defenseless Hawkeye clinging to his arm and his mouth turns up with the hint of a smile.

“… It isn’t that no one’s interested,” he whispers, “just that everybody knows they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against him.”

- fin -

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #full metal alchemist: brotherhood #full metal alchemist #liquorisce fanfiction #fmab

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tsaritsa · 5 years ago

Photo

THE KING AND QUEEN OF AMESTRIS – AN EXCLUSIVE LOOK INTO THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR

by Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter for PRIMA Magazine (photographs supplied by Wolffe Photography)

“We never thought this day would happen.” It’s the event Amestris has been waiting for with feverish anticipation – the wedding of Führer Roy Mustang to Lieutenant-Colonel Riza Hawkeye. Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter follow the pair on their wedding day and gain some insight into the private lives of the most talked-about people in the country.

It is a new experience for the leader of the nation, after a frantic year of picking up the mantle left in his wake by a country transformed almost overnight into a democracy. Nobody could say that the transition, led by the former Führer President, George Grumman, was not without its issues. But even as then-General Roy Mustang was sworn in after a historical vote that saw the Amestrian public having a say in their future for the very first time, nobody could have expected this new presidency to usher in such a feeling of hope and anticipation for what lies ahead. Mustang’s views, well-articulated from his campaign and debates, resonated deeply with the country – resulting in a landslide victory that proved the man and his vision for the future were unparalleled.

But it seems he’s met his match in his bride, the woman who has been one step behind him for almost his entire career in the military and politics. Riza Hawkeye, is a force to be reckoned with in her own right, with a much-decorated military career spanning back to her tender years as a teenager. An ever-present shadow in the background of many a press photo, Lieutenant-Colonel Hawkeye oversees her fiancé’s security detail – a job, she admits, that never seems to stop even when she’s off the clock.

On a quiet Thursday morning, the craggy, snow-dusted tops of the Cremil Ranges provide an unforgettable backdrop to today’s event. The blushing bride and groom are radiant since tying the knot in a gorgeous, relaxed and deeply personal ceremony overlooking Lake Mély, the place where they became engaged just over a year ago. It’s a sentimental moment to reflect on their romantic – and emotional – exchange of vows.

“When I saw her for the first time I choked up a bit,” the Führer confesses to PRIMA, never taking eyes off the now First Lady. “I was blown away. I knew I would be, but more so than I thought. She was beautiful.”

There is no pomp, no circumstance and none of the stiff formalities one might expect with such a high-profile wedding. Instead, it is a ceremony filled with laughter and joy, influenced by the couple’s own down-to-earth, understated and old-fashioned romance.

Flanked by his groomsmen, a beaming Roy is positioned under an arch that was created especially for this event. The groom waits patiently as the guests take their seats. But nerves that never made themselves known on the political ground seem to take over Roy, looking exceptionally clean-cut in his Mikhail Abel suit, keeps sneaking glances at the point where Riza will emerge.

The groom has spent the morning with his old military buddies at a friend’s house in the idyllic town of Lyford, East Province, while Riza, 32, gets ready with her small contingency of bridesmaids at the nearby Watkin Lodge, where the reception will be held afterwards. In high spirits, she manages to laugh about the less-than-favourable weather forecast as the radio plays in the background. Between each song, you can hear the messages of congratulations from the public being passed along by the radio hosts.

“We’re unbelievably humbled by all the support,” she says, fiddling with her earrings – which are, in a nod to tradition, her ‘something old’. Her veil has been borrowed from her maid of honour, a modest piece with delicate lacing detailing the edges. Her new wedding dress follows in a similar fashion – a simplistic A-line design that allows the bride’s beauty to shine through. The high neck and long sleeves are a choice that will undoubtedly be imitated by other brides, despite her protests that she is nothing of a ‘fashion icon’. Her simple, uncluttered approach has quickly made an impression with the public, with garments being sold out within days after she’s pictured wearing them.

However, Riza admits that she found herself a little stumped by the ‘something blue’.

“Honestly, I should’ve just worn the dress uniform – that would’ve covered it nicely.” The pragmatism is a refreshing change that reflects not only on Riza’s character, but the overall direction in which the Mustang’s wish to guide the country towards. In the end, her bouquet has been threaded with forget-me-nots, with bright yellow splashes of coronella and pink peonies.

Before long, cars are arriving, and last-minute adjustments are being made before the bridal party sets off for Lake Mély. The freshly-woven crown of clover is the last accessory to be added, pinned into her hair with care.

As he sees his bride finally appear, Roy’s eyes light up and that familiar, dazzling grin plays across his face – though this time it is a lot softer and meant for only his bride. Guests beam, and in some cases, shed tears as Riza walks past. But the real waterworks come out when their vows are spoken, small speeches that can only scrape the surface of a relationship that has gone back decades. There is large whooping from the guests when Roy calls Riza ‘his queen’, and similar cheering when Riza takes a moment to compose herself mid-speech, blinking furiously and promising in no uncertain terms that she will follow him anywhere.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt butterflies in my stomach,” Riza tells after the ceremony, smoothing down the silk of her dress. “But it wasn’t nervousness. Why would it be?” Here, she shoots a rare smile to her new husband. “It’s like you’ve been imagining this insurmountable obstacle and then you actually see it and realise it’s not as bad as you thought. I remember seeing you standing there and all I could think was – ‘oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you’.”

Both openly admit that marriage was never on the cards for them originally – with their positions as superior and subordinate for so long during their careers in the military, working together meant that any feelings the couple had for one another had to be buried deep, and never explored. “To say that there was a day when I didn’t love Riza Hawkeye, and then a day where I did is completely wrong,” Roy says. “Ever since I met her, I knew she would be a person who would have a monumental impact on my life. But we both knew that there were more important things to do than complain about where our choices left us.”

The two of them share a long and complicated history, most notably marred by the Ishvallan Civil War. Both served during the conflict, and the pair have always remained tight-lipped about their experiences there. But the choice to share their wedding with the public was not an easy one to make.

“We appreciated that there was a lot of interest,” Roy says diplomatically. “And we wanted to acknowledge the widespread support we’ve received following the announcement of our engagement.”

The following reception is rumoured to be legendary, but strictly a private affair. For the guests invited, it is sure to be a party filled with plenty of laughs and stories (both inspiring and embarrassing) about the couple. For the rest of us? Perhaps a reminder that love can be found and expressed in unassuming ways, and that you don’t need big flashy displays to reflect the years of quiet devotion that all of us can only dream of one day having.

The entire team at PRIMA Magazine wishes the newlyweds all the best in their new marriage.

(this piece was originally written for @royaizine and i finally remembered to upload it here! this is in the same fashion as my ‘hawk’s eye: definitive interview’ piece. please go and check out what everyone else did in the zine! there’s some truly spectacular writing and art created bc of it <3)

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fullmetal alchemist #fma fanfiction #my fanfic #honestly i think this interview series will become a trilogy at this point #and the 3rd piece is roy after getting the job #similar in style to how ardern's guardian article was (tho with less tragedy)#i hope u guys enjoy this!!

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flourchildwrites · 6 years ago

Note

Ooooh, I saw Havolina on the tags :D :D :D 66 and 77.

A/N: Thank you for the ask, @lessonsfrommadamexmas ! You requested numbers 66 (it’s not you, it’s my enemies) and 77 (in vino veritas) with a havolina ship. I will admit, 66 was a tough concept for me. I had to sleep on it, and I hope you’ll like what I came up with. And since I’m a “show, don’t tell” kinda gal, I’ll just write a little bit out for you. I may have gone a little overboard… This earns a solid “M” rating.

Please keep in mind I know very little about Call of Duty and video game tournaments in general. Forgive the inaccuracies and suspend your disbelief as this fic will focus on what happens around the tournament as opposed to the gameplay itself.

Read on AO3

“This is bullshit, and you know it!” Rebecca screeched. With furrowed brows and nostrils flaring, she stared down Roy Mustang, captain of the front runner team in the Call of Duty tournament. How dare he try to poach Riza, Rebecca’s actual friend, her teammate and the best damn sniper in the amateur bracket, right under Rebecca’s nose! She wouldn’t have it, and that pretty boy had another thing coming to him if he thought she’d let Riza go on her merry way without a fight.

“This isn’t poaching. It’s a couple after dinner drinks, Becks,” Roy said with amused exasperation. “Riza’s not my mark. She’s my girlfriend.” As if to make some salient point - that Rebecca was completely uninterested in, the dark-haired man slipped an arm around Riza. His fingers stretched, seeking purchase on her slender waist as he pulled the blonde closer, too close. In the darkness of the hotel bar, Rebecca’s equally dark eyes flashed dangerously.

“She’s not your girlfriend during this competition,” Rebecca lectured. To drive her point home, she brandished her pointer finger in Roy’s direction and thrust it toward the center of his chest. “While both our teams are in the running, she is an important member of the East City Strikers, and this year we will see you in the finals.”

“Enough,” Riza interjected. Ever the picture of poise under pressure, she wiggled out of Roy’s arms and grasped Rebecca’s bicep, leading her down the long granite bar. When Riza began to speak again, her voice was just above a whisper.

“You two got off on the wrong foot, I admit; however, Roy has been nothing but friendly toward you since we started dating,” Riza stressed, “Also - I say this with a lot of love - you are starting to sound like a deranged lunatic. This is just a game.”

“No, it’s a 500,000 cenz grand prize,” Rebecca retorted defensively, not caring to control the volume of her voice. “You promised there would be no fraternization during the tournament.”

Riza rolled her eyes and sighed, heavily. “The tournament starts tomorrow morning. After the opening ceremony I will be 100% committed to the East City Strikers, but tonight-” Riza paused; she glanced over her shoulder in Roy’s direction, gazing at her insufferable boyfriend with a pair of soft eyes that she wore only for him. “I’m going to have a few drinks with my boyfriend. And before you ask, yes, I intend to spend the night with him. And furthermore, because we are not in kindergarten, you are going to back off and act like an adult about it. Okay?”

Becca crossed her arms with an agitated huff, barely able to meet Riza’s pointed look. She hated Roy and all of Team Mustang. She hated that, after the East City Strikers’ crushing defeat in the semifinals last year, Roy had gone to great lengths to talk to Riza, inexplicably seduce her and then, just to add insult to injury, ask her to be his girlfriend. The very notion of this grievous injustice gnawed at Rebecca’s pride. For as certain as the sun would rise, she believed it to be a long con to ensure Team Mustang’s supremacy at the tournament this year.

“Fine,” Rebecca muttered.

She watched Riza cross the glitzy hotel bar, hand in hand with the competition and did the only thing a well-adjusted hardcore competitor with a grudge to maintain could do. She ordered another pinot noir and told the bartender to leave the bottle.

…

One by one, the other members of the East City Strikers attempted to lighten Becca’s mood, except for Olivier who suggested they turn in early for the evening to leave Rebecca alone with her anger management issues. Sheska followed Olivier’s lead, hopping to the tune of her command like a pup adhering to its master’s will. Maria stuck around the bar for a few more minutes to offer Rebecca a few well-worded pieces of advice.

“When Olivier tells you to lighten up, it’s time to rethink your strategy, my friend,” Maria opined, knocking back the rest of her cosmo. “Ri is a smart girl. She knows how to compartmentalize.”

Rebecca took another sip of the dark wine that matched her lipstick to a tee. “I care too much, Maria,” she explain. “Unless everyone’s plans change, this will be the East City Strikers’ last tournament. I want to go out at the top of our game.”

“Then just play the best you can,” Maria stated matter-of-factly like it was a simple thing to do. “If the best we can do is to get beat in the semifinals again by the team that goes on to win it, I’m satisfied.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s why you’re team captain, and I’m just your average first-person shooter enthusiast. Ri brings the deadly accuracy, Sheska’s got that crazy agility, Olivier gets us the little real life luxuries that keep us sane, but you have the fire. You inspire us to go up against the boys every year and spank ‘em until they beg for their mama. We’ve come a long way from East City, Becks. We couldn’t have gotten here without you.”

With a flushed face, Rebecca grinned, comforted by her teammate’s thoughtful perspective. “And what would you say you do for us?”

Maria sat back from the bar and smirked in a way that crinkled the beauty mark under her eye. “I give the good advice, and my advice for you tonight is to take advantage of the fact that your roommate isn’t coming back.”

…

Rebecca struggled to take Maria’s words of wisdom to heart, but the emptier her bottle of wine became, the easier it was to let her guard drop. Her taste buds drowned in the tart tang of cranberry with hints of tobacco. Her competitive glare grew blurry around the edges as the pop music funneled in through the speakers went straight to her hips. As the time ticked by, the hotel bar became flush with men of all models and makes, but like a hunter taking stock of the available prey, Rebecca waited patiently for signs of intelligent life.

As it turned out, she wasn’t the only one on the prowl.

“Hey, you’re Catalina, right?”

Rebecca swiveled on her barstool to better view the owner of the husky, baritone voice. The sight that met her was definitely easy on her eyes. The fair-haired stranger’s frame was muscular, especially his well-defined arms which extended from the unseasonable short sleeves of a black graphic tee. Rebecca’s eyes flitted over his figure in a flirtatious manner as she swirled the wine in her glass and finally met his blue stare.

“Maybe” she shot right back at him. “Who’s asking?”

The young man chuckled lightly under his breath and shuffled his feet. “I’m really no good at this am I?” he said, scratching the back of his head in a way that flexed his chest muscles through the flimsy cotton. “My name’s Jean. I couldn’t help but notice that your friends left a little while ago, and seeing as mine ditched me too, I was wondering if you’d like some company.”

Rebecca’s head tilted to the side as she fought the urge to bite her bottom lip. She patted the seat next to her casually, inviting Jean to sit. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage, Jean,” she said, relishing the way his name rolled off her tongue. “I’m Catalina, though I prefer Rebecca. Have we met before?”

“No,” he replied, sliding onto the stool. “Not formally, anyway. I’ve seen you play a few times, and I’ve always meant to talk to you. I remember your name Catalina_the_wine_mixer. It’s unique, a Step Brothers reference, right?”

Rebecca groaned playfully, covering her forehead with her free hand. “It is,” she admitted sheepishly. “The name sounded so cool when I first started playing, and after my first tournament, it stuck. I’d change it if I could, but you know… name recognition means something.”

“Tell me about it,” Jean sympathized. “Between this year and last, I found my way to the gym and kicked a few bad habits.” Jean scratched at the nicotine patch peeking out the sleeve of his shirt. “Now, it’s like I’m a complete stranger.”

“So what’s your screen name?” she asked with genuine interest.

“TheJeanMachine.”

Rebecca laughed so hard snorted. “Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s cute and… a little familiar.”

“Oh, I agree. It’s terrible, but I can’t change it now,” he stated.

“Why not? Name recognition?”

“Because it made you smile.”

Rebecca Catalina was smitten. Between the gregarious crinkle framing Jean’s baby blue eyes, his adorable country accent and their witty banter, she’d never stood a chance. All things considered, Rebecca thought it was nothing short of kismet that their paths had crossed on this, the calm before the storm. The one and only time she’d ever dared to let her hair down at the tournament.

“Maybe I’m too hard on my team,” Becca mused, allowing maudlin emotion to taint her giddy buzz. “We haven’t made it official, but this is probably going to be The East City Strikers’ last year. Riza, our sniper, is good enough to go pro if she wanted to, but the rest of us… We’ll have to give this up and focus on boring, practical careers when we graduate. Except for Olivier, the scary one. She’d be the first to tell you that her trust fund lets her do whatever the hell she wants.”

“Your sniper’s good,” Jean admitted, “but she’s got competition. That sniper from Team Mustang, for example. I think he’s pretty good. You ever heard of that team? I think they won the amateur bracket last year.”

“They did,” Rebecca confirmed. “I know of Team Mustang. I mean, I don’t know any other them personally, except their captain, Roy… He’s dating Riza. We lost to them in the semifinals last year, and one of those guys tried to congratulate me after, but I blew him off.” Rebecca frowned at the memory. “I- I’m not a gracious loser. I called him scrawny and said he reeked of cigarettes. It was terrible of me.”

“Everyone has their bad days,” Jean said. “And, come to think of it, you weren’t wrong on either account. But let’s talk about something else. You said you weren’t good enough to be a pro. Why? I’ve seen you rack up crazy amounts of points. Low on deaths and high on kills every single time.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca offered. Suddenly, she wished she could place his username and compliment Jean on his gameplay in return, but the gears in her mind wouldn’t turn properly, influence by red wine and those blue, blue eyes. “My record’s good, but I’m not twitchy enough. You know?”

Jean smirked. The expression that flashed across his face made her toes curl. “Don’t be so sure,” he said low and slow, “with the right technique, I bet you’d be very twitchy.”

Any other day, Rebecca would have rolled her eyes and walked away. But her empty hotel room beckoned and Maria’s advice ricocheted through her mind. Becca told herself that she deserved nice things from time to time. She needed to let loose, and Jean seemed nice, respectful even. If he wasn’t she’d ask Olivier to kick his pretty boy ass all the way back to his family’s rural grocery store.

“Wanna show me your technique?” she chanced flirtatiously. “It just so happens my roommate’s not coming back tonight. I’d like to see your moves.”

“What a coincidence,” Jean responded. He slid from the stool and stood. His head ducked downward to capture Rebecca’s plump lips in a searing kiss. “I’d like to show them to you.”

…

It was a great day to be alive. The sun was shining. The birds were singing, and Rebecca’s morning mountain dew tasted like victory.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Riza observed, popping a piece of fresh fruit into her mouth.

Becca didn’t deny it. TheJeanMachine had certainly lived up to his name. And if her uncharacteristic good mood didn’t give away the fact that she had gotten laid the night before, the trail of hickeys on her neck and chest, artfully concealed by one of Olivier’s vintage Hermes scarves, would have cleared up any lingering confusion.

“Wonder why that is,” Maria quipped with a playful nudge. Even the stoic Olivier grinned at Rebecca over the brim her morning cup of Earl Grey. Sheska giggled scandalously as she polished off her turkey bacon.

“Alright ladies,” Rebecca declared. She straightened her custom team jersey, and stood, ready to tackle the day. “I checked the brackets this morning. Our first game is in the Shambala conference room against The Ishvalan Supremecy. They’re good, especially that Scar guy, but we’ve got this! Let’s get there early and get a feel for the room.”

“Can we stop by the Aruego room first?” Riza asked hopefully. “Roy’s team is playing there in a few minutes, and I’d just like to wave hello.”

“Sure. Why not,” Rebecca merely shrugged to the collective astonishment of the East City Strikers. “We can scope out the competition.”

The quintet of gamers made their way through the crowded hotel lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor. There, on the Aruego stage, Riza spotted Team Mustang, decked out in dark blue shirts opposite another formidable team dressed in black from head to toe, the Briggs Bears. A small audience had already gathered. Starry-eyed fans and fierce competitors sat in between the two teams, gazing up at a huge monitor that showcased the player’s screens and scores.

It was easy to get lost in the sea of old and new faces, but Rebecca focused in on Team Mustang with a confident smirk. Roy and the rest of his boys were going down, and Rebecca only hoped that the East City Strikers would be the ones to finally knock them off their pedestal. Sure, the Briggs Bears were also good, but Miles2Go’s reaction time was notoriously wanting, and that wasn’t even considering…

A familiar face caught Rebecca’s eyes, sending a shockwave along the length of her spine. Rebecca craned her neck, shifting in the crowd to get a better view of an unfamiliar face amongst Team Mustang. And when, finally, she saw the fair hair and toned muscles of the man she’d spent the night with wearing Team Mustang blue, Becca’s temper flared. The name… That familiar name… TheJeanMachine. The puzzle pieces sickeningly fell into place in a way that made her stomach drop.

“Oh, is that blond guy new?” asked a nearby girl with equally blonde hair.

Her companion, a short boy with a braided ponytail and a sophisticated automail arm scoffed. “Shows how much you know, Winry,” he said. “That’s Jean Havoc. Team Mustang’s sniper. He’s been with them from the start but went on a health kick after last year. Stopped smoking like a chimney and put on some muscle.”

“I bet he drinks his milk,” Winry responded, albeit under her breath.

Rebecca didn’t want to hear another word. She tore from the room, breath coming hard and fast as she weaved through the crowd. Last year’s events flashed before her eyes enhanced by adrenaline, caffeine and the early morning light. Jean had been the guy who tried to talk to her last year, and he’d most certainly known that last night when they’d…

“Ugghhhh!” Rebecca exclaimed, overcome with anger and ashamed of her impulsive behavior. The young woman was so wrapped up in her internal conflict that she didn’t hear her teammate approach from behind. Rebecca shrieked as she felt the pressure of Sheska’s hand on her shoulder.

“Good gracious, Becks,” Sheska said, straightening her glasses. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

Rebecca looked back at her bespectacled teammate with a cold gleam in her dark eyes. She vowed to get her revenge on Team Mustang at all costs. “It’s not you,” she said intently, narrowed eyes darting to the screen now prominently displaying TheJeanMachine in his element. “It’s my enemies.”

Like what you read? Send me a FANFICTION TROPE MASH UP ask.

#fanfiction trope mash up #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma #havolina #royai #rebecca catalina #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #maria ross #sheska #olivier mira armstrong #jean havoc #lime #you ask i answer #lessonsfrommadamexmas #a passing housewife fanfiction #flourchildwrites

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writing-royza · 8 years ago

Text

Two Hundred and Thirty-four - Telephone, 2.0

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all had lovely weekends, and that you didn’t procrastinate like I did :P It’s a terrible curse, it really is.

I do not FMA

Two Hundred and Thirty-four - Telephone, 2.0

At first, the only sign that something was amiss was the soft tickle of air on the back of her neck. A muscle in her cheek twitched involuntarily, but she clamped down firmly on the brief flash of nervousness that shot through her. Ever since that encounter with Pride — ever since transferring to Bradley’s office, even — she felt constantly on edge whenever she was anywhere but at home. Riza took a deep breath, focussing on sorting through the filing cabinet, trying to find a new home for the folder in her hand.

The second sign came as the sound of the office door closing softly. Abandoning her search for the proper filing space, Riza turned… and promptly felt her stomach sink in time with the thought of ‘not him….’

Smiling in what he no doubt thought to be a good-natured way, Raven stopped just in front of her desk, his hands folded behind his back. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

She knew the salute was forced; he knew it too, like as not, but he didn’t seem to care. “General. I don’t recall you having a meeting with the Führer-President today.” No one did; Bradley was off doing whatever it was Bradley did when she wasn’t required to accompany him.

“I don’t; I’m here to check on you.” He waved away her held salute. “At ease, my dear. Not everything need be so stiff and formal.”

“Of course, sir.” Checking on her; a third bad sign. Bad things usually came in threes. But if Raven was the one checking in on her and not Pride… it could be that the Homonculus’s attention was focussed elsewhere. Possibly wherever Bradley was. She caught herself idly wondering if Homonculi held meetings before snapping her train of thought to the present. Best to be alert if Raven was in the room.

“The President mentioned at the last Council meeting how smoothly you’ve settled into your role here.” His gaze dropped to her desk, studying the files arrayed across it. “If he’s to be believed, then his office is running more efficiently than it did under his previous assistant.”

She was irritatingly aware that he was slowly drifting around the end of the desk, circling toward he with the casual predatory air of a shark. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

“And well you should. Especially when it’s a General paying it to you.” He stood tall, not quite inside her personal comfort zone, and not entirely outside it. Steel-blue eyes regarded with something close to — was that sympathy? “Lieutenant, I know you can’t be happy here, working for him under these circumstances.” His voice was low, conspiratorial. “If you want somebody to take you away from this, all you need to do is ask.”

Consciously relaxing her jaw, refusing to let her clenched teeth betray her anger, Riza folded her hands behind her back. “The offer is thoughtful, but it was made quite clear to me that returning to Colonel Mustang’s office wouldn’t be an option, sir.” Yes, that was better. Channel the anger into well-hidden sarcasm. It was certainly better than lashing out at the man.

"You know what I'm talking about." Raven's eyes dipped from her face, travelling briefly over the rest of her before returning. "You know what I could offer you, as a commanding officer. And I think you also know exactly what the perks of such a position would be. Invitations to every high society event in Central, quick promotion, even a certain degree of fame... all in exchange for the occasional, unquestioned ... 'favour.'"

His hand lifted slightly, moving almost stealthily past her at hip level. "You can't tell me you've never considered the idea...."

Her fingers closed on his wrist in stern warning, brown eyes filled with deadly calm. Only her voice betrayed her contempt. "The only thing I have ever considered, regarding you, is what I would have to say at your harassment court-martial."

Raven smirked. "Good luck getting anyone to put a member of the Command Council on trial, sweetheart. Especially on the word of a mere Lieutenant."

He hissed in pain, smile disappearing, as her fingers dug deeper into the tendons of his wrist. "It would be the word of a General's granddaughter and a veteran of Ishval." Her voice was still quiet, but half again as dangerous. "Do not think that because I'm a woman or a lower rank than you that I cannot or will not take you down if I choose to."

She released him, picking up a set of files from her desk and brushing past him toward the door. "If you'll excuse me, these need to be taken care of. I trust you can see yourself out, General."

---------------

Rebecca's eyes were watching over the rim of her coffee cup. "Bet it's been tough, having to work in an office away from Mustang," she said sympathetically. "You two were a team for a long time. Getting used to someone else's work schedule can't be too easy."

Shrugging in what she hoped looked a little like a nonchalant way, Riza took a measured sip from her cup. "It hasn't been all bad. On the plus side, I don't have to scold the President into doing his work, and I'm working fewer odd hours." Setting the cup back on the table, she grimaced. "But dealing more frequently with members of the Command Council also means...." She trailed off, waiting for her friend to pick up.

Rebecca got it almost immediately. "Central's leader in lechery himself." She shook her head, breaking off a piece of the cookie sitting beside her drink. "What stunt did he pull this time?"

"The usual. He promised me fame, fortune, fancy parties...and tried to put a hand somewhere he shouldn’t.”

Rolling her eyes, the brunette popped the piece of cookie into her mouth. "Please tell me you shot him."

"In retrospect... I almost wish I had." Shaking her head regretfully, Riza reached down, scratching behind Hayate's ears. "But no. I caught his wrist, hit a pressure point, told him off, and left."

Swallowing, Rebecca lifted an eyebrow. "How much pressure did you put on?"

"Enough to leave him with an impression of how serious I was." Taking an ruffled sip, Riza shrugged. "He might have a small, faint bruise for a day or two, and would have felt residual pressure for a few hours, but no permanent damage."

Rebecca grinned. "Bet you wanted to break it, though."

"Did I ever." She shook her head fatalistically. "But then, knowing him, he'd just use the other hand."

---------------

Hands folded behind his back, Grumman watched the soldiers on the range closely, nodding as though in approval at their firearms savvy. In reality, it was a nod of understanding and acknowledgement of what he was being told. "Even when laying battle plans, I'm able to read that boy like a book," he said, half to himself. "Mustang strategizes war the same way he strategizes chess. Three different avenues of attack and contingency plans for his contingency plans."

Turning, he smiled at the dark-haired woman standing just behind him. "Anything else to report, or that needs my attention, Lieutenant Catalina?"

"Only one more thing, sir." Stepping forward, she lowered her voice. "Lieutenant Hawkeye has been having some trouble with General Raven again, sir."

One eyebrow lifted. "Oh?" His hands, still folded, tightened around each other just visibly. "The same as before, I take it?"

"Yes, sir." Expression grim, Rebecca faced toward the range. "I don't know that I should go into detail -"

"Please do."

A horn blared, signalling the line of practicing shooters to open fire. "He cornered her in the President's office, made his usual insinuations, and, according to Riza, made a grab for her ass, sir.” She had to raise her voice to be heard, but a smirk tugged at her mouth. "She caught him by the wrist and told him off. Though she told me she would have preferred to have broken it.”

---------------

The bell over the door tinkled cheerily as he pushed through, followed soon after by the sounds of conversation and clinking glasses. Roy shook raindrops from his hair, shrugging out his coat before heading toward the bar. Settling onto his usual stool, propped his chin in one hand, and waited with a cheeky smile for the woman behind the bar to turn around.

However, when she did, the Madame's expression turned grim. "...I trained you too well, boy. You always seem to know."

Roy dropped his hand to the bartop, smile disappearing. "I feel like I should be flattered, but I'm just plain worried now. What is it I'm supposed to know?"

The Madame covered her surprise quickly, reaching beneath the bar to pour him a drink. "Surprised your little lady didn't slip you word already. Her old admirer got up to his old tricks again last week."

In an instant, the ball of tension that, these days, resided permanently between his shoulder blades doubled. "...Did he now...."

---------------

"Psst."

Pausing in the hall, Riza glanced back over her shoulder, found Roy watching from the half-open stairwell doorway. He wasn't smiling. "Got a minute?"

She glanced cautiously about the hallway, and - not seeing anyone paying attention in the slightest - stepped back into the stairwell and allowed the door to close.

"You're either desperate or crazy, meeting me like this," she said quietly, following him up the flight of stairs. One hand left the small stack of folders in her arms, drifting toward the gun at the small of her back. "Providing, of course, you can offer me proof that this isn't a trick."

He glanced back over his shoulder, and Riza froze mid-step. That look, the haunted, angry look.... That could only belong to Roy Mustang.

"...Roy, what's wrong?"

He stopped on a stair a few above hers, turning to face her. "Word got back to me along the grapevine about the visit Raven paid to you last Thursday," he said darkly. His hands, loose at his sides, were curled into tight fists. "Sounds like this time was bad."

"No worse than any other time," she answered, keeping her voice calm to counter his anger. "Roy, it's all right, he didn't hurt me, he just -"

"Had you backed against a wall, had his hands in about three different places, and then you broke his wrist." He shook his head. "I'm proud as hell of you, but...Riza...." He descended to the same stair she stood on. "I know you can't come to me right now, but why wouldn't you let me know? We have our methods."

"I didn't tell you because this time was no different than any other." Frowning intently, Riza tilted her head to the side. "Where did you get the idea that he got physical?"

Surprise crossed his face, and he drew back slightly. "I... the Madame told me she had heard the story from General Grumman...."

"Who, I'm guessing, heard the story from Rebecca," she interjected, nodding in understanding. "Roy, that's fourth-hand information, you know better than to believe that without fact-checking." She raised her right hand. "I swear to you, his hand came close, but it never made contact, and I was never 'backed against a wall.'"

He quirked an eyebrow. "So you broke his wrist just because?" A hint of his old smirk appeared. "I'm now doubly proud, and wondering how you haven't been arrested."

"Much as I would have liked to, he left with his bones intact," she said, smiling wryly. "All I did was trigger a pressure point. He would have a bruise and be sore for a few days, but it would heal on its own."

"Fair enough." Sobering, he looked her over critically. "You're all right, then? Nothing else I should know about before I find out through the network?"

"No, sir." Disappointment trickled into the pit of her stomach. "And I should go before I'm missed." Reaching out, she ket her fingers brush against the back if his hand. "Be safe, Colonel."

"Yeah." He pressed a swift - but no less heartfelt - kiss to her cheek, before heading off down the stairs. "See you soon, Whiskygirl. Watch yourself." He glanced back from the door with a lopsided grin. "And if it happens again? Break a bone or two; I'll testify he had it coming."

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #snap shots

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xennariel · 8 years ago

Note

69 for Royai please?

Sorry this took forever to write. D= The past few months have just been stressful, as you probably already know. You also probably forgot you even sent this one. lol

———-

Ishval. The harsh, endless desert stretched on for miles. The last time Mustang and Hawkeye had been to that dry, arid landscape, they had both committed atrocities neither felt they could ever atone for.

This time, they were there to rebuild what they helped destroy all those years ago.

Mustang’s team, minus Falman who opted to remain in the North, had arrived in the morning and busily went about their first day getting settled, laying out plans, and generally getting a feel for the area they’d be living in for the next several years. A small, five room, makeshift barracks had been built for them until something more substantial and lasting could be erected, and this was where the members of Mustang’s team resigned for the evening to try to get a good night’s sleep before the real work began the next day.

Mustang went to each of his officer’s rooms to make sure they were settled, outlining what the plans were for the morning with all of them, before finally arriving at Hawkeye’s room. He rapped on the door twice and the door opened moments later. Hayate bounded out into the hall, excited to see Roy and Riza hushed him when he barked.

“Good evening, Captain,” Roy said, patting Hayate on the head and flashing Riza a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes either as she nodded at him.

“Good evening, sir.”

“I’ve just been checking in on everyone to make sure they’re all settled in… Are you doing all right?” His tone softened and he gazed at her with a knowing look.

Riza shrugged.

“Yes sir, as well as I can be here. Might be better once we get proper housing… Would you like to come in and see for yourself?”

Roy nodded, thankful she was inviting him in. He didn’t want to return to his room quite yet.

He stepped over the threshold and into her tiny room, avoiding Hayate as he did. The room looked much like his own. Not enough room for more than a bed, small dining table, and a couple of armchairs. It wasn’t the most ideal living conditions, but it was good enough until the renovations got underway. If you asked Roy and Riza, it was too good for people like the two of them.

The two talked over tea in hushed tones about anything other than work or where they were. The weather, Edward getting married, Hayate’s escapades in trying to avoid bath time. Anything that didn’t involve their past or the fact that they were back in Ishval.

Without either of them realizing it, over an hour had passed. Roy sighed at his pocket watch and stuffed it back into his pocket as if it had offended him.

“I suppose I should get to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.” Roy stood, thanking Riza for the tea, and made to leave. “Good night, Captain. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

Riza nodded and followed him to the door without a word until he reached for the door handle.

“Please, don’t leave.”

The words that left Riza’s mouth were so quiet that Roy thought perhaps he had been hearing things, but when he turned to look at Riza, her eyes were full of worry and seemed to be pleading with him to stay despite her normal, professional poker face in place. He frowned and glanced back at the door, worried the rest of the men would hear them or notice that he hadn’t walked back to his room yet. The floor boards were creaky and anyone walking in the halls would definitely be heard by everyone in the small building.

“I’m sorry,” Riza said quickly when she noticed Roy’s hesitance. “Forget it… It’s just, after all these years, to be back here, I…”

“Let me get some things from my room,” Roy muttered and Riza’s eyes filled with relief, a feeling he certainly reciprocated. He didn’t think he could handle being alone that night either and had been hoping she’d ask him to stay. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to do on their first night at their new post, but if being together would help both of them relax and possibly get some sleep, he was more than happy to oblige to her wishes.

Roy hurried out into the hall, making sure the floor creaked so if any of the team were still awake they would hear him returning to his room. After grabbing pajamas, a pillow, and a toothbrush, he crept as silently as possible back to Riza’s room. When he returned, Hayate was already curled up on the rug next to the bed and Riza was changed into shorts and one of his old white button-up shirts, something she always wore when she was upset and needed something comforting.

Normally, seeing her in his shirt would have made his heart flutter and he would have smiled, but that night was bringing back too many memories for both of them and he barely even registered what she was wearing. The only thing he noticed was the far-off look in her eye that must have matched his own.

Riza crawled into bed as Roy stripped and changed. She lay on her side, back facing him as he joined her, mimicking her position.

It was a stupid thing, Roy mused, trying to keep up formalities even in this kind of situation. They were far away from prying eyes and, being put in charge of Ishval by the Fuhrer himself, there were no officers there with higher ranks than them. It was probably because they were so used to hiding their feelings that displaying them so openly with the members of their team in such close proximity felt almost strange.

“Thank you for staying,” Riza said after a while. Her voice breaking the silence was almost jarring.

“Of course,” Roy replied, still mulling over the idea of just rolling over and holding her close. Sure they were together, but they weren’t touching, and simple closeness was turning out to not be enough for him.

Apparently, it wasn’t enough for her either as, a few minutes later, he felt Riza shift and press herself close to his back, her hands clutching lightly at the fabric of his shirt. Taking that as a sign that she was comfortable enough, he flipped over and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in the soothing scent of her lilac shampoo.

“This is going to be difficult for the next few years,” Roy murmured into her hair.

“We’ll get by,” Riza replied, voice muffled by his shirt as she pressed her face close to his chest. “We always do.”

That night, they both dreamed of the war for the first time in a while, but when one woke, the other was there to comfort them with whispers and soft caresses and light kisses and they were sure they got much more sleep than they would ever have if they had been alone.

#royai #fma #fanfiction #royai fanfiction #my writing

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