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by-nina · 4 years ago

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Artwork by @caesurables; do not repost.

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 1 – King’s gambit/Queen’s gambit Rating: M (light drinking, sexual content) Genre: Lemon Word Count: 3,230

A/N: Happy Royai Week, everyone! Welcome to the spiciest thing I've written so far, which marks the first time I'm starting Royai Week with smut. I hope this feeds you well. Special shoutout to Mica for adding life to this with the gorgeous art! 😍

Something stirs in her; on one hand, it would be easy to call it yearning. But on the other, nothing that concerns Roy Mustang has ever been easy. Riza has always equated these things with methodical moves and calculated risks.

And so, for once, Riza pictures herself playing her game not for Roy’s sake, but for hers. She imagines that the stakes are different, the rules may be broken, and the only person she has ever wanted is both her gamble and her prize. She could have it all now—she need only play her piece.

———

Roy Mustang was made for a night like this. Handsome, stylish dress uniform, hair slicked back like a frame around his striking facial features, an air of dignity in his walk, his posture, even his gaze. He wears it all so well that he stands out from older, more distinguished company in the East City Hotel, where tonight, the Eastern Army is holding an extravagant ball in recognition of its recently promoted officers.

Riza is present as well, of course. For the occasion, she has traded her usual military attire for a blue satin gown with a flatteringly slender silhouette. A sash pinned with the insignia of her rank hangs from her shoulder to her hip. Having gone up the stage much earlier in the program for her own recognition, she has now retreated to the far end of the room, from where she’s got a full view of Roy as he waits to be called in front of the crowd.

Her promotion from Second to First Lieutenant is nowhere near as significant as his becoming Colonel, but it is no less her night than his. Selfish though the thought may be, it’s true that Roy owes this night to her, every title and every honor conferred to him. In every aspect of his life, she has made a crucial choice that allowed him to take a step in the right direction towards their goals—his goals that she has chosen to make her own.

“For the rank of Colonel, Roy Mustang…”

It was Riza’s choice to join him in the military, and it was this choice that has kept him on his path and his eyes on these goals. She has been devoted to his success just as much as to her act of atonement, but she was not subservient to either. Roy also carries with him the burden of their sins in Ishval. Her responsibility over his atonement means that she has more power than a subordinate would normally have under their superior. Anyone could be a dutiful subordinate or competent bodyguard, after all, but only she could be trusted with his life as well as his death.

“… the formidable Flame Alchemist…”

And it was her choice to reveal the secrets of flame alchemy, entrusted to her by her father, that first set him on the path towards his goals for the people and the country in the first place. Had she not trusted him, Roy would have searched further and longer for some other practice of alchemy. Had Riza chosen to die with her father’s secrets, Roy might not have come anywhere near who he is now.

“… and Hero of Ishval.”

Every choice she has made in their intertwined lives has determined the course of his, even when he should have been none of her concern. This was especially true in Ishval. She could have pulled the trigger at any time when she despised him most. She could have reversed the choice that brought him to Ishval. Riza chose instead to be an ally—a friend in a war where every other sense of humanity seemed to have been lost.

The Hero of Ishval was made through her actions; as was the Flame Alchemist; as was this shiny new Colonel Roy Mustang. As he is introduced by Lieutenant General Grumman, he takes his place at the center of the ballroom stage, and his titles and promotion seem all the more impressive due to the fact that he is the only new Colonel being recognized tonight. The crowd erupts in a reverent applause which Riza does not join in.

In different circumstances, if it weren’t for the very cards they have been dealt, tonight could have truly been happy, a cause for celebration. But their plans continue forming and unfolding; this game on which they have staked their lives does not pause. And so Riza watches him as she drinks her champagne, quietly imagining the steps they ought to take next, the moves they must plan, the sacrifices she must make in this gambit where she is both player and piece and he is the king set to take it all.

Her life is a game which she plays for Roy Mustang to win.

When his moment passes and the ceremony moves on, Roy descends from the stage, searching through the crowd for Riza. He finds her and meets her gaze across the room, and for a moment she wavers in her train of thought. She is familiar with this feeling. She has felt its pull before, but never this strongly, never with enough clarity so as to explicitly name him its object. How could she possibly feel it towards someone for whose sake she has forgotten her own needs and her own desires? How could she not be indifferent instead?

Riza leaves her champagne on a nearby table and turns in the opposite direction to walk off its effects. The party thankfully offers plenty enough distraction from the drink and from Roy. She meets a few colleagues here and there, makes small talk, and when she loses sight of Roy, she’s certain that he has been intercepted by people wishing to congratulate him or rub elbows with him for his prodigious rise through the ranks. She soon manages to extricate herself from the crowd and disappear from the ballroom.

———

“You should be celebrating tonight, Lieutenant.”

Riza knows that Roy has found her before he even speaks. She didn’t think that he would. She had wandered around the hotel until she found herself in distant, unfamiliar hallways decorated with beautiful artwork that she could admire until her intoxication had worn off enough to safely drive home. But there is no mistaking the sound of his footsteps or the scent of his perfume tinged with the liquor from the party. Part of her wants to disappear again, but his proximity in an otherwise deserted place seems to further slow down her currently unreliable reflexes.

Riza smiles dryly. “Does it matter if we received our actual promotions a week ago? We all know this is just an excuse to flatter ourselves and have a good time without spending our own money.” Roy smirks as she shakes her head. “Either way, I think I'll enjoy the party much better here, away from the crowd. But you're everyone's darling for the evening. They'll be wanting you back."

Roy sighs and rubs the side of his head, as if the very thought tires him. "I see enough of them at work. And there's going to be more of them around now, especially when we get transferred to Central. This night isn't about them."

The mention of Central causes Riza to bristle with alertness. She whips her head around to ascertain that the hallway is deserted. Behind her, she finds an intricately carved double door, and she quickly strides across the hallway to it. To her surprise, it is unlocked; the room beyond it appears to be dark and deserted. Riza shoots a glance at Roy as she enters. He swiftly follows.

Riza spots a nearby floor lamp just before she locks the door. For a moment, the room is pitch black, then Riza switches on the lamp. Its warm glow is just enough for her to make out Roy’s face and the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. They seem to have found themselves in a lavish parlour with a high-backed sofa and matching armchairs, a handsome tea table for two, a fireplace carved from white marble, and a vintage piano.

“I see you’re already making plans for proceeding to Central,” Riza begins. “We should be more careful about discussing them from now on, Colonel. Everyone has their eyes on you.”

Roy stares at her questioningly. Then, a small laugh breaks through his expression, and he shakes his head. “I’m not. I didn’t come looking for you to talk about our plans.”

She frowns. “What is it, then?”

“It’s just like I said. You should be celebrating tonight.” He draws what sounds like both a nervous breath and a laugh. “It wouldn’t have been right to enjoy the party without you. You’re the reason we’ve both come this far.” He pauses, and then his voice turns softer than before. There is no trace of a smile left in it or on his face. “I know you know that, Lieutenant.”

In the soft light, Roy’s face appears flushed, his features softer than they were when she watched him back at the ballroom. Riza doesn’t realize just how close he is until the scent of champagne on her is lost to his raspberry wine. Something stirs in her; on one hand, it would be easy to call it yearning. But on the other, nothing that concerns Roy Mustang has ever been easy. Riza has always equated these things with methodical moves and calculated risks.

But never in any of their plans or her own did she consider this a possible outcome, that Roy Mustang would be kissing her with one gentle hand on her face and another on her waist, or that the warmth of his body could be such a welcome comfort. He kisses her as if he has known for a long time just how closely he would need to lean in, how to tilt his head to the correct angle so that the curve of his lips would fit perfectly with hers. Riza senses this not because of unrestrained passion—on the contrary, Roy is perfectly still. The kiss is tender, but the rest of him is tense, as if it’s the only thing holding him together now. Or as if it’s the only thing he has held out for all this time.

Roy breaks away from her slowly, and it’s Riza whose heart is thundering in her chest. Perhaps, had the game been hers alone to play, it wouldn’t have led them so far so soon. Had it been she to approach him first, they might have only teetered over their fragile lines and not fully crossed to a point of no return. But Roy has taken her by surprise where the playing field has always seemed to be even between them. This, she cannot accept—she has never made a gamble that she did not see through. This will not change now.

She will play her game on her own terms.

Riza flings her arms over Roy’s shoulders as she kisses him, one hand running through his hair and undoing it back to the style she knows and likes best on him. It makes her want more—thank heavens that he realizes it right away. He responds so ardently that they stumble, so he steers her until she falls back against the piano and dissonant notes blare over their sighs. His hand runs down her side, over her hip and into the slit of her blue dress, where he reaches under her thigh and lifts it up against his leg.

But Riza refuses to give in so easily. She trails her hand down his front, all the way down to where he has started to turn hard. A gasp escapes him when she wraps her fingers around his erection and tugs at it. It gives her an opportunity to push back and reverse their positions so he is seated on the piano—it clangs unpleasantly again—and she is leaning over him as she makes short work of his jacket and his shirt to kiss his chest. The further down Riza drags her lips, the less familiar she is with the territory she is exploring, but she goes on until she brushes against that warm, rough outline. Riza tugs his trousers down, and when he springs free of his clothing, she takes Roy into her mouth.

He is exactly how she wants him right now, inelegant and vulnerable with his head hanging all the way back. Riza starts off slowly, but she is eager to figure out whether she can get him to unravel more quickly with her lips running back and forth along the length of him, or with her fingers massaging the base which her mouth cannot reach. His pleasure seems to build unhurriedly until she twists her tongue around, making him throb and moan quaveringly. She becomes hungry to hear more of him and picks up the pace, never mind that the effort is choking her. Roy grips her hair until it falls out of its pins, ultimately coming loose down her back. She goes, and goes, and she thinks he might be close, but then—

But then Roy pulls her up so he could kiss her, and Riza sighs in pleasure, and it isn’t enough for her just to watch him unravel anymore. She falls into him in a blissful, drunken haze, allowing him to kiss and caress her and unzip her dress. She could burst into flames at every part of her that he touches, even the scars that he had left on her back when their game was at its deadliest. He begins rubbing her between her legs, and there it hardly matters whether his touch flutters over her skin like candlelight or pushes as suddenly as lightning—the sensation just builds and builds, like a storm stirring up the sea.

How could he know so well what to do with her, how to give her just enough and yet leave her wanting more without ever having explored her this way before? The question is quickly lost in Riza’s mind as he finds other ways to arouse her. Now, he’s pulling the top of her dress down, switching positions with her again, alternating between kissing her lips and her breasts. It’s easy to follow him where he goes when he’s leading her through a dazzling trance, easier than it has ever been to follow him in any other way.

The storm slows only once as Roy’s lips brush against her ear with a stammering plea. “Do you want me to—can I keep going?”

Riza hardly recognizes the sound of her own voice when she gasps, “Please.”

Slowly, carefully, he enters her, with her dress hiked up above her hips. Despite the mild ache that comes with it at first, it feels better than anything she could have planned or imagined. Riza is shaking now. She buries her face in Roy’s neck and moans there, where only he can hear her, and she feels his excitement growing at the sound of it. He begins to thrust into her—clang, clang, clang, goes the piano—first at an even pace, which helps ease away her initial discomfort. When the tension disappears from her shoulders, she finds herself swaying against him hungrily. He varies from going exhilaratingly fast to tantalizingly slow—clang, clang, clang!—and at some point, she whimpers—

“Roy—"

It seems to awaken something feral in him. Everything he does with her is greedy now, from his kisses running clumsily from her neck to her lips and back, to his hands grabbing at every part of her that he can reach—and although she likes him like this, unhinged and at the same time in complete control, it makes her want to give him more than she is getting.

Riza pushes herself off the piano and into Roy, and he is more than willing to let her drive him down to the floor. There, she pulls at his hair as she kisses him, then shifts slightly so he can kiss her chest while she slowly sinks down and allows him back into her. Their rhythm is easier to find this time. She starts off at a pace that builds up the heat in her body just right, then later allows his hands and hips to guide her with more fervor and intent. Soon, the pleasure is just too close for her to wait any longer, and they are both overcome with an aching desperation—

“Roy”—she pleads, groans—“oh—"

“Riza—ahh—fuck—”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop—"

Roy climbs over her, snaking his arms around her to grab at her chest, and he enters her from behind without breaking their rhythm, thrusting vigorously until and throughout her release. The rush, the bliss, the high is simply unthinkable—Riza presses her forehead down and bites her own hand hard to keep herself from screaming. She sinks into an ungraceful sprawl on the floor, drenched in sweat and tremors and Roy’s weight all over her body, but also as feeling if she were made purely of her sensations, with no physical body at all.

A moment passes, or two, or an eternity before she turns to lie on her back. Roy has collapsed next to her and entangled with her, so he adjusts to make way for her. She then finds herself looking up at him; Roy is leaning over her, seeming like an entirely different person with his gentle gaze, his tousled hair, his clothes only barely clinging to his body. His clothes—a reminder of who he is, and therefore, the gravity of what they have just done.

The high subsides almost as quickly as it came over her.

The room is piercingly silent as they scramble back to their feet and several meters away from each other. They keep their backs turned as they smooth their clothes back onto themselves and comb their hair into some normal, unquestionable style. Riza’s senses settle back into rationality at last. This was not a different way to play their old game. This was a temporary escape, a rare exception to her life’s unwavering rules.

“Riza.”

It’s unsettling how he says her name as if it were what he normally calls her, so she does not respond. Surely, he understands that what has just transpired between them must remain in the past, in favor of the reality that they left outside the door. Surely, he knows as well as she does that that reality has already resumed before they have even left the room.

He calls her name again. Riza, again, refuses to acknowledge him.

“Lieutenant.”

Her resolve wavers for only a moment. Riza knows exactly what he is doing. She knows her own excuse for this lapse in judgment—she knows how to keep it from happening ever again. But she can tell by his current insistence and his earlier passion that he doesn’t consider this a mistake like she does. This is, after all, exactly how he plays the game—head on, without hesitation. Roy has broken the rules more thoroughly than she has. He would have done so without her instigation. He has made perfectly clear the gamble that he is willing to make for her.

Riza turns, brushing past Roy and out of the room without so much as looking at him—leaving him behind the door, leaving as much of her selfish desires as she can possibly let go of—because she knows she must keep him from gambling everything away.

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago

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royai week day 1 - king’s gambit/queen’s gambit

summary: It was a sacrifice. That was the true nature of this mission. Sending in a pawn to do the dirty work, so he could get the upper hand on the situation from the comfort of his office.

rating: t | words: 3075 | tags: royai, hurt/comfort, undercover missions, concerned team mustang, while riza goes off on her own to be a badass

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

Havoc’s displeasure towards the idea is not vocal, but it is very clearly identifiable in the set of his jaw and the way his arms are crossed over his chest in quiet defiance. Roy doesn’t appreciate the narrowed eyes Havoc thinks he can’t see, but he is inclined to agree with his Second Lieutenant. More than agree, actually. Roy sides with him and his protest, but ultimately it’s not his choice. It’s a gambit she won’t give up, not now that the Lieutenant has set her sights upon it. And not when it can help so many people in the long run.

Perhaps the worst part is it has to be on Roy’s orders for it to work. It’s a good idea, a strategic and tactical one, but it’s on his head if anything goes wrong and also puts one of his subordinates behind enemy lines alone. It’s dangerous. It’s a risk so they can try to gain more control over the situation, and potentially put an end to more suffering. He would never have thought of it alone, but she had. The Lieutenant always had been the best out of the two them at making the tougher decisions. Ones that needed a more clinical view and less emotional attachment to get the job done. Without realising it, Roy could lead with his heart when someone dear to him was involved, but that had no place here. Not at work and not with so much at stake.

Roy hates it, but that’s personal, and is also an avenue he cannot afford to venture down. Not only that, but Lieutenant Hawkeye is a more than capable soldier, and is an adult who can make her own decisions. Professionally, he has to agree with her. It’s a good idea.

“Are we really going to feed one of our own to the wolves?”

Havoc’s question is quiet. It breaks through the silence they’d fallen into as they studied the map of a compound, a place that was the heart of their assignment. It causes Roy’s stomach to roll into a knot and he sighs quietly to himself. He had started to wonder when Havoc would start to voice his distaste. It was only a matter of time, Roy had theorised.

“That doesn’t sit well with me, Colonel –”

“Lieutenant,” Roy interrupts, starting to grow irritated Havoc would think Roy has assigned the Lieutenant this task heartlessly.

His heart is completely invested in this. More than it should be.

“It’s a gamble, but based on what? There should be back up going in from the start.” His voice is rising in volume, careening away from the quiet, contemplative silence they’d been in only moments ago.

The office door opens, and the subject of their argument enters the room. She’s heard Havoc’s complaints; Roy knows she has. He can see it in the expression on her face and the way her brow twitches and furrows at them both a fraction, before turning to close the door behind her.

Havoc’s breathing slows as his emotions abate. It’s obvious he didn’t expect her to interrupt or overhear their conversation.

“It’s my choice, Lieutenant Havoc.” Her voice is even and level, but there is a hint of something else to it as well. There’s a tinge of frustration, and rightly so. That’s more than fair. She’s not happy and Roy swallows when he realises it, afraid she’s going to take their nervousness towards the situation the wrong way.

There was never any doubt in her abilities from either of them. This reflex comes from elsewhere. It was concern for a very close friend; Roy knew of the history between Hawkeye and Havoc. They went back to the Academy and had always been close to one another. For him, it stemmed from emotions he should not name. A natural response to those emotions, but Roy also knows he shouldn’t voice or even think of them, for they are dangerous. They could be damning. But damn him, Roy can’t help it. He’d never forgive himself if the worst happened to her because of his orders. He’s already, either directly or indirectly – that was still up for debate between them even after all this time – caused her so much grief and hardship in her life. He refuses to add to any more of it. This mission has the potential to do so, and he is concerned as a friend, as well as something more.

“Hawkeye –” Havoc’s attempt to placate her doesn’t work.

“This will work,” she adds, “and I’m not giving up on it. It’s a simple in and out.”

“It may take months though,” he counters. “All that time with no backup. Can you blame me, us,” he gestures between him and Roy, and the latter wishes Havoc would keep him out of his argument, “for not liking it?”

“It’s not up to you.” Her brows draw together into an offended glare.

Havoc huffs because he knows she’s right. He just cares, like they all do.

Only, Havoc can be more vocal about it though.

Roy says nothing and simply observes. A part of him wishes to leave them to their dispute but he’s their commanding officer. He can’t back down from conflict between two of his officers. He has to resolve this.

“Lieutenant Havoc.” Roy turns his head to face him. He needs to regain control on this conversation, so his tone is even and professional when he speaks. “As Lieutenant Hawkeye has stated, this is her choice. She’s happy to go.”

Havoc says nothing. His lips purse as he looks at his old friend.

Roy turns his gaze towards the Lieutenant. “She’s willing to enter the compound herself so we can advance in our fight against this group.”

He meets her eyes head on, ensuring the contact between them is direct. He wants to convey everything he needs to with one look or speech alone, but the Lieutenant is not a mind reader, and this is a professional environment. So, he will try his best with the limited methods he’s been given. And if the opportunity to discuss his concerns privately arises in the future, Roy will grasp it with both hands and communicate with her as effectively as he can, to reassure her and voice his thoughts.

“I am just as concerned for the Lieutenant’s safety as the rest of the team,” he adds tactfully. “I don’t like the idea of any one of you being sent off to fight a battle yourselves without backup from the team. It’s happened once before.”

Roy pauses and that knot in his stomach tightens as he remembers Fuery being sent to the front in the South prior to the Promised Day. He remembers how they were divided, split up and left to fend for themselves after being such a tight knit group for so long.

Havoc’s shoulders fall and relax as he catches onto Roy’s meaning.

“However,” Roy continues, “if the Lieutenant has no issues with going, we should respect that.”

“I know,” Havoc relents. “I will.” Still, he looks unhappy, but the argument is dropped.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take to help those in need,” the Lieutenant states, “but it’s a controlled risk.” Her tone softens as she joins them and leans over the map, looking down at it. “I appreciate the concern, but this decision was not made on a whim.”

“I know,” Havoc repeats. The fight is gone from him, as well as his displeasure, but his concern is still there. “I know you would’ve thought it through first,” he adds to try and placate her.

“It will work,” she assures. Determination overtakes her expression as her eyes rove over the map and Roy can’t help but wonder what her thoughts are, and what plan she is conjuring up inside her mind.

Her reply leaves no room for argument, effectively ending their conversation.

* * * * * * * * *

His steps need to be controlled as he walks towards the compound, and they are, but he wishes he could do the opposite. Critically he surveys the faces of the people being escorted out. There’s none that spark recognition. People are crying with joy, happy to have been liberated. Others have minor injuries and are being seen to by medical personnel.

The news reached them less than an hour ago of the Lieutenant’s success, but there was no word from her personally yet.

He needs to know… Roy didn’t know what. He needs to hear her voice, at least, over the radio. However that had never come to pass. He needs to see her with his own eyes to ascertain her safety and wellbeing. But instead, he was left searching through the faces of the survivors to no avail.

She walks out from behind the compound gates and Roy feels his breath catch in his throat with relief. The Lieutenant is upright and walking and initially, that’s enough for Roy. His exhale through his nose is long, but quiet, so those rushing around him do not hear. They are hurrying passed the Lieutenant, searching for others in need after she reassures them with a polite smile she’s okay.

Roy is unaware of them though. He shouldn’t be, but he is, because all his focus is taken up by her. The smile he manages to catch a short glimpse of releases all the tension from his muscles.

Then he notices the blood on her beige polo shirt. It looks dark, so it looks old, but Roy can’t be sure due to the colouring of the fabric. He’d rather not see it at all. There’s a tear in the fabric of the shirt as well, right in the centre, where something has penetrated and pierced her skin. The sight makes his skin flash with heat and his heart pounds with contained fury. As the Lieutenant walks closer Roy sees the scratches on her face. They’re superficial, so not too worrying, however they are still there when they shouldn’t be.

She greets him with a nod after all this time. Her steps are purposeful and confident. Determined, even. The Lieutenant doesn’t falter as she approaches.

“We got them, sir.”

The next thing Roy notes is her voice is strong. It doesn’t waver as she speaks despite the apparent injuries.

“And you?” It’s the first question out of his mouth but it’s not completely out of place. Any commanding officer would be concerned for their subordinate after such a long time of radio silence.

“Fine, sir,” she confirms. “My injuries are a result of a scuffle during the final conflict. Nothing to worry about.”

From the look if it, Roy doubts that claim, but holds his tongue.

“The plan succeeded.”

She doesn’t boast. It’s not an ‘I told you so’. It’s simple fact.

The Lieutenant knows he’d never doubt her abilities or capability to get the job done, and he’s told her that already to reassure his and Havoc’s worry comes from a well-meaning place, but she knows he gets more concerned than he should. More than is appropriate. Roy can’t help it. For personal reasons, he can’t – outside of any feelings for her as well. He cares for each and every one of his subordinates. He hates to sacrifice one to fight a battle alone, and to leave a comrade behind, but knows doing it temporarily can sometimes be practical or necessary in order to win a greater war.

Ultimately, the Lieutenant was right. Thankfully, the outcome is mostly positive.

Professionally, he’s grateful the plan succeeded. She has an eye for precision that he doesn’t, so her input was more than welcome for this mission. And it stopped more innocent people from coming to further harm. Personally, he wants to wrap her in a tight hug and not let her go. To dress her wounds and ensure she’s okay. It’s been a month of no contact, of not knowing how she was faring while undercover.

She came back to them though. He remembers that.

“Well done, Lieutenant.”

Before he can praise her further a medic rushes up. She extends a blanket out to the Lieutenant, who stares at it blankly. But Roy sees an opportunity and steps in. He thanks the medic and takes it, unfurling the material as the medic presses forward to assist those who may need medical attention within the compound.

“Here.” His murmur is gentle as he wraps the blanket around her shoulders.

“Sir –”

She’s gearing up to argue but Roy is having none of it. That blood stain doesn’t seem to be growing in size, but he won’t take any chances. Not anymore today where she’s concerned.

“That injury needs looked at Lieutenant,” Roy interjects.

“It’s fine –”

“Not the point.” He hates to interrupt her. His voice turns husky with emotion. Roy would say he’s surprised by the sudden turn, but in all honesty it makes sense.

It’s been a long month.

For that reason, he doesn’t relent on his grip of her shoulders. He steers her over to a free medic and remains close by as she’s treated. One arm crosses over his chest to clutch at his side while the other hand cups his chin in thought as the medic works. He questions her on everything that happened. It’s necessary and a conversation that is needed for the upcoming report he will need to write and sign off on. While he would like her to rest, he knows the Lieutenant is still willing to work. He can see her professionalism in the set of her shoulders even as the medic pulls away her ruined shirt.

In truth, he doesn’t want to leave her side.

It’s been a long month.

Roy knows he shouldn’t look at the injury, but he can’t help himself. It gets a quick glance, and that flash of heat is back, igniting on his chest and spreading right up to the crown of his head, and down to his calves. He grips his chin tighter with his fingers in order to control the sudden bout of outrage and anger towards whoever had injured her. The expression on his face remains neutral, but she catches him staring.

She’s far too perceptive.

He’s uncaring if she notices his reaction though. Besides, he’s sure Lieutenant Hawkeye understands. Roy is sure Riza would do the same thing if the situations were reversed. They’ve been paired together long enough for him to draw that conclusion with relative confidence.

It was a sacrifice. That was the true nature of this mission. Sending in a pawn to do the dirty work, so he could get the upper hand on the situation from the comfort of his office.

Riza Hawkeye was far from a pawn in Roy’s eyes though. In fact, far from it in everyone’s eyes. She was his queen, elevated so far above a simple pawn, and even him. She was the most important piece of the set and she’d sent herself in and gotten the job done efficiently and effectively. There was never any doubt in his mind, and he wants to express his admiration for her work, however now, standing before her, with both of them finally left alone as the medic finishes and disappears, Roy is simply glad she’s back. Everything else relating to the mission can wait.

“Are you okay?” His question is so quiet. He’s asking as more than a professional courtesy. He’s asking personally.

“Yes, sir.” Her expression softens and she nods. The Lieutenant tips her head back against the wall she was leaning against and Roy watches as the fatigue rolls over her like a wave. “My abdomen stings but it’s okay. It’s… Been a long month,” she adds carefully, but nothing sinister or worrying crosses her expression at the thought of her time here.

Roy smirks ruefully. “I had a similar thought.” He jerks his head to the side, towards his car. “Come on,” he beckons. “I’ll drive you home.”

She nods and straightens her spine, standing tall. “Do you want me to fill out a report first?”

He waves off her offer. “No. I want you to go home and rest. You will be debriefed tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They’re silent until they enter the car. Once the doors are closed, it’s just the two of them and they’re free to talk about whatever they want. Roy has a lot he wants to discuss, but they didn’t have time. She is no doubt exhausted and probably just wants to go home and clean herself up.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

Her lips purse as she stares down at her hands, folded on her lap. “You said you’d had a similar thought,” she states, then glances up at him. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get through to you all.”

Roy scoffs lightly. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You were worried, though.”

Slowly, Roy nods. “Of course, I was.” His reply is quiet as he speaks from his heart.

She nods and turns to stare at her hands again.

“Right now, I’m simply thankful you’re okay. I’m glad you’re back,” he smiles.

“I couldn’t leave you to do all the work without me, now could I?”

Her quip is most welcome, and it makes him laugh. The tension he’d held in his shoulders and jaw for the last month feels like it’s being melted away with the joy of the action alone.

“No, you couldn’t.” He turns on the ignition with a warmth settling over his heart. “Let’s get you home. You can get cleaned up while I make you something to eat, if you’d like?”

As he places his hand on the gearstick, a warmth covers his digits. Glancing over, he sees her hand – marred by an old cut and a few grazed knuckles – covering his.

“Thank you.” The Lieutenant’s head has turned and is inclined towards him. In the privacy of his car she offers him a small smile, but it has the brilliance to light up his whole world. “That would be much appreciated.”

Roy turns his hand over and loops his fingers gently around hers. It’s a tiny action – so much less than what he actually wants to do – but it’s something. It’s enough for now. It’s enough until they get into the privacy of her apartment.

“Of course, Lieutenant.” His smile is genuine, and he gives her fingers a final squeeze before letting go. “Always. You’re welcome.”

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