[roy/riza; pg-13] Moments of Gold, Flashes of Light (3/3) Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Title: Moments of Gold, Flashes of Light (3/3) Author:emilie_burns Theme: #29, Affaire de Cœur (30_Romances) Pairing: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 5819 Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa/Square Enix. This is a work of fanfiction for personal entertainment only. Quotations are lines from Meat Loaf's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" (feat. Marion Raven; Bat Out of Hell III : The Monster is Loose album). The 'point of passion' quote is by Julie de Lespinasse. Notes: This is the third and final story in a longer arc. Spoilers for the full series and the movie. Begins immediately after the movie's end on the Amestris side of things. And if I could've found an MP3 of Bill Medley's "Most of All You", then Meat Loaf might'a had competition for this one. Summary:"One chess piece is the same as any other, if you know which piece it should be, and which color it is. I dare say an alchemist could turn a pawn into a king if they so desired." Chanson du Jour: Meat Loaf with Marion Raven : It's All Coming Back to Me Now (8.28MB, mp3) [yousendit | megaupload] Original LJ Post Date: January 03, 2007 @ Chaotic_Library
"But you were history with the slamming of the door, And I made myself so strong again somehow, And I never wasted any of my time on you since then."
The old woman made no effort to drink any more of the lukewarm tea in the cup held to her lips. Riza watched her expression, her eyes, and remained still.
"Are you finished with tea, Grandmother?" she asked. There was no response, no effort to part her lips for another sip. With a little nod, Riza lowered her hands and set the cup back on its saucer and set them on the tray. "All right." She smiled a bit as she picked up the napkin and dabbed at her grandmother's mouth. "It's a lovely afternoon. Would you like to sit by the east window? The sun is far enough overhead that it won't get in your eyes."
Ruth Graman's gaze shifted away from Riza's face to the side, in the vague direction of the windows. That was good enough an answer for her granddaughter. Riza stood and pushed the high-backed wicker and wood wheelchair to the window, and drew the drapes back further before settling in on the windowsill.
It wasn't yet high summer in the Eastern desert, when the glare from the noonday sun would be blinding, and the heat oppressive, leaving the streets silent and empty as every living creature sought refuge in the shadows. It was hot, but there were still strong reminders that spring had only just passed, the front garden still lush with brilliant flowers that didn't show signs of wilting if one didn't look too closely. Open windows let the breeze in, keeping the interior of the large home comfortable.
"Do you remember, when I was young, Grandfather would take me to the drugstore that was on the corner of Burrows and Agate, just down from where you lived when he was first transferred out here? He would pick up his pipe tobacco, and sometimes packages for you, if you'd ordered any new dress patterns, and at this time of year, he'd buy me a frozen juice bar on a stick? The druggist's son made them in the icebox they had for some of the medications, and used tongue depressors for the sticks. Remember those? And they would start melting almost right away and I'd eat them on the walk back, and you were always waiting on the porch with a wet washcloth because you didn't want me touching anything with sticky fruit juice all over my hands." Riza finally looked away from the window at her grandmother, to find the old woman watching her, a warmth in the clouded green eyes that served for Riza's only clue that she was heard and understood.
Not quite five months ago, just over a month after Riza transferred east, the maid found Ruth on the floor, apparently conscious but unresponsive. It had been a massive stroke, and although her grandmother had shown some progress with very limited usage of her left hand, that was all. Riza moved in after that, helping her grandfather and the live-in nurse take care of the infirm woman.
At least up until earlier that week, when the nurse's husband was transferred to South Headquarters, and the replacements sent by the hospital had yet to measure up to Lieutenant General Graman's standards. Riza was afforded personal leave, since her grandfather was no longer physically strong enough to act as his wife's sole caretaker, and the maid was only there a few hours in the morning, with the cook arriving in late afternoon to start supper.
With the work and bustle of moving and her grandmother's stroke following close behind, Riza found herself too busy most days to remember what she'd left behind, and too tired most nights to be bullied into insomnia by the whispers of what-ifs and might-have-beens. The rest of it was careful orchestration -- she was somehow never available whenever anyone called, and careful to always call back during times when she doubted the phone would be answered by the intended party, and short, quickly scribbled notes designed to imply a hectic lifestyle with barely any time to herself in response to letters sent. The working theory was that if she could cut contact with someone for long enough time, then she could get her balance back without the pull of being back in his orbit throwing her off. She really didn't mean to cut contact with Kain or Havoc or Breda, but it was necessary to keep it from seeming too suspicious and raising too many questions. No, she wasn't avoiding anyone, how preposterous an idea; she was simply very busy and that was all.
Thoughts of recent years were buried in the back of her mind, a tangible if silent presence that never fully went away, as Riza continued to talk, to entertain her grandmother and fill the stillness of the afternoon with recollections of years long past, of childhood and idyllic summers when she still believed in make-believe and dreams and star-wishes, when heroes were larger than life and never stumbled, and the villains were always recognizable on sight and were always soundly defeated and everyone lived happily ever after.
It was only in fairy tales, or maybe in the simple-minded and formulaic but nevertheless entertaining romance books she secretly read as a guilty pleasure that a heart long lost would realize they were needed, still needed and still wanted, and go running after someone, showing up on their doorstep on a sunny afternoon in early summer that was just that side of being too hot.
Things like that just didn't happen in real life, and that was the mantra she clung to like a lifeline as words died before they left her lips, and she pressed back against the wall, slipping off the sill and away from the window before she was spotted as she watched someone go past the house down the walk outside to turn the corner where the front gate was located. It was surreal, seeing the familiar in an unfamiliar setting.
She looked at her grandmother, trying to find words, trying to recollect her thoughts, and Black Hayate lifted his head, his ears perked in the direction of the front. Riza thought her grandmother's expression, for just a moment, seemed mischievous. Impish with a twinkle visible even through the cloudiness of illness and age. Before she could even begin to form a question, Hayate started to bark.
For a moment, she didn't move, and to her dismay it dawned on her that no one else was home who could answer the door. What was he doing there?
"I... I need to go answer the door," she told her grandmother, trying not to stammer, trying to regain her balance, trying to make her heart stop racing and tripping and tumbling and making her insides knot up. Life wasn't like the stories. It never was. Whatever brought him there, it wasn't her. He left. She hadn't been enough, hadn't been who he needed. She was just a loyal former adjutant who had the terrible misfortune of foolishness to expect more than she'd ever a right to.
The world is imperfect. That's why it's beautiful.
Low heels clicked rapidly against the white and gray tiles of the main hallway as she hurried to the foyer, pausing only for a quick once-over in the gold-framed mirror near the entrance to assure herself that her hair, hanging loose around her shoulders, wasn't mussed, and there were no stains or crumbs on her white blouse, and that it was properly tucked into her tan skirt. No sense in looking even more a fool than she already felt.
One last deep breath, and the door opened, her lips locked into a coolly polite smile. "Good afternoon, General Mustang," she said, and any casual observer might never guess that she'd served under him for nigh on ten years, that she'd trusted him with her own life, that she followed him to hell and back again risking everything on a shot in a million, that somewhere along the way over the years she'd fallen in love with him, and that every syllable she spoke tore her apart.
He wasn't in uniform, simply dressed in a suit, the jacket and first few buttons left undone. "Hello, Riza."
Everything she had poured into reinforcing the walls, to keeping that polite smile steady as she steadfastly ignored the way sparked and chilled from the base of her spine all the way up. "General Graman is still at the office."
"I know." His smile was small and she pretended not to notice that he studied her face, trying to read her. "I just came from there, in fact. He invited me to dinner."
He what? She started trying to think of some aliment that she could possibly suffer for a night to keep her from the dinner table without worrying her grandfather unnecessarily. "That won't be for another four hours, I'm afraid. But won't you come in?"
"Thank you." He stepped past her into the foyer, and crouched to pet Hayate, who pranced back and forth, tongue lolling in his mouth as he shook his tail hard enough to wag his entire hindquarters. "Well, somebody's glad to see me. I missed you too, boy."
There was nothing to his tone to suggest it might have been a dig, a bitter little poke at her cool reception. Even so, she was all too consciously aware of it, torn between righteous anger and guilt. You left me. You left and went away and you don't need me and you left me twice over, you never needed me so go away, I don't need you either!
"Grandmother is in the parlor, she would be delighted to receive a guest," Riza said, and her voice didn't shake, not a bit. If anyone thought it had, it would have simply been nothing more than imagination. "She cannot speak, but there is nothing truly wrong with her mind."
He stood then, leaving Hayate to mourn the cessation of the belly rub. "It's been far too long since I've said hello. Your mother's mother is in a class of her own."
Riza knew that voice, that tone, that audible strength that wasn't loud, but it carried, and chances were her grandmother could hear that, through the open door of the parlor as she followed him in.
"Missus Graman, what a delight it is to see you again," Roy said, as charming as ever as he picked up her limp hand to kiss the back of it, bowing slightly. "Your eyes have lost none of their sparkle."
Her expression never changed outwardly, but Riza could see the smile in her eyes.
"I trust it wouldn't be an imposition for me to join you for dinner? Your husband invited me to stay, and I fear he hadn't yet warned you that company was coming."
Riza crossed her arms and turned to the window, letting him talk to her grandmother, his tone as easy and conversational as if she were not infirm, able to respond and react to his charm and banter as she always had before.
"Black Hayate, stay," she instructed, ordering her dog to lay down beside her grandmother's wheelchair. She already knew for certain that he would come fetch her if there were any problems or difficulties she had to attend to. "I'll return the tray to the kitchen while you entertain Grandfather's guest."
"Actually, I've only just arrived after a long train ride. Mind if I accompany you and put some coffee on?"
Riza couldn't look at him as she set the tray back down and walked to her grandmother's side as she spoke. "If you wish. Black Hayate will remain with Grandmother. Would you care for me to put a record on the phonograph?"
A slow blink, and a faint rocking sway was a response Riza could read as an affirmation. She named several records which she knew were her favorite, stopping with a nod when her grandmother opened her eyes again. The cone speaker was angled toward the wheelchair, and the record was spun on the turntable as she carefully lowered the arm and needle until the opening notes of an orchestra's brass section filled the room. Without another word, she gathered up the tea tray and walked to the kitchen, passed by Roy as he held the heavy wooden door open for her.
"Thank you," she replied in automatic politeness. Nothing more was said as she disassembled the tea set, emptying the leaves from the ceramic infuser, and began to wash the pot. She felt him watching her and did not relax until she heard him move, getting the coffee tin out of the cupboard. "What brings you to East City?"
"Your grandfather sent me something to repair with alchemy," he explained, "and rather than risk it being damaged while being shipped back, I thought I'd deliver it myself. I had some leave time available, and it's been a while since I've had opportunity to visit with him."
"So you're here to visit..." She trailed off. Wait. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Did you claim that he sent you something for repair?"
His eyebrow raised, and she knew that if his left side were not damaged, that eyebrow would have stayed stationary all the same, a cool little lift that was just a heartbeat away from being sardonic. "Do you disbelieve me, Lieutenant?"
Lieutenant. Not Riza. Exactly as she wished to be addressed. That was what she wanted. It afforded her a stability with which she could insure the integrity of the walls around her. "Not at all, General. I merely find it curious, as it is not as though we lack any alchemists at all out here. He shouldn't have troubled you over a simple repair."
"Perhaps he simply did not trust just anyone to repair something precious to him," he said as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a white handkerchief wrapped around a small object.
It felt as though her heart stopped as the cloth parted to reveal a white ceramic chess piece that matched the ones her grandfather had in his study. The queen, specifically.
The General continued talking, in a casual, disinterested tone that was too familiar. A tone that wasn't entirely his own making, nor hers. A tone they'd both learned from her grandfather, students of a different kind of chess match, and the fine art of speaking between the lines and underneath the words. "It was shattered, you see. He said it had been knocked off the table and landed on the floor, quite a mess."
Grandfather's study has carpet on the floor.
"He'd tried to ensure he found all the little pieces, but he wanted someone who knew how it was supposed to be to repair it."
"One chess piece is the same as any other, if you know which piece it should be, and which color it is. I dare say an alchemist could turn a pawn into a king if they so desired."
"You forget the laws of equivalent exchange. There's not enough to the pawn to become a king, not just one by itself. You could probably create a facsimile, but it would be stretched too thin, too fragile. A pawn couldn't become a king by itself."
"Of course not, other pawns would have to be sacrificed, I suppose. Perhaps that is what happened to the queen. It's surprising, how fragile it is that it should have shattered the way you're describing. Perhaps it was never a queen but a farce stretched too thin."
"No, everything was there, the queen was the genuine article." He shrugged and studied it, turning it over between his fingers. "I suppose anything can break like that if struck in just the right way."
"Or if a spot's taken more than one hit, worn down and weakened over time."
"I suppose that's true. I wonder where it was worn down to break like that in the first place."
Riza shrugged and turned away. "I wouldn't know. I don't play chess," she replied, speaking within the lines for a moment to avoid the implied question. "You're the player. I would have thought you would have known from handling so many over the years where they're most likely to weaken and break."
"I've only ever played with one set, and that was the one your grandfather entrusted to me, that I took back to Central from the East, that I kept close to me, even when I went North."
The teacup slipped from her fingers, its fall cushioned by the lukewarm soapy water. She wasn't sure at first how to respond to that and still remain within the façade, behind the safety of ignorance -- they were simply discussing chess pieces and their composition. Nothing more, nothing less. "Would a chess piece from that set even break?"
"Anything can break if handled carelessly."
Her heart tightened. "That would imply that someone cares little for something, that they have no regard whether or not it breaks."
It was his turn for silence. "People can be stupid about things. It doesn't mean they don't care."
Her eyes burned and she steadfastly refused to blink in an effort to make the threat of tears evaporate. A soft footfall on the wooden floor behind her signaled his approach, warning her before he touched her shoulder.
"What aren't you telling me, Riza?"
"You mean you don't know?" Her voice was strained, thick. The stinging sensation didn't leave her eyes, and spread to the bridge of her nose.
"I wouldn't be asking if I did." There was a brief hint of vague impatience. "Riza? Look at me."
"I'm sorry. The problem isn't with you, it's me."
Silence, then his hand tightened its grip. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, flabbergasted.
"It is petty and unkind of me to begrudge you whatever it took to get back on your feet again," she explained, not looking at him. "It isn't your fault that I crossed a line, that I cannot control how I feel, that I feel that my jealousy and inappropriate feelings were conflicting with my ability to do my job. You have done nothing wrong. It is--"
"Riza?" This time he pushed her shoulder, forcing her to turn, to look at him. He was frowning, confused. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Jealousy? Over what? And forget military regulations, what the hell do you feel that you'd consider inappropriate?"
She closed her eyes, trying to find the words to explain, to capture everything she felt, the last two years and change, everything. In the end it all boiled down into four simple words. "You didn't need me."
"What the hell gave you that idea?"
"You left. You didn't need me. Whatever I had to offer wasn't enough. You left, and found something else that let you smile again. And I don't begrudge you that, I don't!" She shook her head and tried to smile, feeling it crack like a dropped bit of china instead. "It's foolish and petty of me and I know it. I just... just wanted to... be able to help you. To be needed."
"Sometimes," he said, his voice low, "we have to leave to see clearly, to see what we've left behind. Sometimes, people get stupid, and so much feels missing from their life only because so much has changed, and they stop thinking. They leave on the assumption they need to find something, only to wake up one day and realize what they need is right here." His fingertips traced the line of her jaw and she trembled.
"You never said anything. Even after you came back. And you left all over again, left me behind again."
"I didn't know if I'd come back from that. I risked you once, and I've buried one of my best friends. You were shot, and I got off lucky in that department, seeing that you lived. I wasn't stupid enough to risk you a second time."
"So instead, you would risk me standing where Gracia Hughes once stood, without any right to the flag, or any right to grieve?" Riza looked at him then.
"I left you behind so I would have a better chance at coming back," he said. "If you were with me, I would be too worried about you, too focused on your welfare to be able to focus on fighting."
"That never posed a problem to you before."
"You'd never been shot before, and I hadn't realized how much I love you before."
Her world tilted off-center, and she stared at him. I love you. Why now? Why was he saying that now? "Are you just saying that to try to make me transfer back?"
He flinched and closed his eye, turning his head away. "Do you think I deserved that?"
"You tell me. You never let on all this time and... and... I don't expect roses or happily ever afters or even any grand gestures like in the books, really. I... I don't know what I expect. I'd settle for at least feeling like I mean something to you, that you want me around for reasons more than paperwork or something old and familiar and comfortable like a well-worn pair of shoes, for... for.... I don't know. Just for the world to start making sense again, to stop feeling like such a messy tangle inside that I've not been able to sort out since that day you came back. It's just... it hurt, Roy."
There. It was out, that mad topsy-turvy tangle of emotions snapping into place at a focal point.
"It wasn't so bad, the first time. I wished I'd been what you needed and wanted, but it didn't really... you came back. And then you left again."
"You liar!"
"That hurt."
Once she looked away, neither of them moved, and the kitchen was silent. She heard the soft, slow plink of water dripping from the faucet. "I'm sorry, Riza. I was still... I didn't plan on coming back. Just like last time, only I'd already risked you once, and you weren't even at the epicenter then."
"What did you see up there that changed that? I saw you, before you went up, and after you came back. Something missing was back again. What was it that I couldn't give?"
"The knowledge that I hadn't completely fucked up everything I'd tried to do." He laughed, but it was short and harsh, almost bitter, and she looked at him then as he withdrew his hand and walked away. "You want the truth, Hawkeye? The truth was, when I came south on hearing about the attacks, I hadn't been planning to use my alchemy. I packed the gloves out of habit. A what-if, if you will. When I saw the fighting... you have no idea how terrified I was to use it again. I had my alchemy down to a fine level of control, and I couldn't even tell how far away the flames were, back then when I left. With as much a mess as everything was, it would be pretty par for the course if I roasted one of you alive by accident because I don't have any depth perception."
She crossed her arms, listening to him. There was sympathy, certainly. A part of her hurt for him as well -- she'd loved him too much for too long not to. But none of what she heard made any of her own hurt go away, and she was tired of living a borrowed life on other people's dreams.
But he wasn't finished, and what else he had to say made her look up, bewildered, surprised. "The rest of it was Fullmetal."
"What do you mean?"
"Those boys tried to bring back their mother on their own. But after that, I'm the one who put them on that path. I'm the one who took away the Rockbell girl's parents. I'm the one who opened the door that led Fullmetal down below the city. By all appearances, when we found Alphonse, after everything those boys did..." He shook his head. "I should have went with them. We should have refigured our plans to something else. I couldn't help them. If Fullmetal was dead, it was because I led him there. Just like Maes. If I couldn't help two stubborn kids, if I couldn't help my best friend, if I couldn't do a damn thing right for the country, what good was I? But he wasn't dead. And the brothers are back together again, just like it should be. I don't know if we'll ever see them again, but he's alive, and well. Maybe it wasn't an ideal ending, but I'd helped, somewhere along the line. Somehow. They met their goal. I hadn't failed at everything I'd tried to do."
Her gaze dropped to the floor. "What was it he said, so many years ago? That we weren't gods, but humans? Insignificant humans who couldn't even save one little girl?" She shook her head and looked at him. "He learned to move forward from you. General, you need to remember, there's times when no matter how much we give, it's never enough. But that doesn't mean there aren't still people who need us, and love us, even when everything else is falling apart."
"You were more than I deserved, Riza. What was I supposed to do when I'd look in the mirror and see nothing but a string of failures?"
"Stop looking in the mirror and look at me. I never saw you as one."
His smile was sad. "I thought too much of you to do that. You deserved everything, the moon and the stars, there was nothing I could give in return for that loyalty."
"I never wanted the moon and stars. Just you. There was something you could have given, that was you. And if you'd really wanted to give me what I deserved, then you should have respected me enough to let me decide what I wanted."
"I made a mistake," he acknowledged, and looked at the floor as several minutes of silence ticked by. "You're using past tense. Is it too late?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I love you, but... I've been spending the last few months learning how to live again. Or trying to, anyway. I don't know." Riza looked away, staring at nothing as she kept her eyes wide to stave off the tears. "I miss you. I miss us. But I don't miss how things were, or what they'd become."
"Things can change, if you want them to."
"I can't transfer back to Central, not now."
"I didn't ask you to. You're not under my command now, Riza. Maybe we have a chance to make this work." She looked at him when she heard him approach. "Can we start over? Not as commanding officer and subordinate, but us. Leave the military out of the equation. I don't want you back on my staff, I want you in my life. Today, tomorrow, for all the other tomorrows if we can make it work."
Part of her wanted to refuse on principle, to hold onto the hurt that had moved in, bag and baggage, and was a familiar presence if not a comfortable one. A twinge of pettiness, want him to work for it, to grovel, to give the required pound of flesh in exchange for hers.
But more than any of that, she wanted it to be over. The separation, the exhaustion, the hurt, the sense of being away from home for far too long.
His fingertips touched her chin, coaxing her head up, getting her to look at him. "I'll even ask your grandfather for permission to court you if that's what it takes."
That made her smile despite everything. "Court me?" she whispered. "That went out of style fifty years ago or so."
For just a moment there was a pause, and an old, familiar gleam shone in his eye as his lips curled into a smirk that she could only describe as sultry. "Romance never goes out of style, it simply changes names, like the ladies change their fashion with the season."
Riza Hawkeye, First Lieutenant, former adjutant to the Flame Alchemist, Brigadier General Roy Mustang, swore for years that she was immune to her commanding officer's charm, that she wasn't like other women, and would never swoon over something as silly as a smile or a flirtatious comment.
She'd never been on the full receiving end of it before either.
"I should hate you now," she whispered. Something else must have been visible in her expression, because that smirk turned into a coy grin.
"And why is that?"
At the question, she realized that he was now going to make her say it, and she gave him a mild glare. "What's the big idea treating me like one of those silly women who fall over themselves giggling if you so much as smile at them?"
"The idea is, you're not 'one of those' women, you are the woman, and hardly silly at that. What kind of suitor would I be if I weren't willing to expend the very best of my efforts to win you over and make you understand I couldn't live without you?"
Oh, damn that man. Damn him a thousand times over. She waged an unsuccessful war to keep from smiling even as she shook her head. "I really, really should hate you."
"I heard it said once that hate is simply love to a point of passion that unhinges the soul," he whispered, and she was aware only then how little distance there was between them.
"So love makes someone absolutely insane," she murmured as she watched him, close enough to feel his breath against her skin. "That seems fairly accurate."
"Of course," a third voice said, startling them both, "proper courting has the permission coming before the kissing."
"Grandfather!"
"General Graman, sir."
He stood in the doorway, his moustache twitching at the wide grin behind it. "Children these days. Tsk. Where would either of you be without Ruth and I?"
"Not here, considering that to be here, I'd need my mother for that, and she in turn would have required you two."
"Are you sure you want to take this one off my hands?" Graman asked, looking at Roy. "She's a cheeky one. All sales final, just so you know." That got a damp washcloth flung in his direction. "See what I mean?" he said, pointing to her. "Cheeky."
Roy grinned and stepped away from Riza, turning to face the old general fully as he saluted. "Lieutenant General Graman, sir, with your permission, I would like to try to win your granddaughter's heart, and if she'll have me, her hand as well."
"Hmm." He crossed his arms behind his back, and appeared to consider it. "Absolutely not."
"Thank you, sir, I-- what?" Roy blinked.
So did Riza. "Grandfather?"
The old man grinned. "What do you mean, 'try'? Put some work into it, boy and get it done. Ruth and I are tired of this girl moping around the house, and bless her heart, I don't know where she got that stubborn streak from because it certainly wasn't me. I'm as amicable as a newborn lamb. Now get it through her head that you've both been a couple of stupid young fools, and knock it off before the rest of us go crazy, and that's an order."
"I beg your pardon!" Riza protested.
"An order?" Roy grinned. "Best order I've ever followed."
"I'll leave you two to that. I'm sure you don't need my help for that sort of thing," Graman said. "I've a phone call to make, to your Lieutenant Breda."
"Breda?" Riza asked.
"What the--" Roy stopped and blinked.
"Makes sense now, doesn't it?" Graman asked, smug.
"What makes sense?" Riza demanded.
"'Second verse, same as the first'," Roy quoted. "I wondered what that man was muttering about..."
"You ran off to the North, and she ran off to the East." Graman shook his head.
"So that's how you knew to break that chess piece."
"That, and this one moping around and sighing like some lovesick little--"
"I did not either, Grandfather!" Riza protested.
"Hmph. Well, if you two want to get on with it, I suggest finding another room, unless you care to have Bessie as a spectator," Graman said as he stepped aside to let the cook past.
"I don't know where you get those crazy ideas, General," she fussed as she entered the kitchen. "Shoo, all of you. Supper's liable to be late at this rate. Perfectly good parlor for this sort of dallying about but do you use it, no, it's always my kitchen. Might have to settle for just cold cuts and reheated soup, and here with two generals in attendance. Tsk."
"Two generals who've had their share of field rations over the years," Roy said. "And you have plenty of time to cook. Think you could make those apple tarts of yours I liked so much? It's been far too long since I've been honored with such a delicious treat."
"You and your sweet talking ways, General Mustang, you haven't changed a bit." She huffed and shook her head. "I'll go see if there's any apples in the larder, but if you want any, you get out of here and go kiss some sense into that girl."
"Yes, ma'am," Roy replied, grinning widely as he took Riza's arm and ushered her to the door and down the hall into the library.
Her head felt like it was spinning; her grandparents and old Bessie and even Breda, perhaps the whole group for all she knew, were all conspiring against them like that? "Do you have any--"
She forgot what she'd been about to ask as he kissed her. If he'd been intending to kiss sense into her as Bessie ordered, he was going the wrong way. It was strong and possessive, slow and deliberate, and she was trembling by the time he drew away just enough to speak. "Do you want to try, Riza? Try again, start over, just the two of us?"
Riza nodded, stammering as she worked to recover the ability of speech. "Y-yes."
"I'm sorry, Riza. You're the last person I wanted to see hurt."
"That chapter's closed now. New beginning."
"New beginning."
"What do we do about me being out here in the East?"
"We'll figure it out, one step at a time."
"What's the next step?"
"I don't have a clue. But this direction looks good to me."
When he kissed her that time, she was ready, responding and returning it in kind. She wasn't sure where they were going, but the journey didn't seem to be off to a bad start at all.
"If you forgive me all this, If I forgive you all that, We forgive and forget, And it's all coming back to me now."