Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye (flame_queen) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-09-09 03:05:00 |
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Roy had been downstairs in the barracks, talking with his Lieutenant (who had been dressed casually.. And her hair was down? Weird) when York showed up. He gave the Colonel a smile and a cool greeting before he nodded at Hawkeye and asked if she was ready to go. She had told him that she was, she’d said her goodbyes to her superior officer, and then she’d headed off with York. Alone. Just the two of them. Unsurprisingly, the Colonel had stayed there at Riza’s bunk to wait for them to return. They’d come back late, far later than they should have, and they both looked a little tired, but York was smiling wide and Hawkeye looked.. Well, she looked amused. She even had a bit of a smile. She also had a large bandage on her arm, gauze settled professionally on flesh, taped on with the white fabric tape, and looking very clean. Her sleeve was a little blood stained and rolled up to above her elbow. York had one hand bandaged in the same way. What the fuck had they done on their date? Get into a knife fight? Well.. yeah. Yeah, they had. And as they approached the blonde woman’s bunk, she slowed up upon seeing Roy there, head tilting slightly. “Sir?” She questioned as she came nearer. “Sir, are you alright?” Why was he down here? Was everything okay? Were Ed and Al okay? What was wrong? Her eyes asked all the necessary questions, her face taking on the smallest look of concern-- but for the Colonel’s assistant, it was a big thing. *** A date. His Lieutenant, the love of his life, Riza Hawkeye was on a date with York. York, who was a young officer that the Colonel had found in his early search for connection when he’d been a recent arrival. York, someone that Roy trusted and who knew Roy’s dilemma with the woman he was now taking on a date. Roy let them go together. He stood back and watched them walk away, jealousy blazing to life inside his chest. But it wasn’t like she belonged to him. Their intimacy wasn’t a commitment. It wasn’t anything. They weren’t anything. So fine, alright, let them go. It didn’t mean anything. She’d still come back to him. Hawkeye always came back. But he’d lingered behind, rather than indulging his impulse to go bury his jealousy in Gambit. Roy hadn’t quite laid himself out on Hawkeye’s bunk. Okay, yes, he had, but he stayed appropriate while doing it, having sank down, leaned back against a post and waited. And waited. He might have dozed with his head on Hawkeye’s pillow, but by the time the pair returned he was up and practically pacing the barracks in agitation. His anxiety wasn’t soothed at all by their arrival. Dark eyes jumped to Hawkeye, passing over her face and that smirk, to her shoulders and chest, on down where they stopped briefly on her injury then continued in search of others. His lips parted. “What happened?” He demanded, ignoring her inquiry because he wasn’t the one with bandages. The Colonel’s dark eyes moved to York, “What did you do to my Lieutenant?” *** York held up both hands in surrender. “I only tried to help, sir--” With his own bandaged hand, that was. Ahem. But Hawkeye was just shaking her head slightly at York, who had only been able to stare at her in wonder as she’d taken complete control of the situation. She was so perfect. York couldn’t help but picture Carolina while she’d been owning the assholes who’d jumped them. Or, well.. Had tried to. She really was remarkable. “It wasn’t his fault, sir.” The Lieutenant insisted with a slightly raised chin. “We were attacked on the walk back from the mess.” They’d gone to the mess? Really? Well, where did the Colonel expect two soldiers to end up? York was not a suave romantic. “Five men attempted to take possession of me, they were demanding answers about the supplies I’d collected for you.” Alchemy supplies. “York and I were able to subdue them and question one about their motives. Then he insisted we go to the clinic to be properly attended to.” So that he didn’t bring her back bleeding and lose his head. Smart call. See? He’d even ensured the wound had been properly and professionally treated, so it wouldn’t get infected. He was taking care of the shorter blonde. York was nothing if not good at taking care of people. “I’m sorry if we scared you, sir.” The Spartan offered as he pressed both of his hands into his back pockets. “She really kicked their asses.” And York had just stood back for most of it and been impressed. She would have made a good Spartan. *** Five individuals attacked a pair of soldiers outside the mess hall, over a randomized list of alchemy supplies. That said a lot more to Roy than maybe it did either of them but beyond the narrowing of his eyes and the slight parting of his lips his expression didn’t show it. Riza could read him better, of course, but he controlled himself as best he could. Now wasn’t the time. There was a reason he randomized the lists. Someone had either recognized what was inside of it or the things he requested were strangely important here. Either way, someone was watching. It was his fault his Lieutenant and the other soldier were attacked. She’d been injured, but really, one bandage after five soldiers? Roy quirked a brow and eyed Hawkeye. “Losing your touch, Lieutenant?” he asked. She was remarkable. She was Riza Hawkeye, expert marksman, expert at hand to hand combat, she carried no less than four weapons on a regular basis. Five men in some alley was nothing. Nothing. So what was with the spike of anxiety in his chest? He couldn’t lose her. What if it had been more. What if they knew her talents and where she slept? His dark eyes raced around the inside of the barracks, his fingers curled into fists. “You can’t stay here.” It was too open. The same reasons she’d wanted him behind a locked door. *** “We were only surprised, sir.” She assured him, coming closer to her bunk so that she could reach out and grab a hair tie. It was late, there was no need for her to clip it up, so she only put into a high pony tail and left it to hang, then brown eyes came back to her superior. He looked-- You can’t stay here. “Excuse me?” She couldn’t stay here? Where was she going to stay, then? It wasn’t as if the two of them had enough money for her to get an apartment, not even a studio. Maybe if he moved into a studio and so did she, but even then that was pushing it. No, his apartment was enough of a drain on them. That, along with food and the new taxes that were coming out (she understood them, it didn't mean she had to like them), and they had just enough to make them both comfortable exactly where they were. “I think you’re over-reacting, sir.” She was perfectly fine here in the barracks. Though, York had tilted his head too. “You know he has a point, Riza.” Riza. Had York just called her Riza? Yep. “If they came after you outside the mess, they’d come for you in the barracks, too.” “That’s ridiculous. I can take care of myself-- besides, it’s too much money.” She said it in a tone that challenged either one of them to try and refute her statement. They just couldn’t afford it. The taller blonde shrugged up his shoulders and opened out his arms some. “Come stay with us. Me and the Elrics. Al can move in with me, we’ll give you his bedroom, I’m sure he’d be fine with it.” It seemed so simple. “Then you don’t have to pay for this bed anymore.. Just maybe cook a few meals for us.” Since the three of them were failing at being anything but bachelors. It really was awful in their apartment sometimes. *** Riza. Roy’s eyes found that solid blue one and narrowed a dangerous fraction. Who was ever so familiar with his Lieutenant? Who did she let be so casual with her? What the hell had they been doing? For how long? Roy never questioned what his subordinates did in their downtime; their leave and their days off duty were theirs entirely. But he felt that suddenly he should have questioned it. What did she do when she wasn’t catering to Mustang’s every need? He said nothing though, because York was backing up his point. Though his mind raised the question; why would he care about Hawkeye at all. He did have a ridiculous crush on her… Stop it, Roy. “No,” he said at York’s offer, “Edward wouldn’t trust she was there for anything other than to keep an eye on him.” It’d send him into a worse spiral, and Mustang was working to keep the kid out of it. “You idiots are already bothering my subordinate enough,” he looked at York as he said it. Yes, he knew about the events of the last week, he knew York’s maniac friends had almost dragged those boys into something awful. He wasn’t happy. But Hawkeye living with the Elrics after that would make Ed think Roy didn’t trust them enough to keep themselves on their own two feet. “Cut the funds to the god damned lab,” he said, looking back at Hawkeye, “Or move in with me.” Close up shop on Roy’s research or live with the man. *** Roy had a very good point about the Elrics, Ed would believe Riza was a plant from the Colonel and he’d clam up and become angry and volatile and it just wasn’t a good idea. So as her superior told York those facts, the blonde woman nodded her silent agreement. He was right. But then he mentioned closing the lab and hard brown eyes, a killer’s eyes, turned onto him. “No, sir.” That wasn’t happening. Not on his life. He was just beginning to get excited about Alchemy again, he’d gotten Ed excited again and he was starting to help Al and-- no. The lab stayed. If she had to sleep in the lab, that’d be fine, but the lab stayed. Or move in with me. Was that the only other option. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate, perhaps we can speak to Mr. Dresden about some sort of arrangement, there isn’t any reason I couldn’t find room for a cot in your lab, Colonel. And then there would be some extra security.” Not that it’d be great, there were no windows to speak of.. Meaning there were none. No windows. It wouldn’t be great for Black Hayate, who had seemed to rotate lately. He stayed with Roy while Riza was working because he couldn’t stay in the barracks alone, and if Roy was busy with research, York was always happy to take him, someone was always home in their apartment.. Unless they weren’t. And then it was lucky Harry who got the tiny dog. Thankfully, Black Hayate and Mouse had become fast friends. *** Roy turned to look at her, just a slight shift of his shoulders, but with it all of his attention fell on her. His eyes bore holes into her own, meeting those Killer’s depths with cold, unpredictable fury. “The lab?” he questioned, his tone ugly. “Where I keep the alchemy supplies the people who attacked you are after? You don’t think they’ll track it to the wizard’s premises? Who, by his own admission, doesn’t keep protective magic around anything but the upstairs apartment? No, Lieutenant, you’re not setting yourself in a god damned box for them to assault. Let them take the supplies, let them take the damned research, none of that is worth your life.” Not to him. Never to Roy. He’d throw it all away for her. Everything. She was his Achilles’ Heel and he’d take on the entire world in defense of her. For love of her. The Flame Alchemist stared at her with hard eyes for long seconds. “You can take the second bedroom,” he said sternly. “No rent, you’d save what you normally sink in here.” He pointed a gloved hand at the bunk he’d been occupying for the better part of the evening. With him, he could keep her safe. *** “Sir, I--” She began, but York was lifting his hand some and shaking his head. “No, he has a point. It’s better this way. If the Colonel says he’s working in his office, you can now check in on him.” Since she’d live there. They’d have to move the office, but there was a nice sized den, so it would work. “And he’ll be able to work more efficiently because he won’t have to worry about you getting kidnapped by Alchemy-loving thieves.” Right? Huh? It made sense. Riza slid a glance to York, then back to the Colonel. But instead of speaking, she just settled him with a look that said having her move in with him was entirely inappropriate, considering their current... relationship.. And the fact that they were superior and subordinate. Those eyes could say it so much better than any statement coming from her lips. It was against regulations and she was trying her very best to keep him on the right path. If he wanted to be Fuhrer, if he wanted her standing behind him, he couldn’t live with her. He couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry, sir.” Came her eventual decline. *** She glared. Roy’s expression didn’t change at all, he stared right back at her with his resolute gaze. “I can order you, Hawkeye,” he said. “You’re not going to shoot me today. You’re not going to shoot me tomorrow. So these are your options; you take the second bedroom, or I leave the apartment and move back here.” He pointed at the bunk he’d originally started out on. If someone was after his subordinate, or him, he’d be there to meet the threat. Like hell would he let her refuse this. She was his responsibility as much as he was hers, and he wasn’t beyond playing dirty to get the results he desired. Roy Mustang was good inside, but he was also an asshole who manipulated situations to fit his needs, rather than bending to fit the situation. He would shape the world with his hands to make it work in tandem with his goals. And right now? Assuring Hawkeye’s safety was the primary concern. “So ruck up, Lieutenant.” Gather your shit and prepare to haul it over to the apartments, because she wasn’t going to let him leave it to return here. *** It wasn’t often that Roy Mustang put his foot down when it concerned his assistant. It was her who ran his life, not the other way around. Sure, he gave the orders, but she knew the reasoning behind all of them and she often knew they were coming before he actually gave them (she read his incoming files and gave him the Cliff Notes so he wouldn’t have to read the thirty-page reports). The Lieutenant had never abused her powers before (and she had great powers), and the Colonel trusted her not to. They had a good system. So, when the system became a little out of whack and the dark-haired man began asserting his dominance, it always made Riza pay attention. It meant something. He didn’t do it for no reason, after all. “Yes, sir.” Came her agreement at last. Turning, she offered her hand to York. “Thank you for dinner, Agent York.” He took her hand and bent to press a kiss along her knuckles. “It was my pleasure, Riza. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” With that, he released her and and give Roy a short salute, then he was turning to leave the pair of them alone. That was all the encouragement the sniper needed to begin packing up her few personal items. Hayate was already at the Colonel’s apartment, of course, snoozing on his bed. “Thank you for this, sir.” It would be nice to have him nearer. *** He wanted to punch York in the throat when he kissed Hawkeye’s knuckles. How many times had Roy done that to other women? Watching someone else do it to a woman he felt genuine feelings for was stupid. Is this what Havoc felt like every time Mustang took one of his girlfriends away from her? Ridiculous. Instead, he acknowledged York’s salute, “Thank you for looking after my Lieutenant,” actually bothering to return the salute out of respect. As the superior officer, he wasn’t required to return it… but occasionally someone did something which he felt garnered a response. And then he watched the tall blonde walk away before his gaze returned to Hawkeye “Thank me when I’m not putting your life in danger, Hawkeye,” He stood back and watched her. These were her things, he wasn’t going to dig through them with her to throw them into a rucksack all helter skelter. *** York actually gave him a wink on the way out. A wink. That asshole. But Hawkeye was already collecting up her clothes, stacking them neatly into her bag, followed by her second pair of shoes, and two guns, her rifle hung over her shoulder, her bag zipped up, and her uniform taken from the locker beside her bed. That was it. That was everything. Brown eyes settled onto his darker set and the Lieutenant gave him a nod. Alright. They were doing this. For real. She was actually going to live with him. At least until they could afford something else. Which, if she was honest, was never going to happen. The walk out of the barracks and to his apartment would be silent, as long as it wasn’t disturbed by the Colonel. *** She was efficient in this as she was in all things; she packed her belongings into a single rucksack with the speed and no nonsense of a practiced soldier used to carrying bare minimums. That had been their life for more than a decade now. It took her only minutes before they were turning as a unit and heading out of the barracks, Mustang’s eyes on high alert now, his fingers tense and ready for the instant he’d call fire and rain it down on the heads of those that assailed him. It was the Flame Alchemist that led the pair back to the apartments, in silence, which wasn’t unusual for them - each soldier trapped in their own thoughts and concerns about what had occurred, what had resulted from it, and what would come next. Roy opened the door to his apartment, tucked away the key again and then touched his fingers to the small array carved into the wooden doorframe in passing. It glowed that strange light then slowly faded, gone by the time the man had crossed over entirely. The wizard Dresden wasn’t the only person who added security to things. He wasn’t the only one capable of it. Every entrance into the apartment carried a mark of the alchemist’s defenses. Who would know their placement better than Hawkeye? She who knew Mustang best. He pulled those white gloves off his hands once he was inside, dropping them casually onto a surface further from the door. He wasn’t an idiot to leave his first line of defense and offense far away from himself. Turning back to Hawkeye, he watched her, “Nothing will change,” he insisted. He knew the reasons she’d declined the order… the suggestion, initially. *** Once inside with the door closed behind her, she turned to face him fully, eyes roaming over his face. The Lieutenant took in the smoothness of his brow, there was no worry there, no curious thought, just determination. The sharpness of his eyes and the slight angle they had-- she thought he had the most stunning eyes she’d ever seen. The line of his nose and the way it worked with his high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the dip of his chin. And his lips. Her eyes lingered there a second too long before they lifted again, their gazes meeting. “Things have already changed, Colonel.” Lingering there a second, she allowed those words time to sink in. And only after the span of a few heartbeats did the blonde woman shift her rifle on her shoulder and turn to head to the second bedroom-- his office. There was no bed anymore, of course, it had been traded off long ago for the desk, but she didn’t mind. She had slept in far worse places than the floor of a nice, clean, and safe apartment. Riza trusted they’d find her a mattress eventually, if not a bed as well. Once into the room, she set her bag down, leaned the rifle carefully near the door, and hung her uniform up in front of his black coat, hanging from the door. A hand smoothed over it affectionately. Well, that hadn’t taken long. She was all unpacked. Now what? She couldn’t let it be strange. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t spent the night at his place before. Heck, she’d spent the night in this apartment before. It was fine. *** Things have already changed, Colonel. Roy stared after her, his eyes pinned to the back of that blonde hair he’d watched tumble over her naked shoulders when he’d- Roy closed his eyes, which didn’t stop the images from flooding back, he turned his head away and they still kept coming. Things had changed and they hadn’t changed. He’d told her he loved her, she said it back, and here they were avoiding each other. Well, she was avoiding him. She was there, don’t be ridiculous, she always was, but she didn’t stand as close, or face her chair at quite the same angle, she didn’t allow herself moments and moments were all they ever got. Things had changed. He didn’t like the direction--the non direction--anything was going, but what could he do? Riza went into the office, Roy rolled his eyes after a moment, “Hawkeye,” he called. “Sleep in my damned bed, I’ll take the couch.” Because he’d once slept on the floor in her bedroom when her father died. He could sleep on a couch inside a shared apartment until they could fix the bedroom inside. *** “I’ve already agreed to live in your apartment, sir, you’re not going to convince me to sleep in your bed.” Except that he could. So easily. Far too easily. Her eyes dropped to her hands there in the office, away from his prying eyes. What was she going to do now? It’d been easy to be strong when she didn’t have to wake up every morning and see his face. When she could pretend things were normal, like they were back home. But living with him? She’d see him every day, as a human-- a real person-- not this sharp-pressed, slick-smirked, silver-tongued playboy that he liked to convince the world he was. She knew better, of course, but that knowledge was built over time.. It wasn’t because she’d lived with him. What was she going to do? How was she going to keep herself from giving in at his smallest whim? She loved him. Crap. Brown eyes slid shut. *** “Well, you can come back out and sleep on this couch with me then,” he replied, everything she’d just been struggling with in his tone and his suggestion. He was silver-tongued, slick-smirked, and exceptionally charming on a whim. She was familiar with that and the remarkably alienating asshole he could be. He was occasionally both, that too, she knew. Mustang stripped himself out of his military jacket, unbuttoning the long row of buttons then shrugging out of the hard pressed blue uniform and draped it across the table with his gloves, leaving him in a buttoned up white shirt which he started rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. She’d lived with him before, back when things had been difficult, but never full time. Hell, she ran his life so what difference did her physical presence make that it had never made before? He loved her, yes. His eyes trailed back to the couch they’d shared their first night; she had been a virgin. Roy lost his at 13, the perks of living in a brothel when you spent time away from your Master’s home. Why was he thinking about any of this? Sighing, he pushed a hand through his hair, flopped down onto the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table, where he leaned forward and started pulling the laces on his boots undone. *** It took her a few more moments to come out of the office, but when she did, it was with a firm resolve. She could do this. “Sir. It’s late. Go to your bed. I will sleep here until we find a mattress for your office. This isn’t up for discussion.” She wasn’t taking his bed. They weren’t going to sleep on the couch together. And if he didn’t want her sleeping on the floor, that meant the couch was hers. It was called ‘compromise’, and believe it or not, the Lieutenant was good at it. Very good. “On your feet. It’s late and I’ve had a long evening.” An attempted kidnapping. A date. Moving. A new place to sleep. The realization she’d have to wake up to Roy’s stupid face every morning. “Now, sir.” *** There she was. Roy half turned to look at her as she came out, brows raising, but he didn’t argue with that steely resolve. A slow smirk played across his face and he nodded slightly, turning back to take off his other boot, which dropped next to the first with a dull thud. In socks then, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled, and yawning, Roy Mustang looked more human than he ever did. He looked like every other tired, tried, and exhausted man that lived with exceptionally trying individuals on a daily basis. He yawned once more, stooped to pick up his boots, and then stepped in close to Hawkeye. He didn’t kiss her this time. She’d walk right back out the door… or maybe they’d end up on the couch again. He wasn’t sure. “Alright,” he said, “don’t be angry at me for getting yourself caught up in a firefight, Hawkeye.” Slick, silver-tongued asshole who could also be sarcastic with a mocking playful tone. His eyes reflected all of that. “You win.” He winked at her, then he stepped away and headed for the bedroom. “Goodnight, Hawkeye.” *** He stepped in close. He didn’t reach out to try and pull her in. He didn’t lean in to try and press their mouths together. Instead, he just stood there and looked... perfect. He looked perfect. His assistant contemplated leaning in instead, or tugging at his hair and bringing him in for a kiss. Maybe grabbing him by the shirt. Mostly, she liked the idea of sliding her fingers into that silky, messy, dark mop and using it to pull his face down to hers. She took in a slow breath in preparation-- And Roy Mustang opened his big, fat, stupid mouth. He couldn’t ever do anything right when it came to Hawkeye, could he? She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and watched him as he headed into his bedroom. What was she doing here? “Goodnight, sir.” Always sir. Always Colonel. Always formal. Always professional. Except that once. On that couch. Brown eyes turned to it. Good job, Lieutenant. *** Roy closed the door. It gave them a sense of privacy you didn't get in the military. It set boundaries. It let Roy slump down onto his bed without interruption, without so much as removing his uniform completely. He flopped on the blankets, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt so he wouldn't choke, and then he eventually fell asleep. Roy dreamed that night. Most of his dreams began in the desert, with clear skies, and the sounds of screaming, and the smell of charred flesh in the air. Most of his dreams took him through those lived events. Sometimes he dreamed of dead friends. Sometimes he dreadmed he murdered them. Tonight, Hawkeye died. Not in the desert, like usual, not in her home as an old woman who’d lived a full and happy life. Tonight he found her prone corpse in the streets of Knowhere, with a hapless York standing beside Roy, telling him he didn’t know what happened. Just on the edge of his vision, five figures loomed - unknown faces surrounded by a swath of black; deep shadows keeping them anonymous. In the dream world, Roy screamed, in the dream world he set flames to living flesh. In the real world, there were no flames. Just a shout that was muffled by the door and the wild thrashing of a man trying to pull himself awake, tangled in blankets, covered in a cold sweat, and shaking. “Hawkeye!” There was a reason he called her every night. No matter the hour, she always answered. *** She always answered when he called, no matter the hour. Tonight was no different, only tonight he hadn’t needed a phone. The door to his bedroom clicked open quietly and a stripe of soft light shown into the room, a body blocking it briefly before the light was gone again and the door closed. She knew he wasn’t entirely awake. She knew he was probably mildly alert at best. But most importantly, she knew his gloves were tucked away somewhere safe. So she spoke up as silent steps took her towards his bed. “Hello, sir.” The same thing she always muttered into the phone as a greeting at o’dark thirty when he called her. Only this time it wasn’t the sound of her voice through the line of a phone, he didn’t have to feel the chilly metal against his ear. Instead, he’d get to feel the bed dip slightly as his Lieutenant’s knee set down onto the mattress, then she climbed onto it entirely, a hand reaching out to press back through his sweat-slicked hair. “It was just a dream.” She was fine. Did he call her every night.. Because he woke up shouting her name every night? No. *** The bed dipped, Roy wasn’t entirely awake, hands touched him and he flinched away. In dreams he’d fought shadows and now shadows were touching him, so he struggled to push them away, the tangle of sheets still catching him up, making the anxiety worsen until that voice clicked. It was just a dream The hands made sense, so did the voice, the soft dip in the bed. Roy inhaled a sharp gasp and his eyes jolted open, staring around inside the dark room, instinctively reaching for light. He always called Hawkeye, and right now she was there. He stopped searching for light and reached out with both hands to touch her. Real, warm, she was solid and he didn’t want to turn on the light anymore at all. His mind lying, she could be burned to crisps like she typically was in his dreams, the bloodless corpse he’d found tonight, the hollowed, broken blonde with streaks of red in her hair, puddling around her lifeless form. He closed his eyes again, pressing forward both so he could push his head against her chest and curl his arms around her. He usually asked her an asinine question, something joking that he could laugh at and pretend to be trying to aggravate her with. None of that happened now. He just held on. *** There was no need for it now. He didn’t need to hear more of her voice to be sure it was Hawkeye. He didn’t need to hear her annoyed tone, or the way she made a soft ‘Mm’ in the back of her throat before she answered whatever silly question or statement he made. He didn’t need those little reminders and reassurances because he had her hands pushing into his hair and guiding him in close to her. As he scooted in nearer, she let herself settle onto her back in his bed and she urged that dark mop down onto her chest. The steady, strong thud of Riza Hawkeye’s heart. She was okay. She was there. Long fingers continued to stroke through his hair as her other hand slid along his back. He was sweaty. “Sir?” She asked gently, waiting for some sort of reply, be it a word or a grunt, before she continued. “You’re still dressed-- take your shirt off.” It couldn’t be comfortable. And he was going to sleep well for the rest of the night, the Lieutenant had already decided. “Come on. I need you to cooperate.” That belt and those pants, the lower portion of his uniform needed to come off, as well. He was drenched in sweat. He needed to be beneath the covers once stripped, or he’d catch a chill. *** His shoulders shook, his whole body trembling in the aftermath of his horrors, the cold sweat adding to the shivers that wracked his frame. He’d soak her by virtue of pressing so close, but she didn’t seem to mind. Roy didn’t move, not for long seconds while his breathing eased and he convinced himself she was real; her touches helped, the hands in his hair, the strong thud of her heart in her chest. He was sweaty, it was cold. Take his shirt off? Yeah, that seemed like a good idea, something solid he could accomplish, a task to orient himself with. He didn’t want to detach himself from Hawkeye though, not there in the dark where he could barely see her. The soldier forced himself to sit up, “I’m sorry, Hawkeye,” for waking her. It was the same routine every night. But, upright, the Colonel blearily pulled apart buttons, shrugged out of the shirt, still shivering. No use when the sheets were wet, too. He reached for the lamp, and squinted his eyes shut when the light flicked on. One, two, three. Just breathe. He forced himself through the routine, then looked back at Hawkeye, fear spiking to life in his chest- She was fine. Okay. Good. The rest was just details. “... sheets,” they were covered in sweat, too. *** Sheets. Okay. Alright. Sheets. “Pants.” She returned, pulling herself from the bed and heading to the small closet in the room. Of course she knew where the sheets were, this wasn’t the first time she’d made his bed for some strange reason. There were always reasons with Mustang. A new set of sheets retrieved, once he climbed from the bed, the young woman would expertly strip the bed, tossing the old, damp sheets away haphazardly (she would take care of them in the morning) and making quick work of the new sheets. Crisp. A little chilly. And they smelled like soap. The top sheet was folded back and Hawkeye reached out a hand to her Colonel. It was time to get back in the bed, Mustang. Nevermind that you’d managed to soak your subordinate’s shirt. There wasn’t a chance of her leaving him now, she’d just have to deal with it. Her little shorts (goodness they were short) seemed to be fine, however. “I’ll get the light.” She’d take care of you, Roy. She always did. *** She was quick about it, it was nice, because Roy couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He’d gotten to his feet then stared forlornly down at his belt, wondering how he was supposed to unbuckle it, his brain refusing to report the information. He’d worked it out eventually, he stepped out of his trousers. His boxers could stay. They were damp, but he didn’t have desire or function to fumble out of and into a new pair. So he turned back to the made bed, the outstretched hand and those comforting brown eyes that had seen so much and looked at him now with such steady concern. Roy went to her, he climbed back into the bed and when she turned out the lights and resettled, he pressed in close again. She was comfort. She was home. Roy’s shoulders shook, no sounds escaped him. *** She might have been comfort and home for him, but she was also damp. And so was he. How was he still.. Of course. Hawkeye snaked her arms around his back and she just held on as he cried against her. Adding tears to the sweat was nothing. He could do anything he wanted and she would let him. So his Lieutenant simply held on, her hands moving along his back, up into his hair, then down along his spine again. Soft, delicate touches. Who ever thought those hands meant to kill would be so gentle? For Roy, she could be anything. Her cheek pressed to the top of that dark head and she waited. Waited until the shaking subsided and the wet heat on her chest didn’t seem to be getting any bigger. Then she spoke quietly. “It’s okay.” She promised in a whisper, her thin body turning a little, slipping down some so she could hook her thumbs into his boxers and slip them down his hips and to his thighs. “Off.” She ordered him quietly, expecting he’d find it in himself to get them off the rest of the way. Only then would she pull him back in and tug the blankets over them a second time. Now she felt better. He was safe. He was warm. And now he was dry (well, drier than he had been). “Go back to sleep, sir.” She had you. *** The quiet assurance of her touch soothed him, so that his shoulders stopped their useless trembling, and the shivers stopped wracking his frame. She held onto him, and he in turn clung to her, comforted by her gentleness and the solid presence with her arms around him. When he calmed down enough to be a functioning human being his brain reported the fact Hawkeye was- She was pulling his underwear down. Roy opened his eyes in the dark, that was the furthest thought from his mind so why was she… He didn’t question it, he trusted her implicitly and she wouldn’t ask him to do anything without cause. So he pulled back a little, dragged the damp cloth from his body and let it fall to the ground with the rest, then she was pulling him back in against her. Nevermind that naked flesh touched her warm skin, his thigh to hers or the fact he was laying against her chest, the gentle crush of her breasts against his cheek. Go back to sleep? He shook his head, no. That was where those terrible dreams were. Though, he would drift off, and when his dreams came again, he’d startle awake and she’d be there to soothe him. You ever wonder why the Colonel napped at his desk, all the way back in Central? Because at night the dreams came and he didn’t like to sleep. *** The Hawk’s Eyes suddenly felt so very useless. How had they not seen this? How had they missed it? All these years. Sure, she knew the Colonel had nightmares, but she’d always thought.. Well. She’d always thought he woke up once a night, called her and went back to sleep without incident. She’d never expected.. Never thought... did it make her a bad person? Maybe not.. But it certainly made her a bad subordinate. It made her a bad assistant and a terrible bodyguard. She’d been so selfish all these years. If he’d needed her, if he’d needed this, why hadn’t he said something? Why hadn’t he asked? Or just ordered her? Sure, he’d demanded her hands in his hair and his cheek to her chest a handful of times but she hadn’t... why hadn’t she... this was her doing. Holding him in close against her chest, the Lieutenant remained awake the rest of the night so as the dreams began and she could feel him moving against her, she could begin to soothe him, hoping she could chase the dreams away before they woke him. When morning finally came and the Colonel woke, he found himself alone, but the bed was still warm. The sound of movement in the main living space of his apartment would be evident, as Riza cooked breakfast. Thanks to York and Hawkeye’s meddling, there was actually food to cook. The blonde woman was already dressed, her hair pinned up as it always was, her uniform crisp and looking quite perfect on her.. Even if she looked a little tired. Who could blame her? When Roy appeared, she turned and gave him a bare smile. “Breakfast, sir.” Goodness.. He looked so perfect in the morning. He was a complete mess. *** He woke alone, warm, naked as the day he was born, and smelling of sweat. There was the smell he associated with Hawkeye. Roy's eyes flew open and he pushed himself up on his elbows to look around. She'd been here, she was out there now. Roy lingered for a while, having flopped back onto the sheets without pause while his brain reported the details. He really needed to stop doing this to her. The dreams always felt so real, but even so, they weren't hers to fix. They were reminders of his actions, the reasons he did everything he planned. ned. That was why he dealt, or didn’t deal, with them alone. Roy moved eventually, he climbed out of the bed, looked around at the lack of evidence from the night before, then dressed himself in something casual and comfortable. Barefoot, in pajamas, his hair a rumpled mess atop his head and hanging uselessly in front of his eyes, he wandered into the living room and was greeted by the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. Well, at least he found Hawkeye. He squinted at her through one eye, “Morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted, then yawned. He felt drained. Maybe he’d skip work today. His eyes drifted past her to the food she was cooking. “Tea?” he asked. He wouldn’t talk about what happened last night, he never did. *** Tea. It wasn’t a statement, it was a question. Roy Mustang had never offered her tea. Well, he had once. And then he’d told her to go make it. He was such an asshole. So when the question came, she gave a simple nod. “Of course. Here.” Plucking up a piece of bacon (something they rarely had, and it was space bacon, so.. Here went nothing) she turned to offer it out to him. When he took it, she’d leave the stove for just long enough to fetch the kettle and fill it with water while he ate. She efficiently had it on one of the back burners just a second later, reaching a hand out to turn up the knob to get it going even as she flipped their meal with a spatula. “One minute.” Her warning about how long he had to stand there like an idiot before breakfast was going to be ready. Brown eyes slid a glance back at him over her shoulder. He looked tired. She’d done her best to soothe and he still looked tired. She’d just have to do better tonight. She would do better tonight. “Go sit, sir.” Sir. *** He accepted the space bacon with a skeptical look, lingering there behind Hawkeye while he picked at it. Not bad, not his favorite, he’d only eat half of it anyway. He rarely consumed the entirety of anything unless he was floating on a high while doing it. And last night? Last night had been anything but. Go sit, sir. “Yes, sir,” he said mildly, offering even a slight smile which was an improvement from two minutes ago when he’d wandered in looking lost. Roy turned away from the woman and plodded over to the table, his jacket and gloves gone, probably where they belonged thanks to Hawkeye’s perpetually clean habits. Roy wasn’t quite so anal about it. In public, sure, you looked the part, but his personal space was a constant mess. He flumped down onto the chair and leaned back, his eyes closing. One minute wasn’t long at all. Hawkeye was coming, Roy opened his eyes and watched her as she served food and tea. Given incentive to continue breathing, he sat forward and reached for the cup of tea first. It would liven him up, it would make him feel more human. *** The meal set out and tea ready, Hawkeye ensured the Colonel had everything he needed before she took her seat across from him and began to eat. Like everything the woman did, it was precise and efficient. She kept her attention on her meal, the eggs cut into perfect portions, the weird space bacon set just so. The bacon tasted funny, the eggs had a strange texture, but she ate without complaint. She did everything without complaint, really. Needless to say, the woman would be silent while she ate, no need to talk about the previous night. In fact, there was no need to talk about much. Not right now, anyway. Eventually, she would finish her meal (inevitably before he did) and finally lifted confident brown eyes up to her Colonel, taking just a moment to assess how much he’d eaten before those dark eyes jumped up to his own dark gaze. For just an instant, she felt like she needed to say something, needed to speak and break the silence. Instead, she nodded once, then stood up from her spot at the table and collected her dishes to take them to the sink. There was nothing to say. *** He didn’t mind the silence today, it was acceptable, he sat and drank his tea before he bothered eating. The eggs got cold, he didn’t care, he only picked and by the time she had finished he too was done with what he’d wanted. She got up with her cool determination, always set about her tasks with dedication. Roy yawned again, then slumped. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he called. He decided, he wasn’t going today. He was going to sleep… probably not. He’d do something else. Something other than sit inside today but nothing that required work. “Why don’t you take the day off?” he called again. “... spend it with me,” that was said a lot quieter. He didn’t feel like arguing. Weird, he always argued with everyone. *** Take the day off? Was he insane? When had Riza ever just taken a day off? Maybe he’d bumped his head last night while he was thrashing around. Did she need to-- ...spend it with me. The Lieutenant paused in her rinsing of the dish she’d brought to the sink. She was still as a statue for a few heartbeats before finishing her task and setting the dish aside. His Assistant was sure that he hadn’t meant her to hear that last part, quiet as it’d been, with the water running in front of her. But she had. How was she supposed to un-hear it? “Yes, sir.” As if it were an order. It wasn’t, of course, but if it had been, she would have followed it. So there was no harm in pretending, was there? “Eat something more.” Her own calm order as she left the kitchen with measured steps and disappeared into the office to fetch her tablet. It took her only a moment to send out a message to Peter with her apologies, then she was coming back into the main room, picking up her empty glass from the table, and moving for the kitchen again. Well, that was easy. *** He paused. Yes, sir? His dark eyes followed her as she moved through the rooms, surprised. Yes, sir? He blinked. She was going to stay. Oh. Good. He relaxed back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest, chin tipped low. He would eat some more, enough to satisfy Hawkeye but not because he was hungry. When he finished, he rose and collected his dishes, taking it back to the kitchen where he left it. Of course. He looked at Hawkeye, brows furrowed, then he offered a painfully boyish smile. What was he doing? He didn't know. There was no plan today. No goal. He just stood near her, more than content to let her decide what would happen. He was tired, he wanted his day off, too. *** He was smiling. He was standing far too close to her (when didn’t he?). He was quiet. That one was new. What did he want? ...Wow. He looked fantastic. That rumpled hair, his wrinkled, messy clothes (he was hopeless without her), his bare feet, and that ridiculous boyish smile. He was a complete and total mess. How did this man successfully run an office? How did he lead and inspire men? Sometimes Riza wanted to throttle him. Other times, she wanted to kiss him. Like now. Taking on a slightly pained look, the Lieutenant let out a slow breath.. then she reached out a hand to thread into that ridiculously floppy hair, pushing it around to the back of his head so she could pull him forward. Forward and into a kiss, her lips finding his own and claiming them. Even if it was only for a brief moment. Great. *** Fingers in his hair, Roy's eyes widened just briefly until those lips met his. He wasn't expecting it, not from her. Not for her to initiate because she had been so against it from the start; but she was there now and she was kissing him. Roy made a noise, he pressed closer to her, into the kiss, his arms snaking around her waist to drag her against his chest. It was the same frenzy that had left them on the couch last time. The first time. That time, whenever it was. Whatever. He kissed her back, his fingers digging into her uniform as if she might slide from his grasp if he were any less possessive. He pulled away only when it was necessary to breathe. “... Hawkeye.” He didn't want to let her go. Not ever. *** Once the kiss broke, he was still holding her. Still gripping as if he let go, she would vanish. And maybe she would, she was known for putting distance between them. But she couldn't be blamed, she was a stickler for the rules and this was decidedly against them. A hand came to rest on his chest, the other still threaded in his hair. She was flushed from the lack of oxygen and the rush of pleasure. It took a moment, but she swallowed, then slowly pulled herself away, if able. If he allowed it. What had she just done? Oh. Oh no. “Sir, I'm..” She was what? Sorry? Ridiculous? Inappropriate? All of the above? Come on, Hawkeye. “I'm going to sleep in your room. We'll get a cot today. You need your office.” And she needed to be there for his nightmares. *** He didn’t let go, not really, but she tried to put distance between them so he allowed that much. His grip loosened a little, slowly, with obvious reluctance and then he lowered his hands, releasing her uniform from his grasp entirely. Roy liked the flush on her cheeks, he liked the look in her Killer’s eyes, he wanted to make them appear that way forever. He wanted her hands on him for more than just soothing his nightmares away. His brows rose when she spoke. “Well, I won’t say no to you moving into the bedroom,” he teased, that stupid boyish grin crossing his face again. Roy Mustang was stupid and he was perpetually incapable of just shutting up around Hawkeye. He never did anything right where she was concerned. But she was still here and that was encouraging. She always came back. The man reached up to touch her neatly pinned golden hair. Tell her you love her, Roy. Roy touched his brow to hers. Could silence convey the words he didn’t say? *** She did always come back. That made her just as stupid. And when he agreed to her moving in, albeit like a complete ass, she nodded. “Good.” That was that, then. Simple. His hands strayed to her hair again and the Lieutenant took on a slightly amused look. “My hair isn’t for your entertainment, Colonel.” Just a calm reminder as he continued to rub it carefully between his fingers. But soon his forehead came against hers and Hawkeye allowed her eyes to close, allowed this calm, quiet moment. Tell him you love him too, Riza. He’d already confessed to her-- twice. And she’d told him as much, then denied it, then taken it back, and had insisted he took it out of context. It was the worst ‘I love you’ in history. What was she doing with him? Was this cruel? Was she playing with him? Was that it? Why couldn’t she just tell him she loved him.. Or tell him to go away? She was she keeping him on the line like this? Because she loved him. She hated herself. “You should get dressed.” She told him, finally. “We need to buy a cot.” Not a bed, another bed wouldn’t fit. A cot was perfectly acceptable. *** He closed his eyes, relishing the moment with calm, quiet appreciation, enjoying the moment because moments were everything. And they were nothing. Roy exhaled a slow breath when Riza spoke, his dark eyes opening once more to meet those brown ones. Get dressed? Oh, yeah, he was standing there in his pajamas with his hair tousled and his feet bare. What a sight he must be, the aspiring leader under the mask that was the Flame Alchemist. Did Fuhrer Bradley walk around barefoot? Did his hair ever look less than perfect? His mustache? Did he get cramps in his back if he sat too long in one position? Because Roy Mustang was decidedly human, all those things said so. Why did men follow him? They wouldn’t if they knew he put his pants on just like everyone else. Roy nodded slightly though, leaning in to ghost a kiss across her lips again, her cheek, then her forehead before he pulled away. He’d given up the reigns today; Hawkeye was in charge. Roy was along for the ride. So he gave her a last lingering look then turned away, heading back to the bedroom so he could strip and dress again. *** Roy Mustang was human. It was why Riza loved him so much. All his weird quirks, all his flaws.. And he had many flaws.. Add them all up and it made for one incredible person. The was the most perfect like this, with all of them displayed. He leaned in. He brushed a kiss over her lips. Along her cheek. Across her brow. Like a doting husband to his adoring wife. Riza Mustang didn’t sound terribl-- No. What was wrong with her? Stop it! This was not appropriate, nothing about it was appropriate, it couldn’t be allowed to continue. She had to be strong. He glanced back at her and her heart leapt slightly in her chest. You were ridiculous, Riza Hawkeye. Stupid and ridiculous. Turning away, she set about cleaning up the kitchen and the table, so she’d be ready to go when he came out. Today was going to be professional. She wasn’t going to let him charm her. She was going to be strong against his advances and she was going to maintain this relationship, because they both knew Roy couldn’t be trusted to do it. She was his Lieutenant. That was all. This was enough. She’d gone far enough. |