well my dudes we made it to the final chapter. ty to everyone who has left me comments, or has liked or subscribed! this fic all started with a single sentence about riza's recovery not going entirely to plan and it ended up ballooning into this mess of words haha.

i'm currently in the depths of nanowrimo hell so at least i can finish one story properly while i try to tackle the rest! i hope u enjoy this final chapter! my thanks to rebbi-sonnenhell on tumblr: it was truly magical to see scenes come to life.

warning: this is the chapter that earns its rating. u have been warned ;)

Sunday was the quiet day at the hospital. Though the hospital was technically running at full capacity, only the absolutely necessary patients were dealt with – so for the majority of the day, he was left alone with Riza, with only nurses coming in with food and for a check up on her vitals and his medicine.

It is after lunch that she speaks finally, quietly and strained in harsh ways.

"Colonel..."

He can't stop the smile on his face or the racing of his heart, even if he tried to. His smile blooms across his face and he feels tears pricking at his eyes. "Hello, Lieutenant," he manages in his joy. "You've been out for a while."

She groans and rolls over onto her side, facing him properly. "I feel awful," she complains, voice husky and jagged. "How are you doing?"

"I'm better now," he admits, not even ashamed of open he's being with her right now. "Everyone else has been patched up as well. You suffered the worst out of our team, I'm afraid."

She begins to laugh, before coughing and grabbing at her throat with bruised knuckles, grimacing in pain. "Sounds about right," she mumbles ruefully. "I'm glad you're alright, sir. Maybe now we can afford some time off."

He laughs loudly. "We bloody well deserve it. General Grumman's taken over the majority of administration work so I'd say we've earned a leave of absence."

There's silence for a while as he watches her slowly sit up in the bed, the grin never leaving his face. "Are you hungry? The boys smuggled me some proper food instead of the crap they serve here."

She shakes her head, sitting up properly in the bed and slowly goes about stretching her body. There's a hesitancy to how she does it, like she's in new skin that hasn't been properly attached to her – like she expects to suddenly be without. Her arms are first, and she rolls them slowly in their sockets, and scrunches her hands tightly together. Her shoulders follow, until eventually she flattens her chest against the bed between her legs, reminding Roy of the flexibility that he had forgotten she was capable of. She's lithe like a panther and the muscle groups she slowly works through prove she could be just as dangerous as well if she chose to be.

He watches her, unashamedly transfixed. As clichéd as it sounds, suddenly being without sight and then again being granted it gives him a new perspective on the world around him. He wouldn't go as far to say that he sees her in an entirely new light – but Roy realises that perhaps he can now appreciate more of her than what he would allow of himself before. Before was averted glances in hallways and murmured messages in a darkened bar, but now it instead presented itself with another host of problems. The lack of responsibility is thrilling and he's only a little ashamed to admit how exhilarating this all is: he's like a teenager all over again.

She stays bent lowly for a while – he watches her back rise and fall rhythmically, her fingers curling and stretching against her toes. Her hair spreads out, spilling across her shoulders and hiding her face from him.

He knows her well enough to know she isn't crying – to him even, the shock still hasn't quite left his bones – and he knows it will take time for her to heal. But part of him wishes they weren't stuck in such a precarious position. He knows the full extent of her injuries – the full extent – and though the nurses felt certain she would make a full recovery, they were far vaguer when it came to deadlines.

We won't know until she wakes up. Please be patient.

Every patient recovers at a different pace. We can't know for certain what Ms. Hawkeye's will be like.

All signs point to a healthy recovery. Until she wakes though, we will never know.

"You're not allowed to talk until we say so."

It's a death sentence Roy never expected. There's a lull in the room, before frantic voices explode and the nurse looks ready to kick them all out.

"You can't just-"

"Nurse, she's fine-"

"What the f-"

"ENOUGH!" the slight woman bellows, glaring at Roy particularly. He tries his best not to shrink under her intimidating gaze.

"I don't know if none of you men bothered to notice, but her throat has been cut. If she strains her throat before the muscles have fully healed then it's unlikely you'll hear from her ever again. She needs rest and if any of you enable her in any way-" another dark look is shot his way and Breda sniggers behind the nurse's back "-then you will be barred from this hospital permanently. Have I made myself clear?"

A sheepish silence follows and Riza blinks slowly, before nodding. The nurse sighs heavily, before not-quite slamming the door behind her, stomping angrily down the hall. Edward's the first to break – before long the entire room is full of raucous laughter and bad impressions of the woman.

"I'm sorry Hawkeye," Breda says, wiping at his eyes theatrically. "I can't think of a worse fate for anybody. You can't even tell Mustang to shut up!"

Riza pouts and glances towards the door longingly, before opening her mouth in a very deliberate fashion.

"Hawkeye-" he cuts across her quickly and she glares at him. "The nurse is right – you shouldn't tax yourself like-"

She looks him dead in the eye, the corners of her lips twitching. "Shut up Roy," she deadpans.

The room explodes into laughter.

They are inundated in the days following her awakening. Everybody wants to see her, to see her progress, their faces paling as their gaze catches on the thick bandages surrounding her neck. She's mostly good about following the nurse's ruling about talking, but occasionally she'll let slip a comment or two and Roy often has to duck his head to keep his smile under control. It's bad enough when Edward visits – the kid is as determined as ever to get a rise out of him but it's when he finally smuggles Alphonse out of his quarantine that Roy wishes that sometimes he hadn't told Edward she was awake.

Alphonse, as he has always been, is a lot more perceptive than his older brother when it comes to people.

Roy doesn't know what is more maddening – the small smirks that Alphonse keeps shooting his way, or the fact that Riza hasn't noticed. It's excruciating to sit there and hear sly innuendo about the two of them fall from the young boy's mouth; worse even to know that he can't rebuke the boy without looking like a colossal prat in the process.

"Was your brother always this terrible?" he asks Edward one afternoon as Riza and Alphonse play a hand of gin rummy.

Edward nods wearily. "You can understand why I wanted to get him out of quarantine."

Roy snorts, and leans back further against his bed, crossing his legs. "Well, at least we know your dickishness wasn't just a defect of your character."

Edward punches him in the arm lightly. "Nah, we definitely learned that from you."

"So what now?" Roy asks, turning his head to look at Edward properly. "Do they have any idea about when Alphonse will be okay to leave?"

The younger man shrugs. "We'll figure out as we go. That's normally worked out for us. For you though…" he trails off, watching Alphonse win another round. His brow furrows for a moment before he suddenly leaps off Roy's bed, sitting next to Riza and grabbing her cards roughly.

"Brother what are you-"

"I've figured out your tells, little brother," he says ominously, jerking his head towards the slightly ajar door. "This time I'm gonna wipe the floor with your bony butt-"

Roy doesn't need another hint. He pulls Riza to her feet and all but drags her out of the room. "Have fun kids!" he calls out behind him and Riza splutters, pulling back as best she can against his firm grip.

"Sir – what are you-"

He continues pulling her along the deserted corridor, his grip never loosening. "I needed some air," he says conversationally, ignoring the daggers she's staring into his back. He drags her up an old access stairwell, and only stops when her fingers dig into his hand uncomfortably.

"Sir," she says reproachfully, glaring at him. "What on earth-"

"No 'sir', thank you," he says primly. "We're off duty and I want some air and a friend to enjoy said air with."

She raises an eyebrow. "Up an old access stairwell?"

"C'mon," he teases. "It won't kill you. We need the exercise."

Riza gives him a look of incredulity. It's so reminiscence of the look she gives him when he's goofing off around the office that he almost stops.

(Almost).

Instead, he quickly grabs her hand and drags her along once more, ignoring her indignant complaining and her almost-tripping as she struggles to match his gait. It still hurts to curl his fingers somewhat, and she seems to pick up on that, instead latching her hand on the side of the old t-shirt he's wearing.

"Slow down!" she protests, tugging on the fabric harshly and he is forced to stop, turning slightly as she gives him a stern look.

"Would it kill you to walk at a normal pace?" she asks, jutting her hip out slightly. She looks like a petulant child who hasn't gotten their way and he can't help the laughter that bubbles out of him.

She frowns at him, pouting in a way he's sure is meant to show displeasure but all he sees is a Riza who is awake and alive and not comatose and sallow. He slows down and eventually drops her hand; leaning against the wall of the corridor her dragged them into and he raises his hands in defeat.

"Everyone's been coming to see you and…" he trails off and avoids her gaze. "I wanted to see you. Talk to you."

She shifts closer to him, cupping his face with her hands and smiling softly. "And you couldn't do that in front of the boys?" she asks teasingly, stroking his cheekbones delicately.

He watches her for a moment, before shaking his head minutely. "Not for this," he says swiftly, before grabbing her hands from his face and pulling her body into his own space, his fingers carefully threading through her hair and kissing her soundly and fully on the mouth.

She's quiet, still for a few moments and part of him worries that he's misread her – that he's misread this entire situation and that he's grossly overstepped his bounds – but suddenly she shifts ever so slightly under him and her tongue is lightly running along his mouth and everything is right with the world again. She's warm and soft against him, and he's careful in how he tilts her head, his left hand cupping her face very delicately. Though the bandages around her neck hid a multitude of sins, he was still very aware of how fragile she was in this state. Her hands snaked around his neck quickly and she hummed against his lips, a smile curling up against his own.

"See?" he murmurs against her mouth and she laughs a little, biting his lip lightly in retaliation.

"And here I was thinking you just woke up on the wrong side of bed," she murmurs back, her fingers scraping at the nape of his neck. "All snarky and rude to everybody today – who knew you were just…" a hand slips out from his neck and travels down his chest, fingernails catching on the fabric slightly. It's harsh enough to go beyond mere ticklish and instead he feels the sensation travel down to his groin – and he doesn't stop the grunt that it elicits. Riza grins against his lips more openly – he feels her teeth on his lips and carefully and deliberately her fingers drift over his trousers.

"Though now you're far more docile," she teases, her lone hand drifting back up to settle curled around his neck. She leans out from him, resting her weight on his neck and meets his eyes. "Are we feeling better now?"

He nods, his hands settling on her hips. His thumbs draw light circles over the scratchy materials of the hospital pyjamas they had dressed her in. They're an awful lime green colour that doesn't suit her complexion at all, and Roy makes a mental note to tell one of the team to get her something more comfortable.

She leans her head against his shoulder very carefully, and he waits until she's properly settled before he rests his chin lightly on her head. They stay like that for a while, listening to the low hum of the hospital.

"I thought…" he begins, but he swallows the sentence down, dropping a kiss on her hair softly.

Riza makes a noise of discontentment and she rubs at the back of his neck reassuringly. "That bad?" she asks quietly.

He's still for a moment before nodding, hands holding her a little bit tighter.

She huffs a little, adjusting her weight. "It was necessary," she finally responds, her voice clear and confident. "We knew that sacrifices were going to be made. I know you said that you understood but-"

"Doesn't make the reality any less awful to deal with." He cuts across her a little harshly and he swallows roughly, before settling his chin on her head once more. She sighs quietly in his embrace, and curls her fingers into his hair.

"It was something you had to plan for," she admonishes. "I don't care that it wasn't a reality you particularly 'wanted to deal with' – I would've expected you to keep going, regardless of who fell behind."

He's quiet as she tries to keep her sniffs to a minimum. He feels the wetness of her tears on his shirt but there is no point in acknowledging them – not when he knows she hasn't finished telling him off.

"I know you want to protect everybody Roy," she finally murmurs into his chest, a hand sliding down from his neck to carefully touch the edges of his bandages on his hand. She rubs the skin there lightly and he shuts his eyes as she carefully works her way over the back of his hand lightly and methodically.

"But I'm not sure if you can without burning yourself out first," she continues. "And we need you in a good space right now. If you go off being reckless you'll be doing far worse damage than the rest of us ever could."

He snorts at that, shifting his position against the wall they're leaning against. "Are you sure about that?" he asks breezily. "One threat against you and I'm helpless."

"Hardly," she counters. "You're very good at taking orders under that sort of pressure."

He sighs shakily, stretching his hand as best he can in her soft hold. "Let's not make it a regular occurrence, please," he mutters. "I'm not sure how much longer I could've coped with that."

"You did very well," she soothes. Her fingers tap a light beat on his knuckles – an old code that they used to play with in the office. It was not dissimilar to the kinds of codes that Fuery would be well-versed in, the kinds of codes that Falman and Havoc would learn quickly and even quicker for Breda to decipher – but the rules for these had been changed and morphed and improved to the point of gibberish to anybody else apart from them. Old jokes and song tunes became base points – an old folk dance in triple-time meant worry, long pauses meant danger and dual-tapping implied urgency.

Her fingers switch between waltzes and jigs, soft and unhurried, the low hum of the hospital their only accompaniment.

It is a little awkward after that kiss – for some reason neither of them has any downtime beyond napping and Riza is still being stubborn about sleeping in her own bed. Mine is much more comfy he cajoles her, but all she does is raise an eyebrow and fluff up her pillows. What's worse is that their schedules never seem to align well either – whenever he comes back from his own physio it appears like she is just going to hers, and because he finds himself becoming more easily tired during the day he inevitably sleeps through her return.

The only time they manage to find with one another is at night, and even then he's well aware of the day's impact on her and is hesitant to demand her attention. Funnily enough, being placed into an induced coma didn't mean she caught up on her sleep – in fact, Roy would wager that the coma actually made her exhaustion worse.

He wakes up one sunny afternoon, however, to her curled up on his side, her long hair fanning out on his shoulder. It's not an unwelcome surprise, but as he lifts his head slightly to check the time, he realises that they've only got about ten minutes before the nurses do their rounds before the night shift comes on. He's reluctant to move – it feels like years since he's felt like he can be so open with her, so blatant in his affection, and while she might be comfortable enough to sleep next to him in broad daylight, it's probably not in their best interests to flaunt any more than they undoubtedly have.

"Riza," he says groggily, rubbing at his eyes. "We gotta get up. Check up's soon."

She makes a noise of discontentment, the hand resting on his chest gripping his shirt tightly and he feels her body tense and stretch against him. Her head shifts up and she presses a soft kiss onto his stubbled cheek. "That's not a very nice way to say hello," she murmurs, sitting up and pushing the light blanket she had draped over the two of them aside. She drops more kisses onto his cheek, following the bone structure up to his eyelids and softly she kisses both of his eyelids. Her breath is warm and sweet and Roy sighs, his hands running up underneath her henley shirt, tracing the outline of her ribs carefully. She shifts, straddling him properly and she kisses him properly on the mouth, her lips wide in a smile that he mirrors and her teeth tug on his lower lip as she grinds into him.

She is intoxicating, enthralling, powerful, and heady. He could – would drown in her a thousand times and all worries of nurses and doctors walking in on them making out like a couple of teenagers disappear as she cups his face with her hands, her kisses messier and sloppier but fucking fantastic. She's warm and steady in his arms and his hands splay out on her lower back, before drifting down to pull on her toned thighs, shifting her higher on his lap. Her breath is uneven now, harsh and gasping as he threads his fingers into her hair, making sure never to pull tightly enough to put strain on her neck. Likewise, she is careful when she grips his free hand with her own, pushing it above his head as she pins him down on the bed.

Her lips drift down to his throat, biting at the skin with practiced teeth and peppering his bruised skin with butterfly kisses afterwards. His shirt is the first to go and her fingers trace the many scars that dot his torso. She's careful with the newest one, still tender and not entirely healed from the burns.

"Are you alright?" she asks, hands resting on his hips, thumbs dipping under his waistband. She rests her weight on his thigh and even through layers of cloth he can already feel how wet she must be.

"I'm fine," he replies quickly, grasping her hand closest to him and presses her knuckles to his mouth, watching how she blushes prettily. "Are you?" he asks when she doesn't move from where she rests on his thigh, her eyes warm and dark as she smiles widely. She nods eagerly, and grips his hand firmly.

"I've missed you," she admits softly as she tugs down the loose pants he chose to wear today, smirking as she realises he decided to go commando. Her fingers trace his cock lightly, and Roy knows that she's enjoying how still he's become, before she suddenly takes him into her mouth and then he's swearing worse than the time Breda got stuck in the office alone with Hayate.

He can barely register the dull ache in his hands as she bobs her head up and down quickly, rhythmically and he's beyond being embarrassed as he feels the familiar warm surging in his groin. The noises that she's making are obscene, and it takes him a moment to realise that her hips are moving in a familiar way, and her fingers that are not curled around his cock are instead curled into herself. The image alone of Riza touching herself while touching him is beyond sexy and it takes all of his willpower to ignore the burning heat where her mouth is and instead lift her head back up to meet his so he can kiss her properly. Her lips are lush and taste of him and salt that he doesn't want to identify as tears, but he knows they're both crying. She makes quick work of the henley shirt that he now realises was a conscious decision on her part as they accentuate all the right curves, before sliding off her underwear a little awkwardly. She swings her leg properly over his hips to straddle him fully, grinding down slightly and grinning as she does so. Her breath heaves and jumps erratically, and as she guides him into her she buries her head into shoulder, trying to swallow her sobs.

He won't be stupid to not recognise a fuck for a fuck, but this is slower than their usual trysts, held back by fear of hurting one another and the awkward angle that his bed is on. The springs and metal creak dangerously under their combined weight and he whispers soft apologies into her hair as he pushes into her.

Her sobs quickly change to jagged gasps and groans and she rests her weight on his chest as her hips meet his with a satisfying smack of sweat-slicked skin. It's not long before she tenses above him, whimpering as he continues to thrust through her orgasm, his hands running over the warm expanse of her back and the sensitive skin to the side of her breasts. His own climax comes moments later, and she swallows his groans as she kisses him determinedly, her tongue pushing firmly against his own.

She huffs against his chest as she shifts against him, tensing slightly in the new position as his hands rest on her hips, tracing small circles with his thumbs. "I've missed you as well," he murmurs into her hair and she laughs against him, groaning again as his hips roll lazily against hers. Her weight is comforting – her warmth even more so. Her cheeks are flushed red and his gaze settles on the thin bandages left around her neck. They remain mercilessly white, and Roy lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding in.

Her fingers run over his brow bone, tracing the edges of his face before she stretches to catch his mouth with her own. She's soft and pliable and he feels himself grow drowsy as she lightly peppers his face with kisses, her eyelashes tickling his skin. He's not concerned with anything beyond how right this feels, and as he dozes off he's dimly aware of the words she whispers and traces into his skin.

He doesn't think on it until much later, when Riza is back in her own bed and the night shift of nurses comes by to check on them at ten in the evening, that the final afternoon shift never did come by. The next day, when Breda drops off a new collection of smutty novellas for the two of them to peruse, Roy notices a cardboard bookmark that has been stuffed into a particularly raunchy-looking book entitled Elizabeth and the Drachman Bear.

There's a message scrawled onto it in a familiar script.

If you idiots ever decide to pull a stunt like that again I will not stop the nurse from checking in on you two next time. – B