Escape

Her hand never wavered. Her eyes never left her target, always gathered together into tiny slits of amber, focused on a single, solitary point. Her gaze never fell on the frozen faces surrounding her, some in mid-scream, others solemn, almost peaceful, a painful reminder of their last moments. She never listened to the shouts and cries; the constant rattle of gunfire that rang in the surrounding area never fazed her. But if one had looked-really looked- they would have seen her white knuckles, pale from her tight grip on her gun. They would have seen the tiny trickle of sweat that slipped down her brow as she prepared to shatter another life.

They would have seen the pain in her eyes as she pulled on the trigger.

But it wasn't one's job to look for those things, especially not in the middle of a war. She lowered her weapon, pausing a moment-just a moment- to regain her composure; to regain her resolve. It wasn't her life on the line right then. No, she was safe, tucked away in a dark crevice atop an old building, a dark cloth wrapped around her small figure. Instead, in her hands, she held the life of the dark haired alchemist standing right in the middle of the battlefield, his hands wielding fire while his eyes screamed silent apologies to those that fell.

She felt almost cowardly.

She should have been there with him, watching his 'Six' and protecting him as she had vowed, not only to herself, but to him as well. She should have stood at his shoulder and covered him as he went farther and farther into the messy world surrounding them. But then she saw, through the scope of her rifle, him turn his head slightly in her direction, and nod. It happened briefly, and in an instant he was back to his work, bright yellow and red flames falling from his hands, but it had happened. Her sharp eyes did not miss much. He had done it in small, jerking movements, as though in a motion of whiplash from the events surrounding him, in order to keep her position safe. But she had seen it.

And it somehow made her feel better. He had acknowledged her, but he had also, in a way, thanked her. He knew her pain; they had often discussed it late at night when neither could sleep, the screams of the dead haunting them each time they closed their eyes. He knew how hard it was for her personally, each time she pulled the trigger. But he also knew it was the only thing that stood between him and death. Such a small, fragile barrier, and yet it stood up to so much.

And then, she heard his voice, and it startled her out of her mind. Her eyes opened and she found herself not in a small, dark crevice on top of an old building, but in their office. There was no dark cloth wrapped around her, just her simple blue uniform. In her arms, rather than a slim rifle, she held a warm, black puppy.

And rather than the horrible blood stained battlefields, she saw his dark onyx eyes glimmering with concern. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Are you alright?" he repeated-he must've said it before, knowing him- his body frozen in place, one arm in his jacket, the other holding the collar. She closed her eyes and nodded.

"Fine."

He knew she was lying; he always did, but he didn't press her. Hawkeye did not talk unless she wanted to. She hardly did anything unless she wanted to or was ordered to. He was certain that even if he had the courage to order her to talk, she would have found some way to get out of it, namely her sidearm. With a slight shrug, he finished with his jacket and nodded towards the door. "Ready?"

She smiled softly, "Yes." In her arms, Black Hayate yipped softly, and she unconsciously moved her hand to the top of his head and ran her nails gently along the soft fur. They left together, Roy Mustang and his loyal subordinate, Riza Hawkeye. They always did. It was a habit they had never been able to break in all their years together. Whether it was still for protection or simply for the company, neither was sure. But it was a pattern, a constant, reliable and sturdy. A constant was something comforting for both of them, and though neither would admit it, they both enjoyed the slow-paced walk, the familiar route.

Sometimes they would talk, but other times, such as right then, they would simply walk, their footfalls falling in sync almost by instinct, their hands brushing just slightly. It was nights like those that Roy knew there was something on his Lieutenant's-no, his friend's mind. But when it came to nights like these, he would stumble over his words and always seem to say something stupid, and had learned to wisely keep his mouth shut.

She had said to him once, when they were walking, after he had aggravated her and he had tried to apologize, "Actions speak louder than words, Sir."

Since then, he had let his actions speak. So, instead of opening his mouth and saying something that was likely to upset her more, he simply slung his arm around her shoulders, his fingers squeezing her shoulder in a comforting motion. And she leaned into him, silently thanking him for the support. Normally she would have brought her arm around his waist, but with Black Hayate it was difficult, so she simply settled for resting her head against the crook of his neck and relaxing in his embrace.

It was nights like those that they looked like a normal couple, their jackets hiding the uniforms that seem to constrict them; suffocate them. It was nights like those that they could forget-just this once, they told themselves- the regulations, the hurt, the blood on their hands that seemed to keep them at arm's length.

And as she pulled out of his arms, them having reached her home, she turned towards him and pushed her weight onto her toes, gently brushing her lips against his and murmuring a soft thank you. He smiled, just as he always did, and deepened the kiss, his hands gently resting on her hips. And then they reluctantly pulled away, her lips slightly swollen and round, a soft pink blush-which she would blame later on the cold- tinting her cheeks. He would turn away first, and head in the direction they had come from, his own home a least a mile away, and she would watch him until he couldn't be seen.

And then she turned and went inside, pausing only briefly to fish her keys from her pocket and place the right one in the lock, a small smile on her lips. And then he emerged from his place behind the bushes, glad that she had made it inside safely, the gentleman in him refusing to leave her wide open and alone like that, and walked away slowly, humming a melody under his breath.

Sometimes it was nice to have an escape.

Author's notes: Sometimes I really wonder why I started writing. And then I go and write a piece like this and I remember: Because my 1st grade teacher demanded it XD. Seriously, though, I'm proud of this. I think I really managed to capture their relationship and personalities. Or maybe I'm delusional… Yeah, I'm probably delusional. Please don't be afraid to tell me so. I'd love to know just how badly I screwed up the lovely world of Royai XD That means…

REVIEW! Love ya!