I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist; it is the rightful property of Hiromu Arakawa.
There had been a time when they were closer that they were ever supposed to be, had ever hoped to be. Yet here he stood, in front of her with trembling, fisted hands by his sides yet somehow giving the situation the air of formality. Now, he was afraid to touch her; the space between them had grown over time, and eventually they had been torn apart.
There was a time when he had been unafraid to touch her, when he had loved to trace the delicate arc of her spine under a tremulous but sure fingertip, watch her stir from her light sleep and raise her hand to meet his as it came to rest on her hip. With utter confidence he would kiss her, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her against him, the pair desperately seeking the full contact of skin upon skin.
Now there was none of that. He had sworn that next time they met, he would have the confidence to close the distance between them and touch her. It was inappropriate to try to describe how much she had meant to him with mere words, because theirs had never been a love based on words but upon expression with the mind, the emotions, and eventually the body.
For them, love had been beyond the realm of mere words and how those words were interpreted. He had known that she had always loved him playing with her hair as they lay together, always tilted her head just right in order to let him brush her hair away from her neck, always shivered as he kissed her shoulder and then singled out a few strands of her own hair to run gently up and down her neck, smoothing out golden locks when they tangled in the delicate silver chain she kept her dog tags attached to. She had always smelled of sandalwood and musk, while he could never rid himself of the smell of the ash of the departed, no matter how long he had taken to scrub at his own skin.
Black Hayate circled slowly around his legs impatiently, breaking Roy from his thoughts. He took a few moments to scratch behind the little black and white mutt's greying ears and then smiled at her.
"As you can see, I've kept him safe. Havoc doesn't even joke about eating him anymore, although I think Breda may have preferred that to having him in the office all day. Fuery and Farman seem to like having him around."
He paused, staring impatiently at his own gloved hands, trying to find the words.
"Don't know how I managed to make it this without you. After you left..." he paused again, bit down gently on his own dry lips, and then slowly reached out his right hand (whilst Hayate was licking the other) and is so close to touching her but recoils slightly at the last moment.
"I miss you, Hawkeye."
No reply.
"I didn't want you to leave me."
He gathered his confidence and reached out just enough to make the contact. Her touch is no longer warm; even under the thick Pyrotex cloth of his gloves, he can feel the chill.
"I brought you this," he said, holding out the rose, running his index finger through the pattern of the smooth petals, "But it didn't keep very well. Withered overnight. I'm sorry."
He dropped the dried rose in front of her, watched the petals all but fall away from the stem as it hit the soft earth.
"I'm so sorry," Roy found himself repeating this over and over again; not out loud, but in his heart, in his mind; the two places she had truly been able to hear his words. Yet, he cannot hear her grant any forgiveness any more.
There had once been a time when he had never been afraid to touch her; had shaken her hand as she had accepted his offer to follow him to his post as Fuhrer of Amestris, when he had held her hand as he had presented her with a bond, a contract beyond words and carried her over the threshold of their apartment in his arms, lace and silk tangling helplessly under careless but loving touch. And there had been a time when he had returned from the battlefield, silver band on his left ring finger digging into her palm as he held her hand and the doctors worked around him, trying to stop the bleeding from the one silver bullet that had finally managed to evade her sharp eyesight.
Black Hayate whined at his feet, the dog's old bones obviously beginning to pain him so Roy drew his fingers away from the marble tombstone and saluted his loyal First Lieutenant one last time.
"Goodbye, Riza."
And as he walked back down from the graveyard, leaning heavily on the cane he had needed to use ever since he sustained that one injury in the fateful attack that had taken her from him and watched Hayate limp towards the car, back legs jutting out at odd angles with old age, he would never have known that the next morning he would be found as cold andas silent as she, in the bed they had once shared.
END