Chapter 2 - Fire & Ice

A wracking cough was heard from the bed, and Hawkeye sat up, her fist covering her mouth. A pair of honey-colored eyes scanned the room and her hand when from her mouth to her throat. "W-where am I?" she asked huskily before clearing her throat. Her eyes flicked towards the man who sat beside of her in a chair.

"Lay back down Hawkeye, and get some rest. Your at my house. Now, stay there while I get a washcloth. Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. She pondered this for a moment and shook her head. "Something to drink would be nice." she said hoarsely as Mustang left.

She took the opportunity to glance around at her surroundings. The man seemed to really like dark furniture and a deep green. She wondered why, but dismissed it when she found her hair band on a little nightstand. She took it and put her hair up into a sloppy bun, then got up, straightening her clothes - and wished she hadn't. Immediately, she started to feel lightheaded and fell to her knees, clutching her head with both hands.

The tinkling of glass could be heard as someone ran up the stairs to the room Riza was in. "Damned it Riza, I leave for one moment and you try to get up? You idiot!" he yelled, causing her to shrink away from him, but his touch was exceedingly gentle as he lifted her up to her feet, letting her lean on him.

Surprise flickered in her eyes as she looked up into his eyes, and saw concern written there - worry and concern over her. Over her well being, and health. She was touched, but wasn't sure what to think about it.

He smirked and in one quick movement had her bridal styled in his arms. She gasped and found herself on the bed moments after. "Now stay there, why don't you?" he murmured, and put the cold washcloth on her forehead, pulling up the covers to her chin like a child. "I'll be right back, and don't even think of getting up." he repromanded, and left the room.

When the door closed, Riza's red face, she realized, wasn't only because she was sick. Whenever she was so close to Mustang, she got like this - flustered like a silly little schoolgirl. And now, now he was treating her like a sick child. It wasn't likely that she would register as anything other than a close friend or worker in his eyes.

She sighed softly and closed her eyes. Maybe she could just forget about those silly feelings and continue to be his right hand guard. And just then, she realized that he had called her Riza, not Hawkeye - and what exactly did that mean?

Mustang collasped silently on the wall next to the room that Hawkeye laid in, and sighed. She still didn't get it, no matter the subtle clues. He would have to be more open about his feelings towards her, but was a little afraid to. Would Riza think him crazy, and refuse him? As soon as she felt better, she would leave, and when she did, she would take his best chance with her.

But there was nothing he could do at the moment - she was sick after all. All that he could do was to treat her as gently, as lovingly as possible. Sighing, he went downstairs and repaired the glass with a bit of alchemy, then returned to the kitchen to fetch a clean glass and to fill it with ice cold water with some crushed ice to keep it cold. He slowly climbed the stairs and set a coaster on the nightstand, handing her the water.

She thanked him and took a sip, accidently spilling a bit when a set of coughs racked her body, and he took it from her, trying not to spill it as he sat it down. "Riza, Riza are you alright?" he asked, immediately worried. She looked at him weakly. "I'm fine Roy." she said and saw a hint of a smile at her calling him by his name. "Calm down." she said, a tiny smile of her own.

Her eyes seemed to be closing against her will - had he put something in the water? She didn't think so, but she felt so sleepy for some reason. Her eyes only opened wider for an instant when Mustang bent down and brushed her forehead - the part that wasn't covered with a towel - with his lips before clearing his throat. "Get some rest Hawkeye." he said and left the room.

Changing back to her last name meant that it was an order, and it wasn't an order she intended to break either. It was far too comfortable in this bed to think of moving. Besides, she was so tired. . . and within minutes, she was alseep, dreaming of a certain individual who would come in every hour to re-dampen her washcloths, to check her temperature, to watch her as she slept, to brush her hair out of her face.