Chapter Five:
The doctor had come in shortly thereafter, saying he had heard some sort of thudding, and then crying. By then, Riza wasn't sobbing anymore, but she was still rather clearly upset. His solution to her clear distress was to get her to sleep, and so he did. Some medication later, with Riza now fast asleep, the doctor turned to Roy, concern on his face.
"She still has a very high fever," he said quietly. "If she said something upsetting, I would suggest you not take it to heart. She talks, but I doubt she's fully aware of what she says. At some point, delirium sets in."
Roy shook his head, "no. She was making perfect sense."
Tilting his head just slightly, the doctor smirked—that same knowing look he had given his patient at 0300 hours that very morning. "Would you like to know something, Brigadier General?"
"Hm?"
"I remember you," the doctor stated quietly. "Clearly, at that. It was the same situation, I can see it mirrored in how you treat each other. Behave around one another. Do you know she was at your bedside every day? We had to threaten to call security to get her to go home. In fact, to get her out of the hospital to go rest, I told her that she would not be permitted back into the hospital until 1700 hours, which ensured she had time to get a good eight hours of sleep, a shower, and the first decent meal in a week."
"Did she leave?"
"I didn't give her much of a choice. I'm sure you know her well, as her superior officer. She's one of the most stubborn people I have ever met. If I didn't tell her she wouldn't be permitted back, she wouldn't have left." The doctor paused, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning for the door. "She was worried sick about you, Brigadier General. Not so much unlike your behavior towards her now. It's honorable behavior, sir. And it also says quite a bit about your relationship."
"Now Lieutenant," the doctor was standing patiently by her bed, his gaze stern. It had been another day or so, and the woman was borderline stir-crazy. He found himself wanting to smile at the simple nature of the fact that she couldn't stand being in one place for so long, chained down. No wonder the Brigadier General seemed to be so attracted to her—it was something the doctor had noticed upon their first visit to the hospital.
To him, it was crystal clear. They would stare, oh for Heaven's sake would they stare. She sat by his bedside that first time around, silent, her mouth set in a thin line, completely devoid of emotion—spare her eyes. Those eyes, he had learned over time, were the only way to read that woman's expression. The sorrow, the worry, the anxiety were omnipresent during Mustang's first week in the hospital. When Mustang woke, the doctor saw something new in that gaze. Affection, compassion, desperation. Mustang was no different, though it was far more his body language. He sat silently by her bed, hands folded tightly in his lap for the first day or so. Three days in, and he would straighten her pillow, or fuss with the blanket. When she was sweating as a result of the fever, he wiped it away. And, just as she had, his demeanor changed entirely when she was awake once again. He was desperate for her touch, the doctor had noticed, even if it was just grazing fingertips. He insisted upon helping her. And he saw that man's inky black eye follow her form wherever she went, even if it was just to the restroom.
"I think you will be happy to know that I can let you go home today."
Her amber eyes immediately shot up from the book she was attempting to read, "really?" There was no joke in her tone of voice, just curiosity. As though she didn't even believe him.
"Yes, really. Brigadier General Mustang said he would come to pick you up. And he's already made a point of declaring that he would be honored to keep you in good health while you continue to recover."
"Please tell him that isn't necessary," Hawkeye replied quietly. "I'm capable of getting myself home."
"No, Lieutenant. You are not. And unless you would like a nurse to visit you at least twice a day to try and dislodge the buildup of fluid in your chest, then I'd suggest you take his offer. You're in no condition to get yourself home, and you are in far less a condition to keep yourself in proper health."
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of—" her voice cut off, the coughing sending her reeling backwards, using her left arm to brace herself upright. It was spasmodic, the way she choked on nothing, it caused little spots to appear before her eyes. She always ended up rather dizzy.
The doctor audibly clicked his tongue and walked over to her, "I believe you've just displayed that you cannot." He reached over and handed her a small handkerchief, which was faintly stained a brownish red color. She removed her hand and held the cloth to her mouth, well aware of the reality that the doctor presented her.
"He's going to be here shortly," the doctor said finally, watching her drop the handkerchief into the garbage pail, where it seemed a decent bit of them were collecting. "I would say it's in your best interest to be ready when he arrives."
Riza was sitting in a chair opposite her bed, with a small package of handkerchiefs in her hand. The doctor had warned her to wash them thoroughly. He had also said that if her coughing didn't improve to please call him, as coughing up blood consistently for several days in a row was not a sign of good health.
"Riza."
Roy walked into the room, smiling at her tiredly. She got to her feet, though slightly hunched over. "Good morning," he declared brightly, wrapping one hand around her waist. He was acutely aware of her frailty; it was her who ignored it.
"Good morning, Roy," she replied softly, dropping the things the doctor had given her into her bag. Her eyes widened slightly when he took it from her, but she did little by means of protesting.
"I'm hoping you're ready to get going," Roy said gently. "It's cold, and it looks as though it might rain."
Her smile was small, just enough for him to see. He grinned, leading her towards the door. Her steps were shakier than he remembered, and somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he hated to see her like that. Riza never faltered, she never shook. She was steady as a rock, and it was something Roy found he had come to rely on. When things were bad, all he had to do was steal a look at his consistently level-headed Lieutenant, and he was reassured. But now, he was aware of the fact that she may be doing that same thing to him. Looking for the solidity that she was currently lacking. He swallowed, wondering if he would be able to provide it for her.
The moment they took a step outdoors, she froze, shivering. Roy peered at her slightly, and then pulled her closer, tugging at the edges of his coat. "Come here," he said quietly, as he slid her around the edges of his coat and then tucked her behind them. He could see the flush forming on her cheeks, and found himself wondering if it was from the cold or the action, or perhaps a small mixture of both. But after a moment, she eased into the warmth, one hand holding to the edge of his coat.
"I don't want you to catch cold. Besides," he paused, as though he were slowly testing the boundaries between them. What boundaries remained, what boundaries had been eliminated. "You'll be warmer this way."
Her apartment was small and clean, just as Roy had pictured it. As he guided her inside, he found himself wondering if he had ever been in her apartment before. He was left little time to contemplate that thought as Black Hayate came bounding towards his mother, jumping up at her and pressing both paws against her stomach. She let out a gasp that was far more like a hiss, and staggered a step back into Roy, her hand pressing down on the dog's head. Roy immediately had his arm around her side, to keep her steady.
"Down, please, Hayate," she mumbled, though she did pause to pet the dog's head. He yapped cheerfully at his mother, and pranced around the foyer, all the while barking. Once she had regained her breath, she slid her shoes off, easing herself out of Roy's protective grasp.
Quietly, she shuffled towards the kitchen. He had already slid out of his shoes so as not to track the bit of slush into the house, but started over to her immediately. "No, Riza. Bed rest, don't you remember?" His voice held the slightest hint of warning.
She shrugged slightly, "I just want to give Black Hayate his food; Fuery has been feeding him but he doesn't eat as well when he's alone."
"He isn't alone, I'll feed him—you go get into bed. Please, Riza," he added slowly, ink black eye meeting amber. "You're very pale. I'm here to make things easier for you. Just go get into bed. I'll be there in a minute."
Riza frowned somewhat, defeated. A cough started in the back of her throat, and she grimaced, glancing around for her bag, hoping desperately that this fit would last less time than the others. She knew that the doctor had given Roy instructions on how to help her make it through each day without suffocating, but she didn't particularly hold the thought of him pounding gently on her back to loosen the fluid in her chest particularly appealing, not to mention it was painful. She was silent for a few moments, spare the hacking cough. Hayate bounded around her feet, yapping at her, tugging on the hem of her pants, the small dog panicked. Roy saw her wavering on her feet, and gripped her shoulders, taking from the counter a fistful of tissues. Hayate started tugging on the hem of Roy's pants, now desperate for his mother's friend to fix Riza.
"Riza?" Roy's voice was gentle, both hands focused intently on keeping her steady. She didn't speak, until finally her coughing gave way to desperate gasping, and she dropped the bloody tissues into the wastebasket. She pressed both hands against the countertop, struggling to catch her breath.
"Come on, Riza," Roy declared suddenly, gently guiding her out of the kitchen. "You need to get into bed." His voice was level, but he was persistent as his guiding was less guiding and more shoving as he moved her down the hall. "The cold outside didn't help."
She nodded slightly, letting him guide her to the bed. He sat her down, watching her gasp for breath, still concerned. The coughing unnerved him. The doctor had told him specifically what to do—if her coughing got too terrible, and she was still struggling for air afterwards. Now was that case, and he sighed heavily. "I need to pound your back, Riza," he said gently, one hand on her shoulder wearily. He had heard her from the hallway, once. The doctor had come in to do it, and she immediately pleaded with him to leave. So he did. But what he could hear from behind that closed door was coughing, a sound that bordered on vomiting and, shortly thereafter, tears.
Riza tensed, turning to him slightly. "I'm all right," she said quietly, though the lack of support behind her words convinced Roy otherwise. She could speak again, but barely.
"No," he replied sternly. "The doctor said it will help you breathe. Turn around."
Wearily, the woman nodded, getting to her feet. She crossed the room, disappeared, and returned breathless, a bowl at hand. She then slid back to lie face-first on the bed, her head leaning off of the front. Her eyes gazing downwards, she set the bowl beneath her, and closed her eyes. Roy stood beside her, cupping his hands as the doctor had demonstrated.
"Are you ready?"
She nodded, "just do it, Roy," she murmured.
He was as gentle as he could be, almost certain that this hurt her. He could only imagine what it felt like, with her still-healing stomach on the bed and him pounding against her back to try and loosen what was left in her chest. The moment he started, her coughing started as well, violent coughing. Her breathing was ragged, and all he wanted to do was stop, if that would make her comfortable. Her hands were gripping the sheets, eyes tearing up with each hit on her back, entire body tensed.
Five minutes later, she was staring blindly at the wall in front of her, breathing so heavily Roy wondered if he had hurt her.
"Are you all right?"
Riza nodded just slightly, pulling herself back into the bed, so exhausted she could hardly bear to expend the energy. But after a few moments of sitting still, she could feel her breathing return to normal, the ability to take a good, deep breath a welcome feeling. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the headboard, momentarily forgetting his presence until Roy was gently shaking her shoulder.
"Riza, you should get into nightclothes if you're going to sleep. That can't possibly be comfortable to sleep in," he smiled at her proudly, as if satisfied with his words of advice. "I'm going to make you some tea and feed Hayate."
Riza stared at the door, watching him leave, before pulling on her nightclothes and a sweater, burrowing under the covers. It wasn't that she had no tolerance for the cold, it was simply that all the cold did for her now was make her feel more ill.
He was back shortly thereafter, two cups of steaming tea in his hand. He offered one to her, and then sat beside her bed, smiling wearily. Both hands wrapped around the mug, she murmured her thanks, sighing. After a few moments, she took a slow sip of the tea.
"Riza?"
She looked up from her steaming mug, her undivided attention given to him. "Yes, Roy?"
Roy smiled inwardly. For years, he had been Colonel, sir, Brigadier General—never Roy. He had periods of time when he wondered if she even knew his first name, though of course he knew that she did.
"I wanted to ask you something the other day," he said quietly, placing his mug on the nightstand before folding his arms in his lap. His gaze was on a crease in the blankets, but with a resolute nod, he looked directly at her.
"You said to me, when you woke up, that I didn't realize what my leaving had done to you," he paused, swallowing thickly. "I wanted to know what it did do to you. I want you to tell me." Roy's voice dropped slightly, "I want to know why it hurt you. I want to know why, two years later, you still cried about it. I want to know why, so I don't do it again. I…don't want to hurt you, Riza."
Riza's eyes widened, but she kept her mouth shut. In fact, he watched as she shifted her weight uncomfortably, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. "It isn't important, sir."
"It is important!" The anger in his voice startled him. "It is important, because you were so sick, you could've been dying and you knew it, and you still managed to tell me that! You were so sick you weren't even sure if I was in the room with you. To a point where you were looking right at me, and didn't know if I was really there. I want to know why. Why can't you just tell me? Why can't you just say it?"
Her gaze flitted to the window, eyes filling with tears. "Sir, I…"
"Stop calling me sir, Riza!"
Both hands balled into fists, and she turned back to him, face a mixture of confusion and frustration, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Because…" she froze, shaking her head vehemently, both hands slamming against the sheets. "It's against the law, Roy!" She was almost screaming, voice shaking, pressing both palms against her face. "Because it's not allowed! Because everything about us jeopardizes everything we've ever worked for! Because it doesn't matter what I think, because my position has always been to push you to the top and protect you, and that's all I want and if that means I can't just tell you, as you so put it, then so be it! I'm content with what I've chosen to give. I wouldn't change it for the world. At some point, I accepted that…that it was forbidden. That's the path we've chosen. It's too late to turn back."
His gaze was blank, shocked, startled. Desperate. "Riza," he murmured, one hand fumbling for hers, trying to still the slight trembling. "Riza, look at me. Please." Roy's grip on her hand tightened, "please."
Slowly, she looked up from the bed sheets, meeting his.
"I don't care if it's against the law. At some point, I figured out that I didn't, no, I can't accept that. I can't accept that it's forbidden. I don't care if it's the path we've chosen. I don't care if it's too late to turn back, I'll turn back anyway. There is no such thing as not allowed. I don't want you to push me to the top and protect me. I want you beside me, if I ever make it that far, and I want to protect you the same way you so consistently protect me." His voice was level, but his grip on her hand tightened further.
The woman stared. Finally, she let out a soft sigh, "Roy…"
"Yes, Riza?"
She put her other hand on top of his, "did it really take…this long?" she asked softly, leaning closer to him, eyes wide as saucers.
Roy swallowed, pulling his hand away from hers, pressing both hands against his shoulders, and bringing her closer to him. He nodded slowly. "I…had to almost lose you, Riza."
One of her hands gripped his forearm, not to pull him away, but to touch. He pressed his hand against her cheek, his caress gentle as he moved in closer. Closing his remaining eye, his lips pressed against hers, resting both hands against the back of her neck, pulling her body closer to his, until there was no space left between them.
The kiss was gentle, but burned through them both with raw intensity. It was hungry, desperate, clawing at them both and chaining them together in necessity. Entwined, he broke the kiss off, leaning backwards just slightly to drink in her presence.
"I'm still here," he said softly, resting one hand on her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair from between tired eyes. "I won't leave you."
The smallest smile crossed her features, and she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, resting her forehead against his shoulder, still wavering with surprise, reeling with the turn of events, puzzled and invigorated and alive in a way she hadn't felt in years. Her free hand reached into the drawer at her nightstand, and she produced a small box. Carefully, she slid the small item into his palm. The silver pocket watch that she had been watching for him, for so long, was resting gently in his hand. He had come back.