Epilogue
Every day, he would arrive at her apartment, obscenely concerned with her recovery. And invariably, staring about four days after the burning escapade, she would have breakfast or at the very least tea prepared for his arrival. He would insist that she should be in bed, getting rest and recovery—after all, that was why she was still in her apartment. She would respond that she was not engaging in dangerous behavior, and therefore there was no harm being done. After listening to her dismiss his concerns daily for nearly two weeks, he gave up. It wasn't worth the effort to argue with her, and he valued the time to sit with her and talk.
When he began working full time at Eastern Headquarters, he still dutifully arrived at her apartment door upon finishing the workday. It was impractical to check on her in the mornings, then, simply because 0600 hours was just a bit too early for visiting and changing bandages.
"Good morning, sir."
Obsidian eyes shot up from forms, startled, to confirm who was speaking to him. She was unmistakable even in the uniform he hadn't seen her in for months—the same amber eyes and light blonde hair. She had a hand raised in salute, standing stiffly in front of him, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips.
"Good morning, but I—"
The moment familiarity crept into his tone of voice, her eyes widened slightly in panic, and he understood. Anything—everything—that could connect them beyond work would be unacceptable. It made sense in the logistical portion of his mind; it was common knowledge that he was the student of her father. It was also fairly common knowledge that she was slow to trust. By implying that more than a work relationship existed between them, it left her father's research vulnerable. The sorrow in her eyes was evident, however slight, and he wondered how he could possibly imagine or even behave like he didn't know Hawkeye, let alone knowing her well, intimately.
For a moment, the sad smile lingered, vanishing in the blink of an eye—so quickly, he wondered if he imagined it. She dropped her hand to her side, features concealed in a poker-face he could never hope to pull off effectively. "Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, reporting for my first day of duty, sir."
Thanks to everyone for reading this far, and thanks to my reviewers! This piece did feel borderline unfinished, so I wrote the epilogue. Believe me when I say I tried countless times to write a proper continuation, but nothing suited what was already done. Thus, I wrote this.
Enjoy! Thanks for reading :)