DISCLAIMER: All recognizable material belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

A/N: This was inspired by and quoted from tumblr user kelenloth's royai headcanon; quote used with permission.

o.O.o.O.o

It was all done with the utmost care and precaution. However symbolic and significant the act might be, it was nothing to rush into unprepared. Roy had made enough mistakes to last him a lifetime; he would not take any risks and make a new one.

They waited. She stayed at his apartment while she could - she had not yet told him of her request to transfer to his command - and Roy spent three weeks on the research. As many thousands of burns he had inflicted, not once had he had to deal with damage control.

The Flame Alchemist knew nothing of healing.

And so, just like his master before him, he buried his head in books, poring over every detail, taking careful notes. He soaked up every tip on pain relief, avoiding infections, and scar reduction he came across. There was nothing to be found on efficient methods of inflicting the burn, of course, for no sane person had cause to do so. Roy had spent so long aiming careless blasts at unresponsive buildings that the art of refining his alchemy had been nearly forgotten, and certainly never put into practice.

He spent another week perfecting the shot that would mark her, and once he had the blast down to an exact science, he repeated the act another hundred times to be sure.

When he was finally ready, he asked her to take a shower.

Riza knelt before the bathtub, hair still dripping wet. She wore nothing, to minimalize the risk of a fire, and made no attempt to cover herself. Roy had seen her tattoo, and that was by far the most secret aspect of her person - there was nothing she needed to hide from him.

Roy handed her a thick washcloth to bite down on, and did a thorough double-check of his supplies. Eventually, he realized he was stalling, and that fact didn't escape Riza.

"Major… I'm sorry to put you through this," she said carefully. "But we haven't spent the last few weeks preparing to dawdle now."

When she said we, Roy realized she was right. He wouldn't have gotten rest or food if not for her, and they both knew it. She was willing to give him all support necessary, and not just in this, but in everything. And now she needed him to support her. He couldn't very well refuse.

Kneeling behind her, Roy lightly stroked her arm. "Give me your hand," he half-whispered, and she did without a second thought. He gave her a reassuring squeeze and did not let go as he steadied himself.

He had lost count of how many times he'd practiced this. He wanted to get the angle, the pressure, the size of the blast as near to perfection as possible. He wouldn't leave scarring where it wasn't necessary, and more importantly he wouldn't inflict any more pain than he absolutely had to.

He didn't ask her if she was ready. It would be insulting.

She nearly broke his hand. Her muffled screams echoed against the walls of the bathroom, and even as he extinguished the flame - having destroyed everything that was strictly necessary and no more - Riza continued to wail. Roy knew without asking that she had wanted to be strong and silent for both their sakes, but he couldn't fault her for this.

Taking no notice of the tears spilling onto his lips, he immediately began applying cold, sanitary washcloths to her skin, clearing away any debris left by the blast. Riza cried out at the contact, and Roy quickly slipped an arm around her middle; her hand found his again and gripped it like a vice.

As he tended to her wounds, he became grateful that he'd had the foresight to have her take pain medication an hour beforehand - it would take the edge off before it began, and it would only be a few more hours until she could take another dose. In the meantime, the fridge was stocked full of water bottles to keep her hydrated.

After several minutes, Roy gently picked her up, averting his eyes from her body and adjusting his arm on her back to avoid touching raw flesh. She clung to him, desperately trying to keep another sound from escaping her lips. With one look at her expression, Roy's stomach dropped in guilt, and he held her tighter. He laid her down on her bed, quickly retrieving the gauze and ointment from the bathroom as well as a pair of loose sweatpants.

When he returned, he helped her dress and wound the gauze around her as gently as he could manage, and all the while Riza was still biting back cries. Damming up his own tears, he let her lean against him, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles into the small of her back and letting her obliterate what was left of his hand. Several minutes of tense silence elapsed.

"Talk to me."

Roy blinked, peering down at her sudden request. "What?"

"I won't be able to sleep this off for a while; it's still too much and I can't shut it off," she stated as steadily as she could manage. "I need a distraction. Please."

"Uh…" he would have scratched his head had he a free hand. He'd spent the better part of a month preparing for this, yet she still managed to leave him stumped. "Well, I've told you about Hughes, right?" he asked, spitting out the first thought that came to mind. He knew he had, but all she wanted was a distraction. Maes Hughes was a conversation piece in his own right. "I know I always bugged you, complaining about not having a brother, when we were kids," he joked – or tried, anyway. "But as crazy as Hughes is…" he didn't finish the thought; Riza understood. Roy wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

They fell silent again, and Roy groaned inwardly. So much for being distracting.

"You never bothered me," Riza told him quietly. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, but I always enjoyed your co-" she stopped, sucking a breath in through her teeth.

"God, Riza, I'm so sorry," Roy moaned, his hand pausing against her spine. "You don't need to talk; you don't need to be doing anything but resting right now."

Gritting her teeth, she met his eyes. "I'll decide what I need to be doing, sir. And please, don't apologize. I need you to back me up in this. I need to know that this was the right thing to do, for both of us." She squeezed his hand again, more gently. "You and I are in this together."

A ghost of a smile danced across Roy's lips. "You mean you won't leave me high and dry once you've finished healing?"

"Of course not," she breathed, fatigue beginning to creep into her tone. Despite what she'd said about not being able to sleep, Roy knew she wouldn't last much longer before passing out. "You wouldn't be who you are if not for me; you wouldn't have made the mistakes you've made if not for me. If anything, I should be worried about you leaving."

Resuming the patterns across her skin, he murmured, "Let's not play the blame game, all right? What matters now is that we stick together, and we don't let anyone repeat our mistakes."

Which was the entire point of today, and this last month, and the next few months to come, Riza mused, though she was too tired and in too much pain to bother voicing the sentiment aloud. Another thought occurred to her briefly, too quickly to grasp it, but before she could try to remember, she fell unconscious.

It was another seven years before it crossed her mind again.

They were in nearly the same position as they had been all those years before, and even in the same room in Roy's apartment in Eastern. But this time, there was no pain, only the quiet solace they found in each other. The thought drifted back to her as she felt lips on the base of her neck, where the ink ended. Riza smiled.

"You know," she said slowly, "when my father gave me… that, he told me that only three people in the world were ever allowed to see it." Roy's hand – the one that had been skimming past her ribs and down to her hip – paused, and she knew he was listening. "My father, the man I married, and you." The breath that had been lightly falling onto her hair stopped completely. Riza turned to face him, curious as to his expression. He had no idea where this was going, she could tell. "But he was wrong," she said quietly. "There will only ever be two. I wonder if he knew – if he knew that I would marry you."

His mouth was agape as he stared wide-eyed at her, trying to form a response. "You – I…" he stuttered, dumbfounded. Roy shook his head in disbelief. "Riza Hawkeye, did you just propose to me?"

She smiled wryly at him. "Would you prefer that I had waited until I had a ring? I wasn't sure what you'd want. I could get something sparkly if you like, with lots of diamonds and a gold ba- mmph!"

Roy's hands cupped her face as he kissed her, mouth warm and inviting, and Riza's hands pressed against his broad chest as she eagerly returned it. When they separated, Roy wore the biggest grin Riza had seen in what felt like years. "Yes," he nearly choked out. Fingers trailed across her face almost subconsciously. "Of course I'll marry you."

He kissed her again, winding an arm around her and pulling her closer. The heat between their already-bare skin increased, and soon he was dragging her down onto the bed, hands dancing up to her chest. His kisses fell to her neck, sucking lightly at her pulse point, teeth grazing her skin.

"Good," Riza breathed as he released her mouth. "To be honest, I had never for a moment planned on showing it to anyone else."

Roy paused at that, the meaning in her words hitting him harder than she'd intended. "You mean… you…" he swallowed thickly. "You gave me your hand that day, didn't you?" he asked quietly, his mood suddenly somber. "You signed yourself away to me the minute you took off your jacket in your father's study." His eyes fell away from her, and Riza could practically see the path he was beginning on.

"Don't do that, Roy," she chastised him, voice low. "I chose you, don't ever forget that. If I hadn't loved you, I would have decided to remain alone." She stroked his face gently, pressing a kiss to his nose. "No matter the road it took to get here, I wouldn't have wanted to end up anywhere else, or with anyone else." She kissed his lips. "So don't start feeling sorry. I believe we have some engagement sex to attend to," Riza told him matter-of-factly. "You'll spoil the mood."

With a sigh that evolved into a light chuckle, he kissed her back. "Yes, sir," he muttered, smiling softly. "Where were we?"

o.O.o.O.o

A/N: Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated.