Soulless, gray eyes cracked open between puffy lids, his brow furrowed as he raised a bandaged hand to the bridge of his nose to try to nurse his headache as he propped himself upwards on his elbow. He instinctively attempted to scan the room, but picked up flecks of light with his peripheral vision instead, then cracked a wry smirk in spite of himself. His ears picked up the familiar pitter patter of heavy rain as it reverberated around the room, only to be followed by the crackling of thunder, the hallways of the hospital were unusually quiet, so he found solace in the assumption that it was night and therefore the lights were off, and it wasn't his sightless eyes confining him to the dark.

He sunk back into the shelter of his sheets, which were thin and cheap, and only exacerbated the cold. Battered and sore, his mind was the only part of him that was capable of wandering off, albeit reluctantly. Years of nightmare inducing insomnia had sparked his wish to keep his house barren, lest for a sole couch and a fridge.

He idly wondered if his companion was awake. "Hawkeye," he softly called out. She gently stirred from her sleep, the rustling of her hair over the pillow being an indicator. Amber eyes squinted as they tried to focus on his silhouette, outlined by a flash of lightning, then the rumbling of thunder. "Opening that gateway was terrifying," his voice was coarse and dry, "I used to believe I had a vague idea of what the Elrics had gone through, but I was nowhere near close."

She regarded him in silence, lightning flashed and she caught a glimpse of the dullness of his gaze, completely bereft of the fire she had known them to spark with. "When I woke up in that chamber, it was as if I had been violently shaken from a stupor. Everything was dark," He continued, his voice coming to a low enough murmur that she began to wonder if he had even meant to speak to her at all, "But what scared me the most, Lieutenant, was the possibility of never seeing your face again."

He grimaced as he passed a hand through his hair to soothe a bout of anxiety, "Are you even awake?"

"I'm here, sir." She answered almost immediately, as if to ease his spiraling psyche. Her eyes softened, "I believe we've been together long enough for my face to be embedded in your memory."

Roy's mouth contorted into a snarl as he balled his fists, gathering bits of his blanket into his vise grip. "That's not the point!" He barked at her, regretting it within the span of a second. Riza offered no reply. Defeated, he sighed deeply, and swung his legs over to the side of the bed to fumble onto his feet. She elicited a gasp, eyes transfixed on his stumbling frame as he took unsteady steps towards her side of the room. She rose to meet him a third of the way there and snaked his arm over her shoulder, with her own hand on the small of his back to guide him towards her bed. "Colonel, you mustn't move. You need to rest. We both do."

"Fine," He heavily plopped on the edge of her bed, adjusting his gown in a lazy way, before reclining back and tugging at her wrist to follow suit. He cradled her in the circle of his arms and whiffed her fragrant hair, the transition of his hands from the plane of her back to underneath her chin was clumsy, but withheld a familiarity she didn't wish to question. Riza suppressed her desire to crawl out of his embrace, and his arms were tense around her lithe frame as if he also struggled with the notion of staying. Boundaries had never been something they had established, perhaps because the fervor with which they sought to absolve themselves from their sins hadn't allowed them time for any fraternization to begin with.

In her youth, she had led a very sheltered life per her father's request and was often subject to his rants, many of which were peppered with hatred towards the military and its state alchemist program. Living in that household frightened her, her father was an unstable man held captive by his own brilliance. He was initially adamant about taking in an apprentice, but quickly relented due his deteriorating health. She remembered peeking around the corner into her father's dimly lit office hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man, but her father came to an abrupt stop in the middle of his lesson, which led his pupil to raise his head from some hastily written notes to survey the situation. Captivated by the boy's stare, she ran away upon witnessing her father's scowl in the background. In an attempt to befriend her, he'd leave books he had brought from Central near her bedroom door for her to find in the morning, before scurrying off to bed. Books that only served to intensify her already existing idealistic views of the world.

Upon her father's death, some of her resentment towards her estranged father evaporated along with him. With no other relatives or peers, Roy was the sole guest to his funeral. Where he asked in passing if she also disapproved of him joining the military, and from there, the conversation dissolved into his ramblings regarding the possibility of making Amestris a better place, not necessarily as a collective, but as a single soldier despite being expendable. He proceeded to sheepishly berate himself for his childlessness, but she admired his selfless perspective. Shortly after, she revealed to him the delicate and complex alchemical array that her father had branded onto her skin, an action that only helped cement how trustworthy she found Roy to be.

With an inquisitive finger, he had traced every line and curve with a fleeting, but titillating touch; marveled at its intricacy, and with earnest, deciphered it. A single feat that helped ensure he'd get state certified. With renewed beliefs, she enrolled in the military academy, eager to serve Amestrians, and in turn endorsed the senseless slaughter of the Ishvalans. Wracked with guilt, she begged Roy to deface her back in order to safeguard the very alchemy she had once vouched for in her naïve youth, he complied by searing it into an illegible disarray. She opted to shoulder the responsibility of her actions, and sided with Roy with the intentions to exonerate herself through the attainment of his goals.

Her having played a pivotal part in the war had shaped her into the soldier she was today, compliant enough to follow him into the depths of hell, analytical enough to know when to intervene, and dutiful enough to forsake her life for the sake of his endeavors. When the Promised Day arrived, she was quick to discard herself of any sort of optimism, knowing full well their strength would be tried in more ways than one. Bearing witness to Roy's crumbling sanity upon encountering Envy had fragmented some of her faith in their ability to succeed, mainly due to the uncanny resemblance between the seething flame alchemist and her late father. She experienced nothing short of relief when he lowered her revolver, a hand that was trembling despite having callously assimilated itself to the frame of her sniper rifle once she picked her target in Ishval. And yet, there was something comforting about this uncharacteristic display of affection that led her to question his prerogative.

Roy was lulled into a respite from the recurring image of her lifeless body being crudely dragged onto a transmutation circle, one whose chalk was blotted by the expanding pool of her blood. A brilliant red that intensified the color of her golden locks, yet marooned when coming in contact with it; her sluggish hand pressed against the slit of her wound and dilated pupils strained to stay open. Numbness had cast its somber veil on him and the scene had grown blurry with every passing second. Nothing had prepared him for that situation, mainly due to his concept of her willingness to persevere, a form of self-deception that strengthened his belief that she would never come to harm under his watch. It had been incomprehensible to him why she aimed her weapon at his back when she did, and in an attempt to dissuade her asked her what she'd do once she pulled the trigger. But her answer set a parallel for their co-dependence, one he had failed to acknowledge before. His wish to pursue his dreams would've surely perished, had he lost her.

And now he held her with an intensity that couldn't quench his thirst for the confirmation that she'd never voluntarily abandon him. Regardless of their individual efforts to find justifiable cause for their current position, it wasn't necessary to provide each other with an explanation. He had once spat some foolish rhetoric at Hughes regarding his friend's ability to return home from war and embrace the woman he loved with bloodied hands, and back then, he hadn't quite grasped what Hughes was vying to explain to him. But as he laid here, limbs entwined with the woman who indulged his every request, yet obediently followed three steps behind him; it dawned on him. He tenderly tightened his hold on her, tucking the crown of her head under his chin as she reciprocated by threading her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and sighing.

"You will never have to go through something like that again, Lieutenant," Her eyes widened, "I give you my word."

"I know, Sir." A fire within him rekindled, and although he had been deprived of his sight and wouldn't be able to see the future he envisioned for Amestris, he refused to resign from it.

The sun quickly rose to its zenith atop a bed of clouds, with its shimmering light shafts illuminating the room with ease, and the lively chirping of a single bird roused Riza from her sleep. In the dead of the night, he had sought refuge in her, and she had not only graciously provided it, but benefited from it in the most intimate of ways. She lingered in Roy's embrace for a moment, savoring the warmth of his body, before carefully extracting herself from his hold in lieu of his old hospital bed.