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"Good evening, Lieutenant," Roy greeted her with a smirk. It was forced, she could note, as his eyes wrinkled like the fabric of the shirt he was wearing.
He entered her flat with the familiarity he had earned, feet heavy and carrying more than just the work folders. He was this far from collapsing, she knew. Still, locking the door, Riza hurried to prepare some tea.
The kettle hissed, filling the empty room. The usual: chamomile tea.
Since Hughes' death, this had been a weekly routine. Some nights the Colonel could not sleep; instead of the lonesome and uncomfortable office, he came to her place with his research papers. She missed when they were just alchemy studies with fictional women she would laugh at, when his face was not painted with bags underneath his eyes. Now these papers were filled with clues and any type of evidence that could lead to their friend's murderer.
He sat at her small dinner table, submerged in the sheets and pictures and notebooks, his black hair falling over his face, the tea untouched, cold. At some moments, Riza wanted to rise from the couch where she read her book and pass her fingers through his bangs, tell him that everything would be alright and that justice would be made. But she couldn't tell him lies she didn't believe, and she couldn't cross the walls built around them. The tea ought to be enough touch of her warmth.
She had no place of judging his preference; there's no safer place than your bodyguard's apartment, and he needed at least a taste of stability. Besides, their Central City cubicles were empty and quiet, crowded with closed boxes and expectation. She at least had Black Hayate; the Colonel had no one.
They sat immersed in each other's silence.
"Sir?" she whispered.
Roy lifted his head, taking a sheet of paper glued to his forehead. His eyes blinked against the light that came from behind the woman.
"Wha…" he mumbled.
"You fell asleep, sir. It's midnight," she reached for his half filled mug, letting more light struck his eyes. He rubbed his face. "You should go home."
A grumble and his forehead touched the table again, like a dramatic little kid. "Can I sleep on your couch? Like last time?"
The Lieutenant sighed a "sure," before turning to her sink and suppressing a tired smile. Her steps echoed between the room walls.
A blanket and a pillow later and they were ready to rest.
Black Hayate hesitated before entering Riza's bedroom. She also felt sorry for letting the Colonel sleep alone in the living room. Deep inside her heart, a voice tried to free itself and just invite him in. Invite him into warmth and comfort they both were needing in these cold times. She knew he would accept. She knew they would sleep better than they ever had. She knew the walls kept getting closer and they were closer to let they ruin. But she also knew it was not the right time and she knew it was forbidden — by written laws and by unspoken rules. So she told him goodnight and shut the door.
The sound of water boiling stirred him from a light slumber. His head was throbbing. It felt like a hangover, one he would expect if he had had another one of those nights looking at his graduation picture with a smiling Hughes. But he was at Riza's place, so it was not whisky. It tasted like… chamomile.
"I made coffee," Riza was sitting on the table, a mug nestled between her hands.
Roy got to his feet a bit groggy, but managed to walk over to the table. He pulled a chair and took his seat across the Lieutenant. Her shirt was buttoned up and her gaze was far away from him. He sipped his coffee in silence.
The papers from last night's investigation had been huddled together inside the folder. Roy lifted his gaze to her as a sign of acknowledgement; she responded with a slow blink. His sight fell on the wood again, feeling more tired than if he hadn't slept at all.
His search was leading to places he still didn't understand. When Barry the Chopper had appeared just a couple nights before, a spark of hope had also appeared; that it might lead them to the right path, that they might figure out the conspiracy that roamed inside the military ranks and that killed his best friend. But it was just another lose string. Then he was back to the middle of scattered ideas and papers and simply lost. For a split second every a few restless days, especially the ones in which his thoughts floated on the alcohol filled glasses, the search seemed more difficult then the idea of a human transmutation; it was just his exhaustion speaking.
"Do you want me to borrow you a shirt?" Her sweet voice took his mind from the pained disconnection.
"There's no need," his voice sounded husk. "I always sleep with my uniform when I come here."
"Exactly. It smells terribly. You need to change."
He prayed she didn't get to find out when he took a bath the last time…
"No one ever complained though…"
"Because you are their superior officer. Change."
Ouch! Not the scolding tone…
"Alright…"
To his surprise, the Lieutenant had a spare masculine white shirt and uniform set. She explained they had given her a wrong set when they were transferred to Central. He only needed to use his jacket over it and no one would notice.
They had agreed that the Colonel left sooner as to not lift any suspicion.
"Bring at least a clean shirt the next time," Riza ordered as he exited her flat.
A few minutes later, Black Hayate met her on the bathroom where she was adjusting her hair. In his mouth, a crumpled white shirt. Mustang's dirty white — a little yellow now — shirt.
The right thing was to wash it and take it to him, but perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep a couple of the Colonel's spare clothes. After all, it was unlikely he would even remember to bring clean shirts.
***
"Good evening, Lieutenant! Tonight I brought clean clothes and dinner," Roy lifted both a backpack and a plastic bag that smelled like potato soup.
"I can't close the door to such an offer," she allowed a smile and stepped aside for him. Despite his apparent mood, his eye bags were deeper under the hallway light.
They ate dinner in silence, except for the flip of the notebook pages and Black Hayate's little claws tapping the floor. Words were luxury, and they were eating take out; each other's peaceful company was all they could afford for now.
Aside from their small moves, in the dimly lit apartment everything was still. Even the streets outside were quiet, as if the night shut their mouths. The only thing that filled the room was the warm smell of potatoes against the old wood.
It was with quick spoonfuls that the Colonel finished his soup, not once taking his eyes off his work, eyebrows focused. The bowl was placed on the table with a click — loud in the silent room —, startling the Lieutenant.
"Sorry," he flicked his gaze from the papers for half a second. "I haven't eaten all day."
His obsessed mind turned back to the files once again.
Not so long after, Riza finished her own and got up to gather their bowls. Their porcelain clicks echoed inside the room. She stood in front of her sink for a moment, looking down with furrowed brows.
Colonel Roy Mustang was an auto destructive fool. If he kept trailing this terrible way of mourning his friend, of searching justice like a mad man, he would not only fall off the rails of his path, but off his feet from exhaustion. And she, as his bodyguard, as his First Lieutenant, was there to stop both.
She turned around.
"Colonel, you need to rest."
He jerked his head up, eyes wide with confusion. There was no sign of anger or offense, just tiredness, so she felt more confident to continue.
"You've been running errands non-stop," Riza kept her voice serious and stern despite the worry that pulled at her throat, "especially this last week, due to the Maria Ross case. You haven't been eating, haven't been sleeping. How much longer do you think your body will handle?"
Roy rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine, Lieutenant… There are more important things in question here."
"Exhausted as you are, you won't reach anything and you know it. Rest, just for tonight, sir, please," her breath hitched. She paced until she was a handshake away from him, his gaze following her every movement. "I'm asking this not only as your adjutant, but as your friend."
Her lungs were as heavy as lead waiting for his reaction. Inside the military, such a scold from a lower rank was not respectful in general, but they had their promise; she was allowed to shoot him, so a scold — one focused on his health at that — should be the last source of indignation. Not that he wasn't used to receiving them already, anyway.
His gaze flinched indecisively, watching her face from his seat. Then, as though he had just remembered he could, a long, shaky breath left his chest. She wasn't surprised when she did the same.
"You're right…" Roy leaned his chin on his hand and sighed. Riza's shoulders fell from guard and she almost smiled beyond wrinkling her eyes. He closed the notebook and rose to his feet. "I guess I'm sleeping on your couch today again. At least I brought the clean shirt." He forced a tired smile, his gaze far.
They had known each other long enough it was clear it would take the whole night for Roy to fall asleep — if he even did. Hot water and tea would help.
Riza handed him a towel and Roy entered her bathroom. She had ensured him it would help him relax, to which he then promptly agreed.
While he took his shower, Riza prepared the chamomile. Some minutes later, the room became more humid thanks to the boiling water, more vivid due to the hiss of the kettle, and more warm when the soldiers leaned on the couch, mugs in hand.
It was possibly the most casual look she had ever seen Roy wear: an old t-shirt and sweatpants. His wet bangs were plastered to his forehead and if it weren't for their situation, she would've loved to pass her hands through it. The Lieutenant then settled with a book, but from the corner of her eye she watched as the Colonel rediscovered his breathing rhythm. Like a guard dog, his sight was fixed on the wall before them, lost and numb inside his own thoughts — or lack of. Despite the lamp above their heads, his eyes were as dim as the corners of the walls. Often he took a sip of his tea, probably to feel no taste.
Reading was giving her nausea, so the book was placed aside. The warmth of the chamomile wasn't enough for tonight.
"Sir, how are you feeling?" she asked, voice soft.
A smirk appeared on his face. "I'm… fine…", only to ruin as soon as the words left his mouth, strangled as though every breath weighted the world. "… exhausted. I'm so exhausted I can't fathom the idea of sleep. I feel so… lost." He produced a whisper of a pained laugh. "Perhaps this is how the Elrics felt when they lost their bodies… because I feel like I've lost what made me walk."
He sobbed on his hand.
As careful as if dealing with a gun, Riza took his mug away and held his free hand between her own. She could hear the walls crumble, the debris falling around her. If he also did, he didn't show, as he leaned against her touch, their bodies pressing closer. It was not the first time he had broken in front of her, hence his tears were no strangers.
Roy leaned his body forward and hid his face between his palms, his breath a chaos of emotions. An impulse grew inside her, of reaching out for his hands, bringing his body closer and saying every word she could think that would bring him comfort — the walls were already in pieces, scattered on the ground, another explosion would do no more harm. Yet, it wasn't the best, she knew.
Slowly, Riza made her way to embrace his back, and used her free hand to caress his shoulder. Under the textile she felt where was the scar of when he had been shot, many years ago. She leaned her head against him and quietly watched as he cried.
Her flat had been warmed up, as though a hearth had been lit.
Minutes — or maybe hours, she couldn't tell — went by, until his breath fell at peace once again. Roy stared at the floor, slightly more calm. His yawn stirred Riza from her place, and a smile formed in her lips.
"Come," she whispered. "We need to sleep." With a tug to his shirt, they got up from the couch and unhurriedly paced towards her bedroom. Black Hayate followed them.
She wasn't sure if his mind had been utterly pacified, but Roy's soft snore didn't take long to sound from his side of the bed. And for the first time since they had been transferred to Central, she didn't feel cold during the night.
***
"Good evening, Black Hayate," Riza crouched on her doorstep to pet the dog, voice barely over a broken whisper.
He responded with a long whine.
"I know, boy, I know."
She held her breath as she scanned her shadowy hallway, as though a wild beast would pounce at her any moment — and it actually would. What followed her shadows was as much of a beast as it wasn't human. Entering the flat deeper, Black Hayate, despite nervous, didn't growl. Clear. Her shoulders relaxed with a relieved sigh.
Her living room lamp was starting to flicker. The waning moon wasn't an aid against the dark either. Less light, more shadows; she shivered.
The work days now, despite not working as much as she did under the Colonel, were far more tiring. Not only she needed to watch her every word and step, any sign the homunculi might interpret as treason was dangerous. Her hand unconsciously reached for the cut on her cheek.
At the end of the day, her mind felt numb, almost dizzy. It was becoming way too difficult to keep up with hope, in special when you can do absolutely nothing. And there was nowhere to seek comfort from.
It wasn't only the Colonel they had taken away from her. Everyone she trusted and that cared about her were now out of her reach; first Havoc, then Breda, Falman, Fuery. Even Rebecca was far, as work would barely allow Riza to leave her house, much less meet a personal friend that was also part of the military.
She had never felt more alone than she did now. She had Black Hayate, but he could only be a company this much.
The quietude of the room was broken by the click of her porcelain mug against the counter. She needed some tea.
Empty. The chamomile box inside the cabinet was empty. With the way she had been so light-headed, it was no surprise she would forget to restock especially the thing that calmed her down. Perhaps it was for the best to not have something that smelled like so many good memories.
She wasn't hungry. Sleep it was, then.
During those few last weeks, most of nights she had been sleeping with her uniform, too afraid to strip her clothes and be naked under the homunculus' vigilance. Today, however, she felt brave enough, and so took a much needed shower. It wasn't enough to make her fully relax though, as the feeling of being watched sent shivers up the base of her neck as the water drops fell down her back. She felt like prey, fresh and ready to be eaten. It didn't help her back's adornments were clearly appeasing to homunculi looking for secrets.
When she opened her wardrobe, a white shirt grasped her attention. It was folded on the corner she had separated for the Colonel's clothes back when he would regularly sleep there. Since he had forgotten it there, she never returned it — he never asked either.
The cotton was soft on her skin. It was a little oversized, but with a pair of sweatpants it made up a perfect pajamas set. She was sure she had washed it, yet his leather cologne still clung to it. It was warm. For a moment, her mind was overflowed with him. His face, his smell, his touch, as though he was really embracing her; it was slightly overwhelming, but it was incomparable better than having her head filled with numbness and confusion.
When Black Hayate smelled the shirt, his tail wagged excitedly. It was funny to think he also missed Roy.
Her sheets were cold as she sat on her bed. Her gaze fell on the left pillow, where once his head had rested. Her fingers stroked the textile as if it would take away her pain. She felt a sharp pang in her belly.
She missed him so much.
A few weeks ago she had heard his voice through the phone. He had this awful good timing. How much she wished he called her now.
A few weeks ago she had seen him in the cafeteria. He looked as struck as her, all of his natural sharpness gone, replaced with despair. He certainly saw the same feeling in her eyes.
She wondered where he could be now. What a great bodyguard she was — she didn't even know where her superior could be. How could she protect him when she had to protect herself all the time?
Black Hayate usually slept in his own little bed, but today Riza allowed him to climb on hers. He curled up just behind her, his little snores the only symphony her apartment could bear.
Riza pushed the collar of the shirt until it covered her nose, closed her eyes and took in a long breath.
She had no other choice other than to trust him, as she always had done. They still had so much work ahead of them, so many things they have to resolve and so many sins they have to pay. The only fact that brings her a small piece of peace is that they will be side by side as they do it. She only needs to endure this for a little bit longer. It might be weeks, months, years, but she will be able to do it. Just like he will be able to overcome his grief and his guilt.
Until then, wherever he was, he could have her promise. Right now, she had that, and a shirt. And sometimes that's enough for the moment.