Chapter Text
Standing frozen at the kitchen sink with a glass of water clenched too tightly in one shaking hand, Riza watched Roy approach the house.
He looked exactly as she remembered him, and yet completely different at the same time. He carried himself with the same easy grace as always, but there was a new pride and self-assurance in the straightness of his spine and the set of his shoulders. The uniform coat was tailored well, showing how well his lanky teenage frame had filled out since she’d seen him last. His broader chest and shoulders spoke volumes of the physical aspects of his military training, and she recalled his early complaints about being made to run laps in full kit: packs and rifles and all.
But the cheerful smile she remembered was absent, replaced by a determined, grim expression she’d never seen on his face before.
Even as that thought crossed her mind, Riza realized that she was afraid to meet him again. What if he wasn’t the same person she once knew? It had been two whole years, now, since they’d seen each other. Had writing to him been a mistake after all?
Roy knocked, then, having reached the door during her internal struggle, but she couldn’t make herself walk to the door. Instead, he waited a few moments before running a hand over the brickwork and dislodging the spare key from its old hiding place. He called out a cautious greeting as he let himself in. When no one answered, he dropped his pack unceremoniously beside the door and headed straight for the stairs, following the familiar route to his teacher’s inner sanctum.
Straight to business, then.
He hadn’t even considered looking around for her, had he? Two years, Riza reminded herself. It’d been two whole years. Why should Mr. Mustang seek her out? He’d come in answer to her father’s summons, not hers—she’d simply acted as her father’s proxy in the matter. She certainly had no claim on him, aside from friendship. And maybe not even that, anymore.
Two years.
Twice the amount of time they’d even known each other. She stood frozen at the sink for a long time, staring with unseeing eyes at the half-full glass of water still clenched in her hand.
But then there was a heavy thud and a cry from upstairs. Riza didn’t even hear the glass shatter as it slipped from her nerveless fingers. Heart in her throat, she’d flown up the stairs even as that once-familiar voice desperately called out for someone, anyone, to help him.
The next several hours passed in something of a blur. Riza had a vague recollection of gripping the door frame for support when her knees had turned to jelly at the sight of her father’s unnaturally still form, gently cradled in Mustang’s arms.
She remembered feeling grateful that her father had finally agreed to have a phone line installed as she dialed the doctor’s number with shaking hands and told him what had happened. She remembered sitting perfectly still with her hands folded neatly in her lap, listening silently as Dr. James gently confirmed what they’d already known.
And she remembered feeling too numb and hollow to even cry.
But mostly, she remembered the warmth of an arm tentatively wrapped around her shoulders, and the gentle murmuring of nonsense words against her hair, and the feeling of relief that rushed through her as she realized that Roy WAS still the same boy she’d thought she’d known, the one who had always tried his best to comfort and support his friend.
Maybe…maybe he could help her get through this.
He was so gentle, so careful with her. Though she understood that he was trying to be considerate, a large part of her wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t made of glass; that she wasn’t a child that needed looking after. Not anymore. Not for a long time, now.
But another part of her wanted him to wrap her up in his arms and swear he’d protect her forever.
Riza wasn’t sure which feelings disturbed her most.
The funeral had passed in a haze. In the unending sea of well-meaning faces and voices offering condolences, he’d been her anchor, always at her side. And once everyone else had finally gone home, he’d taken her hand and led her back into the house, made sure she’d eaten, and trundled her off to bed. And the following morning, he’d followed her out to the grave and stood silently beside her, mourning with her.
Alone at last, Roy had finally spoken about his dream, and expressed regret that he’d come back too late. His words had touched a chord in her, one that made her resolve to place her trust in him again, in spite of the terrible risk.
It was his sharp inhalation of breath that brought her back to the present moment.
Seeing herself through his eyes, Riza was terrified all over again. She was so certain he’d never hurt her; hadn’t he proven that to her time and time again? And yet the magnitude of her actions struck her with a suddenness that made her weak in the knees. Her nearest neighbors were miles away: if he should, in fact, try to harm her, there was no one to come to her aid. And absolutely nothing she could do to stop him.
Even her weapons were beyond her reach - why hadn’t she thought to keep one close to her at all times?
Because, she answered herself. Because she’d let her guard down. She’d trusted him. Even as her thoughts spun in dizzying circles of fear and self-recrimination, something brushed the bare skin of her back.
It was the barest contact – a feather-light brush of a fingertip over one of the thickest lines in the array. But Riza flinched as though she’d been stabbed. And at her sudden motion, the man standing behind her immediately snatched his hands back.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have...I didn’t mean to touch without asking,” he stammered as she trembled. “Oh my god, sensei,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
Tears filled her eyes, then, and she clutched her blouse to her chest in a sick haze of shame and relief and sorrow and giddy affection. Roy hadn’t changed so much, after all.
“It-it’s all right,” she managed to say, swallowing her fear as well as she could. “You startled me, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. And then he was silent for so long that she nearly turned to make sure he was still standing in the room with her.
But then she felt his breath, warm on the nape of her neck, and one cold fingertip traced the outer lines of her tattoo with agonizing tenderness. She tried to control her reaction, but she couldn’t quite hide the shiver that wracked her frame or the goose bumps that sprang up in the wake of his gentle touch.
“Sorry,” he whispered again. He paused for a moment to blow into his cupped hands. His fingertip, when it brushed her naked flesh for the third time, was pleasantly warm.
It might as well have been an iron brand, the way it set her skin aflame. And wasn’t that an ironic thought to have in the face of the sigils and runes under his hands?
“Can you...can you see it all right in here?” she asked timidly. “Shall I put another lamp on?”
And oh god, how she wished that those gentle touches meant something else...but no. This was no time to indulge in a schoolgirl fantasy. This boy— this man—was her friend. Her best friend. Her father’s favored apprentice. And he was here for information, nothing more. He’d decipher the notes and then be on his way again.
Hadn’t he just told her that he planned to stay in the army for life? This wasn’t some ridiculous romance novel like the ones she’d once found stashed in the attic. It wasn’t as if he would beg her to come back with him, nor would she try to entice him to stay. Their destinies diverged, now.
And as much as she wished he’d just wrap his arms around her and kiss her, she knew that was a dream that would never become real.
The fingers on her back trembled, ever so slightly.
“No,” he breathed softly. “This will take some time. I’ll have to decipher his code, and copy out the runes and things...we can’t do this here. And certainly not in one night. We’ll need a - well, someplace you can lie down,” he said, haltingly.
She thought of the table in the basement, where her father had taken her to put the array into place. And then she started to tremble in earnest.
When Berthold had asked his daughter whether she would consent to becoming the guardian of his life’s work, of course she'd agreed. Though she hadn’t realized at first what that would entail, she was still willing until the moment he’d led her into the lab. He’d fitted one of the long tables with a series of restraints, which he would have to use to hold her down while he worked on her back. The sight of the numerous straps and locks had frozen Riza in place.
A firm hand had gripped her shoulder, hard, and she’d managed another two faltering steps before she’d stopped again. And then everything had gone black, because at that point, sensing her weakness, her father had struck her sharply at the base of her neck. She’d come to already strapped to the table. Struggling vainly had only irritated him, and her terrified pleas to reconsider fell on deaf ears.
Though he’d warned her at the beginning that the procedure might sting a bit, he’d failed to mention the excruciating pain which would turn her vision white and rob her lungs of the breath to scream.
Suddenly Roy’s arms were around her, and his lips were pressed to the top of her head. And a part of Riza’s heart shattered, because it was the embrace of a guardian, a protector…not that of a lover. And the tears that sprang to her eyes were for the loss of what might have been between them. Because she knew that the weight of his guilt, the responsibility that he shouldered, would never allow him to cross that line again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
So am I, she thought. So am I.