Anyways, I'm bringing fic
Title: Aim Snap Fall
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist (erm...duh)
Summary: In a time of war, love often is a luxury soldiers can not afford, not even the National Alchemists.
Rating: Erm...I guess Rish. There's really nothing explicit or anything.
Spoilers: Yes, for the second half of everything.
Notes: For junemermaid, as a special thank you. Title and excerpt come from a Spill Canvas song by the same name. This is also a mash-up of anime and manga canon, because I...well I'll put it at the end.
I think I've found my other half; I swear I've found my better half...
Here we go.
It would have been utterly inappropriate for the first time to have been in Ishbal.
Ishbal, after all, had been anything but a time for relaxation. It had been a hard time, rough and filled with fire, explosions, and blood. In a time of war, love often is a luxury soldiers can not afford, not even the National Alchemists.
She saw him for the first time in weeks, shortly after he very nearly fell apart. He looked battered and broken, and just simply...unclean, almost as if he had been the one executed. The new stars on his jacket said he'd been promoted, but there was little to show for it in his blank eyes or haggard stance. She wished, not for the first time, that her father hadn't taken him in if only to spare him this pain, the waking nightmares she knew he must have.
He saw her then and smiled, and for a moment he had returned to himself from where he came.
The first time was actually when things were going well, shortly after the initial transfer to East City.
They sat in the office alone together after hours, he with his paperwork and her with her notes. There was a softly unspoken agreement that there was to be no talking after dusk, and frankly what would they have discussed after all? Work was tedious, they had known each other far too long for smalltalk, and Hughes had plenty worn them out on his family as it was. That left precious little to discuss besides things such as the war, and with such a precarious peace in their lives it felt wrong to disturb with memories of gun-oil, sand, death.
She had finished her work before him, of course, and had gone to let him known she would be taking her leave. Natural light was almost completely gone at that point, and she wasn't sure why but she did not want to go back to her quarters, not alone. To save herself from going home, as well as more of an excuse for affirmation than physical desire, she stroked his face lightly and only once as she said she was taking her leave.
Perhaps she had just...not wanted to miss him that night.
Reason (or lack thereof) not withstanding, it was the most sincere way she knew to touch someone. And after it, he was gently on her, his lips, hands, his body lining up with hers on his desk. The lamp had been knocked over, and she recalled that this was when the stiff jackets and trousers began to come off. Riza remembered her not-so graceful groping to him in the near-darkness as she oriented herself using his collarbone and hips, pulling him to and within her.
It was a little strange to be with someone that way...that is, someone she had known for so long. Unsurprisingly, he was all heat in the chill of his office. Her hands splayed on his back, and she felt hard muscle and some scars under her fingers. His hands on her were far smoother than anyone's ought to have been, but years of starting fires would do that, the skin having burned to an almost iridescent smoothness. Handling him was almost like handling her pistol, firm but gentle and with so much to protect. It was very strange, too, to be with him while in their office, on his desk like this.
There was light and so much care; he was healing and he was cleansing. She heard the sounds in his throat that he had made sometimes before when he concentrated on things like his arrays or his impatience from an order that didn't quite sit well.
There had been no Ishbal, Riza thought as she suddenly fell over that dangerous edge into herself and he was her gravity. There had been no Ishbal in that room. No military. No ladders to climb.
That was the point, after all.
The second time happened not unlike the first, as it began in an office after hours and by themselves. He was a Colonel, that time, and she a First Lieutenant. It was winter then, and dark even earlier than before. This time it was different as he calmly and properly asked if he could walk her home.
There was nothing else for her to do but accept, just as when they reached her apartment there had been nothing else for her to do but ask him inside.
He was always very particular about his uniform, blue and gold and grey, three stars, polished boots, white gloves. It only seemed natural that their dance would begin with him lightly dusting his hands across her shoulders, over her epaulets, to slowly take down her honey-golden hair. He then brought her hands to his lips, kissing the callouses on her trigger-fingers. This was, Roy pondered, how one began to make love to Riza Hawkeye. Soft caresses to a starched collar and throat. This was exactly how a man courted Riza Hawkeye.
She wished she hadn't turned the lights on when they walked inside, but it was not enough for her to back down. Even though this time it had been his idea, she still was the one to lean forward and bring their lips together.
Her quarters, like many others in the military, were somewhat sparsely decorated. She had a desk and a chair that his jacket was placed on, a dresser, and her bed. Moving around with a lot of furniture was too inconvenient, and it was all she needed besides.
It was somewhat more stilted this second time, the lights throwing things off a bit. She was almost shy, not a little self-concious as he gently removed her clothing. He smelled of ash, of course, and she stopped to breathe him in. Ash, soap, ink, and wood. There was noise of the cars on the street below them, of people walking home from pubs and cafés. His lips against her shoulders, his arms tracing her ribcage, his fingers brushed against her almost too delicately, too timidly. The dance they had was together with him leading, forever leading, its song ending with a quiet luminescence. He settled with his hand on her hip, his face in her hair, his heart with hers.
Riza followed Roy's lead and quietly she loved him for it.
There hadn't been quite another Ishbal, but Lior was worse in so many other ways with what resulted. Yet another hard time filled with explosions, fire, and blood. Roy wore a patch after for his troubles, it somehow just making him more perfect.
She saw him for the first time in months, although she had written to him. He looked broken and sad, and just simply tired, as if he had died with Huges and Edward. He no longer had stars on his shoulders and was not even a Flame anymore. She wished, not for the first time, that her father had never taken him in.
He saw her then, and smiled. And once more, he had returned to himself.
Quietly, she loved him for it.
As I said, i wanted to keep the whole Roy shot the Rockbells thing, because I feel it adds to his motivations...but while keeping the whole Riza's dad taught him stuff, word deal.
Um...I hope you guys liked it. ^_^;;