1903
Unfolded clothes were being tucked into every corner of his bag. Master Hawkeye had given him an hour to vacate the premises before ‘the stench of a military dog would ruin this place’. Riza unlatched the window as she had time and again the past few years to simply talk with Roy, and slipped into the bedroom.
“He won’t reconsider. I tried,” Roy’s voice was tight, not even looking up from where he now scoured his desk for any papers to shove into the bag before the clock ran out.
“I know,” Riza took only a small step closer, hoping for only a moment that this all could stop. She had enjoyed having Roy around; he was brilliant and dangerously ambitious, but also a warm and sensitive soul. He made the house brighter, and now he would be gone. “I came to say goodbye.”
“I know,” he repeated in the same plain tone she had.
“So goodbye.” Riza did not move.
Roy did not move either as he sucked in a breath and whispered out his own, “Goodbye.”
Perhaps she had been foolish to hope for more, hope that this would be some emotional upheaval and release—though maybe he never felt his heart tighten like hers did whenever they were near one another. Stepping back away, Riza opened the window again.
“Marry me.” It took her a few seconds to realize what he had said so hurriedly and desperately. No, it was clear now that she hadn’t been the only one who held onto these incomprehensible feelings for the other.
“What?” She turned on him, eyes widened in confusion. She searched his face, his dark eyes and tightly pursed lips, for some explanation.
His eyes stayed trained on hers as he repeated, “Marry me. I..” He paused shake his head with nervous laughter. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Twice.”
“What?”
“You said it twice,” Riza looked down at her hands hoping they would hold some answer as to what to say, “But I can’t marry you, Roy.”
“Of course not,” his laugh rung hollow and forced as silence settled between them again. He was beside her now, one hand tentatively reaching out to touch her shoulder. Looking at his nervous, red face, he seemed like such a boy. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace, but she stayed still as he spoke, “I just—You’ve kept me on track and in line and I—”
“You can manage in the military without me, Roy,” her hand reached up to hold onto his as her heart sank. He wanted a trusted officer by his side, not a wife. She could be that for him, and deep down she knew she would do it if he had just asked that, but it would never feel like quite enough. Now that he had planted the idea in her mind, she knew it would only grow.
“No, I can’t.” She could hear how his steady his voice was, feel his palm squeeze against hers, “I need you Riza.”
“As a wife, though?” Riza raised an eyebrow at the thought of Roy wanting her to be some doting housewife as he was shipped off to some far flung part of Amnestris. No, that didn’t sound like him at all.
“I need you,” Roy just repeated, holding her gaze for a moment before letting her hand drop as he returned to his careless packing, “I guess I don’t know in what way, but I need you Riza.”
“Then you have me.” She walked towards him again as the words fell from her lips before she had time to think. She cleared her throat to try again, “Then you can have me in your life, Roy. Not as a wife but a friend and supporter.”
He looked up at her again and his eyes softened, “I’d like that very much.”
Before Riza could say anymore, Roy’s door rattled with a bang. “Mustang I want you out of this house before my tea is ready and the kettle is already whistling!”
Both froze for a moment, close enough to touch one another and yet Riza couldn’t find it in herself to reach out and embrace him the way she wanted. So instead, she waved awkwardly and ducked out the window too fast for Roy to catch her wrist.
She would see him again, she vowed she would.
1908
Words never came close to describing Ishval. Even in the midst of it all, trying to talk about it amongst each other felt imprecise and deeply troubling. The only bright spots that Riza found through it all were some of her comrades—Armstrong was gentler than his bulging muscles let on, Maes was more perceptive than his lovesick persona let on, and Mustang was the same he had been since Hawkeye had known him.
Perhaps that was not precisely true—he had changed, of course, in the way everyone involved in Ishval had been fundamentally altered. Yet there were still occasional glimpses of the headstrong and brilliant boy that had turned her life inside out, the reason she dragged herself into this hell.
It was that comfortability that drew them together whenever the night was quiet and the air outside was cool. Neither had to say much of anything as they sat together in the darkness, far too easy for them to endure the silence and know that someone else was beside them.
“What do you intend to do after all this, Hawkeye?” Mustang’s voice cut through the darkness to her. She was still just barely accustomed to him referring to her like that; she far preferred the way ‘Riza’ sounded on his lips.
“Is there an after?” She didn’t bother to look over as she sighed and continued, “I can’t say, sir. I suppose my future depends on yours.” Silence stretched between them again. Mustang had known this already, known the seriousness of her devotion to him and his ambitions; it always felt odd reminding him of it though, reminding him of her lifetime commitment to be by his side in this purely professional capacity. She knew they both wanted more, he had already said as much and—-
“Marry me, then?” She froze for a moment in the darkness and stopped thinking, only listening to the way the man beside her took in a shuddered breath, “We can be done with this and go just live somewhere and—”
“We don’t deserve that, Mustang, not after this,” Hawkeye steeled her voice as she let him down again. The idea of running away as a romantic thought but foolish and selfish; Mustang wanted to change things in Amnestris and Hawkeye would be with him every step of the way. None of that could happen if they gave into childish whims.
“You’re right,” he conceded with a sad laugh, “You always are.”
Only a few more moments passed before Hawkeye stood to go to bed. If she stayed there any longer beside him, she would have let herself fall into that fantasy too.
1909
The step up to Colonel was an impressive promotion, provided one ignored the piles of bodies that laid the path to it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in her chest when she had heard the news. It was by no means a surprise, Mustang was a brilliantly powerful alchemist. And yet, she still remembered him as the awkward teen wearing too-large clothes, face dotted with pimples every so often, but overwhelmed with ambition. If only that young Roy could see the current Mustang. They would never be forgiven, but this was a step in the right direction.
Perhaps that was why when Havoc had offered to host a celebration at his apartment, Hawkeye decided to drop by wearing the black cocktail dress Rebecca had insisted she purchase.
By the time she had arrived, most everyone else was there, all in identical crisp white button ups and slacks, even Lieutenant Ross. Hawkeye felt overdressed for just a second until she caught Mustang’s eyes lingering on her. With a flush she resolved that she was dressed appropriate.
And perhaps it was the way he had looked at her, or the way he laughed and smiled as they both chatted with their friends; perhaps it was all of it combined that made her keep refilling her glass, made her tension slip away. It was what gave her the boldness to stand a tad closer to him, to unabashedly stare at the way his Adams’ apple moved every time he sipped at his whiskey. She may have been too obvious, though, as Breda and Havoc conveniently left the conversation to go handle some unnamed issue on the other side of the room.
Hawkeye broke the silence, “Congratulations again, Colonel. Despite your inability to complete a single scrap of paperwork on time you somehow did it.” She looked back down into her half filled glass of red wine and swirled it around for good measure.
“I didn’t do it alone,” Mustang’s voice was soft and low as he clinked their glasses together, “This is as much your title as mine, Lieutenant.”
She glanced up to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with an unknowable something, as she took a sip, “Thank you sir.”
He kept looking at her as he downed the remainder of his glass, “The dress is nice by the way.”
“Blame Rebecca.”
“I’d want to thank her actually.” Hawkeye noticed how his eyes trailed lower until the fixated at the very edge of her neckline, where the black satin laid flush against her collarbone.
She knew for certain it was not the alcohol that was turning her red, “You’re staring, sir.”
“I know,” he spoke with a certain smugness that made her want to hold his face tight and kiss him until the arrogance was gone.
Neither said anything or a few moments more, forcing their eyes away from each other as if they had not both been mentally undressing the other moments prior.
“Can I tell you a secret, Hawkeye?” Mustang had the most asinine questions at any given moment, especially when he was drunk. So all Hawkeye could do was sigh and gesture for him to continue on.
She felt him lean in before she dared to let her eyes look over and see how close he was. His words were slurred slightly and she could smell the liquor on his breath. More intoxicatingly so, she could feel his warm breath fluttering against her skin, “I’ve always wanted to marry you.”
That was all? Hawkeye knew she should take his insistence on marriage more seriously at this point but there was no use in doing so—it was not as if it could ever be. So she just raised an eyebrow, “You’ve proposed to me twice already,” leaning back away she downed her on glass, “Colonel.”
The burning behind his eyes flared brighter as he drifted away from her as well, “Third time’s the charm?”
“And ruin your shiny new promotion with fraternization?” It was surprising how comfortable this conversation was, despite it all. Though maybe it was simply a case that every conversation with Mustang had an air of familiarity and ease to it.
“Riza.” She started hearing her first name in his voice for the first time in years, looking over to see his expression melted into something akin to desire, “I’d let you ruin me in a second if you asked.”
Like a magnet, Hawkeye found herself pulled close into his orbit, “It’s good I’m not asking, then,” before leaving the corner they had stood in. Her breath was heavy and labored as she could still feel his eyes on her. She only stayed for a few minutes more chatting nonsense with Hughes before it became too much. If he would to stay there longer, stay around Roy longer, she would make a terrible decision.
She left without saying so much as a simple goodbye.
1915
The plans were set and while so much could, and inevitably would, still go awry, there was little else Hawkeye could do now. And little else that Mustang could do either—though, by the way he was pacing around with his brow furrowed, he wasn’t at ease with that fact.
“Sir,” her voice was a gentle warning, “Tomorrow won’t happen if you run yourself ragged tonight.”
His pacing paused as he looked at her and shook his head, “Of course.” She remained wholly unconvinced as he sat down beside her on the warehouse floor. Munitions were stacked in boxes all around them, enough that they could barely hear Rebecca taking stock of it all.
“We have to trust things will work the way we planned it,” Hawkeye dared to let her hand cross the invisible barrier and rest comfortably on his knee. Already she knew it was a step too far but as their lives were held in such uncertain balance—she could indulge herself in this, couldn’t she?
Mustang must have thought the same as his gloved hand enveloped hers, forcing out a laugh, “Hawkeye, when have things ever gone according to plan?”
She dared further to let her fingers interlace with his, “We’ve come out the other side, though, every time.” Even the moments where Hawkeye had let the horror of what they had done consume her, when she had thought perhaps they did not deserve to live this way—they still had.
An uneasy silence fell between them. It used to feel easier before, but with what little time they may have left together, she had to say something, “Sir—”
“Please don’t,” his voice was soft and tight.
Hawkeye stiffened beside him but let their hands stay the way they were, “Don’t what?”
“Please, don’t call me ‘sir’ right now, Riza.”
Before she could let her head get the better of her, her free hand laid atop their tied pair, “Roy, we’ll be okay.”
“Promise me,” his hand came over hers as well as he leaned closer to her until they were barely a breath apart, “Promise me if we get through this, we stay together.”
“I know,” he continued with a subtle shake of his head, “I know that if I were to propose again I would be respectfully yet firmly declined and I know why, but I still need you and dammit-Riza I know you well enough by now to know you need me. So stay with me.”
She finally met his gaze and saw in his eyes the boy she had known before, the one who had haphazardly proposed to her when he was barely 18. A decade later and that hope still burned, as much as she burned for him. Even if it was still not possible for them to be wed, “Yes, I’ll stay with you.”
“And I with you,” he breathed a sigh of relief, a small smile creeping across his face, “You know, if you wanted to, you could always just call me Roy when it’s only us. I don’t think anyone would be surprised.”
“Let’s get through tomorrow, sir,” she retuned the wry smile and let their hands stay together until the very last second they had to tear apart. Tomorrow that promise would come back to haunt her with the eyes of a homunculus, but for today she would let herself imagine only calling him Roy.
1916
Even a year after all that had transpired, nighttime was still challenging. Riza was content enough that she could sleep with only two lights on in her apartment, as opposed to the nights she had spent in a brightly lit room in fear of what would be lurking in the shadows if she closed her eyes.
Roy and her had never discussed this, but she knew he felt the same. While in the grand scheme of things, he had only lost his eyesight for a short while, she knew how it still lingered and haunted him.
So when months after the Promised Day, she received a call in the middle of the night, startling her and Black Hayate awake, she was not surprised to hear Roy’s strained voice on the other end of the line, “Riza—are you okay?”
“I’m safe, sir.” She knew that after all that had transpired she could drop the formalities, but it still was hard to remember at times. “Are you safe?”
“Yes,” his voice wavered and she could hear his breath stuttering against the microphone.
Settling down back into bed, she listened to his breathing slow, before finally breaking the silence, “I have them too.”
“How do you manage?”
“I don’t,” Riza closed her eyes and just tried to imagine the darkness differently now, imagine Roy laying beside her. Even that alone made it easier—not perfect, but enough that her heart rate could settle down.
She didn’t realize how long she had been like that until she heard his voice bring her back, “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she responded softly, still letting her eyes stay shut. After a few moments of silence, when she could hear his breath settle to an easy rhythm, “If you—if it helps to stay on like this all night, I don’t mind.”
He paused for a moment until Riza could practically hear the small smile cross his face, “Okay.”
Sleep did not come quickly, but she at least felt more rested knowing he was just on the other end of the phone. Hayate settled against her side and Riza could feel her tiredness seeping into her bones.
A long time passed, Riza find herself on the bring of sleep when she heard his voice again, nearly dream like, “Riza?”
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she wanted to respond but instead, Roy simply continued on, “I wish we had this, not on the phone I mean.”
She knew this wasn’t a dream, though she had admittedly fantasized about Roy’s sweet words many times before. “I wish after all this I could have just been your husband.”
Desperately, she wanted to tell him how she longed for that, needed him in the same way despite all of her previous rejections. But it was not as if it could change now, not with so much work left to be done.
Riza barely whispered out, “We can’t.”
She could hear Roy’s breath catch on the other end, clearly having thought she was asleep before. Just as soft he replied, “I know.”
Neither said anything more. Riza simply stayed on the phone and drifted off to sleep with the fantasy of what could have been floating in her mind.
1924
In so many ways it felt like a dream. Nearly a decade now had passed since the Promised Day, Grumman deciding his time as Fuhrer had passed. It had been a long drawn out process for him to decide his successor, long nights of Roy’s voice panicked on the phone if he had done enough schmoozing, articulated clear-enough his plan to move Amnestris to a democracy, showcased often enough the successes of the Ishvalan restoration.
When the decision was made, Riza knew immediately. She had spotted Roy exiting the Fuhrer’s office with a silly, dumbstruck expression that could have only meant one thing. And yet she still found it so hard to believe. It was the celebration party after his inauguration that the realization hit her. Roy Mustang, the man she had known for almost twenty years now was the leader of the nation. If anyone had the power to change things, even the simple things that were governed by the heart, it should be him.
It was a fantasy, but one Riza would finally let herself indulge. Catching Roy’s eye across the large ballroom was easier than she anticipated. But then again his eyes always were on hers, especially when she wore the black dress that had drawn out the third proposal from him years ago at another party. In just a few minutes, she could hear him following behind her until they reached the large set of doors, Riza opening and letting him in first.
“Roy.” She shut the door behind him, the pair finally alone in what would soon be his old office.
His head snapped back towards her, and Riza smiled as she watched red dust across his cheeks from the alcohol or from the use of his first name, “Am I in trouble? I finished signing everything and I really don’t think that this party is the right time to—“
“Marry me, Roy.” If she had more time, maybe she would have had a full speech prepared, something that could articulate the depths of her feelings for the man in front of her, but all that came out was the simple request.
“What?”
“You should know what a proposal is by this point you’ve given me…” She feigned counting in her head as if she hadn’t regretted each and every rejection, knowing
“Five. Five proposals and all of them you denied, Riza.” His expression said he was not truly mad, not even frustrated. Rather, it was a simple fact and one that by the way his eyes shined, he found quite amusing.
“Then you know how serious I must be when I say marry me.” Her back stayed firm against the door, knowing that if she even thought about taking a step closer that she would tumble into his arms. And while she wanted that, desperately so, she needed to hear his answer first.
“Can we?”
A genuine laugh bubbled out of the blonde, “You’re starting to question the rules now? Not before?”
“Well, I wasn’t Fuhrer then,” Roy couldn’t help but laugh too, daring to take a step closer, close enough for her to feel the rise and fall of his chest by hers.
“No, you weren’t,” Riza replied with a flat affect in hope it would distract herself from the heartbeat loud in her ears, “And you never would have been if we had gotten married then. And besides, it’s not as if you could have changed anything for us if you were not Fuhrer.”
“Riza Hawkeye,” he grinned and she felt his hands tentatively come to rest on her hips, welcoming the touch, “Are you suggesting I abuse my power as the highest level of authority so that I can become your husband?”
“Of course not, Sir,” she bit out the last word in teasing alone, “Only suggesting that given the intensity of the past two decades of Amnestris’ history, to suggest that emotional bonds and ties have not already developed among the military is naive. And to suggest that those did not form between commanding officers and their subordinates is foolish. Therefore, to dictate the titles of these relationships does not diminish their impact in how the individuals and the military function. If the military were looking for people to operate without feelings, they would only be looking to repeat the horrors of the past. We are useful because we have feelings and are human, and those feelings inevitability bleed into the people we spend the most time with, and to be punished for that feels wrong.”
“None of the officers will approve of that,” Roy countered and yet his hands did not leave her hips.
“Perhaps not, but they are not the only ones voting for the Fuhrer next time around. We can sell our love story to the public and they would happily vote you in for that,” Riza let her own hands trail up to rest on either side of Roy’s neck, tickling the collar of his button up and feeling his pulse beneath her fingers.
Roy let his head drop backwards with a full-bodied laugh. Riza couldn’t help but follow, dipping her head forward until it leaned against his chest and she fell into a mess of giggles. In some ways this had all been quite romantic, the nearly two decades of failed proposals, and yet so bittersweet. In reality, they could have never had this before, but she only occasionally had allowed her mind to wander.
And now she stood with a joyful and lovestruck Roy in her hands, so much of the world finally feeling right. Roy’s laughter finally settled and hisses met hers with the fierce intensity she adored.
“Riza Hawkeye—” It had been so long since he said her full name “—I do. Forever and always my heart is yours and I know you’ve known as much for years. If you feel confident we can find a way through this, I will marry you tonight. There has never been and never will be anybody else.”
“It’s only been you for me too,” she finally admitted, thumbs tracing his jawline as she tried to memorize the feel. Riza sucked in a breath, “So marry me, tonight, tomorrow, two weeks from now—just tell me you will finally be my husband.”
“I will,” Roy smiled ever so slightly before he crossed the distance between them. For the first time in far too long, Riza had found home again.