Disclaimer- I don't own Full Metal Alchemist.
He's cold inside.
He's been cold for a long, long time.
He could smile and nod and smirk and ridicule, but in the end, it would do nothing for him.
The food that touches his lips turns to ash.
The drink does not quench his thirst.
The women who throw themselves at him leave him empty and emotionless. Their lips lock with numb skin, and even as skin rubs skin in a chorus of grunts and thrusts, he feels nothing.
He's waiting beside Hughes' grave again. Standing there, in the rain.
This time, he forgot his coat.
Or, she postulates, more likely, he wanted to forget the coat.
She's helpless inside.
She has the top marksman scores the Military has ever seen, and she is helpless.
She watches as he loses his drive, the living flame that dances in his eyes put out with death.
And she can do nothing. She knows that if she tries to help, he will merely shrug her off.
So she remains silent, his pillar of support, wishing and hoping with forlorn desperation that he will let her be his strength.
But it's her duty (the word is vile on her lips these days) to make sure he doesn't die from illness.
"Sir. You'll get sick if you stay out here any longer." She says quietly, yet her voice is still as hard as ever. It has to be... for him.
He smiles sadly, though she cannot see it. "I'm fine, Hawkeye." He responds, his voice full of false bemusement.
"Please sir. It's for your own good." She pleads, but her entreaties are on deaf ears.
As if she hadn't spoken, he lifts his head into the sky, face exposed to the rain. "It always rains when things are bad, doesn't it?" he says, his voice full of softened melancholy.
"I suppose sir." She replies, humoring him for the time being. Some battles cannot be won, after all.
"Why do you think that is, Hawkeye?" her name is like a rebuke on his lips, a known revelation about the distance they keep.
"I don't know, sir." The last word is bitter in her mouth, ashes on her lips.
He sighs, and places his gloved hands in his pockets. "It's cold."
"You really should get a coat sir." She responds.
"I hate the rain." He says in reply, his voice a reflection of himself. Empty. "I hate it so much."
"Many people dislike the rain," she says blandly, avoiding commenting on just how small he looks, standing above that stone.
"Many people can still function in the rain." He retorts, a slight edge to his voice. He seems to realize this, and apologizes. "Sorry. I guess the rain is getting to me, Hawkeye."
She can't take the distance between them anymore, and grabs his shoulders, turning him around roughly. Their eyes meet, her intense amber meeting his deadened obsidian.
The lifeless look wounds her deeply.
This isn't right, isn't proper, she knows.
But right this moment, she doesn't care.
"Please Roy. Get a coat." She asks again, her voice soft as a warm breeze, before releasing him from her hold.
His name on her lips seems to shatter something within him. Those eyes seemed to rekindle with some life, however sparse and faint.
"I'm cold inside, Riza." He whispered, the words tumbling out of his lips before he realizes he's forming them. The sound of her name is now a prayer, a whisper for strength. "I've been cold a long time. I can't sleep without hearing the screams of dying men, the whispers of ash on my face. And now without hating Maes." His eyes narrowed, his head bows, and fists clench.
"Damn him! That idiot was always running around, sticking his nose in where it didn't belong! He deserved to-"
She slaps him, hard and fast. He looks shocked, as though he can't believe she just did that.
She can't believe it either.
"Why did you just do that Hawkeye?" her name is once more a bitter reminder, but his voice is soft and amazed.
"To stop you from making a mistake sir. And from disrespecting the dead." She responds, her voice containing the smile she wants to but can't make. Instead she returns to the hardness she keeps for him.
"Well, thank you for that, Hawkeye." He says, his voice somehow warmer than before, and the blow of her name is lessened.
"Anytime sir." Though her voice is normal once more, full of its hard strength, the words are meant as a soft entreaty.
He nods, as if he understood her meaning completely. Perhaps he did. "Let's head out of this rain then, Hawkeye." he states, a small, tiny smirk crossing his face.
She is impassive, but inside, she is smiling back. "Yes sir. We can use my umbrella."
"That's very generous of you, Hawkeye." He smiles, feeling a small part of him thawing out as he moves himself closer.
Her scent drifts into his nose at this closeness, her warmth seeping into his flesh.
And he is alive again.
He says nothing, standing next to her, underneath her offered shelter, her offered care.
He doesn't have to.
They walk back together, and the distance is somehow lessened, however imperceptibly.
Though the rain stops, and the sun shines through, they still walk together.