There is one thing that Riza has decided today-she can taste the certainty on her tongue like copper from the lip she's bitten bloody. She knows she will hate the rain until the day she dies. She'll hate it because now the rain will only remind her of Roy's tears, and that is one of the few things that she cannot bear the thought of.

She walks closer, the cold spring wind whipping at her skirt.

"Sir, it's time to go back," she softly reminds him. On impulse, she reaches for his hand, curling her bare fingers around his gloved ones. He jumps a little at her touch, then grips her hand so tightly it hurts. Even through the fabric, his fingers are ice cold. Riza, for some reason, is not surprised.


It's late, very late, and Riza sits in Roy's hotel room as he silently gets drunk. She's not quite sure why she's here, except for the feeling that it's exactly where she needs to be. She watches him down another glass of bourbon, the moonlight throwing his pale skin and dark hair into sharp contrast. She wants to say something, anything, but there are no words she can find that are adequate.

There's a soft shattering sound-for a second Riza thinks it's her imagination, or some strange metaphorical thing, until she see the pieces of the glass in Roy's hand. He drops them numbly, staring at his hand as if it's someone else bleeding on the floor and not him. She grabs a hankerchief and sits next to him, pressing it against the cut on his palm. Roy turns to her, his eyes bright but unfocused. He's close enough she can feel his hot breath tickling her cheek.

"Why?" he asks, it sounding more like a plea than a simple question. Riza knows there are a multitude of questions hidden in that one word, and she cannot answer any of them, except for why do you bother with me?

"Because," she whispers, hoping that Roy realizes all the words she's left unsaid. It's not a very good answer, but it's the only one she has to give.


Roy's got her backed up against the wall, his mouth hot and tongue bitter from the bourbon. She pulls him closer, running her hands through his hair, surprised at how soft and fine it is. His lips trail down her neck and Riza can't hide the shudder that runs through her.

"You should make me stop. You should leave," he murmurs into her shoulder. But his fingers are ever so carefully working under and up the hem of her skirt, with slow, soft strokes. She knows what he's really saying, and she knows she can't deny him, not when she's secretly wanted this for so long. Her hand cups his cheek, tilting his head up so she can kiss him again. She almost thinks she feels a smile flicker across his lips as he starts to unbutton her shirt.


They're on the platform, watching the train pull in. Roy stands at attention like he always does, broad shoulders squared. The circles under his eyes are the only thing that gives away his weariness.

Riza's sure she doesn't look any better-she only got a few hours of sleep before leaving Roy's bed, just before sunrise. She had wanted badly to stay, sleeping in his arms like any ordinary woman. But she knew that was an illusion they couldn't maintain. Things had to stay how they were, business as usual, for the sake of Roy's goals. She couldn't let anyone get in the way of that, not even herself.

She starts when Roy puts his hand on her shoulder. He leans in close, his lips almost brushing her ear.

"Someday, Riza, I'll change everything. And you'll be at my side when I do."

The double meaning of his words were not lost on her-she knows a promise when she hears one. Riza bows her head and closes her eyes for a second- she can still feel his kisses, the warmth of his skin against hers. And for now, those memories will have to be enough. She turns to look at the Colonel over her shoulder and smiles.

"I'll hold you to that, sir."

For the first time in a long while, Roy's smile was genuine.