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She should be stronger than her feelings.
Nothing had felt so harrowing as feeling her own blood spill into her hair, stain her shirt and the stones beneath her. It was even harder to watch the gears spin in the Colonel’s brain, just as clear as if he were speaking.
He seriously considered the taboo, for her.
Her. She never considered herself much more than a tiny gear within the machine of the military, turning slowly to keep the Colonel moving forward. Even to him, she should be disposable, replaceable. But the Colonel is not that kind of man; he clings to anyone who has shown even a morsel of support for him.
She’s always had his back, which might be why he considered it.
She lets herself consider that maybe he needs her as much as she needs him.
She stares up at the ceiling of their shared room, trying her best to focus on counting the tiles above her, not allowing herself to indulge in the idea. She can’t let her mind wander down that path, because she knows there is no returning. She knows that she loves the Colonel, but she has no idea how far down it goes. She does not let herself wonder.
But she does let herself wonder how things would have turned out had she not followed him into the military. Had she taken the path that most women took, would she still be by his side? Would she understand the man he’s become? Would he even be the same person that she knows today?
Riza Hawkeye thinks of alternate universes, of other worlds where maybe things are different. She’s sure that in nearly every one, she must love him.
She isn’t allowed to turn her head for fear of tearing her sutures, so she must turn to her side to look at the Colonel. He’s sleeping somewhat fitfully with an occasional spasm and twitch. She isn’t sure how long she watches him, but it’s long enough for her to realize that his dreams have turned to nightmares, his mumbling sounding distressed. She worries her lip as she watches, wondering if her own fears are mirrored within his head. If he is just as afraid of losing her as she is of him.
And then he says her name. Not her title, not even her last name. It falls frantically from his mouth, a call of desperation.
She dares to stand, bringing her IV stand along with her as she sits on the edge of his bed. He’s still twitchy, mumbling alchemic formulas and fussing about something, but he seems to still be asleep, so she dares to touch his face. There is no going back now.
His skin is warm, and stubble prickles at her palm. She absently wonders if he’ll need help shaving, and if that will become one of her tasks. She will do it happily, with her lips pursed as she focuses on gently dragging the razor along his jawline, and picturing her lips pressing against the smooth skin—
She blinks, but does not draw her hand away. Instead, she rubs her thumb along his cheek. It seems to calm some of his twitches. He says her name again, and heat rises to her cheeks. In the cover of the dark, she will allow herself this, but when the sun rises, she will have to pull herself back into normalcy, into her usual treatment of the Colonel.
It is not a bad place to be.
She will carry on like she has for all these years. She will quash what she wants for the good of the country, for the good of their futures.
She thinks of Winry, how she’ll finally get the love she deserves once Al recovers and the brothers return home to her. Riza wishes that her struggles were over now that the corrupt military was gone. No, she has many more hoops to jump through, and the last hoop will lead to her death.
She jumps when the Colonel drops his hand on hers.
She guesses that she might have to settle for the small touches she is allowed within the parameters of her job as assistant to him.
It is not a bad place to be.
He blinks slowly, and after a moment she’s met with grayed-out irises that look just beyond her ear. “I hope that it’s you, Lieutenant, or I might have to have a discussion with hospital security.”
A bubble of laughter erupts from her lips. “I think you’ve mistaken me for your loyal right-hand. No, it’s simply Elizabeth.”
He seems to ponder this for a moment. “The two of you sound so alike, no wonder I’ve confused the two of you.” He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. “Were you worried about me, dear?”
There is only so long they can play pretend. How she finds her voice is a mystery to her. “Incredibly so. I was informed that you went to Hell and back to prevent the coup.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “Nothing that I couldn’t handle. It certainly helped to have my favorite lieutenant waiting for me when I returned, despite her injuries. Do you have someone like that, Elizabeth? Someone that convinces you to move forward, despite how harsh the climb may be?”
This isn’t the pillow talk she’d expected, nor the way that she’d expected to have this conversation. Then again, it was only a conversation she dreamed of and never imagined she would ever truly speak the words aloud. She has dipped her toes in the water; she might as well dive headfirst. “There is one,” she starts, trying her best to use her Elizabeth voice, “one of my regulars who I can count on to lift my spirits exactly when I need it.”
He hums. “And how does he do that?”
“I never said it was a he,” she chides, she laughs when he raises an eyebrow. “But you’re right—there was one incident when he’d placed an order for a ridiculous amount of flowers and he offered me some after I’d learned some startling news.”
She feels his smile under her palm. “Did you accept the flowers?”
“I didn’t have a vase to keep them in.” This is her, baring her feelings to him, as real as can be. He knows that it’s him, that he’s her cement. But then again, he had admitted to her being his own. This is their own equivalent exchange.
He taps his thumb against her hand. “Have you bought a vase since then?”
“I haven’t. I don’t have many men offering me flowers.” She turns her hand and brings his hand to her face, so he can feel her smile.
“Maybe I should change that.” He easily wears his flirtatious smile, and she can only mirror it.
“Maybe you should,” and she pauses, feeling risky for a moment as she drops her voice, “Colonel.” It’s risky, it’s bold, but it covers as an admission. It’s as close as she can get to saying her own feelings as herself.
His expression flashes to something full of joy before falling back to his smile. “Maybe I will, Lieutenant.”
They’ll have to talk about it frankly, without codenames and covers. But when he slides over to make room for her on his bed, she falls to her side next to him. “What now?” She whispers, afraid to speak louder for fear of her voice breaking.
“We lay together and pretend that we’re the average Amestrian, relishing the fact that we lived through the eclipse.”
“And after that?”
“We’ll always have each other.” He turns his face to press against her ear.
It is not a bad place to be.