FullMetal Alchemist; Winry/Riza; Substitute
Title: Substitute
Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist
Pairing: Winry Rockbell/Riza Hawkeye
Prompt: #25: Without Embroiling/Innocence
Rating: PG-13 (allusions to a previous encounter, borderline intimacy)
Summary: Winry and Riza at a coffee shop. But of course, nothing is ever that simple.
A/N: Summary's bad, a very tenouous link to the prompt (more about being haunted by innocence than innocence itself), and this is my first time writing FMA. Hope it's not too bad.
Riza sips her coffee again, barely tasting it. True, it's high-quality and if she'd been focused on enjoying it she would have been satisfied, but the porcelain mug in her hands in only a prop. Something to occupy them with, anything to keep her mind off the long-haired blonde sitting beside her.
The Rockbell girl, she notes, seems equally distracted, the slice of pie across from her barely eaten. Riza, for her part, resists the urge to let her eyes linger on the hand playing idly with a fork. A mechanic's hand, calloused and strong, but still elegant. Beautiful in its own way.
The cafe is buzzing with life even at this late hour; men and women talking heatedly or else there's the clink of spoons mixing creamer into steaming mugs, the occasional ding of a bell as the tired young man behind the counter passes a tray of fancy desserts to the worried-looking waitress. And yet despite being apart of this atmosphere the two women at their table feel separate from it, caught in their own tense world-- like actors illuminated by an onstage spotlight while the rest of the players freeze, irrelevant.
"How's your grandmother doing?"
Winry seems almost as surprised as Lt. Hawkeye herself at having spoken. She hadn't realized, Riza considered, how much the silence had been grating on her.
"...Fine," Winry answers, forcing on a smile. It's so simple, so pure that Riza can't bear to make eye contact with her, but she smiles back all the same. It's pressing the extent of her acting abilities, frankly. After a moment Winry takes another bite of her pie, her sapphire eyes unfocused. Riza feels the heat of the coffee in her unprepared mouth again, but all she can do in wonder why she's here-- why they're meeting again. Seeing Winry now was as unbearable as it was impossible to resist; Riza had been weak, had surrendered to the basest and most irrational of desires and she hated herself for it.
Hated herself for it almost as much as she did for loving every second of it. But she was Riza Hawkeye, and there was no room for weakness in her. It was wrong, and yet here she was again, the situation giving her such a bad case of deja vu that she could swear it was the memory itself, haunting her.
The silence has lasted for so long this time and Riza is so preoccupied with her thoughts that Winry's barely muttered question almost goes unheard.
"...Have you...er, has Colonel Mustang heard anything from... Ed and Al?"
Riza takes a much longer drink than usual before answering.
"Nothing yet. No one's caught sight of them since-- well... since then."
Winry nods, goes back to playing with her fork, something dulling in her eyes as her brow furrows just a bit. The leiutenant opens her mouth just a bit, some contrived words of comfort forming on her lips before she decides against it. Riza isn't one to speak often but when she needs to she can get her point across articulately. Being without words when she needs them-- especially with Winry looking so distraught-- is infuriating.
It's quiet again, and looking about Hawkeye notices the patronage has thinned a bit, the dimming sunlight outside like a signal for curfew as people put their money on the table and walk out, chatting all the while. She's told Winry what she wanted to know, and all Riza can think of doing is leaving before she does... something else she'll hate herself for later.
"It's getting late, Miss Rockbell," she says curtly, making to get out of the spindly chair she's seated on. "If you'll excuse m--"
"Wait..."
The slight quaver in that sweet voice would have been enough to make Riza hesitate at least, but the hand on her knee-- hidden from view by the table-- makes leaving impossible. Even through her pant leg Riza can feel the pressure of those fingers, the rough pad of a thumb gently tracing a circle on the fabric. She's suddenly aware, too, that Winry's closer than she was before. Too close.
"...Miss Rockbell, this isn't--" Riza says quietly, glancing over her shoulder and suddenly aware of the possibility that this could be seen by one of her superiors, but her thoughts-- once more-- get scattered as Winry's hand makes a slow journey up her thigh, conforming to muscle and leaving trails of heat that are almost enough to make Riza dizzy.
She wanted to tell her to stop, but then, it was her that initiated this touch before. Winry was merely practicing what she'd learned by experience, and the irony of this wasn't lost on Riza. It was even worse that Winry seemed to know exactly what she was doing, making the soldier wish against her will for that hand to go just a bit higher, higher, higher. Riza forces her eyes open (not even aware that they'd been shut so tight in the first place) to find that supple ivory neck before her, the mark where her teeth and lips had been staring back harshly.
Winry's lips are at her ear, hot breath rushing out as the proud, strong, kind, wholesome girl speaks, her voice a plea mixed with desperation and just a touch of uncharacteristic lust.
"...Riza, please..."
And it's that-- combined with that hand still stroking her thigh and the brush of plump lips against her lobe and the scent of oil and torque that clings to her like some irresistible perfume that breaks Hawkeye. She wants to believe that this is out of altruism that she acts, that Winry is hurting and scared and worried for the closest thing she has to a proper family and it's all too much right now and all she needs is for someone-- anyone-- to hold her for a little while and love her, tell her that she won't be abandoned.
But that would be a delusion; the fact is that Riza does want her, that something in her feels such a connection and sees something in Winry that she can't believe those boys don't see, that they HAVE to see. But if they did, she assures herself, they would never have left her behind like this, without answers or even the hope that they'll be all right.
She's just a substitute, Riza knows that, but right now Winry's here, and hers, and that's all that matters.
Without another word Riza grabs the hand on her leg, kisses a scar along Winry's knuckle, then drops a handful of bills on the table. She leads Winry outside, the bell over the door making a tinkling chime as they walk across the street, back to her apartment.