Prompt 241, Payday, "Now, and Likely Forever"
Title: Now, and Likely Forever
Series: Brotherhood
Word Count: 999
Rating: PG
Characters: Roy/Riza, mentions of Ed and Al
Summary: She’s grasping the thin paper, soft and imported from the royal courts of Xing, and it feels like her world is spinning out.
Warning: Angst x a billion; OOC-ness, potentially
A/N: Roy can see, and Team Mustang has been split up for plot-y purposes.
There is a steady stream of mail in the office of President Elect Roy Mustang. Large packages filled with images and evidence and scraps of paper scribbled over of words of arguable importance. Thin envelopes sealed with gold and filled with 1000 dollar words line the shelves beside his oaken desk (they may or not ever be opened; he’s far too busy to bow down to the words of someone with a larger ego than Fullmetal).
The office itself is small, not much larger than it was when he was a State Alchemist. None of his original team remains except for Riza. Steadfast, loyal Riza, throwing away her life in order to complete his.
It’s plagues his mind on the nights when he can still hear the screams; he drowns it with paper like all the rest.
The west wall in lined with book shelves. A section is devoted to alchemy, another to Amestrian history. Yet another is devoted solely to the books of the Elrics’; their returns to Resembool and Xing, turned both into prolific writers. A fourth shelf is filled with photos and photo books. Front and center is a photo of him and Hughes; next to it is a framed photo of Riza at age 8, with ashen hair pulled into pigtails and a smile so wide it hurts his chest.
Friday is payday. Each month, on the end of the third week, he hands over envelope after envelope to the eager hands of those who’ve given themselves over to the military. It hurts him, a little, to see the happiness and innocence on their faces; he can’t help but see Riza, age 12, with such guiless beauty it haunts him in his dreams.
It’s raining on this particular friday, steady sheets of ice cold rain seeping into his bones and making him feel utterly useless. The clock strikes 7 and the rain still hasn’t let up, but the day is over (Not for him. Never for him.) and people are packing up and casting nervous glances in his direction. He pulls the stack of envelopes out.
He saves Riza for last (he always does).
He’s handing her an envelope with practised indifference. His eyes are cast down and cluttered; emotions are rampant. She is looking to the side, amber eyes darkened to a muddy brown.
She’s grasping the thin paper, soft and imported from the royal courts of Xing (a long ago given gift from Ling), and it feels like her world is spinning out. It is always this way, the sear of fire in her gut and the burn of smoke in her eyes. She can feel his breath on her hand; It lights her veins, travels through her body like a wildfire over wheat.
(He always smells faintly of smoke, despite the many years it’s been since he’s used his most accredited skill).
She breaths his name on her lips. She sighs out ‘Roy’ when she is alone, and she dreams of obsidian eyes and endless, scorching fire. She sleeps in a t-shirt he left at her father’s home, threadbare and worn after these many years. The only frivolous jewelry she ever wears in the pair of diamond studs her gave her for her 27th birthday.
She should know by now that her longing is one she will take to the grave, and the contentment she once had is a distant, foreign memory.
She reminds herself of the days in her youth, before the war and before Fullmetal and before the death of most happiness in her life. She thinks back to when her and Roy had nothing to lose, and they sparred and learned and studied and it was automatic to hold hands beneath the dinner table, hidden from her father’s reprimanding eyes.
It’s enough to tide her over on the most lonely nights.
**
It’s a Friday when everything changes. When both of their world’s stop and restart.
It’s sunny (it must be a sign) and pleasantly cool, and the entire office is actually on schedule for once.
It’s one of the goddamn golden envelopes that changes everything. He doesn’t even open it until the end of the day because he hates paperwork (still now, and likely forever).
He tears it open with a bone letter opener Alphonse sent him from some small country even farther away than Xing. He reads the sending address, and finds it’s from Olivier.
He’s scanning down the page, looking for the insults and finding them. Lines and words jump out at him, but it isn’t until the final lines that he’s calling “Riza, Riza!” and his breath is speeding up and his eyes are squeezing shut.
“President Mustang?” she queries, head peeking in from outside the heavy door.
“Roy,” he starts, and before she can shoo him off he hands her the letter silently.
She reads quickly, eyes widening before filling with gentle tears. They settle on his face, cooled to an amber so clear it almost appears golden.
“Roy…”
He smiles, wider than she’s ever seen him smile. He nods.
Perhaps paperwork isn’t as bad as it seems.
***
President Mustang,
I hope you know how much i hate writing that, you ridiculous man. I swear you insist upon it only to wound my pride.
Some interesting documents made their way to my desk today. For one, a petition created by one Edward Elric, with a rather unique subject matter.
It was a petition to remove the ban on inter-military relationships, on the basis that it is unnecessary, and causes more problems and discharges than it prevents. With over 500 signatures, i have no choice but to pass it for the trial period of one year, before it will be brought forth for discussion at the annual executive officers meeting next May.
I thought you might want to know.
Until i see you next,
Executive Officer of Internal Affairs,
Olivier Mira Armstrong
P.S. Congratulations, because i want to be the one to say it first.