Chapter Text
It’s 2100 hours and the office is empty.
Inside reins a deathly stillness, an oppressive silence, as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for people to come inside and warm it with their presence.
But- wait. If you take a closer look, you'll find that it's not so void of people after all. Roy is here. He has sat in this quiet office, alone, for… has it been a week? Ten days? More? He’s not sure. The days have bled together into a single long one that started the moment Bradley told him he’d taken his men away from him.
Amongst them, of course, his Lieutenant.
Roy closes his eyes, the conversation with the Fuhrer replaying in his mind for the umpteenth time. Ever since the confrontation happened, he has imagined a million different outcomes, a million different things he could’ve said, a million different things he could’ve done. He’s imagined reaching for his gloves and setting Bradley on fire. He’s imagined the sound of his screams.
And then the conversation finishes, and he sees himself walking out of the Fuhrer’s office, having said and done nothing that could’ve led to those different outcomes.
Roy’s eyes open and he’s met once more with the sight of his empty office. He closes them again.
For a week, this is what he’s done. He’s come and sat at his desk and closed his eyes, doing nothing other than listening to the silence. The papers on his desk have piled into stacks upon stacks upon stacks. Roy has almost started to hope that, given another week, they’ll grow tall enough to block his view of the office.
Hawkeye would have a seizure if she saw all this, he thinks and a faint smile forms on his lips. He can picture it perfectly.
But she won’t, of course. She won’t because she’s not his Lieutenant anymore. She won’t because Bradley is holding her hostage right under his nose. She won’t because he took a stupid risk and put the lives of the people he was supposed to protect at risk.
At the thought of this, burning fire travels from his left side to his abdomen to his lower back and Roy’s eyes fly open, his face contorting in pain. His doctor and the nurses at the hospital had argued hard against his premature leave and Roy has come to understand why in the past two weeks. As his entire left side burns and Roy feels the air leave his lungs, he folds slowly into himself, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back to lean his forehead against the edge of the desk. Pressing his hands against the injury, he can almost feel the damaged skin that’s been healing wrong beneath the bandages that cover his waist. Sweat collects in his palms, leaving the imprint of his hands on his jacket.
The other reason the work hasn’t been getting done is this. Since he left the hospital, a healthy dosage of analgesics has been the only thing that’s kept him functional enough to go to work and sit at his desk with his eyes closed. Most of the time, the pills empty his mind of thoughts and if he doesn’t move at all, he can almost ignore the pain from his side.
When the pills fail, thoughts bleed through his consciousness from the part of his brain that he’s been trying to ignore since the war, the one that’s a no-man’s-land where no good things survive. And then he can feel Lust’s blade as though she’s stabbing him right then and there. The same part of his brain supplies him with new thoughts then, ones that take the shape of Fuery might be getting shot at right now in the front because of you and who knows what may be happening to Breda and Falman and Hawkeye is in the hands of a monster and you don’t know what he’s been doing and another thought covers them all, uglier and sharper: this is less than what you deserve.
Roy stays in this position for an indefinite amount of time, the desk’s edge hard against his forehead, his hands numb against the wounded side.
Hawkeye won’t see this either, at least.
His doctors warned him off driving, so when the time comes for him to leave, he walks back to his apartment.
He doesn’t live too far away from Command, but his side aches when he does anything that requires energy, so it takes him longer than it should’ve to cross the distance from home to work and back. The night’s cool breeze against his face is a pleasant change from the stale air in his office though.
Roy pauses by a bench and grips one of its metal arms, leaning his weight on his right side for a moment. This is the first landmark he stops at every time he makes the walk. At the edge of the park on the opposite side of the road, Roy can see a telephone booth bathed under the light of a streetlamp. Every night, it’s a test of willpower not to go in and call his Lieutenant.
Roy stands still against the bench, forcing his breath to come and go in even inhalations and exhalations. It’s right there. He could go in, for a moment. Make the call. What would another bad decision be on his long list of ones? Could the Homunculi have access to every telephone line in Central?
Would his Lieutenant be happy to hear from him?
Roy swallows, limbs heavy. She hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t directed any anger towards him when she’d realised how things had come to be the way they are. But maybe by now, she’s had time to digest exactly how big of a moron he is. Exactly how incompetent of a leader he has proven to be.
He imagines her voice. Hello? Who is it?
He could put the phone down after that. He could be content with hearing only that.
Roy walks to the booth, heart beating hard enough to bruise his ribcage. The door handle is smooth and cold as he closes his hand around it. He could turn away.
Roy pushes through and steps inside the booth.
The walls are glass panes, but no one has cleaned them in a long time, so they’re covered with a thick layer of dirt. On the phone box itself, someone has written something rude about the military and drawn the male organ to accompany the statement. He could leave.
Roy closes the door behind him.
He can see a reflection of himself on the glass wall in front of him. It’s distorted and faint but the eyes that meet his are the right shade of exhaustion. Roy looks down at the box and picks up the phone, shifting his weight so that he’s leaning against the right wall. He takes out a coin and puts it in the slot, then rests his right hand against the dial. He could put the phone down.
Roy calls the number.
When he hears the first ring, he lets his eyelids fall shut and leans his head against the glass pane as well. The phone rings a second and a third time. A strange mixture of disappointment and relief floods his chest.
At the fourth ring, he moves to put the phone back down when-
“Hello?”
Roy’s eyes open as his heart twists violently in his chest.
“Who is it?”
Roy grips the phone with two hands, bringing it closer to his ear. Her voice. They haven’t been out of contact for more than two days in the past seven years and now this. The sound of her voice.
“Good evening, miss.” The words come out of his mouth on their own. His voice is hoarse and low, and he realises this is quite possibly the first time in at least a week that he’s spoken aloud to someone.
From the other sound of the phone, he hears a sharp intake of breath.
“Good evening,” comes the reply, and it sounds a little off-kilter as well.
“I-,” he tries to remember how to speak. “I’m calling from the research department of a cosmetics company. We’re conducting a survey.” He has no idea why this is the first thing that comes to him. “Do you have a moment, perhaps?”
He’s not sure where all the words are coming from.
The line is quiet for a beat before, “Yes.”
Roy shakes his head a little to clear it. He feels too slow suddenly, like this moment is unraveling too quickly for him to grasp it properly.
“Ah, good. Well, then, how are you?” Roy stumbles through the sentence.
“This is your opening line for a survey from a cosmetics company?”
Roy blinks. This specific blend of exasperation, incredulity, and the faintest trace of amusement that coats the words, and is so unique to his Lieutenant, feels like a sudden slap in the face. For the first time since the conversation started, what’s happening feels real. Yes, he went into the booth, put in the coin, and dialled, but the outcome of these actions had felt almost distant at the time. And yet, his Lieutenant is at the other side of the line.
Roy shifts a little so that he’s more comfortable. He recollects what he asked and mentally kicks himself. “It’s my first day,” he amends, and this time the words come out firmer, if not louder. This is his Lieutenant, he reminds himself. If there is one person he knows how to talk to, it’s his Lieutenant. A short sigh comes from her end, and Roy’s chest begins to hurt like a fresh bruise.
He’s missed her. He has been missing her all this time but now that he’s heard her voice and remembered the sound of the sighs she makes at his idiocy, he realises just how much he’s missed her. And just how painful it’s been to miss her.
“At least you’re polite,” she says. Roy smiles a little, even as he places a hand over his left side to ease the pain that started to spread at the realisation.
“I’ll have you know that I’m a paragon of virtue,” he tells her, trying to keep his words light.
“And terrible at interviewing,” she comments, her tone now matching his.
A small laugh breaks out of him, impossibly. He’d thought he’d forgotten how to do this.
“Don’t worry,” he says placatingly, “I won’t ask you to rate this after we’re done.” Roy rubs a circle on his side. The pain isn’t decreasing.
“That’s probably for the best,” she responds. It feels like a miracle that she hasn’t hung up yet.
He’s about to say something again but this time she surprises him by speaking first. “I also changed jobs recently.”
A bolt of pain travels from his abdomen to his back and Roy’s left leg nearly buckles. This is it. This is where she tells him he’s failed everyone. He closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing even.
“Sir?” His Lieutenant asks, and he finds worry in the question.
“Excuse me,” he replies, keeping any sound of discomfort from bleeding into his voice. “A colleague called for me.” He braces himself. “How is your new job?”
She stays quiet and Roy flinches. She’s not even going to bother with a response. The new job is horrible. It’s the worst-case scenario. It’s the worst blow that could be given. His guilt feels as tangible as a second person in the booth.
“The pay is good, and we get health benefits.”
Roy opens his eyes. What?
“Oh?” he asks, dumbly. His ears are ringing.
“Does your job cover health insurance?” she asks.
What is she talking about? Is she injured? Is she trying to tell him that she needs medical assistance? Have they harmed her?
“Is there need for health insurance, miss?” he asks, gripping the phone tightly. His scar tissue starts burning.
He hears his Lieutenant take a measured breath. “I already said my job has health benefits,” she says, sounding tense. “I was asking for you.” She puts weight on the last word.
It takes him a moment to push through the worry and the pain to realise that she’s talking about his wound. The relief is overwhelming. Suddenly, standing up feels like too much work. He slides down the side of the booth and sits on the floor, leaning his head against the phone box. The metal is cool against his skin.
“Yes, we’re offered health insurance as well,” he responds, voice low. She’s fine. “I don’t need it at the moment, thankfully,” he tells her. He can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Out of all the things she could’ve said. Does he sound like he’s in pain? Is this why she asked?
“Don’t worry, miss,” he speaks up again, this time keeping his voice as light as possible. “I’m as fresh as a daisy.”
“I didn’t know daises could lie,” she replies drily.
“Why do you assume I’m lying?”
She sighs. “Instinct.”
Roy smiles a little at her exasperation. “You’re very worried about someone who’s calling for a survey from a cosmetics company.”
“You remind me of someone I know,” she says, and Roy can’t help but grin.
“Is he handsome?”
She bristles and Roy holds back a laugh. This is worth the discomfort of sitting on the floor of a cramped and dirty telephone booth.
“I’m fairly sure that’s not required information for the survey.” She replies wearily.
“How can you be sure?” he asks, wincing slightly as he shifts to a more comfortable position.
“I’m fairly sure you’ll get fired for asking inappropriate questions, at the very least.”
“But the whole point of this conversation is supposed to be beauty,” he protests.
“Mine, not you- my acquaintance’s,” she slips up for a moment in her irritation and Roy’s mouth hurts from grinning this much. It feels impossible that they’ve been talking for this long.
“Your beauty is unquestionable,” Roy says, smoothly.
“I’m hanging up,” she informs him.
Before he can say anything, the phone lets out a sound to warn him that his time is running out.
No.
Roy fumbles through his coat pockets for a coin and quickly turns his body to fit it through the slot. His wound, still unhealed, sends a shock of pain at the sudden motion, and Roy gasps, the phone falling from his hand and clattering loudly against the floor. For a moment, his vision turns black at the edges, and he curls in himself, fighting a sudden bout of nausea.
“Sir? Sir? Please answer me!” he hears a distant voice pleading from the phone. It’s beeping now, probably counting down the seconds until the line closes.
No, not yet, he thinks almost wildly, and shoves the coin in the slot with the last of his strength. The beeping stops. Roy slumps against the wall, eyelids falling shut. He feels the floor for the phone and raises it to his ear, using both hands to keep it lifted.
“I’m here,” he says, the words coming out almost slurred.
“What’s going on? Where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll come find you,” his Lieutenant demands, voice almost shaking with worry.
He almost tells her. He almost opens his mouth and says, please. I’ve failed you, repeatedly, and I’ll fail you again but please, just for a moment- He doesn’t have the words for it but what he wants, what he needs to tell her is -come hold me and take this pain away from me. Come hold me and erase it.
Roy inhales. Exhales. “I’m okay,” he tells her, and his heart shrivels up.
“Please, sir,” she begs, sounding like she’s in pain herself.
Roy rests a hand against his injured side. “You worry too much.”
“And you never worry enough,” she says. The sadness and resignation in her voice are almost more painful than the injury.
“I worry constantly,” he says quietly. I worry, and I blame myself, for what I’ve done and for what I failed to do. “I can’t do anything else, these days.” He shakes his head. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.
She says nothing and for a while, they sit like this, in silence.
“My acquaintance is a person very important to me,” she begins suddenly, breaking it. Roy’s heart jerks. “His determination and strength have inspired me to keep going at times when I thought moving forward was impossible. He is a kind man, despite what some people may think. Despite what he may think. And in our hard and cruel world, he remains an optimist, defying all odds.”
Roy shakes his head again, too tired to argue. She’s describing a stranger. “That’s nice,” he says, nevertheless, voice barely above a whisper.
“Sometimes we need to remember that people believe in us,” she says, and he’s reminded again just how kind she can be. “And I believe in him.”
Roy opens his eyes. He can see the moon through the glass pane opposite him. He wonders if she can see it too, from where she’s talking to him. We’re under the same sky and I can hear your voice. It should be enough.
“Are you sure he deserves your loyalty?” he asks and sees before him a scarred back and an order for transference. The question has been eating at him for years.
She doesn’t hesitate, though. “I believe he does.”
Roy closes his eyes again, shaking his head. Suddenly, he feels too full of some unnameable emotion, and his throat closes around nothing. He takes a moment to compose himself, then speaks.
“If it hadn’t been for you, he would’ve stopped trying a long time ago.” His voice is thick. “He’s in awe of your kindness and your strength.” He’s never said these things aloud but right now he needs to tell them the way he needs oxygen to breathe. “His commitment is to you first, always. And if something happens to you in your new job-” He has to stop. Tell me where to put my anger, he wants to say. Tell me where to put my hands so they don’t set the world on fire again. Roy inhales. Exhales. “He hopes you know this.”
“Tell him I do,” she says firmly.
Roy smiles a little, despite everything. “I’ll put it through to the communications department.”
She lets out a breath that might have been a stifled laugh. “You might want to start making connections there. They’re definitely going to fire you from this post. You haven’t asked me a single question about cosmetics.”
And Roy laughs.
Miraculously, wondrously, she laughs a little too, and the sound of it works on him more effectively than any drug. “Horrible service.”
The phone makes a warning sound again and Roy stands up. Again, she speaks up before he can. “Go rest. You have a lot of catching up to do at work tomorrow.”
Roy raises a brow. “How do you know?”
“Instinct.”
He smiles a little. “Good night then, miss,” he says softly.
“Goodnight, sir,” she responds gently.
Roy puts the phone down and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air.
They are going to be fine. They’ll find a way through this, somehow.
He’s about to turn away but stops. Slowly, he picks up the phone again. The line is dead, waiting for a coin to be pushed through the slot.
“I miss you constantly,” he says like she can still hear him.
After a moment, he puts the phone down for the last time and walks home.
Riza stares at the phone in her apartment. She’s not sure why, but some force is keeping her from walking away.
Then, for some reason, she picks up the phone. Her mouth forms the words on its own, and the relief she feels to let them out wins over her surprise at their insistence to be told.
“I miss you too.”