Please observe the rating! Dealing with some pretty dark stuff, and though it goes into zero detail, it's implied.

Two weeks, two days, eleven hours.

That was how long I'd been held captive.

Three weeks, five days, thirteen hours.

How long I'd been in the hospital.

Fifteen minutes.

How long I'd been able to sleep my first night at my own home.

One day.

How long I was able to sit at home before I decided I was losing my mind.

Two hours, eleven minutes.

How long I'd been at the office, feeling their stares, hearing their whispers, and still losing my mind.

"Those reports you asked for, sir," I said, slipping a folder onto the desk. Just one more manila folder on a desk stacked with dozens. How long had it been since he'd done his paperwork proper?

'Two weeks, two days, eleven hours,' a voice in the back of my mind whispered.

Colonel Roy Mustang looked up at me. His raven hair was much more orderly than it had been when he'd blown the door off of my cell. His uniform was pressed and neat, so much different than the singed, bloody clothes he had held me against when he'd carried me out. He was shaven and clean, his face no longer prickly like it had been when he'd pressed his face to mine and whispered in my ear that he was here and he wasn't going anywhere. The only thing that remained the same was the shadows. They rested under his onyx eyes, dark and heavy and haunted.

Nevertheless, he gave me a warm smile that was just a little too careful to be natural. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, pulling the folder closer to him. He had been distracted all morning, seeming discontent to be in his own office. Every few minutes he wondered out under the guise of getting folders, needing staples, asking Falman about an address he'd forgotten, but his eyes always wondered over to me. He watched and he worried and I did my best to ignore him.

Because I needed things to be normal. I needed it more than anything, and no one would let me have it.

He continued to watch me out of the corner of his eye while he pretended to scan my work. "Good," he said absently. He put the papers down. "We implemented a new filing system last week, so we really need to go through those filing cabinets." He nodded to the cluster of tall wooden cabinets behind his desk.

"If you've got the time, here's the new system." He handed me a piece of paper. It was one he'd been working on when I'd walked in, his neat script outlining the new implementation. He smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I tried to get Fuery on it yesterday, but you know him. If it doesn't have wires, he's a bit lost."

I knew what this was. He'd written this in twenty minutes, and Fuery could file things just fine. It was grunt work, and maybe if it had been a couple of months ago, I would have been offended. I knew the only reason he wanted me to do it was to keep an eye on me.

But I'd already finished everything assigned to me for the day, and after the Colonel had refused to give me any more, had even been tackling some of his work before he'd caught on and put a stop to it.

Besides, filing was just complicated enough to keep my mind occupied and my hands moving. It might even make my mind a bearable place to be in for a while, even if I had to endure the Colonel's worried glances for the next few hours.

It made it very easy to remember their eyes on me, always watching. Horrible, rough hands clawing all over my cold skin, hot, terrible pain . . .

'And now you're ruined.'

I shivered then tried to cover it up by reaching for the instructions. "Yes, sir."

His gaze sharpened. He didn't miss anything. "Hawkeye, are you certain you should be back yet?"

He'd been there in my hospital room. Every day. He stopped by before work, then at lunch, then after work. Some nights he went home, others he stayed. I didn't want to tell him that I felt better when he stayed.

'You didn't deserve it.'

I felt my cheeks heat with shame. The voice was right. It always was.

"Thank you for your concern, sir, but I have been cleared for office duty," I responded thinly, turning around before I was properly dismissed. I couldn't stand the way he looked at me. Like I was damaged.

'Tainted. Ruined.'

I walked maybe a bit too fast to the filing cabinets and started my work, hiding shaking hands under a flutter of activity. I felt too stiff and too jittery, like I was trying to crawl out of my own skin. Sometimes I reached a hand beside me to feel the familiar cool metal of my gun under my fingertips. It was smooth and heavy and made it a little easier to breathe. If I'd had this with me in that cell, everything would have played out differently. I would still be me now.

I felt Roy's eyes on the back of my head and did my best to ignore it.

XxXxX

"Hawkeye?"

I startled, nearly dropping the files in my hands as my head snapped up. The Colonel was staring at me as if that hadn't been the first time he'd said my name. I was surprised to see that dusk had already settled over the office, bathing the room in an orange glow. Normal office hours had ended hours ago . . . why were we still here?

"Sorry, sir. I . . . I guess I lost track of the time."

'Two weeks, two days, eleven hours.'

I lowered my eyes and began hastily gathering the folders I had before me and placing them in a pile to the side for tomorrow. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Riza?" Roy asked softly.

I flinched, not because he had startled me, but because I hated that tone he used. Like if he spoke too loud I would shatter completely.

I wasn't broken. It wasn't anything I hadn't been trained to handle. I'd held up under interrogation and torture and violation and I'd survived. I'd walked away.

'Not much of you left, though, huh?'

Roy sighed. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

I shook my head, avoiding his eyes. "No, sir, I'll drive." I always drove. It was my job, and I had to do my job.

'Because that's all you have to offer now.'

Shut up.

He offered me a hand to help me off the floor, those onyx eyes watching me with wary patience. I looked from his eyes to his hand and stared at it for longer than was normal, as if waiting for him to take what he wanted anyway. Then I remembered myself again. Roy would never do that. Roy wasn't like that.

'All people are like that, if given the chance.'

Not true.

I lowered my eyes again, ashamed for some part of my mind even thinking it, and took his hand. His was warm and gentle and nothing like theirs. Just the memory of it had something dark and cold coiling in my gut, raising the hairs on the back of my neck instinctively. He slowly pulled me up and I let go as soon as possible. I didn't want to think about it.

I left his office with my eyes on the floor. I still walked with a bit of a limp, but the doctor said everything was healing nicely. It would take some time and some therapy, but he expected me to make a full recovery. All I would have left were the scars on my body and the gaping wounds in my soul. I put my things away and grabbed my purse.

Roy leaned in the doorway and watched me. "Riza, you look pale."

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him what they did and ask if he would look any better a month and a half later. But my body wouldn't obey me. Instead, my eyes dropped to the floor and I didn't say anything. I just finished gathering my things and headed for the door.

'Running like a kicked dog.'

I wondered if it was normal to hear voices after such an ordeal, or if my mind was as broken as my spirit.

Roy locked up and followed me. I was walking fast, but his legs were longer than mine and he didn't seem to have any trouble catching up to me. He fell into step beside me and I just tried to ignore him.

I wanted things to be normal. Him following me wasn't normal.

Outside of the building, the evening was pleasant. The air was warm and the nightlife in East City was just getting started. People were walking down the streets, couples and groups of adolescents and university students, and my skin crawled at the thought of them touching me, of them getting anywhere near me, accidently brushing up against my skin . . .

I hesitated on the steps, and Roy stopped beside me. I had walked to work that morning, but it was early and I'd only seen two people out. Now there were . . . a lot. It was completely irrational, but I didn't want to walk out there with them. It was so exposed and so open and I wanted to go back inside and wait for the traffic to die down. My hand drifted over to rest on my gun, the heavy metal soothing.

"It's a lovely evening."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was admiring the view of the horizon, hands in his pockets and the light of the fading sun making his face seem radiant somehow. Even the shadows under his eyes seemed to lighten just a bit.

I wondered if it helped my pallor, or if I still looked too thin and too sick and too damaged. "Yes," I responded, still not willing to go down the steps and to the street.

"Nice night for a walk." Something moved in my peripheral vision and I flinched, turning to see Roy offering his arm to me, his smile warm even though his eyes were careful. "May I?"

I frowned. "Colonel, we're standing on the steps of Eastern Command. People will see."

"And?" he asked with a shrug. "There's nothing fraternizing about it. Nothing wrong with helping a lady down the stairs."

I wanted to snap at him and insist I didn't need his help, but maybe I did. Maybe if he dragged me down, I'd stand a chance of getting to the carport before dark. Maybe with his help, I could do it.

Because you're too pathetic to manage on your own now.

I released my gun and took his arm tentatively, looking at his eyes to make sure he was really alright with this, with being seen helping me down the stairs. With helping me down the stairs at all, but he kept smiling, put his opposite hand over mine, then gently led me down the steps.

I tried to focus on the stairs instead of the people, but it wasn't easy. I felt eyes on me, but every time I tried to find who was staring at me, there was no one. Maybe I was going crazy.

"Nothing's going to happen, Riza," Roy said, voice low and strong. "I promise."

I nodded, more to hide my shaking than to express any sort of agreement.

I felt like a child hiding behind her mother's skirts as I held onto Roy. He kept me carefully to one side, using his own body as a shield to guard me from the civilians on the street. We made it to the carport, and I walked quickly to the car, taking out the keys from my pocket and letting go of Roy as I did. I pushed the right one against the lock. It slipped and I tried again and again, but my shaking hands wouldn't work and my attempts became more and more frantic.

Roy's gloved hands wrapped around mine. He guided the key into the lock, then twisted it. The door clicked obligingly.

"Thank you," I choked, reaching for the keys.

He pulled them back. "I'm driving," he announced, taking my elbow and leading me around to the other side.

"But, sir—"

"I'll make it an order, if it helps."

I looked down and let him help me into the passenger side. He walked back around and got in.

"Have you had a chance to restock your kitchen?" he asked, backing out.

"No. I've only been home a day." And the thought of the supermarket terrified me.

"Then we'll just have to grab takeout," he said with a smile.

XxXxX

I put a hand over my gun as we stepped in front of my apartment on the second story floor. Night had settled over the city behind us, making the light from my neighbors' windows feel obscenely bright in the dimness. My own windows were dimly lit by a lamp in my living room because I didn't like the dark anymore. I'd spent too long in the dark.

Roy took the keys from my hands and unlocked the door. It swung open on its silent hinges and he gestured for me to go first with the hand full of takeout.

"You don't have to be here, sir," I said, walking before him and stopping in the entryway, doing a visual sweep of the room while I turned on every light switch within reach. The rational half of me didn't want to draw my gun, not because I knew there wasn't anyone here, but because I didn't want Roy to think I was crazy. That's what my rationality had dwindled to.

Roy shut the door and ignored my statement. "I'll do a sweep," he said, putting the things down on the entry table and pulling his glove tight over his wrist. He gave me a reassuring smile. "I'll be back." He went around the corner, headed for the bedroom.

My heart constricted, but I wasn't sure if it was in relief or humiliation.

'Can't even check your own closet for the boogeyman?'

When he was gone, I drew my weapon and held it tight in my cold hands, like a child with a stuffed animal. It's familiar weight and power calmed me, letting my mind focus on other things. I made sure the door was locked then checked the adjoining kitchenette for intruders. When I was reasonably satisfied no one was there, I waited for Roy to return. The apartment was still and quiet.

His silent appearance around the corner startled me, and before my rational mind could chime in with an opinion, I had the gun up and sighted over his heart.

Roy froze. His eyes widened as they glanced from the gun to me, his hands slowly raising. "Riza, put it down," he said softly, voice low and steady and calm, a contrast to the subtle fear now in his eyes.

My hands shook, my breathing coming in rough gasps. I felt unhinged, frantic, like I wasn't in control of myself anymore. I was pointing the gun at Roy. This was Roy, but my hands refused to move. All my eyes saw was someone that could hurt me. He was bigger and stronger and I couldn't do anything without the gun. They had been able to take me and overpower me because I was weaponless. I didn't want to be that helpless again.

'You'll shoot your friend, your reason, your everything, because you're afraid?

'Do it, then.'

"Riza," he said again, a bit more urgency in his tone. My wild eyes found his. They were dark and calm, concerned in a way I hadn't seen since my father's funeral.

But that wasn't what did it. What did it was the certainty I found there. Like he knew I wouldn't hurt him, no matter how far gone I was.

And something in my chest loosened, like I could breathe again. I felt my throat tighten and sudden heat sprang to my eyes.

Then the gun fell from my loose fingers to clatter on the kitchen tile and I was sobbing. I held my treacherous hands in front of me and when my knees gave out, I sank to the floor.

Roy stooped down to pick up the gun, checking that it was still on safety before shoving it in his pocket and sitting beside me. I didn't look at him, though. I was too ashamed of myself.

Tears rolled hot down my face. I hadn't cried . . . I hadn't cried since the war. Not even when they tortured and abused me did I once cry. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much they had hurt me, but now it was like my mind couldn't take any more. Weeks of suffering and emotional and spiritual trauma had stacked up inside of me, and now there was too much pressure. My eyes ached, but the tears kept coming.

Roy's hands reached out slowly, like trying to make contact with a wounded animal. I didn't pull back as he wrapped them around mine, locking my trembling fingers in his strong unwavering grip. He put both of mine into one hand and pulled them to his chest, using his free arm to encircle my arms and pull me against his shoulder.

Somehow, the gesture made me cry even more.

'Because you're not worthy.'

"I'm sorry, Riza," he whispered in my ear. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't," I sniffed. "Don't. It's my fault."

His grip tensed. "That's not true, Riza. That's not true at all, and don't even think it." His voice turned into a harsh growl, low and frightening. "When I think about what those animals did to you . . . I just . . ." His hands illustrated the point well enough. His fingertips dug into my wrists and shoulders and I flinched, because I remembered very different, very cruel hands doing the exact same thing. The mind can rationalize all it wants, but the body doesn't forget.

Roy must have noticed, because his hands loosened. "I'm sorry. I . . . I just can't stand to think about what they did to you."

'They destroyed you.'

I agreed. I couldn't help but agree, and my lips betrayed me. "They . . . I'm ruined, Roy. I'm . . . I'm ruined." I felt unclean, inside and out, and no matter how long I showered and how I scrubbed at my skin until it was raw, it wouldn't go away. "Don't you see it? How can you still be here?" How could he still hold me knowing that I was nothing now? He wouldn't love me, not after that. I didn't blame him, either. I was filthy and impure and I was unworthy.

I felt a hand under my jaw, pulling my head up. Then he pressed his lips against mine, soft and gentle. It was nothing like how they had kissed me, and maybe it was relief, but the tears came harder. He hadn't kissed me since he was an apprentice in my father's house, and it had only been once.

Now, after everything I'd become, he would dare to kiss me again.

He pulled back after only a second, dark eyes searching mine. After a moment, he smiled just a bit. "There we go. You haven't been able to look me in the eyes for more than a few seconds since you got back. I've miss it."

I wanted to look away, but his eyes held mine like magnets. "Roy . . . I don't . . ."

He silenced me with another kiss. "Riza," he whispered against my lips. "You are beautiful. Nothing they've said or done will ever change that. You have worth and value and you are mine, and the only person I will ever allow to take you away from me is yourself."

A fresh wave of tears spilled from my eyes and he pulled me to his shoulder, intertwining his hands in mine as I made dark blotches down the front of his uniform.

He called me beautiful.

When he said it, I wanted to believe it.

And for once, that voice, that awful sneering voice in the back of my head, went silent. She had nothing to say, no scathing suggestions to add.

I wasn't sure how long he held me there as I cried. There in his embrace it felt warm and safe, and while the overhead lights chased away the shadows, Roy's very presence chased away those in my mind. It was a balm to my mind after weeks of suffering, just to know that he didn't hate me. He didn't think I was disgusting or ruined.

He still loved me.

Finally, he gently took my hands and got me to my feet. "You need some rest, Lieutenant," he said with a smile. "Especially if you're thinking of coming back in to work tomorrow."

I didn't tell him that sleep hadn't been my friend for over a month now.

"I'll see you at work in a few hours," he said, picking up his jacket from a barstool and hanging it over his arm.

Maybe he saw the fear in my eyes, or the hesitancy of my response, but he stopped mid-turn and looked at me thoughtfully. "What is it?"

My apartment suddenly seemed unbearably cold. I shivered. "Nothing, Colonel. May I have my gun?"

His eyes widened in remembrance and he fished it out of his pocket, glancing between it and me before placing it on the counter. He seemed to be considering something, or maybe remembering something, as he watched the cold steel glinting in the overhead light. "On second thought . . . you shouldn't be alone right now, should you?" The question seemed to be directed at himself more than anyone. He said it as if he were an idiot for not seeing it earlier.

Roy gave me a guilty look. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone last night either, and I did."

He wasn't going to leave.

I tried to give him a smile, to show him my gratitude, but I was so relieved to not be alone in the silent apartment that my smile crumbled off of my face and I was crying again. "Thank you," I sobbed, turning away. "Thank you, sir."

He came up behind me and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It's no problem," he assured me warmly. "I'll make up the couch."

I shook my head. "I'll do it. I'll do it. You should eat something." I made to leave, but his hand stopped me.

"Don't be ridiculous, Riza. I'll get it. You sit down and eat. Then you're going to sleep. That's an order." Then he picked up the gun again and left, busying himself with rummaging through the linen closet and making the sofa into a sort of bed.

I finished my meal, and as he was taking off his boots, I went into my room and returned with a pillow. He smiled and thanked me, putting it at the head of the couch. "Go get some sleep, Hawkeye. That's an order."

I gave him a watery smile. "Yes, sir." I felt his eyes on me as I retreated back to my room and closed the door, but his gaze didn't send chills down my spine anymore. It was warm and reassuring, like I had no reason to be afraid as long as he was there, guarding my door.

Two weeks, two days, eleven hours.

That was how long I'd been held captive.

Six weeks, three days, sixteen hours.

How long I had been a terrified, broken wreck.

Twenty-two minutes.

How long it took Roy Mustang to start putting my life back together.

So I've had a couple of people encouraging me to write some Royai, and though this may not be exactly Royai, it's totally there xD

I haven't written in first person in forever, and this was pretty personal stuff, so I figured it'd be a good choice to go with. I'm still scared of writing Hawkeye, because she's such an amazing character and I feel like I can't do her justice, buuuut I tried :'D Riza's whole ordeal is intentionally vague. I figure we'd get the idea without too much detail.

Some of you may be wondering why I chose to delve into this subject. Well, a friend recently told me about being assaulted (EDIT: It happened a long time ago and she's recovering, though prayers for her will always be appreciated :) ), and it broke my heart. And when I'm feeling strong emotions, I write to help myself process. This is what came of it, and I was really debating whether or not to post this, but maybe someone will get something good out of it, and that would make it worth it.

Now I shall go back to the next chapter of "Stairway to Paradise" xD I shall respond to reviews here soon! C:

God Bless,

-RainFlame