Inspired completely by the Royai Musical by ask-royai-lty over on tumblr. I HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING FEELINGS ABOUT THIS PIECE OKAY. I AM COMPROMISED. I'll probably revisit this idea at some point because I'm not totally satisfied, but that's okay.

Playlist: Only Us, from Dear Evan Hansen

Only Us

There are good days and bad days.

Before, he would retreat into his office, close the door and get loudly drunk. He would merrily pretend to be feckless in place of depressed. He would laugh instead of cry. He'd pull on the skin of a made-up man. He'd call 'Elizabeth'.

Now, he can no longer disguise himself.

His bad days are quiet now.

.
.

It used to be a futile exercise in self-denial. Riza could not let herself be happy. It would be unacceptable after everything she'd done.

So she marks her calendar and counts the days. She looks forward to a world where she can pay her dues, while knowing that day may never come.

His fight is her fight.

She will not let them lose themselves in each other.

If Riza and Roy find happiness, then they've already lost. Because they don't deserve it yet. There is so much left to do, so many people left to save, so many sins to atone for. If they're happy, what is there left to fight for?

She will not taint their future, or whatever love they share, with their tragedies. And those will not resolve themselves.

One day Roy will be Führer. One day they'll make their country better. They'll fix what has been broken.

It's a delay, she tells him once, not a 'no'.

.
.

And the thing is, Roy understands. Certainly better than anyone else.

Grandfather pushes him more than he pushes her, which she feels bad about.

Armstrong, Winry, Al, the Team, even Catalina and Ed, all seem keen to share their opinions on the matter. Ed comes the closest to understanding.

But Ed also has trouble living by his brother's mantra "If not now, then when?"

Al learned longing while Ed learned to put things off, to abstain. Different lessons for different boys.

Hughes used to see it.

Roy is the only other person she knows who lives their life like they're fasting.

.
.

But it's starting to suffocate him.

She can tell.

Sometimes he looks at her like he's drowning and only she can save him. She always saves him. It's her job. She has spent a lifetime watching that man's back. She is his protector. It goes against every instinct she has, to ignore it. But she has to. She has to. Doesn't she?

Roy looks at her like he'd trade the entire damn world. Sometimes she fears he would have.

When that doctor slit her throat, she knows he considered it. She wonders what would have happened if she hadn't been awake to refuse.

Is that true love? She wonders still. Abiding by my wishes, even if he'll lose me.

She decides that it's the only kind of love she wants.

.
.

They're so close. It's within their grasp. They've been petitioning councils and holding town halls while allies and friends write essays and articles. They've amassed a small army of democratic believers. They can do this, they can. It's only a matter of time now.

.
.

And maybe that's enough.

.
.

There are still bad days.

Dusk lurks on the horizon and Riza sends the rest of the office home for the day. They knock their heels and salute on their way out.

She has a key, but she knocks anyway.

General Mustang's office is spartan but large. His desk sits in front of the window, large and imposing in gleaming mahogany. Shelves of alchemic manuscripts line one wall, but they're just for show. A couch is pushed up against the southern wall. The lights are out; its sole occupant is bathed in the waning orange sunlight. His left arm is thrown over his eyes as he lies back, feet propped up on the arm rest closest to the door.

He feels her approach but doesn't move. "Sorry," he sighs, half-heartedly.

"There's no reason to be sorry."

In one fluid move he swings his feet to the ground and sits up to stare at her.

She tells him, "I've sent everyone home."

Roy tries to speak but thinks better of it. He laughs a little to himself and turns his face away.

It's that kind of day, when he can't even look at her.

.
.

She would never leave him, but it's his greatest fear.

They both wonder what he would do.

She thinks he'd carry on, he's not so sure.

When he's at his lowest, Roy is on his best behaviour.

.
.

On a rare day when he's feeling particularly bold, he visits her apartment.

It's so against the rules, so not part of the plan. It's dangerous and if they're seen it will cause trouble for them down the line.

Normally, he'd drop her off, linger until she shuts the door and drive home by himself. Often on days like this, he'll offer Havoc a ride too, even though he's out of the way, just so they won't have to be alone together.

Today he parks the car and follows her up to her apartment.

No protests, just questioning looks over her shoulder.

When he locks the door behind them, he heaves a mighty breath, as if dropping an enormous weight at his feet.

They could always talk without speaking, if only he'd look at her, she'd know…

When he does, she finds blinding trust and sweet pain.

And above all else: love.

"Stop. Stop." She wants to tell him. She throws out a hand in front of her as if to put a physical barrier between them.

This backfires when he steps into her and his heart meets her palm. It's beating so fast, she can feel it through his uniform.

He tells her all the reasons he loves her. About all the days ahead. How happy he'll make her, he swears. Sonnets and promises.

She can't find it within herself to say anything. Why can't she say anything?

But he seems to understand better than she.

He leaves.

And all the light and air leaves with him.

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.

The shadows slide across the floor of his office and Riza perches on the sofa, by his waist.

It's a bad day and all she wants is to fix it; to be there through all the difficult days ahead.

"I'm just… really tired," he tells the ceiling, wide awake and unable to close his eyes.

She agrees and takes his hand. "Me too."

They trade squeezes back and forth. It isn't much, but it's more than she would have allowed even a few years ago.

"I'm sorry I'm like this."

"That's okay."

"I think I'll always have days like this."

"That's okay too."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you wouldn't have me be sorry about my bad days."

A smile, "Never."

She gives his hand another firm squeeze. "You know…"

Her hesitation leaves room for his questions, in the space between silences. "Hawkeye… Riza," and he savours her name, like he hasn't properly said it in years. "You've made yourself clear, I know. But I can't help but keep asking, because I think… I could make you so happy. I could, I swear. It doesn't have to change anything about what we are or what we're doing. I'm a better man now than I was… so I have to ask-"

She know. She knows he does. He wouldn't be Roy otherwise. He keeps trying, keeps fighting.

"Is it ever going to be enough?"

Now that's a loaded question. Because the truth is, he's always been enough for her and that's the problem. He's enough to make her forget the horrors of the war. He's enough to make her happy. But she couldn't let that happen yet. She couldn't forgive herself.

But what would be enough? How much good does it do them to have abstract ideals of righteousness and justice, to serve and protect. They have fought for years to tangibly help people. To fix the world so that tragedy can never sink its claws into their nation again. She keeps pushing back this benchmark in her mind when the truth is-

It will never be enough.

Nothing they do will ever erase their deeds. She doesn't want that.

She never wants it to be enough. She never wants them to stop fighting and fixing and helping. When the day comes that she is satisfied, she'll know she has failed.

No person should ever be satisfied with the way of the world. It is perpetually imperfect.

Will she make him wait forever?

"No," breathes Riza, fixing him in her sights.

And his heart breaks right before her eyes. He lets go of her hand and sits up. He clutches his chest, physically winded.

She brings her hand up to his cheek and forces him to look at her. "We're different now."

Riza Hawkeye is not the best with words. She realizes this when she sees his shredded soul in his eyes.

"What we have… is good."

It's everything.

"I don't… need you to convince me to want you. I want you, I've always wanted you. We can't fix what we'd rather forget. I think I've had this idea of penance and I've realized… you've somehow become all tied up in that for me. This shouldn't be about what came before. We shouldn't be about before. Because I can't wait for the world to be how we want it. That day is never going to come. If I must spend my life chasing that, I want to at least get to spend it with you."

He closes his eyes and leans into her right hand. He laces his fingers together with her other hand in a palmer's kiss; chaste and sweet.

"You don't have to be scared you're not enough."

Her hand slides into his hair and she pulls him into a hug. Her chin sits on his shoulder and his on hers. She finally feels relief, warm and sharing an embrace with her partner.

"What if we just… did this. What if we said screw it and just let ourselves be happy? Just you. And me. And the world can have nothing to do with it. Us and ours and only us."

"I think that sounds like a proposal."

"Very astute, sir."

Nanowrimo word count: 3,567