Royai / M / Riza Character Study, Post-Promised Day, PTSD, Injury Recovery
(It's not fair to think about it like that. Nina or the Philosopher's Stone, or even the dog.)
(The lives of how many Ishvalans for the body of one blue-eyed Amestrian girl? No reasonable man would make that trade. It would start off reconciliation efforts on the wrong foot. It might not even be possible.)
"Roy - it's good to see you again. Though I'd never catch you without that gaggle of soldier boys," says Madame Christmas. Her gaze is sharp, perhaps green or hazel or the best of both; she wears the same cunning focus as her nephew.
Chris Mustang lounges, transmutes the visitor's chair into a throne. Cigarette smoke trailed after her no-nonsense entrance, tempered by a more discreet perfume. Poor Lieutenant Ross had seemed frazzled through the open door. Understandable; it's impossible not to feel underdressed in her presence. Riza would be more at ease with something to do, but Mustang - Roy Mustang - had assured her she could stay in bed.
The Colonel has conspicuously made his bed. He narrows his eyes, fond and frustrated at once. Torn between both his voice comes out shrill, almost whiny if not for the underlying worry:
"I'd like to say it's nice to see you too - but you really couldn't wait until the weekend? I'm very busy. Besides, people might notice⌠and people talk."
She shrugs with gusto; her cloud of tobacco smoke roils obediently. "Let 'em; if anyone asks I'm here to bill you for blowing up my bar. Better to get you before you run off to the East and avoid paying up."
Riza blinks in surprise. Her whole boudoir? The Colonel hadn't thought to mention that. He tries to knit his fingers together only to wince, embarrassed.
"I⌠suppose so," he says. Leaning forward he insists, "But still: you really shouldn't have. It's dangerous."
It's dangerous - and here she is. Because that's her nephew, playing it cool on the hospital bed, slipper kicking out restlessly. Colonel Mustang should be used to the loyalty he inspires. Love is similar in its devotion, if far more reckless. Judging by the Madame's demeanor it's a miracle she waited this long to storm the ward.
Thunderous and sudden, the jealousy hits her square in the chest. Crushes against beaten ribs.
(The Colonel is and was loved. Can she really be sure her father loved her? Certainly not more than his research. Not enough to hesitate.)
[CH1] [Keep reading on AO3!]
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