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—
Roy’s always been a deeply sentimental man.
He’s a man who clings on to the past, who counts on memories to keep him going where the brutality of the present exhausts his will to live. Riza knows this without a doubt. (She knows, too, that he still keeps that one photograph of their younger selves tucked in his wallet, safely sandwiched between receipts and business cards and spare change.) She’s not impervious to the inner workings of his mind, of course.
She never is.
“Lieutenant,” he murmurs. It's the same tone that he uses whenever he's in one of those brooding, wistful moods of his. Riza picks up on it instantly. She nods once, to indicate attention. "Fancy a ride home?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, sir.”
“It’s no trouble. It’d be my pleasure, in fact.”
“Sir,” she begins, arching a brow. “The play’s rubbing off on you a little too much.”
Earlier that evening, they’d been - well, blackmailed was the correct term for it, really - to put up a play about a pair of star-crossed lovers who couldn’t be together because of their feuding families for Elicia’s birthday party. (It was a story that Riza was familiar with. One that never really quite resonated with her in her youth, until she finally understood what it meant to love someone you couldn’t have from her personal experience.) By way of unanimous vote, Roy and Riza had been selected to play the two tragic, ill-fated protagonists, because there had apparently been no one else who was willing to fake their demise in the Colonel’s arms. (It was also because no one else could do so without breaking into a laughing fit.)
Roy had leapt at the opportunity, of course. Riza, on the other hand, had firmly refused, but ultimately budged after a bunch of toothy children had swarmed around her with their tearful, glistening eyes and earnest pleas.
The others had taken up their respective roles with varying degrees of willingness: Havoc was to play Roy’s mercurial and somewhat prurient cousin - a role so befitting it was almost funny. Breda took on the role of Riza’s choleric cousin and was supposed to kill Havoc in his violent rage, before eventually getting killed by Roy himself. Again, this was not a problem, as he seemed more than willing to engage in a duel with Havoc on stage while simultaneously unleashing years of pent-up frustration at his commanding officer. He’d called this killing two birds with one stone. Fuery had somehow gotten himself out of the entire mess by coughing up an excuse that he was needed backstage to ensure that there were no technical hiccups. Infuriatingly, Hughes had managed to wriggle his way out as well, claiming that he had to stay beside Elicia during the play to cover her eyes and protect her innocence, just in case they tried anything lewd on stage. (Roy had laughed at this, waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her and tried to get all chummy. Riza had silenced him with a glare.) And Falman, the most mortified of the lot, was appointed as the allegedly wise friar who was supposed to plan the two lovers’ escape.
But of course, the rest of the unit was practically hellbent on giving Riza a hard time.
As if the sheer misfortune of having to extend her hand to Roy out on a makeshift balcony wasn’t enough, they’d somehow decided that such a tragic tale wouldn’t be appropriate for children, and had therefore taken creative liberties to change the ending into something worse.
Far worse.
Faking her death was easy. Child’s play. Riza had plenty of experience doing that from her years in the military, but the team had begged and half-grovelled for her to enact an elopement with Roy after he’d somehow magically obtained her father’s approval. (This was completely unrealistic, both in the context of the play and real life.)
A self-proclaimed romantic and heartthrob, Roy had no difficulty living up to the melodramatics of said scene, but Riza could’ve sworn she’d felt her dinner coming up more than once. It had been with utmost effort that she’d managed to keep it down and carry on, especially when it came to a particular scene at a balcony where she was required to swoon over Roy; act all dreamy and starry-eyed like some lovestruck schoolgirl.
(... Like she said, she’d really wanted to throw up there and then.)
Thankfully, though, the rest of the play seemed to go by without a hitch. They didn’t insist on them kissing on stage, either, and Riza counted herself lucky that the biggest public display of affection between her and Roy consisted of nothing more than handholding. Perhaps it was because they knew better (or that they knew she’d shoot them if they tried), but whatever it was, she was just relieved it was over.
“Can’t say I regret anything tonight,” Roy shrugs. He grins unabashedly. “Besides, the children seemed to really enjoy it.”
“So did you, apparently,” Riza quips back drily. She folds her arms across her chest and walks towards the main road, hoping to flag a cab. It had been a tiring night. Fun, but tiring. Parties had never quite been on the top of her to-do-list, but Hughes always made a big deal out of birthdays. (Riza’s just glad that Elicia has a father like him, though. He might be somewhat annoying and overbearing, but he at least puts in the effort to ensure his family and friends feel loved. He makes sure they know it.)
“Would’ve been better if we’d kissed on stage, don’t you think?” Riza huffs and turns away, mildly embarrassed. It still baffles her how Roy can say such things with a perfectly straight face. “Come on. I’ll send you back home. I don’t think you’re going to get a cab at this hour.”
Riza sighs. She knows when a fight is a lost cause. Besides, she doesn’t really mind.
“Fine. Just this once.”
“Don’t make a habit out of it?”
“Exactly.”
“Touche,” Roy chuckles good-naturedly. He ushers her towards the passenger seat, opens the door and does a little curtsy.
“In you go, milady.”
Riza shakes her head, equal parts bemused and repulsed. Roy just laughs. He’s doing this to push her buttons, she knows. (He’s always had a knack for doing that, even unintentionally.)
“Please stop talking like that, sir.”
“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”
“I don’t want to,” she deadpans.
Roy laughs again, louder this time. He slides into the driver’s seat, inserting and twisting the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life.
“It was fun though, you have to admit.”
“No.”
“You can be honest, Lieutenant.”
“I am.”
Roy shrugs, muttering something about living in denial. She ignores it and turns the radio on. A soft ballad stretches between them.
They don’t speak, for a while. Riza turns to look out the window, admiring the blurs of golden light passing by. She revels in the quiet stillness of the night. It’s hard to appreciate the city’s beauty sometimes, when all that surrounds her during the daytime are people and paperwork and a military that treats them as mere tools.
Being alone with Roy like this in these rare moments always makes her feel a little better, though. It helps her forget. Helps her feel a little more human.
Even though he’s her downfall as much as he is her lifeline.
—
They end up at his aunt’s bar, which is, incidentally, already closed for business. The inside is replete with pink ribbons and heart-shaped balloons — no doubt the work of the other girls in the cabaret. (Riza’s never really been a fan of Valentine's Day, to be honest. She finds it to be a consumerist trap disguised by affectations of romance, all overpriced flowers and chocolates and ridiculously large plushies.)
“I thought we were going back home, sir.”
“The night’s still a little young, don’t you think?”
Riza sighs. She follows him in any way. The bar is uncharacteristically quiet, empty.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“I don’t know,” Roy says, which means he knows exactly what they’re up to. It’s probably a conspiracy of sorts. He must’ve planned and coordinated this with them beforehand. And knowing his sisters, they must’ve been more than happy to comply with his odd requests. (Vanessa had once told her, in confidence, that no one else apart from her would be able to put up with Roy’s shenanigans. Riza agrees with this. He’s a bit of a lost cause without her, and she’s not even trying to be mean.) “Are you tired, though?”
“A little, but I’m okay. It’s better than working overtime.”
“Anything is,” Roy chuckles. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure,” Riza shrugs. She feels better drinking with Roy. It’s far superior to drinking alone, and she can at least ensure he doesn’t drink himself into oblivion or do anything that he’ll regret in the morning. “Something light would be preferable.”
Roy nods. He brings out a bottle of champagne from the bar shelf. It’s an expensive one, one that’s usually reserved for larger, grander celebrations.
“Sir -”
“It’s a pretty special occasion, if you ask me." He hands her a drink. "Happy Valentine's Day, Lieutenant."
Riza shrugs. "You, too."
They sip on the champagne quietly. Neither of them mind. Or at least, Riza doesn’t. She enjoys spending time like this without any external disturbances. She knows he’s been a little on edge ever since their move to Central. It’s nice to see him so relaxed, to be able to help ease some of that tension that’s been weighing on his shoulders and causing him to lose sleep.
It’s also nice to enjoy his company alone, to be the center of his undivided attention, but Riza brushes that thought aside as soon as it comes.
She refills her glass.
About two and a half drinks later, Roy extends a gloved hand out. It’s his way of inviting her to dance, to indulge in their fantasies for a bit. Riza accepts his offer, again. He smiles a crooked smile and she hides her own with practiced ease.
Roy places the record on the gramophone, then leads her to the floor, a wide, glossy stretch of mahogany that smells faintly of lemon soap. Roy removes his gloves and rests a hand on her waist. He slips his free hand into her right. She likes the way his hand feels against hers. It’s smooth, a stark contrast to her callused ones. It’s much larger than hers. It’s warm, and it makes her feel safe, grounded.
He leads her in a slow dance. There isn’t really a fixed routine, but then again, they’ve never really needed that to be in sync. He leads, and she follows. It’s almost as natural as breathing. Riza doesn’t step on his toes even though she’s still wearing those ridiculous stilettos from earlier, and Roy is equally careful. He goes easy on the spin and dips. They mostly stick to simple steps, nothing fancy, but his smile is content and contrite and it makes her throat go dry.
She knows he’s thinking of the what-ifs again. All the could-have-beens and hopeful maybes, dreams that will never come to fruition.
Riza doesn’t burst his bubble.
(She doesn’t have the heart to.)
—
Roy doesn’t let go of her when the song comes to a close. Instead he pulls her close, enfolds her in his arms. He rests his chin on top of her head, and she doesn’t need to look at him to see the wistful longing in his eyes. It’s an expression she’s seen on him many times, during office hours and outside. (It’s also an expression she regularly sees in the mirror before she sleeps.)
“Sir,” she protests weakly.
Roy doesn’t budge, and so Riza lets them have this moment, for just a little longer. (She doesn’t really mind. It’s rare to have a private moment with him, and even more rare to have it in a place where it’s completely safe to let their guards down.)
When he releases her at last, she sees the exact expression she’d imagined. Riza she can’t help but feel a little pang in her chest. She’s sure he does, too. She doesn’t reprimand him when he presses his palm against hers and brings it up to the light like he’s analysing an old artefact at a museum. Then he grins, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s usually a sign that he’s about to say something stupid.
And right on cue, he does.
“If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,” he recites.
Riza sighs. Still, she doesn’t burst his bubble even as he drones on and on melodramatically. Instead she indulges him, and Riza thinks. She thinks of the impossible possibilities with him as they move around the room. Maybe if they’d eloped from the military together, escaped to a faraway town where nobody could recognise them before being dispatched to the desert. Maybe if she hadn’t been so oblivious to his feelings. Maybe if she’d accepted his affections, in spite of her father’s violent objections. (Riza remembers how severely her father had scorned him, especially after he’d gone and become a soldier. And even after her father had died and all obstructions gone, Riza hadn’t the courage to bring it up again. She was too scared to pull him away from his dreams and ambitions and bright hopes for the future.) Maybe they’d be married now. Have a child or two, live a bucolic life with dogs and a large garden out in their backyard.
Riza thinks of the parallels between the star-crossed lovers, and them. She thinks of the original play and how tragically unkind fate had been to them; so unkind that they could only be together in death.
It’s probably the same for her and Roy.
A conventional wedding, simple marital bliss doesn’t quite suit wretched criminals like them. Not to mention it’s punishable by law and wholly, utterly undeserved. After all, how could they live and love so freely when they’ve taken that away from many?
Still, it’s paradoxical. Her feelings for him haven't lessened over the years despite their professional relationship. There’s no point denying it. She loves him, and he knows. And in moments like these, away from the scrutiny of the military, they’re at least allowed to be their unguarded selves, to love each other without restraint, even if just for a fleeting hour or two, and it’s enough for her. More than enough.
Riza plays along. A faint sigh escapes her lips.
“You do wrong your hand too much, sir.”
He smiles.
—
Roy sends her home afterwards. He walks her up the stairs, all the way to her apartment on the eight floor, even though she’s technically a grown woman who’s more than capable of defending herself.
Riza finds herself feeling oddly touched by the gesture. Old habits die hard, she supposes. (He used to insist on walking her to the market and back, especially when she went out late in the evenings. Sometimes he’d simply wait on a bench. Wait for time to pass with nothing to do. It made Riza feel bad, but his face would always light up upon seeing her even after two long, meaningless hours had passed as if he hadn’t just wasted precious time that could’ve been spent on something more worthwhile. Like studying or completing his absurd assignments with even more absurd deadlines.) It’s not even that he thinks her defenseless or useless, but it’s simply because he cares. He cares, and he just wants to know that she’s safe and alright and spend that little pocket of time with her before he goes.
So she lets him.
Roy smiles again when they arrive at her place. It doesn’t reach his eyes this time. He raises an arm like he’s contemplating the appropriateness of the situation. He looks like he wants to pull her in for one last hug. Usher her inside. Hold her hand. Something. Riza longs to feel his touch, but she doesn’t want - doesn’t dare - to be the one to initiate it. She’s afraid that she’ll whether to pull her in for a hug, or something. Usher her inside. Hold her hand.
His hand falls limp by his side.
“I hope you had a good night, Lieutenant.”
“I did, thank you,” Riza says. She can tell he’s tired. He hasn’t been sleeping much lately, what with all the work piling up, and it shows. His dark circles have been getting from bad to worse and his skin is almost sallow in the dimly-lit corridor. “Have a good rest, sir.”
He smiles. “I will.” Then his lips tug upwards and it turns into a smirk. “No goodnight kiss?”
“No such luck today, unfortunately,” Riza says, lying through her teeth. She wants to kiss him, invite him in for a nightcap or a cup of chamomile tea. She wants to do so much more. Help ease some of the tension in his shoulders, rub his back until his muscles are loose and the knots are gone. Help keep the nightmares away. Help him feel a little less lonely.
But whatever they’ve had today is enough.
“Fine,” Roy pouts. “See you on Monday then.”
“See you.” Riza regards him for a moment as he fishes out his keys and juggles them in one hand. Roy turns to leave, though not without one last misplaced at flirting. He winks. “And sir?”
“Yes?”
“Drive safe.”
Roy laughs. “I will.”
He turns to leave. Riza watches his retreating back until it’s out of sight, and she turns to enter her apartment. She kicks off her heels in relief and sinks into the couch. The house is dusty, unlit. She hasn’t really had the time to clean or sweep the floor lately, and these days she’s been getting headaches more frequently than usual from working too much. She doesn’t fancy light now. But something in her gut tells her to head to the balcony and open the curtains, even if the street lamps await.
Riza rubs her temples tiredly. She stands, draws the curtains open and looks at Roy’s car from the balcony. He appears beside it seconds later, and waves at her like a lovestruck fool. Like a complete moron, is what.
Riza offers a small wave of her own. His face lights up, and she glares at him threateningly before he can put another one of his warped, stupid ideas into action.
Roy grins and slides into the car. Riza watches him go and finally, finally heads for a shower. Riza changes into a simple nightgown afterwards and lies down. A muted sigh escapes her lips, now devoid of shiny gloss. She starts to think, again. She thinks of his tender smile that makes her chest ache something fierce and protective, thinks of the moment they’d shared over and over. It makes her heart feel full and warm for reasons that she can’t quite articulate, profound explanations that Roy would probably be much better at.
Riza smiles at the memory of him - well, proposing. (He’d proposed on stage earlier, and even though it’d technically been an act she knew that his devotion wasn’t.) She fiddles with the small silver band that she’d secretly added to her dog tags.
It gets hard, sometimes. Living in this crummy, shoebox apartment all by herself. It reminds her of the loneliest, toughest parts of her childhood, but Riza knows she’s not alone now. She’s living by herself, yes, and she spends the better part of her night on the couch with a microwaved meal for one thinking about deadlines, but she’s not really alone, no.
Roy’s always been there for her, after all.