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“You’ll have physical therapy three times a week at the medical ward, but outside of therapy, practice using your hands. Washing or brushing your hair, or finer movements such as flipping pages in a book or writing with a pen. That way you can make the best recovery you can.”
It’s just past 1900 hours on a Friday evening when Riza knocks on Roy’s door. Roy is shakily practicing his signature at his kitchen table, still unaccustomed to signing every document with just his initials. He sets his pen down and answers the door, surprised, but glad to see his lieutenant standing on the other side. She’s holding a brown paper sack, and Roy promptly invites her inside.
Once, Riza could mask her weekend exhaustion without exposing herself to her unit or even Roy. But since she attained her neck and shoulder injuries, it has been increasingly difficult for the lieutenant to mask her fatigue from a week of work. Roy has always been able to pick up on it even if she managed to hide it from everyone else, but now, it’s glaringly obvious. Her left shoulder slumps and her hand gravitates to her neck as the day drags on. Her hair is tied tighter at the back of her head, and at the end of the day when it’s just them, she lets it down, something she never used to do at the office. The circles under her eyes, while nothing compared to what they were in the hospital, are significantly darker towards the end of the week. She looks this way now, and it’s painful for Roy to see, knowing he can’t do anything to help without potentially crossing into illegality.
“I bought some putty that you can work with to help strengthen your hands,” Riza says and sets the bag on his table. She takes the small, clear container out of the bag and places it next to his paper, meeting his eyes. She also takes out a black mesh sphere. “I also bought you a stress ball.”
Roy cocks his head in question, fighting a guilty smile as he looks at Riza.
“I’ve noticed that you’ve picked up the habit of clenching your fists during the daytime,” Riza explains. “This way, you’ll be able to work those muscles in a healthy way.”
Roy lets his smile come through at her attentiveness and observation of his habits. She’s always known him better than anyone else, and he isn’t surprised by this purchase. “Thank you, Hawkeye,” he says graciously. “Let me find my wallet, how much was this?”
Riza quickly shakes her head. “That’s not necessary, sir,” she assures. “This was at the recommendation of your physical therapist. I don’t need to be reimbursed for ensuring your health.”
“Still,” he sighs, “There must be something I can do to repay you for this.”
Riza’s eyes fall away from his, and she winces as she takes her hair down from the clip. “I’ve been neglectful of my hair as my neck heals,” she admits slowly, and Roy sees this has been weighing on her since they were discharged from the hospital. “I haven’t washed it since Monday.”
Roy doesn’t know much about how often hair should be washed, but he does know if he goes a day without washing, the condition of his scalp is nothing short of uncomfortable. Riza has much more hair than he does, so going four days can’t be good for her.
“It felt good to shower when I got home,” she continues and lets out a sigh, “but now, it’s more of a hassle than anything else.”
Roy understands her problem. He struggled to shave during his stay in the hospital and still does, but he won’t admit that to the lieutenant. Knowing Riza, she’s probably picked up on that too. “What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?” he asks.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like for you to wash my hair,” Riza finally says and peers at the colonel, apprehension in her eyes. It’s clear to Roy that she’s stirred on this request for a while, and of course, he agrees.
Roy nods in assent. “That’s no trouble at all, Lieutenant,” he answers softly. “This is certainly one way to work my hands, don’t you think?” He smiles, and this helps break the tension between them. He motions to take her coat, and she slips it off her shoulders.
“I hadn’t thought about that, sir,” Riza says as a small smile rises on her lips. She gives her coat to Roy, and he places it on the rack by his door. When she looks at her colonel as he descends down the hallway, she hesitates and can’t help but ask, “Are you sure this isn’t any trouble?”
Roy shakes his head and grabs two towels from the shelf at the end of his hallway. He steps closer to Riza, meeting her eyes. “You’ve done more than enough for me, Lieutenant. I think it’s time I do something in return.”
Heat rises in Riza’s cheeks, but she follows him into the bathroom without a word.
Roy flips on the light and checks Riza’s expression for any semblance of worry. She appears calmer than she was when she entered, and this puts him at ease. He looks at her carefully and says, “We can do this however you’d like.”
Riza nods, and she quietly ponders how they should go about this. “Just like a normal shower,” she answers, “but you’re only washing my hair.”
“That sounds good,” Roy affirms and gives her a reassuring glance when he sees the nervousness return in her eyes. She hasn’t been this on-edge in ages, and the colonel can’t help but comfort her. “Do you trust me, Hawkeye?”
Her answer is immediate. “Yes, of course, sir,” she says and looks at him firmly.
“Then relax, Lieutenant,” he soothes and brushes a strand of her bangs out of her face. “This is alright, and I promise that I’m not going to hurt you. If you’re ready, get in the shower and undress, and you can tell me when to come in.”
Riza nods again and manages a small smile. “Okay,” she says and steps into Roy’s shower, drawing the curtain shut. It doesn’t take her long to undress, and she sets her clothes on top of the hamper beside the shower before giving Roy the okay to enter.
After he undresses, Roy carefully steps into the shower and eases the curtain shut behind himself, as to not startle his lieutenant. “How do you like the water?”
“Will you run it warm?”
Roy turns on the water and adjusts the knob to warm, and the shower comes to life. Water rushes over the top of their heads, and in just a moment, it’s at the right temperature.
Riza visibly relaxes under the steady stream; her jaw unclenches and her shoulders fall back. The stream of the shower flows through her blonde hair, and she tilts back her head for the water to hit the front of her scalp. She lets out a relaxed sigh when her hair is fully drenched, and Roy smiles at her state of tranquility.
His hands drift to the nape of her neck, but first, Roy asks, “May I touch your hair now?” He knows it's a given to feel her hair to wash it, but he wants to avoid making her jump at all costs. Her comfort is of the utmost importance to him.
“Yes,” she promptly tells him and looks over her shoulder. “The hair at my scalp might be tangled.”
Roy simply smiles. “I’ll be gentle,” he assures and takes her hair into his hands. He runs his hands through her thick locks and slowly works his hands from her ends up to her scalp. He isn’t bothered by the greasiness of the strands closest to her head, and he doesn’t pull at knots or attempt to undo them.
“Your hair is so beautiful,” he blurts, the words falling from his lips before he can even think not to say them. “I’ve always loved it, no matter what length you wear it.”
Riza smiles. “Thank you, sir,” she says. “I’ve thought about cutting it recently, but I think I’ll wait a little longer.”
“Always do what makes you comfortable, Hawkeye,” Roy muses as he grabs his bottle of sandalwood-scented shampoo and squeezes a dollop into his palm. “I’m going to start washing your hair now, alright?”
“Alright.”
Roy thoroughly lathers her hair with the soap, ensuring that every strand is properly covered in product. Washing his own hair feels like a mindless nightly activity, but washing Riza’s is something he takes to with great detail and discipline, as if he were a surgeon for a heart patient. He works through the knots and tangles in her hair with careful attentiveness, and though his hands tremble with the finer motion, Riza doesn’t flinch once.
“I hope this isn’t uncomfortable for you,” Riza says, breaking the silence between them. “It’s been a while since you saw my back.”
The sight of her back is a painful one, and it fills him with immense guilt and remorse to look at the scars he left. He would give anything for her marred skin and damaged nerves to be healed, but for the tattoo to remain indecipherable.
“It’s okay,” Roy confesses and lets out a sigh. “I’ve lived with what I did to you for a long time, and while it isn’t easy to see your back, I’ve accepted that it is what had to be done, even if I regret having to do it, having to hurt you.”
Riza nods, and after a moment of silence, she glances at him from over her shoulder. “You’ll be happy to know that you aren’t hurting me now,” she says and smiles at him. “I think you’re doing a fine job on my hair.”
“Well, I’m glad to know that,” he responds and returns the smile, “but I need to wash out the shampoo now.”
Riza steps back under the stream of water and the soap slowly cascades out her locks and down her back.
The colonel runs his hands through her hair and softly massages her scalp with the tips of his fingers to guarantee that all of the shampoo and tangles are out of her hair. The smell of sandalwood wafts into the air, and Roy takes in the familiar scent as he carefully works at her head. Once the shampoo has been washed away, Roy squeezes a smaller portion of conditioner into his palm and spreads it on the ends of her hair. They wait a few minutes for the product to soak into her strands before washing it out in cool water, as the bottle instructs, but only because they have used up the warm water.
Roy shuts off the shower and grabs a towel from the rack beside his shower. “Wait here,” he says as he swaddles her frame in a towel. “I’ll get you a change of clothes and another towel for your hair.” The colonel steps out of the shower and wraps the second towel tightly around himself before rushing to his bedroom. He changes into a black tank and black pajama pants and grabs a white button-down pajama shirt and shorts for Riza. On his way out of the bedroom, Roy also takes a towel from the shelf for her hair.
“I’m back,” he declares as he enters the bathroom, and Roy gives the set of clothing to Riza from the other side of the shower curtain. It only takes a moment for her to change into the clothing, and she steps out of the shower dressed. He then hands her the towel for her hair.
Riza thanks him with a grateful smile as she dries her hair with the towel, wringing out the water into the thick fabric. When she’s done, she hangs it over her arm and looks to Roy for what to do next.
The colonel surveys at his bathroom sink and his eyes land on his hairbrush. “I’ll brush your hair for you, if you’d like.”
“That’d be nice,” she confirms.
Roy grabs his brush from the sink and motions for Riza to follow, and he takes her into his living room. He sits down on the edge of the couch, and she sits on the floor in front of him so he can get a good angle at brushing her hair. She also gives him the small towel in case he needs to dry her hair anymore.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he warns before lifting her hair into his hands at the nape of her neck. Roy then begins to brush through her still-sopping hair, starting at the ends. He pats her hair against the towel and continues brushing, slowly and thoroughly as he eases up the length of her hair.
Riza leans against the inside of his leg as he continues, and she rests her arm on the top of his thigh for support. The expression on her face is relaxed and content, and for the first time tonight, she looks fully at peace.
“If you have an elastic, I’ll braid your hair,” Roy suggests once he finishes brushing through all of her hair.
Riza thinks for a moment and looks back at him. “I’ve got one in my coat,” she remarks and stands from the floor before crossing the threshold of his living room to retrieve the elastic from her coat. She takes it from her pocket and returns to her position against the couch, smiling softly as she hands him the hair tie.
Roy separates her hair into three sections and shakily intertwines them together, one over the other until he reaches the end of her blonde length. He ties the elastic around the remaining strands of her hair and lays it over her shoulder.
“How’s it look?” he asks.
Riza admires the plait before turning to look at him. “It looks wonderful, Roy,” she declares and smiles at him once again.
Silence lingers between them, and Roy doesn’t know what to do next. He’s taken aback by the use of his first name. But if this marks the end of their evening together, does he need to gather her clothes and help her to the door? Should he help her onto the couch or offer for her to stay the night?
“Lieutenant, I—”
Riza cuts him off when she kisses him from below, and he promptly lifts her out of the floor and into his arms. She isn’t passionate or desperate, but tender and purposeful with her advance. The kiss deepens as she leans against him and the unsure tension drains from Roy in an instant. He no longer has any questions about what he should do next.
Roy kisses her back at the same pace and draws this affection out as long as he can, carefully holding his hand against her face. His heart rate soars, and soon he loses his breath and he is forced to part.
When she pulls back, Riza breathes in deeply and meets his eyes, the same content expression still on her face. “Thank you for everything tonight,” she finally says.
Roy leans up to kiss her on the cheek. “I would happily do it all again, Riza. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of care.”