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Madam Christmas’ bar had always been a place of comfort for Roy; when he was a child he would do his homework sitting at one of the barstools, sipping on a ginger ale, and when he got a little older he was enlisted as a bar-back, pouring beers and cleaning sticky counter tops. It was no secret what the bar's real purpose was, or how his sisters made their money (no, the real secret was the other payment they received, more important than money, the information kept close by the Central elite, spilled easily by a touch from a pretty girl), and Roy had heard every kind of name on the schoolyard, but he had never cared; he loved his family, and the home that he had grown up in. He visited whenever he could, even when he had been stationed in East City. It was nice to have a place to return to, even if he no longer called it home.
"Don't mope at my bar, you'll scare away the customers," his aunt flicked his hand lightly with her bar towel.
"I'm not moping," Roy insisted, swirling the ice in his drink and trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "Besides, Elizabeth will be joining me."
Chris raised an immaculately penciled eyebrow. "Is that a good idea? You told me she had been taken by another man."
Roy winced as she quoted his own reference to Bradley back at him. "She called me."
His aunt gave him a scrutinizing look that reminded him uncomfortably of whenever he had gotten into some sort of trouble in his childhood. "Just promise me you're being clever," she said finally. "Don't go getting hurt on me. Or getting her hurt. I don't have to tell you we are living in dangerous times."
He flashed her a winning smile. "Aren't I always clever?"
She gave him a non-committal grunt, and went to the other side of the bar to serve a pair of business men who had just sat down.
Roy finished his drink and set the glass down heavily on to the bar top, as a dark-haired woman in a grey dress slid onto the stool beside him.
“Good evening, Roy,” the woman said, adjusting her glasses as she turned to him.
Roy’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Good evening, Elizabeth.”
The black wig made her look too pale, and brought attention to the dark circles under her eyes, and the healing wound on her cheek. Roy felt his hand twitch, it would be so easy to reach out and touch her face.
Chris had finished with her customers, and smiled warmly at Hawkeye as she walked back over. “Hey kiddo. You look like you could use a drink.”
“I think you’re right, Madam,” Riza said with a half-smile. “A glass of your house red, please.”
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s just ‘Chris’ to family?”
Riza laughed, and maybe it was the smoke and the music in the bar, maybe it was the drink, but Roy felt a little lightheaded.
Chris returned a minute later with Riza’s wine, and fresh rye and ginger for Roy, before disappearing to the back to give them some privacy.
Chris was right, of course, they shouldn't be there, not together. But Riza had called him and, he had realized the day she had begged him to burn her father’s legacy from her back, there was never anything that he could ever deny her.
Roy took a deep sip of his drink. “Was there something you wanted to talk about, Elizabeth?”
Riza smiled ruefully. “Not really. Would it be wrong to say that I just missed you?”
He couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers kept brushing against the cut on her face, the way her eyes darted to the bright lights cast on the walls as she spoke. He wanted to burn the homunculi to death a thousand times over for making his Lieutenant jump at shadows.
He wanted to take her hand and lead her to one of the private rooms upstairs, throw the wig on the floor and let her long blonde hair fall around her shoulders; he wanted to lay her on the bed and fuck her into the mattress. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, whisper in her ear that everything was going to be alright, even if he didn’t know that to be true.
“No,” he said instead. “I missed you too.”
They drank in silence, and when Riza finished her wine she set her glass on the bar letting her fingers brush gently against his, a dangerous game. But as much as he wanted to, he didn’t take her hand, he didn’t lead her upstairs. She said goodnight, eyes lingering on him a little too long, before heading out into the dark. Roy finished his drink with a sigh, and found that his aunt was staring at him.
“Are you going to be okay, Roy Boy?”
Roy ran his hand over his face. God, he needed to shave. “Yeah. Aren’t I always?”
“No,” Chris said bluntly. “That’s why I’m worried.”
Roy sighed again. "I'm fine. I promise."
Her eyes clearly showed her disbelief, but to his relief she became preoccupied by a rowdy group that entered the bar. He put money on the counter and grabbed his coat, slipping out into the night. It was a long walk to his apartment, and it was a cold night, but maybe it would clear his head. He was so used to seeing Hawkeye everyday that it felt unnatural that he couldn't say when he would see her next.
This wouldn't last forever, he told himself. One day, Bradley would be dead and he would have her back.
But that day was very far away.