#royzai

Riza shifted her weight on the mats, her bare feet making small taps against the vinyl. Not exactly the type of surface she was used to moving on, but she supposed she had better get used to it.

“Well, this isn’t going to work.” She looked back as Roy spoke from behind her. Catching her eye, he grinned and pulled at the faded T-shirt he wore. “We can’t be seen wearing the same thing. One of us is going to have to change.”

Glancing down at her own clothes — the same Eastern Military Academy shirt as him and a pair of black knee-length shorts — Riza smiled. “Well, I got here first, sir, so if anyone is going to change, it should be you.”

He rolled his eyes at that, setting his water bottle down beside hers, against the wall. “Should have known better than to try and out-sass you.” Standing straight, he rolled his shoulders, beginning to stretch out his arms. “So, are you ready for this?”

Checking that the elastic holding her hair into a ponytail was secure, Riza started in on her own stretching. “I don’t know if anyone can ever be ready for dealing with the Major, but we can certainly try.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen him drilling troops before. He isn’t always the teddy bear he seems to be.”

“Yeah. When it comes to things like this, I —“

“Colonel! Lieutenant! I’m glad you could make it!” A heavy hand descended on Roy’s shoulder, cutting off his sentence. Shirtless as ever — though with a valid excuse this time — Major Alex Louis Armstrong beamed down at both of them. “And it only took eight months after you moved to Central for me to convince you to join my class! That being said, what took so long?”

Roy pointed to his side. “Well, I did get stabbed. And then stabbed again during the Promised Day. And then I was also blind for a week and a half….”

“Well, I suppose that would be a valid excuse.” Clapping Roy on the shoulder with the hand already resting there, nearly causing the smaller man’s knees to buckle, Armstrong moved off toward the front of the group that had gathered. “Everyone, your attention! We’re ready to begin!”

“Please don’t learn how to hit like that,” Roy murmured. Riza merely smiled.

———————-

“One.” He braced his left arm as the impact of her left fist hit the pad strapped to his palm. “Three.” Left, right, left hook. “Two.” Left, right. “Four.” Left, right, left hook, right.

Riza took a step back, breathing hard. “I’m going to pay for this tomorrow,” she muttered.

“You and me both,” he agreed. Setting his stance, he lifted the pads again. “Come on, there’s less than a minute left on the clock. Two.” Jab, cross. “Four.” Jab, cross, hook, cross. “One.”

Armstrong appeared to the side just as Riza threw the jab, his hands folded behind his back, blue eyes watching closed. “Well done, Lieutenant. But watch your stance. You’re meant to step forward when you jab, but make sure your other hand doesn’t drop, and return to your stance as soon as your jab connects. Don’t leave an opening.” He nodded towards Roy’s hands. “Try again.”

Roy loved the look she got on her face whenever she was determined like this. Brown eyes were clear and focussed, even with the occasional bead of sweat running into them. Any other person would think Riza was angry, or at the very least, frustrated and annoyed. But he knew that look: she was pushing herself, with her eye on the bar she was trying so very hard to reach.

Unfortunately for him, kissing her right here and now was entirely out of the question with this many witnesses.

She threw three jabs into his left hand pad with a pair of seconds in between. Her teeth gritted with every punch, as she put real strength into the hit. Armstrong nodded approvingly. “Well done. Same principle on the rest of the combinations: always come back to your stance, and keep your guard up.”

Riza managed a near-breathless “yes, sir” before the timer buzzed and Armstrong called a minute-long water break.

She leaned against the wall, breathing deep, but with the intensity of her focus gone, he could see her eyes beginning to glaze over. “How’re you doing, Whiskygirl? Talk to me.”

She shook her head. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“No, you’re not, you’re okay.” He tapped the bottle in her hand. “Drink. And keep breathing.” Still, he kept a wary eye on her. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect it would be this tough.” He watched as she merely nodded, taking a measured swallow of water. “At least not on you. You’re already pretty decent at sparring, so for you to lose your breath like this….” His eyes narrowed slightly as her gaze abruptly went to the floor. “You must really be pushing it.”

She didn’t look up, but one shoulder lifted and fell in a shrug. “I think it’s just been a while since I had this much of a workout,” she said quietly, before taking another drink. “Not to mention the Promised day was only two months ago, so….”

Roy leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Why the hell would you be so insistent on taking this class if you weren’t physically ready?” he hissed. Worry began to fill his chest in earnest. “If you’re pushing yourself this hard only two months after losing a ton of blood, and you feel like you’re going to pass out, then why would you —“

“The same reason I always do.”

Though her voice was soft, without any hint of the edge his had, it stopped him in his verbal tracks. For a moment, the only sound was the background chatter of the rest of Armstrong’s students as they drifted back toward the mats, until Roy found his voice again.

“… You’re doing this… to learn how to fight better,” he said. “To better protect me when its called for.”

Finally looking up, meeting his gaze, she let slip a sheepish smile. “Can you really blame me?”