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He’s a handsome man. Roy can admit that. Jacob has a beatific smile, is well-read, polite if not a bit shy and has at least six inches on the Lieutenant. He’s a good man, a kind man. Roy can admit that.
It’s still hard. Seeing them together.
The unit likes him. Roy would rather they didn’t; it would make him feel better about being so sour. But no. Jacob, a literature professor at Central University, has bonded spectacularly with the team. Havoc claps him on the back. Falman shakes his hand. Breda shares his fries. Fuery lends him a book. Hayate practically vibrates with excitement.
(Roy tells himself the dog doesn’t know any better, that the little furball had never met someone he didn’t like as long as his master wasn’t in imminent danger.)
He’s a compassionate man, a thoughtful man. Roy can admit that. In another life, they might even be friends. But not this life, because for all of Jacob’s kindness he’s still dating Roy’s Lieutenant, and no pile-up of redeeming qualities can stop the white hot thread of jealousy from pooling in his chest when he sees them together.
He’d always pictured the Lieutenant to carry her coolness, her stiffness - qualities that are off-putting to most, but only ever endeared her to him more - into her relationships. Roy had frequently consoled his fears of her dating life with the possibility that her emotional wall was akin to Fort Briggs. That most men wouldn’t stick around. That most men wouldn’t climb that wall, let alone breach it. That most men weren’t Roy Mustang.
But Jacob isn’t Roy Mustang, nor is he most men - that much is obvious. He’s a patient man, a careful man. And above all, he’s a man who coaxes tenderness and softness out of Roy’s Lieutenant in a way that even Roy can’t.
(He tells himself that he could easily bring that out in her if they were just allowed to be together.)
If it were anyone else, it’d be sweet, the way Riza smiles at him with such open adoration, pulls him close, rests her hand on his chest. But Roy can’t stop the bile that slithers up his throat every time they’re affectionate with one another. He can’t stop that punch-gut feeling from taking his breath away when she blushes, turns her amulet eyes on another man and gives him a look that Roy knows means take me home. It hurts. He wants that so badly, with her. Has dreamt of her looking at him that way, of kissing her forehead whenever he wants, of draping his coat over her shoulders.
That might be the worst part, he thinks. That for all her new relationship brings to the table, it doesn’t cancel out his connection with her. Her connection with him. He can read the unspoken signals she turns at this other man, can practically read her mind. He knows that this isn’t a distraction, a passing fancy. These are two people who could very truly fall in love. If not for him, that is.
Because Roy is an obstacle, though that’s not why Jacob dislikes him. Oh yes, Roy can see the distaste in Jacob’s warm brown eyes. Disgust. Anger that wasn’t there before, and it doesn’t take Roy long to compose a list of reasons why. It could be anything. Learning the truth of Roy’s war crimes. Stories of their childhood together. Perhaps even tales of their office debacles, not to mention the overnights, the paperwork, the covert missions in close proximity. There are lots of reasons Jacob could grow to dislike him, and Roy doesn’t particularly mind. That jealous side of his brain puffs its chest out at the sentiment that he still gets to spend unsupervised time alone with Riza, and there’s nothing her good man can do about it.
Like on their stake out, now, quietly crouching next to each other against a half-rotted windowsill in a derelict building. Riza snapping a camera, him commenting on what he’s seeing through his binoculars. The thrill of the mission lights Roy’s veins on fire and he feels brazen and ecstatic at how well the night is shaping out. Highly illegal activity blown by sloppiness is his favorite kind of work - not that he doesn’t like a challenge - but it’s a quick win he feels like he deserves lately.
He doesn’t mind the late nights. He doesn’t mind the paperwork. He doesn’t mind his legs going numb in a cold, abandoned rowhouse. Doesn’t mind any of the less-than-glamorous sides of the job so long as she’s in it with him.
He’d even venture to say he loves it. Her. Well, the latter has always been a given. But he loves her in his life, he decides, any way he can get her. Significant others be damned. He appreciates her commitment, too. Most would be complaining of the conditions and lamenting over being away from their significant other for the night, but her loyalty and workaholism eclipse whatever of those feelings she has, if she has them at all. It makes him feel bold, so he just says it.
“Your boyfriend doesn’t think much of me.”
Her finger hesitates on the shutter release, but she doesn’t avert her eyes from the scope.
“No,” she acquiesces finally. “He does not.”
He doesn’t know why he goes fishing for the confirmation, but it fills him with a warm feeling all the same.
“Can’t say I blame him,” Roy muses. “Considering how closely we work together.”
“He’s seen my back, sir,” she replies as easily as if she’d been commenting on the weather. As if it were obvious. “That’s why he doesn’t like you.”
The binoculars nearly slip from his hands, and before he can think better of it he blurts out, “Why has he seen your back?”
He instantly flushes, and the color most certainly darkens when she turns a miffed glare in his direction.
“Use your imagination,” she drawls, and turns back to the camera. She adjusts the zoom on her telephoto lens and takes several more pictures.
But Roy can’t stop staring, a bit slack-jawed, at the way her shoulders move under her shirt. He imagines himself as Jacob, seeing her naked back for the first time. He imagines her nervously clutching her shirt to her chest and she allows herself to be vulnerable and open with him, explaining in hushed tones the ruddied tattoo and the burn scars.
He imagines scooping her into his arms and kissing her tears away, calming her stuttering breaths with fingers stroking through her hair, showering her with words of acceptance. She was perfect, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. He loved everything about her. He wanted to show her how much.
That sick feeling is back, and it's accompanied by something guilty and sad, something sharp. He grips the binoculars hard to hide his shaking hands while the Lieutenant carries on, the picture of calm professionalism.
“I’m sorry,” Roy says in a soft voice. He sets the binoculars down and pinches his brow.
She reaches across the empty space between them and grips his hand tightly for just a moment. The warmth she leaves behind just might sear him.
“He doesn’t understand everything,” she says just as softly.
Jacob is a good man, a kind man. Roy can admit that.
But if he were Jacob, he would hate Roy Mustang too.