AN: So. After what feels like a century, I have finally gotten around to writing once again. With the recent conclusion of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga series, I have found two new muses for my writing, namely Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. It seems in every fandom I develop an obsession with, there's always a pair of characters who catch my interest moreso than the others. Roy and Riza have a long and complicated history together, which I plan on telling in my own way. I'm sure this has probably been done a million times before, but, what the hell, I'll put my own spin on this tale. This story will begin with Roy's introduction to the Hawkeyes and continue on from there. The POV will vary depending on which character I get an idea for as I go along. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. It is the brainchild of a much more creative woman than I. I am merely borrowing the characters for a while, and will return them (relatively) unharmed.

The bar was unusually quiet tonight. Only a single group of people surrounded one of the many tables, watched over by a cluster of women who sat, giggling amongst themselves, on the couches in the corner. The stench of cigarette smoke was thick in the air. The offending culprit was hanging out of the mouth of the heavyset woman manning the bar. She reached under the counter and grabbed a shot glass, filling it with whisky before sitting it in front of the aged man before her.

"My thanks, Madame," he smiled, pushing some coins her way as he took the drink.

Chris grunted in reply and swiped the money from the counter, dumping them in the till. At that moment, a loud crash interrupted the laughter of the women in the corner. Broken glass and alcohol littered the floor, and the man who had dropped his drink stumbled against the counter.

"Whoops!" He laughed drunkenly, before turning his attention to the gruff woman. "Gimme anothah one, Madame!"

"No," Chris replied. "You've had more than enough. I think it's time you went home."

"Nah, I'm good fo ah few moah rounds." The man banged his fist on the bar. "Hit me, woman."

"Don't tempt me," she responded dryly. "I may just take you up on that."

"Whatchu sayin?" His hands gripped the counter tightly, as though he needed to hold onto it to keep himself upright; no doubt he really did. "Jus gimme anothah drink."

"No."

"C'mon I wannanothah drink. Mah money not good enough for ya?"

"There's nothing wrong with your money," the woman replied. "I just don't want to have to clean up the mess when you break another glass, or start puking."

Finally, one of the women hurried over and grabbed the man by the arm. "Come on, Geoffrey, leave it be. As she said, you've had enough. I'll take you home if you don't make a scene."

He leered at her. "Jus an walk home, eh?"

"Just a walk," the woman replied. "I'm off for tonight."

"Eh, none of you are any fun…" the man mumbled as she led him out the door. "I'll be back, Madame!"

"Unfortunately…" Chris sighed, and put out her cigarette, looking around at her girls. "Somebody go and fetch Roy."

One of the younger women, Isabelle, her name was, immediately got to her feet and dashed up the stairs. She wished she could say it was her intimidating demeanour that made the girl so quick on her feet, but that wasn't the case. Her nephew, Roy Mustang, was growing up to be quite the handsome young gentleman. He was only a young teen, but already his respectful demeanour and somewhat impressive confidence made girls swoon. Since the death of his parents when he was young, Chris had been raising him here in East City; as a result, he was constantly in the company of attractive older women. Chris knew that he would soon become interested in the baser pleasures of life, (his surroundings were enough of an influence, she was surprised he hadn't started already) and as such, she had already taken precautions. She decided to drill the importance of honesty into his head. She didn't want her Roy-boy to be one of those men who tricked women into bed, simply because they enjoyed sex and had the looks and charm to do so. She told him to never make false promises that he didn't intend to keep, explaining in explicit detail exactly what she would do to him if she ever heard (and she would hear if it happened) that he'd been going around breaking hearts. By the time she had finished talking to him, he'd developed a bad case of the shakes and hadn't slept for nearly a week afterward.

"Busy night tonight, Madame Christmas?" The man sitting before her broke into her musings.

"Not at all. I may suffer from the lack of revenue." Chris leaned on the counter and glanced over at him. "What are you doing here anyway, you old pervert? I thought you were working in Central. This is the third time I've seen you this week."

"Ah, well, as of last week, I've been assigned as the Commanding General of the Eastern Area." He downed his drink and sat down the empty glass. "I thought it would be nice to get to know some of your gorgeous ladies as long as I'm going to be in East City. This place has quite the reputation around here, you know?" His moustache twitched as he offered her a sly smile. "I've heard talk that what goes on in the City is best known at the Madame's place."

Chris shrugged. "My girls get around. They hear what's been said. Sometimes, they're willing to share, if you ask nicely. A lot of it is just pointless gossip that nobody is really interested in."

"But not all." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sometimes cases are wrapped up by a tiny bit of information from the most unlikely source. An old man notices some hooligans loitering in the wrong place. A young woman spots a friend walking off with a man she doesn't know. And sometimes they notice important things that you wouldn't expect. The common people are a lot more observant than those in power give them credit for. Such gossip may be deemed as insignificant by most, but I think it's wiser to listen to them."

Chris drummed her manicured nails on the countertop. "Perhaps my girls might be willing to share what they see and hear with a little bit of 'incentive'."

He broke into a wide smile. "Then perhaps I should make this place a regular stop in my schedule from now on."

"Perhaps…" Chris trailed off as footsteps resounded on the stairs. Her nephew descended, closely followed by a sulky Isabelle. He had no doubt been studying his Alchemy again. When he did, he tended to pay less attention to the outside world, including flirtatious girls, hence the sullen young woman who was returning to the corner with the others. Carefully avoiding the mess on the floor, he made his way over to the bar.

"You wanted to see me?"

"That's right." Chris pointed to the broken glass. "Can you do something about that? I'd rather not have to pay for new ones every time one gets broken."

He bent down and examined the mess before looking back up at her. "I can fix the glass for sure. I think the alcohol is beyond recovery though." Taking out a stick of chalk, he began to draw a circle around it.

"Ahhh…" Leaning forward from his seat, the old man watched the boy with interest. "You know Alchemy, young man?"

"Yes, sir," Roy replied, shooting a questioning glance at his aunt.

"Roy-boy, this is Lieutenant General Grumman." She gestured to the man sitting at the bar. "He's the commanding General of East City Headquarters. General Grumman, this is my nephew and foster son, Roy Mustang."

Rising from his crouch, Roy offered him a formal salute. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"Likewise," he replied. He watched as the boy placed his hands on the circle, activating it. Blue light flashed, and the shattered pieces on the floor re-formed into a proper glass, which Roy picked up and showed off triumphantly.

"Thanks, Roy-boy," Chris said as he placed it on the counter.

"Impressive," Grumman remarked, studying the glass. "Where have you learnt this from, young man?"

"Alchemy texts, sir." Roy picked up a cloth from the bar, and used it to wipe the chalk and alcohol from the floor. "I've been studying them in my spare time."

"You haven't had proper instruction then?" Grumman asked as Roy finished cleaning the floor, and went behind the bar to rinse the cloth in the sink. "You should find yourself a teacher. It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste."

"I want to learn more, sir." Roy straightened, and faced the older man seriously. "One day I want to join the military to do what I can for the people of my country. I feel I could do so much more if I were a State Alchemist. I've heard the State evaluation for Alchemists is extremely difficult. I'm well aware that I wouldn't be able to pass without proper instruction. I would like to improve my knowledge, and for that I need a teacher."

Grumman laughed jovially at the boy's earnestness. "You certainly are determined, aren't you?"

"That's my Roy-boy." Chris put a hand on her nephew's shoulder. "I'm expecting big things from him. We've looked around the city, but we haven't been able to find him a teacher yet. Worst-case scenario, I might have to send him off to Central… I don't suppose you know of any good Alchemists in the city, do you?"

"Good Alchemists in the city…?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, I'm afraid not. Though I think I may be able to offer an alternative solution."

"Alternative?" Chris asked, glancing down at the hopeful boy beside her. "By all means, let's hear it."

"I do know of a talented Alchemist who lives in a country town a few hours away from here," he replied. "I can give you his address. His name his Berthold Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye?" She frowned. "I haven't heard the name before."

"He's something of a recluse," Grumman replied, smiling bitterly. "But he is very talented and devoted to his work. I would give you a phone number, but I can't guarantee that you'll be able to reach him that way. You will have to visit, and talk to him directly. Even then, convincing him to teach the boy may prove difficult. He can be rather tenacious at times."

"You leave that to me." Chris picked up a pad of paper and a pencil and sat them in front of him. "If I can get him to take Roy as his apprentice, it will be one less thing to worry about. I can be stubborn too. Give me the address."

Picking up the utensil, he moved to write it down. But as the pencil touched the paper, he paused, and looked back up at her. "It would… Probably be for the best if you didn't mention me when you see him."

"Oh?" Chris smirked at him. "You don't get along?"

"Something like that…" He scribbled across the paper and handed it back to her. "Rather, he doesn't like me. I don't dislike the man as such. He's just a bit… Hard to deal with…"

"And why does he dislike you?"

The man laughed, and got to his feet. "Now, now, that's a story for another day. I'm glad we could reach an understanding today, Madame. I'll take my leave, and I hope for your success."

"I'll see you again sometime, I'm sure."

Roy saluted the man once again. "Thank you for the assistance, sir. I really appreciate it."

Grumman chuckled and waved on his way to the door. "Don't thank me just yet! Do it later, once you've been taught! It was nice to meet you, young man!"

With that, he was gone. Chris looked at the paper in her hand thoughtfully. "I'll go visit this man tomorrow. With luck, he'll agree to take you on, Roy-boy."

"Yeah." The teen grinned up at her. "I'm going to go and study some more!" he declared, turning and racing up the stairs two at a time.

Chris shook her head at the boy's enthusiasm, before turning her attention to the girls lingering in the corner. "Charlotte!"

One of the women, a tall, busty redhead, got to her feet. "Yes, Madame?"

"I'm going to need you to watch the place tomorrow. I have a train to catch."

XxX

Chris Mustang stared at the house in front of her for a moment, then looked at the address on the gate, checking it against the paper she held. It was the same. She was beginning to think that Grumman had tricked her, because this was not she had expected of the house of a supposed master Alchemist. The house itself could not really be called a house; manor might've been a more appropriate word. That, she had been expecting. She had not expected, however, the paint to be flaking from the walls, and the signs of deterioration in several places; no doubt the result of damp. The grass within the yard was untouched, and what had probably once been a garden was now overgrown with weeds. Grass poked out from between the cobblestones that made a path to the front door. As she dubiously pushed open the iron gate, it screeched painfully in protest, signifying that it had been a long time since it had last received a good oiling. She had thought that an Alchemist's residence would have been better maintained.

I doubt anyone even lives here… she thought bitterly as she pounded briskly on the door. It looks too untouched. Perhaps that Hawkeye fellow has died, and no one noticed, or wanted to buy the house. If someone lived here, surely they'd keep the place in better condition. Or maybe Grumman lied about an Alchemist living here… If that old perv has pulled a fast one on me, I'm going to dump his rotting corpse in the river; I don't care WHAT he's the Commanding General of!

Much to her surprise, the door opened after a few moments. Looking straight ahead to greet the adult she had expected, she had to look down considerably to meet the eyes the child who had answered her summons.

"Yes?" the girl asked cautiously.

"Uh…" Here was another thing she had not been expecting. Grumman had claimed this Hawkeye man was a loner, so she had suspected he would live by himself. The young girl couldn't be older than ten or so. She was dressed sensibly for her age in a long-sleeved shirt and calf-length skirt. Her blonde hair was cut short, which made her amber eyes stand out considerably. Those eyes watched her with suspicion as she laboured to find something to say.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked as Chris was lost for words.

"Yeah…" she replied, relieved to get straight to the point. "I'm looking for a man named Berthold Hawkeye. I was told that he lives here."

"He does," the girl said bluntly. There was a long pause as the child didn't elaborate or invite her inside.

"…I'm here to speak with him," she prodded finally. "Is he busy?"

"He's always busy." The girl opened the door a bit wider, though there was still some hesitancy in her manner. "Does he… Know that you're coming?"

"No. He doesn't. But I heard he was a talented Alchemist. I want him to teach my nephew."

The girl looked back over her shoulder for a moment before facing Chris once again. "I'll go see if he'll meet with you. Please, come in."

Chris followed her inside. After telling her to wait, the girl walked up the stairs, leaving Chris standing alone in the hall. She took the time to look around at the inside of the house. Compared to the state of the yard outside, it was surprisingly clean. The only hints that the property was neglected in any way were the cobwebs hanging from the roof; too high to reach, probably. An open door on the left led to the living room and another to the kitchen; the doors on the right were closed. Everything she could see was drab and simple in contrast to other houses she had seen that were this large. The light tap of shoes alerted her to the return of the young girl.

"Father will see you," she said simply.

Chris followed her up the stairs. So this girl was the man's daughter then? Of course, what else would she be? Well, she could have been a student, perhaps. But if the man had a daughter, perhaps he wasn't as much of a nutter as Grumman had made him out to be. The Hawkeye girl led her off to a door on the right and knocked gently before opening the door and gesturing for her to go inside. As she did so, she glanced around the room. Bookshelves lined all four walls; every one was filled with books and scrolls. There were also several piles of books on the floor, probably because they wouldn't fit anywhere else. The man she assumed was Berthold Hawkeye sat at the lone desk in the room, scribbling on a sheet of paper. She walked over and stopped in front of the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Much to her irritation, he continued to write.

"Berthold Hawkeye?" she asked formally. He ignored her, still working away on the page in front of him. Normally such blatant rudeness would result in her giving the man a good tongue-lashing, but she refused to lose her temper. She didn't want to spoil Roy's chances of getting a decent teacher. Taking in a breath, she continued. "My name is Chris Mustang. I came here from East City to ask you to take my nephew as your apprentice."

The man finished what he was writing, sitting his pen down carefully as he looked up at her. His gaze was sharp and focused, much like the bird he was named after. "Why should I bother attempting to teach Alchemy to yet another ungrateful brat?" he demanded. "They come in, all conceited, saying they want to learn, then give up when they realise that it requires work. They think they can just draw a circle and get results. They don't want to know about the required studying, let alone take the time to actually do it."

"My Roy is not ungrateful," she replied evenly. "He genuinely wants to learn. He's at his books every day, so I know he's willing to do the legwork. He would not waste your time."

"And I should accept your word on this, should I? That your boy is so different from the usual rabble?"

"You could…" Chris crossed her arms over her chest as she looked down at him. She didn't really like the man's automatic presumption that she was wasting his time, but he really was her best chance of getting Roy a teacher. If she had to kiss his ass to ensure her boy was taught properly, she would. "Or you could meet him and decide for yourself. If you don't think he's capable, then reject him, and I'll apologise for wasting your time. But if you think he may have some talent, then take him on. That's all I ask."

He stared up at her for a few seconds before letting out a harsh bark of laughter. "Very well," he said, smiling darkly. "Bring the boy to me next week, and I'll make my assessment. If he proves competent and willing, I will teach him everything I know. But if I find him lacking, then I don't want to be bothered by either of you again. Is this acceptable?"

"Fine," Chris agreed.

The man retrieved his pen and returned to his work. "I will see you and the boy next week then. Riza will show you out, Miss Mustang."

It was a rather obvious dismissal. Biting back a scathing reply, she turned around and walked over to the doorway where the young girl, Riza, was standing. "Very well. I'll be back then." The man did not reply any further.

Grumman was right… Chris thought to herself. That man doesn't like having people around. She looked down at Riza. But he has a daughter, so I suppose he can't have always been like this.

"You live here with just your father?" she asked as the girl walked her back down the hall.

"Yes."

"Don't you have a mother?" Though from the state of the yard and the man who was locked away in his study, she doubted it. The sad twist of the girl's mouth confirmed her suspicion.

"My mother died a few years ago."

"Ah… I'm sorry to hear that." They stopped at the door, and Chris offered the girl a hand, which she shyly took. "I will see you again next week, Riza Hawkeye."

As she walked out the creaky iron gate, Chris turned and looked back. The young girl was still standing in the open doorway, watching her.

It's probably lonely for her in that house. Chris thought as she waved goodbye to the girl, who returned the gesture hesitantly. Her father doesn't seem like he's interested in anything but his work. I suppose, at the very least, if the man takes Roy on, she might have a bit more company.

Well, please let me know what you think with that review button! Constructive criticism is welcome. Pointless flames will be ignored.