Riza did not like being a teenager, and she couldn't wait till it was over.
It was awkward, difficult, and mostly painful. At 17, she still hadn't properly started growing upwards, despite everybody else taking off like the weeds that dominated the end of her garden, but she was 'developing' fast, as her father had so delicately put it. However, boys her age had long since learnt that there was no point chasing something that didn't want to be chased. The girls she knew, meanwhile, couldn't understand why she was happier reading a good book then tramping through the streets in the evenings searching out suitors.
A tree branch swished close to her nose, and she batted it out of the way impatiently. She'd walked all over the gardens with the fool that morning, looking for some plants that her father had deemed necessary for the next stage of his research. This part of the gardens had been long forgotten, for reasons she was never made aware of, and the idiotic, gangly twerp had persuaded her that it would be a great idea to rediscover it.
He was striding ahead of her now, barging his way through the willows and oaks that stood guard. He was pushing branches out the way with ease, while Riza fought against the brambles. His legs are too long, she thought grumpily, as he made his way confidently through the undergrowth and she fell behind. She should call out to him, tell him to wait for her, but that would mean he would get his insufferable "it's-because-you're-a-girl-that-you're-like-this" face just like he always did, despite how completely ridiculous the whole notion was, and he would never let her live it down -
SMACK.
She watched as one of his stupid, oversized feet became tangled in a fallen branch, and he fell face first on the floor.
He was so clumsy. Idiot. But her father would never forgive her if she just left him.
"Do you need a hand up?" she asked, clambering over the branch delicately to assess the damage. He looked up, face tinged red with embarrassment, and Riza fought the urge not to laugh at him. She extended a hand, and helped him get to his feet.
He towered over her by a good few inches now, his messy black mop sticking up all over the place. Grunting thanks, he brushed past her, evidently nursing his wounded pride. Riza puffed her long blonde fringe out of her eyes. She was trying to grow it out without her father noticing; he would probably never allow it, but she thought it made her look so young. The awkward fringe was, however, beginning to hinder her shooting.
Her father had given her her own gun on her 15th birthday. As he had "no blood son" (Riza had detected a hint of sadness in his voice, but had said nothing), he would continue the Hawkeye tradition of the gift of a pistol to the firstborn son by granting one to his only daughter instead. Although he never expressly said it, Riza thought her father considered this a great honour for her. She was only allowed to shoot it under careful supervision of her father, and was never permitted near it otherwise.
When she held her gun in both hands, she felt complete. Her hands would interlock with it, connect with every part, and her mind would focus solely on her target. Nothing ever worried her when she held her gun. Her father was impressed with her, for what felt like the only time in her short life, yet when she had the gun none of that seemed to matter. It was her, her bullet, and her shot.
The only time she had ever missed her target in two years was when that boy had slammed into the room to show her father a new piece of research he had found, jogging her paper and causing her to shoot slightly too far right. Her father had later commented on her "mistake", forgetting the circumstances under which it had taken place. Riza took a sordid pleasure in the knowledge that Roy was a much worse shot than her.
It wasn't his fault really, Riza knew that, but she was getting sick of him taking all the credit all the time, for being the brother that she didn't want, for being the son her father had dreamed of. He was always nosing into her business, had tried to read her diary more than once by attempting to break through the padlock. He would be sorely disappointed if he did, Riza thought to herself. Most of it was about her progress in shooting or how irritating she'd found Roy that day.
She watched his back as he stormed onwards, battling offending trees and bushes. He had definitely grown taller again, and his back was broader than she remembered. His hair had become more unruly, aided no doubt by him running his hands through it every time a girl caught his eye. He wasn't that much older than her, but he certainly tried to act it, she thought grumpily.
He had learnt long ago that she was a definite exception to his ever growing list of conquests; she had made that incredibly clear. His hand had crept uncomfortably high up her leg at a dinner where he'd been allowed wine and instantly abused that privilege, and she had slapped him full across the face before he'd realised what was going on. They'd kept their distance from each other ever since.
Riza was so lost in angry thought about the idiot that she walked straight into him.
"Ow!" she yelped, catching her balance. "Why did you stop?"
Roy said nothing. He was too busy staring into space like the fool he was, Riza thought angrily, following the line of his eye.
A river sang quietly, its babbles only interrupted by small rocks lying on its bed. The colours seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun, as a lazy heron perched in the water, occasionally diving in to catch some small fish. A huge weeping willow spread its branches like a blanket across the clearing that had opened up in front of them. A white wooden bench, just big enough for two, was nestled in the depths of the leaves.
Riza walked slowly forward, in awe of the beauty she was surrounded by. She had had no idea this part of her garden even existed. Without realising it, she slipped off her shoes, sat on the bank of the river, and allowed the water to gently lap over her bare legs, grazing the edge of her shorts that her father let her wear in the summer months when it was too warm for the women in town to worry about her being ladylike.
She became aware that Roy was hanging back. She turned to look at him, and inclined her head slightly. He looked suspiciously at her.
"It's too nice a place to fight," she said. "Come on." Warily, he walked across the clearing, and sat down next to her. As he realised she wasn't going to be annoyed at him, or shout at him, or generally do what she normally did, he lay on his back, head by Riza's legs, and stared upwards at the tree that covered them with dappled shade.
They sat in comfortable silence, Riza lazily wiggling each toe, Roy dozing peacefully in the sunlight. Riza studied him when she was sure his eyes were closed. She supposed it wasn't an ugly face. She could see why so many of the girls she knew obsessed over Roy, invited themselves round to her house despite having nothing but contempt or disdain for her and her father. In fact, she thought, as a lock of hair fell away from his face, he was quite attractive, in an idiotic, gangly way.
"Stop staring at me."
Riza jumped, and quickly looked out over the river.
"I wasn't."
Roy opened one eye, and nudged Riza's thigh with a fist.
"Yeah, you were. Admit it."
"Fine," Riza grinned, "I was just thinking how much of an improvement it would be if I blackened one of your eyes. At least then you'd be a bit more interesting to look at."
To her surprise, Roy didn't retort. He merely punched her playfully on the thigh again and smiled.
"That's it?" Riza asked. "No comeback? No 'you're one to talk'? Who are you, and what have you done with Roy Mustang?"
Roy grabbed her arm and pulled her down so her head lay on his chest. Her legs splashed as her body tried to break free of this new, uncomfortable position.
"Hawkeye, for once in your life, shut up and enjoy the view, will you?"
Riza sat up, disgruntled, and pulled her legs out of the water. She turned to say something, anything, to piss off Roy, before she realised he was dozing in the sunlight once more, like the fat cat that lived on the apple stall in the marketplace. He wasn't trying to wind her up. He wasn't trying to be the fool. He just wanted to enjoy the sunlight with her. Why did that make her feel so uncomfortable?
Gingerly, she lay down in the grass, using Roy's surprisingly muscular chest for a pillow, and stared off into the distant blue sky. Gradually, she relaxed.
"Riza?"
"Hmm?" Riza could feel herself drifting off.
"What are you thinking right now?"
"You know, Mustang," Riza yawned, smiling, "that is one of the girliest things I think you've ever said to me."
"I'm serious," he said, and Riza's head slid forward as Roy sat up, "what are you thinking?"
Riza thought for a minute, head resting on Roy's legs. He was staring at her now, eyes boring in. Riza hadn't ever really had a conversation like this with Roy. It put her on edge again. She wondered if that's what she should tell him.
"Honestly?" she said, and Roy nodded, completely in earnest. "I'm thinking this is probably the nicest you've ever been. It's shattering my nerves, Roy."
Roy looked at her, puzzled. Riza sighed.
"Look, can I be frank with you?"
"I thought you were Riza," Roy grinned. Riza hit him in the ribs. "Sorry, go ahead."
"Well," Riza said, head still in Roy's lap, "ever since you came to live with us, you've…well, you've annoyed me. You've always cosied up to Father, you've never once asked how I feel about you living here, you barge into my room and go through all my stuff, and, well, today's the first time in about 10 years that you've actually asked me a decent question. No, really," she added, as Roy opened his mouth to protest, "name one time you've asked me anything at all except for if I can pass the potatoes at dinner."
Roy studied her intensely. Riza couldn't quite hold his gaze. She was suddenly very aware of where her head was.
Roy broke their eye contact, puffing hair away from his eyes.
"Well shit, Hawkeye," he sighed, lying back down again. "I guess you're right. Sorry."
"No problem," Riza replied, shifting her head back onto his chest, and she was surprised to find that she meant it. "What about you?"
Roy was very quiet, and for a moment Riza worried that she'd overstepped some mark.
"Well… I was thinking how nice it would be if you were my girlfriend. Wait, not a girlfriend," Roy added quickly, as Riza shot upwards, face ablaze, "I mean a friend who's a girl. Someone I can say stuff like this to, Riza. Look, I go through all your stuff because I just don't get you, at all. You're this ice queen who won't let me get to know you, but… I want to, okay? It's not for want of trying, I'm just terrified of saying the wrong thing, I always seem to annoy you without even meaning to, I don't have a damn clue what you like except for your gun, but we live with each other, we're practically in each other's pockets half the time, and you're probably the best friend I have." Roy stopped suddenly, slightly out of breath. Riza had the sudden thought that Roy had wanted to say this for a long time.
"I… I'm your best friend? Seriously?" Riza studied him intensely, shuffling round to look him in the eyes. Roy smiled ruefully. "Come off it, Roy, you're so popular! Everybody loves you!"
"Yes, Riza, everybody loves me. Doesn't mean they're my friend."
She pondered this for a moment. "Fair enough, Mustang. Seems there's more than sawdust and firewood in that head of yours. I guess... it wouldn't be so bad if we were friends."
Roy grabbed Riza's arm.
"Roy Mustang, you let go of me right now or so help you I – "
Riza felt herself collapse into his arms as he pulled her down.
"Hey, Mustang, get off!"
Riza tried to pull herself free, until she felt Roy shake slightly. The moment she paused, Roy buried his face into her shoulder, and she suddenly realised.
Roy was just as lonely as she was.
She gently extracted her arms, which were crushed against his chest, and wrapped them around him, stroking his hair softly as he cried into hers.