Prior to attending the East Amestris Military Academy, the longest Riza has ever been away from home is a few weekends spent in Central when she was a child.
Now she lives in the far end of a barrack, stretching wide and filled with young men who are desperate to prove themselves. At night, a haphazardly raised partition separates Riza's bunk and those of the other three women in this particular barrack from the rest of their compatriots.
On the first day, they and the other nine women in the class of 300 cadets are all called before the commandant for a special address and told in no uncertain terms that no less is expected from them and that they will be treated no differently than any other cadet.
The real rules make themselves apparent rather quickly, but Riza is more determined than she's ever been about anything before and far too settled on her choice to turn back.
She can't call it a rash decision because she thought about it—agonized over it, in fact—for far too long for that to apply. It was, however, an emotional decision, driven by a need to carve out her own place in the world and an attachment inherited from her father, grown into something else that she doesn't know how to name.
Wild thoughts about her inevitable failure filled her mind for weeks before she arrived, and they creep around the corners of her consciousness afterwards as well. Thoughts about how beyond her capabilities this is sure to be, about how disappointed her father would be in her, about how ridiculous it is to think that she of all people, barely eighteen and with nothing to recommend her, can be a soldier.
She beats it all back, buries it under the regimented rhythms of the curriculum and physical training. Soon enough, she finds something comforting in the routine. There's security in the sameness and peace of mind by default when she's too tired to even dream at night. She sees the way the other girls deal with it all out of the corner of her eye, the little habits and quirks of behavior that give away bits of their internal processes.
Sometimes, Riza is curious about what brought them there and what keeps them there, but that's among the first rules that they learned. You don't intentionally group yourself with the other girls, because then you're just clucking hens or gossipy birds or some other small, silly non-human thing playing around like you're at a sleepover. It doesn't matter that it's unfair, what does matter is never giving them any reason not to take you seriously.
Riza needs to make it through for a lot of reasons, chief among them being that she has no idea what to do if she doesn't.
oOo
She doesn't exactly try to distinguish herself, but there's no denying her talent for shooting and she's not going to pretend to be less than she is. It's about being patient, silent, and composed, and Riza has been practicing that all her life, long before she ever picked up a gun. After that, it's not a big chore to learn how to hold her shoulders just right or always remember to pull the trigger between heartbeats.
The "for a girl" drops from the compliments by her second year and she becomes a bit of a curiosity. She still keeps her hair short, the hairline razor straight at the nape of her neck, and her shoulders have gotten broad from training. Muscles that she'd never used before now stand out strong and lean. No one seems to mind. They also seem to immediately forget the reason she piqued their interest in the first place.
"You should tighten your stance."
Riza doesn't move a muscle or shift her gaze from staring down her barrel. Cadet Raisman has been giving her the eye all week, and he apparently didn't take the hint when she refused to return it.
There's a chuckle in his voice when he speaks again, realizing she's ignoring him. Though, really, she could just as easily be trying to concentrate.
"I'm just saying you're holding the gun too far away. It's not going to bite."
Riza would explain to him that her center of gravity is different than his, as is the way she's shaped and which muscles are strongest, but she doesn't want to give him any excuse to comment on her body. Besides, she's learned that actions speak louder.
She pulls the trigger and the corners of her mouth curl up at her kill shot. One of many.
"I think I've got it," she says and glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
His disappointment is plain and it's edged with frustration. Before he has a chance to say anything else, however, a third voice joins the conversation.
"If she doesn't want any tips, I'll accept some," says a woman on Raisman's other side, rifle slung over her shoulder. She's a first year, tall, with long, wavy hair. Riza knows that her name is Rebecca Catalina. There are only half a dozen more women in her year than Riza's. If Catalina minds, Riza can't tell. She's seen her around, loud and outrageously flirtatious, as if she doesn't know how things work, and maybe she doesn't.
The men who want to "help" need to be ignored just as studiously as the bullies.
Raisman eyes Catalina and purrs out a "Sure" before standing far closer to her than necessary to provide instructions.
Riza returns to her own shooting and tunes out the chatter and giggling so well that she doesn't notice until she's about to leave that Raisman has gone, but Catalina is still there, face screwed up in concentration.
Riza's not entirely sure what to make of it as she packs up, but she hears herself speak before she even thinks about it.
"Don't squint so much," she says.
Catalina shoots again, then looks at Riza curiously.
"Keep your eyes open when you're evaluating the target. If you have to squint, only squint your off eye and only just as you shoot. It's best to keep both eyes fully open the whole time, though."
"Any other advice, sir?" Catalina asks wryly as she tosses off a lazy salute. She's smiling though and Riza can't see anything mean-spirited in it, which is what further loosens her tongue.
"Yes. Stay away from Raisman," Riza replies.
Catalina gets up and begins packing her things, evidently deciding that she's done as well .
"Why? Don't you think he's cute?" she asks as she empties the chamber of her rifle.
"That's not the point," Riza says.
Catalina catches her eye and frowns.
"Oh, you weren't playing hard to get were you?" she asks, voice thick with sympathy. "Actually, that does seem like it would be your thing. You came off pretty serious though. You need to give them a little more if you're going to reel them in, you know."
"I guarantee you I have no interest in reeling Raisman anywhere." Riza tries not to sound too indignant, but she probably fails.
"Then what's the problem?" Catalina asks, genuine curiosity evident.
"For one thing, he's a terrible shot and, for another, it's just not a good idea for us to get involved with other soldiers." Who is encapsulated in 'us' is plain.
Catalina laughs.
"Why? Because what- then they won't want to think of me as a real soldier?"
Riza isn't sure whether she's more surprised by the incisiveness of the statement or how casually Catalina says it. The other woman continues, unpeturbed.
"The way I see it, any real man isn't going to stop thinking of me as a soldier just because he's reminded that I'm a woman. And," she assures Riza with a gleam in her eye, "I'm only looking for real men."
"I think they'd better look out for you," Riza manages and she realizes that she's smiling in spite of herself.
"Damn straight," Catalina agrees. "But if Raisman's such a terrible shot, I think it's up to you to give me pointers."
Riza's not entirely sure how to respond to that, but she doesn't get a chance before Catalina's launched into a series of questions about rifle sights.
oOo
Mail call is every two weeks, a ragged line curving near the parade grounds, military precision briefly ignored in the rush for care packages and family updates.
Riza never expects anything, for various reasons, and this expectation is never upset. But she still thinks of letters every second Saturday, of the words and phrases that swirl in her mind but never make it to paper and the crumpled card at the bottom of the trunk at the foot of her bunk.
She could send one and she knows with great certainty that it would get a response. What she doesn't know is what they are, whether they're anything at all, or what she wants. She's not ready to find out.
Besides that, somewhere along the way, she realized that she wants to do this alone.
Well, not entirely alone. After their conversation at the shooting range, Rebecca Catalina attaches herself to Riza with a tenacity that is to be admired.
It can't really be called an underclassman idolizing an upperclassman or anything of that sort. Rebecca has a sharp tongue and sends Riza up just as often as Riza does her. It's just that somewhere along the way, Rebecca decided that they should be friends and, unspoken rules be damned, resistance was futile.
So, they sit together in the mess and go to the range together in their downtime. Rebecca even convinces Riza to use her leave. They go into East City and Riza remembers what it's like to wear something besides uniforms and fatigues and finds out what it's like to dance and drink.
They talk about the same things the others do: restlessness and rumors about border skirmishes and the pains of endurance training. They attempt to separate fact from fiction regarding the woman who just made brigadier general and look forward to eventual graduation.
Every once in a while, they discuss the question that used to burn in Riza's mind about her compatriots: why they joined up.
Rebecca has a very detailed life plan involving a successful military career, the man who proves himself good enough for her lofty standards, and possibly some manner of world domination.
When it's Riza's turn to answer, she can never offer a satisfactory response. The truth is too complicated and she might not understand it entirely herself. She has to slice it into neat segments, all equally true and equally a lie, without considering it as a whole.
Because she wants to give of herself for a greater cause, to be for the people, as her father used to say. Because she believes Amestris can be peaceful someday, but right now it's in turmoil and someone has to protect it. (Because her father would have hated her joining the army and sometimes she hates him.) (Because there's someone very specific she wants to protect.)
Mostly she just falls back on the simplest one:
"I don't have anywhere else to go."
oOo
The end of her second year approaches and there isn't a single place on base where there aren't cadets discussing their probable first postings. Where in the field you spend your final year can determine a lot about your career.
The biggest talk is, of course, Ishval, and Riza, unfortunately, has no trouble believing that things have gotten bad enough that they're going to start sending in cadets. The losses have been staggering.
Riza tells Rebecca that she has no preference when asked and it's true enough. Cadets can put in requests, but they are rarely honored. Riza has little reason to prefer one posting to another. Some of her year insist that they want Ishval. They see a chance for glory in it and maybe they're right, but Riza just remembers the death tolls and wonders how many of them are just blowing smoke.
She's on weekend leave when it's announced that they're sending the State Alchemists into Ishval.
On Saturday evening, she and Rebecca walk past an outdoor cafe with a radio blaring the news that the human weapons are being shipped to the front lines, and Riza's legs briefly stop working. She gets them going again as Rebecca stops to look back. Riza makes her way to the counter.
"Is that right?" she asks, indicating the radio.
The man nods.
"It's in the papers too. They're rolling out the freak show, hoping they can clean the place up."
She's still outside, but it feels like there's no air. The unthinkable numbers and the long lists of names all blare in her head, pounding in her skull, and she can see a future stretch out before her filled with endless, breathless moments waiting to see or hear the name that she knows.
Rebecca has doubled back and looks at her oddly, but Riza walks past her, to the end of the building and turns down the tiny alley between it and the flower shop next door. When Rebecca appears at the entrance, Riza is leaning against one wall because she's stopped trusting her legs again.
It shouldn't feel like this, some part of her thinks. She remembers how she felt standing in front of her father's grave, the slowly mounting terror that gripped her and made her want a promise that couldn't be made. It's years hence, years of separation, but somehow ten times worse.
"Someone you know?" Rebecca asks quietly. It surprises Riza how quietly. Rebecca's attempts to get Riza to talk about her past have always been anything but.
She wants to answer "yes" but she can't, because it's not true. The question doesn't encompass the weight of the matter because it's not someone she knows, it's everyone, the only one she knows—the only one she has left.
Riza doesn't realize how long she's been silent until Rebecca has pulled her into a hug and her face is buried in thick waves of dark hair.
"Whoever he is," Rebecca says softly and Riza doesn't ask her how she knows or what exactly it is she thinks she knows. "He'll make it through."
"And if he doesn't?"
"You'll make it through."
It's been a very long time since Riza's been hugged, almost as long as it had been since she had a friend. She doesn't know what to do about it or how to feel, so she just holds on.
"You aren't going to start crying on me, are you?" Rebecca asks after a long moment. "Because the lighting in the bar might hide puffy eyes and runny makeup, but do you really want to risk it?"
Rebecca pulls back to look appraisingly at Riza's face and for some reason that does nearly set her off. But Riza's never been much of a crier, so she sniffles once and it passes.
"Shut up, Rebecca," Riza says instead, voice flat and eyes grateful.
oOo
Her assignment comes up as Ishval, on the back of her flawless record and exceptional ability as a sniper. The commandant personally congratulates her and the dozen other soldiers in her class who were deemed ready for that posting. From the looks on their faces, Riza's certain that she's the only one of them who requested it.
Rebecca hovers in the barracks as Riza packs up her kit bag. She doesn't say much, not even her now regular harassments for Riza to provide information about her "Mystery Man."
When Riza's finished, she turns and sees that Rebecca is standing at attention, and as Riza watches, she snaps into a crisp salute.
"Good luck, Cadet Hawkeye."
"You too, Cadet Catalina," Riza replies, but she's slow to return the salute.
"It'll be fine, Rebecca," she adds before she turns to leave, half for her friend and half for herself.
"It will," Rebecca replies and there's a strain of command in it.
Riza hasn't really been scared, not for herself. It never occurred to her that anyone else would be. She's been anxious and restless and about a hundred different things, but not frightened. She expects fear to come on the battlefield-that's what they were taught.
She just hopes that it keeps her alive long enough to make a difference.
Author's Note: Written for aamalie at lj for fma_ladyfest. Title from "Sadie" by Joanna Newsom.