Mother and Father

For the first time in her life, Riza Hawkeye was sorry to see one of her father's students go.

Normally, she relished the moment. It meant that she was free again. It meant that she could roam her own hallways at any hour of the day or night, openly, without worrying about unwanted flirtation or being bullied. She could sit and read for hours in the same place without fear of being found out or interrupted. She could relax. She could breathe.

But he had been different. He had been the only 'apprentice' who'd even bothered learning her first name. He'd been the only one to look at her and really see her. He'd been the only one who treated her as an equal rather than a servant, as a person rather than a tool, as a friend rather than a means to an end. In fact, Roy Mustang had been her first real friend.

Small wonder, then, that the silence of the old house was more oppressive than peaceful once he'd gone. Even her father was quieter than usual. Riza knew that he felt it too—the loneliness and regret seeping into their bones right along with the chill of the fog rising off the river.

So it didn't startle her as much as it might have when he reached out and gently took hold of her wrist one morning, although she did spill the cup of tea she'd been carrying to him. For a moment, he just stared at her, his light blue eyes flicking rapidly across her face, her slender frame, and her earnest brown eyes, while the tea stain seeped slowly through the papers on his desk. And then he frowned.

His daughter, he realized, was becoming a beautiful young woman.

"Go upstairs and change into some old clothes, child," he told her. "I'll wait for you behind the house, at the edge of the wheat field."

"Yes, papa," she replied demurely. It didn't occur to her to question his order, much less refuse. Although she did wonder what she'd done; why the mere sight of her upset him so.

Five minutes later, she wove her way through her beloved garden to join her father. He stood with his back to her, motionless in the dappled shade of the trees that bordered his once-extensive fields. Most of them had been sold off, now.

"I won't be around forever," he said as she approached, without even turning his head. "You will have to fend for yourself when I am gone. Protect yourself and your home from any external threat."

"I understand," she said softly, even as her heart gave a painful throb in her breast.

"Do you?" He turned his piercing gaze on her at last, revealing an unexpected whirlpool of anxiety and fear in his deep-set eyes, so like and yet unlike her own.

Riza didn't know how to respond, so she held her tongue, a slight frown of confusion on her gentle face. After a moment, her father sighed.

"Never mind, child. You are going to learn how to defend yourself. I will teach you." He bent down to retrieve a box resting near his feet. Riza was astonished at the array of handguns and ammunition inside.

"Are you saying…" the words died in her throat as her father calmly selected one of the guns.

"We'll start with something simple. This is a .38 revolver," he stated, placing the unloaded gun in her hands as he spoke. "This is called the chamber. It holds six rounds." Without further preamble, he launched into a detailed explanation of the mechanics of the weapon.

Berthold showed his daughter how to load the rounds, how to expel the empty brass shells once they had all been fired, how to cock and pull the trigger, and how to release the cocked trigger without firing. He explained what was meant by single action and double action, and how her accuracy and aim would be impacted by each. He even smiled faintly when she fumbled the chamber open for the first time by herself, nervous but determined to imitate what he'd just shown her. He gently corrected her grip and moved her fingers into the correct places. Patient with her inexperience in a way he had never been before.

Once she'd loaded the gun herself and closed the chamber (with hands that only trembled a little), he directed her attention to the targets he'd set up on bales of hay nearby. He stood just behind her, corrected her posture and her stance, and showed her how to aim. And then he told her to fire.

Bang...Bang...Bang. BangBangBang.

She emptied the chamber into the black and white target pinned to the hay bale, and dutifully cleared the empty shells just as he'd just shown her. The pungent scent of gunpowder lingered in the air for just a moment.

As the adrenaline surged through her, Riza grinned and let out a shaky little laugh.

"Let's see how you've done," her father said. She started to follow him to the target, but froze at his sharp inhalation of breath. Oh god, was she terrible? Had she missed every shot? Would he let her try again? Give her just one more chance?

It was so strange. She'd never dreamed of picking up a weapon in her life, but suddenly she was petrified that he'd take it away from her.

Just as she opened her mouth to plead for another chance, her father turned back to her, and the proud expression on his face stopped her heart. He'd never once looked at her like that before.

"Look at that. You're a natural, my girl." He showed her six little holes in the paper, all neatly clustered in the center circle of the target. "All right. Again."

They keep at the lesson until sunset. Berthold had four other guns besides the .38 they'd started with, and Riza showed the same innate proficiency for all of them. She hit every target, with fairly consistent accuracy, even when he moved her 20 feet further away from the targets. As they walked back to the house in the slowly fading light, she felt his eyes on her face again.

"Your mother would be proud," he said, so quietly that she thought for a moment she'd imagined it.

"My mother?" Riza repeated stupidly. They never talked about her mother.

"Yes. In fact, I think she would have wanted you to have these," he answered, with a small gesture to the box in his arms. "They were hers, you know." Riza was struck speechless once again.

"I—they—what?" Berthold bestowed one of his exceedingly rare smiles on his bewildered daughter.

"She was the one who taught me to handle a gun, many years ago. And her father taught her when she was just a girl. Your mother was an excellent markswoman, and you appear to take after her in that respect. She would be proud of you."

"Oh," she managed. The dull ache of her old loss mingled with an odd, new, fierce joy bubbling in her chest. She stayed silent for another moment, and then she blurted out: "Thank you. For showing me. For teaching me."

"It brings me comfort," he said quietly. "Knowing that you are capable of looking after yourself. Of defending yourself. Knowing that, should anyone try anything once I am gone, they would not find you so easy a target as they might imagine."

"Yes, papa," she said, even as a shiver ran down her spine. She wished she had more confidence in her ability to fend off potential intruders.

It occurred to her that her father had talked with her more in this one afternoon than he normally did in a month. And she wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge.

He stopped abruptly, so she did too. She looked up at him. Without a word, he reached out one hand and laid it on her cheek. Riza froze in shock at the unprecedented caress. Her father studied her face again, with the same intense, fiery stare.

"One day you will surprise even yourself, child," he said at length. "You are a survivor. You will endure, my lion-hearted girl." And with that, Berthold disappeared into the house, leaving Riza standing stunned in the garden.

A.N. So, I handled and fired my very first gun recently. And I must say-it was exhilarating. Though nowhere near as good as Riza, I did kill my little target guy dead. Many times :D

Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated!

xoxo Janie