A/N: So, this is a kinda angsty rendition of Riza's early life
When Riza Hawkeye was young, her favorite game to play was make believe. While she dealt with house chores and cooking, she spent her time pretending everything was different.
She'd pretend the villagers didn't think she was a freak, that weird little girl down the road who only came down to shop or to attend the small village's school, before returning the decrepit manor she called home. She'd pretend the children didn't throw rocks at her and call her names and shove her into the dirt. She'd pretend her mother wasn't dead and her father didn't lock himself in his study, ignoring her. Most often, though, she'd pretend she had friends who always wanted to play, that she wasn't alone.
Pretending let her do whatever she wanted or be whomever she wanted. She got to cast the roles of her life and finally be a part of what she thought was a real family, a real family that wasn't broken. A real family that loved her.
When her father finally emerged from his study, she couldn't help but be glad her game of make believe was over. After all, make believe wasn't real, he was.
She couldn't hold her excitement in; he was finally going to help them become a family. She didn't have to pretend to make everything more bearable. Now that he appeared, everything would be okay again for the first time in years.
It was that night she realized how much better make believe really was. That was the night her father emerged from his study and told her how things were going to happen. He was using her as the keeper of his work, the work he had neglected her for, the work that made her the sad little girl who only played make believe.
Riza Hawkeye was eleven years old, and she discovered the truth about the real world after years of living in a fantasy. She learned what the real world was, and how cruel it could be.
It took a week of agonizing pain for him to complete the array. When it was over, he treated her back as best he could before returning to his study. Two days later he left without a word. She continued on as usual, this time, without the boost she got from her imagination.
He returned a few days later, as she had suspected, no bothering to worry about whether he would come back. She was the holder of his most precious possession; he'd be back. With him was a boy maybe two or three years older than she was. It would've been a dream come true only two weeks earlier, but she found she didn't care. She knew that nothing could fix her life, it was too late, and she knew that.
The apprentice was to stay with them until he learned all her father could teach. He lasted three months. Dozens of candidates came and went, each so confident that they would make it through Mr. Hawkeyes training and each failing.
By fourteen, Riza had seen dozens of potential candidates come and go, each more confident that the next. It wasn't long before they faded into the background, as if they weren't there.
Her life had become predictable and dull, but she never bothered playing pretend. She secretly missed the time when she believed the world was a better place, but she could never achieve the same feelings as before, therefore it was useless even trying. She woke up, went to school, returned and vaguely cleaned the house as if it was messy. Then she sat in her mother's corner on the couch, not really in touch with the world, more simply existing.
The bland monotony she called her life continued until HE showed up. At first, life continued on as always, with him generally ignoring her. Ten days passed when he spoke to her. It was odd, being spoken to without the familiar condescending or hostile tones she'd come to expect. In fact she didn't even register he was talking to her until he spoke up.
He had asked her if she needed help with dinner, she didn't respond. He asked what they were having, she realized her was speaking. He introduced himself, she whispered her name, her voice cracking as her vocal chords attempted to make themselves work.
They talked, rather he spoke and she'd occasionally respond with one or two word answers. When she went to bed, her throat was sore from the strain of overusing her underused vocal chords.
It went like that, he'd start a conversation and, after a little prodding, he was able to get her to join in. For her, it was a bizarre sensation, speaking for long periods of time, not that she really minded. It was a nice change.
She tried to remember that he too would leave eventually, that he would finally tire of her. But no matter what, she couldn't bring herself to let things go back to the way they were. She told herself she'd be prepared for his departure, that she could deal with the impending loneliness. None of this prepared her for when the day finally came.
There was a shouted argument. Doors were slammed. He came pounding down the stairs with his suitcase. She knew there was unrest between her father and Roy, but had hoped it calm. He gave her a sad smile, and left.
For the first few days, she pretended like he was still there, just holed up in his room or he'd come back any moment. But days turned to weeks and then months, still with no word form Roy. She finally accepted that he would not return.
Sometimes at night, when she sat in her mother's corner of the couch, she wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. There was no proof he was ever there. if the whole thing was a game of pretend, distorting her mind.
Time began to blur. Two years passed of bland monotony. Then he showed up again, this time in a clean, pressed, military uniform. Her father died not thirty minutes later. He set up the funeral. She revealed the secrets on her back. He left. She ended up alone once more.
Three days after his departure, she left her childhood home. She, by ways of a long lost grandfather, was admitted into the military academy, graduated early, and was sent to Ishbal, where she saw him again.
This time she knew it was him. She'd pretend it wasn't him, that the secrets had been wrestled from him. That it wasn't he who was ruthlessly slaughtering Ishbalans in the war with flame alchemy.
Sitting in her tent, she realized, playing pretend, ignoring the real world, was the only way people survived. Everyone would die. That was a fact. But for the time being, everyone would pretend they wouldn't.
Because pretending wasn't just a game; It was a way of life.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Read and Review.