Roy doesn't remember how long he had been studying under Master Hawkeye when he noticed his daughter. Not that he hadn't seen her almost daily- she made brief, background appearances, stepping out the door on the way to school or ghosting through a hallway with light, careful and deliberate steps. They never spoke, really, aside from a courteous salutation or platitudes about the weather. But he never really noticed her. In fact, the first thing he came to realize was how little he saw of her.

Master Hawkeye scratched his chin and shifted through stacks of paper as Roy stood near the door, waiting for him to fetch the notes for the day's lesson. He waited with a straight back and shoulders strong- even then, he was preparing for his future military career. After ten minutes though, his proper form disintegrated and he leaned into the doorframe as Master Hawkeye swore up and down that the papers were just here and that they included some of his most recent findings and he could not have possibly misplaced them. Somewhere along his stream of consciousness muttering of where he initially wrote them ("I had the idea from Alchemi, unt ander Majik from 1385, but I didn't put it with the text, but I read it over dinner in this corner-") he gave up looking and asked Roy to fetch Riza.

In truth, he didn't actually know where her room was, as he had never ventured there before. Beyond the location of the bathroom and the study, he didn't know where anything was. It had been roughly two months (if memory served) since he had started as a protégé of Master Hawkeye, and despite his nearly constant presence at the household he knew very little about the place and its inhabitants. Flames were not compatible with the old wooden house, so often they would work outside despite the Master's ill health. As far as the Master himself, he was a private man. Riza, though, was a complete mystery.

After knocking on two closets, he received a faint reply at the third door. "Yes?" came the cautious voice, low and guarded in tone.

"Um, the Master needs to see you," he cleared his throat- "Riza."

It sounded like an afterthought the way he said her name and Roy didn't like that. It occurred to him that it was the first time he had ever said her name. She had a very pretty name. Riza.

He hadn't heard her footsteps as she left her bed to walk to the door, and he didn't expect her when she opened it, even though he had been the one to knock. Riza wore a very flat expression. He smiled anyway, and it seemed to bother her. "Master Hawkeye can't seem to find his research papers and asked for your help," he said, trying to make the situation less awkward. It wasn't working.

Her pupils dilated and the stoic look fell into one of dread. "Oh."

Roy didn't understand how that would have upset her, and he chose to tread more lightly (if that was possible) in the future. He stepped out of the way as she quickly brushed past him and around the corner. Girls, he scoffed.

He followed at a casual pace. A knot was beginning to form in his stomach and waves of nausea began to stir his mind. Riza didn't look right. She looked far too disturbed at the mention of her father for everything to be normal.

Come to think of it, beyond when Master Hawkeye introduced Riza to him, he hadn't seen them in the same room, or interacting, ever. Once, he had spent the night on their downstairs couch after a particularly long lesson, and had been woken absurdly early at the sound of footsteps and murmuring, some strange mechanical sound, and a quiet whimpering noise that sounded disturbingly like a trapped animal. It had been too early in their relationship to ask the Master what it was. It was too far in the past to mention it now, and Roy had discovered that getting close to the man was an impossible task. There would never be any delicate conversation between the two of them. There was respect, but no amicability.

When he reached the door of the study, Master Hawkeye instructed him to wait outside the door. He did, obediently. There was a long, disturbing silence. Roy closed his eyes and tried not to let his imagination get the better of him. He didn't take Master Hawkeye to be the type to- well, he didn't even know what he suspected him of. There wasn't any indication that anything was awry, really. And yet he frowned at his shoes.

The door opened a short while after. Riza stood in the frame, blonde shaggy hair falling over her eyes. She tucked it back and looked angry with herself for needing to. For a second she locked eyes with him. Riza was far too young to have the amount bitterness in her eyes that she did- it was shot all at once at him like a well-aimed bullet, fast, unexpected, explosive, and it stung when she turned away and returned to her room. He clenched his jaw and tried to hide the sudden baseless anger that burned at his throat. "Did you find your notes?" Roy asked, suddenly defensive over nothing, channeling the anger that wanted to be expressed in his voice to his tightening fist. His knuckles were white.

"Yes." Master Hawkeye replied from the study, as he waved a freshly inked piece of paper. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

He resolved to ask Riza if she was alright.

Roy frowned at the noise in the front room, indicative of more bodies present and more dishes to be done. His hands had already shriveled to prunes from cleaning shot glasses. The clientele of Madame's shop were not necessarily bad people, but he had grown to be very protective of the staff, which was mostly composed of women in various stages of undress. At some point or another each had served as a babysitter, designated driver or a therapist to him, and the thought of trashy men trying to put their grubby hands all over his sisters was enough to make his blood boil. Roy growled something to himself and plunged his hands back into the soapy water.

Back then Chris Mustang's shop was back East- it was only when the Ishval war was starting to look grim that she and the girls moved to central, at Roy's suggestion. That would be in the years to come.

His childhood and adolescence was spent surrounded by women of all kinds: fat, skinny, tall, short, trans, cis, lesbian, straight, bi-and anything in between, ugly, pretty, smart, dumb, Ishvalan, Xingese, and whatever else you will. They all offered him some sort of advice about how to treat women and he had a thorough education in the area by the time he was fourteen. He probably learned too much. Regularly, Roy was subjected to "etiquette tests" where they would drill him on polite and charming ways to pick up women. ("We're not going to let him grow up to be a sleaze bag!" Miranda had told Chris one day when she inadvertently discovered he and several of the girls playing what was essentially a strange take on a tea party back when he was twelve. Chris didn't object.) He was a quick learner. By fifteen, he was successfully able to flirt with anyone (well, almost anyone) presented to him and take rejection well. Roy was sort of the house pet, and he sprawled in their adoration like a cat in the sun.

By all means, he never expected to have a problem with a woman.

Well, she was still a girl.

Roy cursed himself for comparing flirting to talking to Riza. He never had any intention on hitting on a fifteen year old, especially when her situation was- okay, he didn't know what it was.

If he knew anything from living with women all his life, he knew that when he was sent seriously bad vibes, he should leave her the fuck alone. But Riza wasn't sitting in a bar somewhere, one comment away from throwing her drink in his face. She was holed up in a house with a man he suspected was harming her. He hadn't been drilled for this.

"What's up, Roy-Boy?" His mother (foster mother, but mother all the same) leaned against the door frame, tapping the lit end of her cigarette into a tray that she had likely stolen off a table out front. "You don't look so hot."

"Hey, ma." He shook the water off his hands and toweled them off on the front of his apron. "I'm alright."

Chris coughed and dumped the ashes into a trashcan before returning the cigarette to her lips. "You're alright, and I'm the Fuhrer."

She was his mother, so of course she could read him like a book. Even when he was stuck doing the dishes alone Roy usually whistled (too loudly) to himself or made comments on whatever bits of conversation he could hear from the bar. But tonight he was lost in thought. Pensive was a rare look on him.

"It's a girl." He said, well aware of the effect it would have on his mom. As expected, her interest was piqued. She would be disappointed.

"Finally," she sighed, pulling up a stool. "Keep washing," she said, gesturing to the glasses that continued to pile beside him. "I'll dry."

"Well?" Roy handed her the last glass of the night. The front had already closed up, and save for the few remaining girls in back gathering their things, the place was empty. It was past 3 am.

"I think you're making assumptions." With one sweep, she dried the short glass and sat it in the clean pile. "Have you talked to her yet?"

He sighed and slid down to the floor, letting his knees finally succumb to the hours of standing. "No. I was planning to, but we've never talked before."

"Think of it like this: you join the army-" At a mutter of protest, she shushed him. "Don't try this with me, you look at recruitment posters like a girlie mag." At another impertinent remark, she cut him off with a pointed look. "Oh, please. They're between your mattress and the box spring, hon. Try asking what else I've found." Defeated, Roy shut up. "So you join the army, and your superior officer- say you're a lieutenant or something and they're a lieutenant colonel, or whatever- is a little harsh on you. Their new lapdog who you hardly know, a major or some in between-y rank-" Roy rolled his eyes- "asks you if you're being treated fairly. Now, what do you say? Do you tell the guy who reports directly above you just what your problem is with the higher ups? No. Now pretend the lieutenant colonel is your dad."

Roy pressed his wrinkled fingers together. "I see your point."

A pause hung in the air for a brief moment. Chris sighed again. "Hon, It's not what you wanted to hear, but you asked." Chris leaned forward and ruffled his dark hair. His mood didn't seem to improve, and he remained fixed on his fingers. "Try talking to her normally first. Or thinking before you do something stupid. Maybe you'll find your answer without poking your nose in her life."

Roy mumbled something resembling an agreement and looked up at his mother. With a pat on his cheek, she encouraged him to stand up again, and he did. "I'll put all these away. Go to bed, Roy-Boy."

At nine, he woke up.

Through squinted eyes, Roy glared at the streaming sunlight that landed on his face as if the mere darkness of his expression would force the sun away. But the sun was a force of nature, and passive aggressive teenage boys did not threaten it. Reluctantly, he submitted to its power and got out of bed.

The first thing he did was change the location of his porno collection (it was now safely behind the drawers of his desk) and the second thing was immediately return to his thoughts about Riza (which, for the record, was not at all related to his porn collection.)

He decided it was too early to think without coffee. He changed into his pants with minimal difficulty and his shirt with ease. The bed was left unmade, as usual, and after quickly brushing his teeth he ran out the back door. If his neighbors didn't know he lived at Madame's, he imagined he would have earned quite a reputation from leaving the strip joint every morning.

Roy earned enough from splitting tips with the girls to afford a few creature comforts and whatever small things he wanted badly enough. Most of the time he was willing to settle for the coffee at home (as long as Miranda didn't make it) but it was a sunny Saturday morning and it would be a waste not to go outside. He would rather do his thinking in public, anyway. If he stayed in his room he was likely to waste time or go back to sleep.

There was a small café that he liked which served coffee in nice big mugs even if you ordered something fancy with milk foam, and he decided to go there. It was a little farther away than ideal but it was worth the trip.

It was along the main part of the city near the square. There was always a lot of hustle and bustle between cars and pedestrians. People watching was his favorite sport, and he anxiously awaited the day it became competitive. It was always better with friends- without others, Roy was the only one who could appreciate his own witty commentary about the passers-by.

The library was set just across from the main government building and was its rival in both size and image. He usually liked to pass on the side closer to East City headquarters (and eye the best office on the top floor) but the café was closer to the library. The library actually had a better view of the building, anyway. In front of the lower steps, he looked from afar at the imposing Doric columns across the square and constructed some mental image of himself descending the grand white front steps over there as he left work every day, rather than tripping over trash cans like he did now. Fantasy over, he turned to look up at the identical steps of the library. There were always more people on this side of the square- the building always had surges of people checking out and returning books or just lounging by the front.

The entrance wasn't the same, though. The library was all Ionic columns and rounded windows where the government building was angular and harsh. The library had its own charm that he liked well enough. As Roy inspected the architecture, he watched a few people come and go. A pudgy old man, a young boy with a backpack, a woman chatting on her cell phone, a teenage girl with short blonde hair and straight shoulders…

Wait.

Roy had yelled her name before he realized he had. Riza stopped mid-step and turned to face him as he walked (okay, it was almost running) up to meet her. Her face lacked the sternness it usually had and Roy assumed it was because she was surprised. When he reached her he realized he had no idea what he would say. He was beaming like he always was, and tried to come up with something as he caught his breath from hurrying up the steps.

"Hi." He tried not to sound like he was panting but failed miserably.

"Mr. Mustang," she replied, blinking.

"Roy."

Her brow furrowed and Roy cursed himself. "Father told me to call you Mr. Mustang."

"Well, I'm telling you to call me Roy."

She blinked again and pulled her books a little closer. "Alright," the corners of her lip pulled up just slightly. It wasn't a smile, but she looked amused, which was a start. "Roy."

"Are you headed somewhere now?"

Riza gestured to her books. "Home. To read these."

"Oh." Roy scratched the back of his head. "Well, I was going to get coffee."

"Okay."

"Do you, uh, want to come?" He smiled, hopeful, and she blinked again. She had one hell of a poker face. Shit, did fifteen year olds drink coffee? Did he drink coffee when he was fifteen? Probably. She looked older than she was. Maybe not older, exactly, but wiser.

"I don't have any money with me."

"I'll pay."

Riza glanced behind her like she expected a reason not to go with him waiting there. She shifted her books again and regained that stern, unreadable expression.

"I mean, it's only if you want to, you don't have-"

"I'll go," she said, still looking behind her.

"Okay," He was still smiling and it hurt his face a little. "I mean, good."

"Okay."

They both stood there for a moment, a throng of people moving around them, two buoys in waves of people. It didn't feel as weird as Roy thought it would.

"Do you, um, want me to carry your books?" he asked, feeling a shoulder of some careless guy hit his back.

"No, it's fine." An official looking woman forced her way between them and past them, and Riza stepped back like she expected it. "Lead the way."

Please leave reviews!

I hate to end it with so little action, but it's at ~3k words and I figure there's something to look forward to. Encourage me!

Disclaimer: When FMA came out I was like 7, so if you genuinely believe I own the series I will laugh at you.