Chapter 2: Master and Apprentice
A knock snapped Roy from his thoughts. He turned to see Riza standing in the doorway, with her eyes on her shoes and her hands behind her back. "Dinner's ready," she said softly.
He made his way toward her, trying his best to give her a reassuring look on the off chance she decided to glance at him. "It smells great."
"My father will be joining us. You might want to make yourself more, ah, presentable?" she suggested, looking him over as she rocked back onto her heels. She seemed less reassured than he had hoped, but she did look at least a little more at ease, and that was enough for Roy.
He ran a hand over his hair to find that it stuck up in several places. "That bad, huh? Go on ahead. I'll get my comb." He started toward the dresser to look for it.
"Father doesn't like to be kept waiting. Besides," she added hesitantly, "it looks better now."
He turned and followed Riza into the hall, supposing that rumpled hair was a fairly easy flaw to overlook. Even so, as they walked, he ran his fingers through his dark locks until he was certain it wasn't humanly possible to smooth them any further without a comb. He noticed that Riza's gait was stiffer than it had been earlier and he had opened his mouth halfway to ask if she was all right before deciding against it. She would just accuse him of being forward again. Still, he couldn't help but worry as he realized her hands were trembling as well. Was her father the cause of this? Or was he? She had said she wasn't afraid of him, but he wouldn't blame her if she had changed her mind as night approached, carrying the threat of a strange boy across the hall as she slept—assuming, of course, that she would be able to. Suppressing the guilt that had begun to seep into him, he followed her into the dining room.
The walls were as bare and faded as those of the other rooms he had seen and the curtains were drawn to block out the fading sunlight. Mismatched candles stood on the table, illuminating the serious face of the man who sat at the head of the table, staring intently at his empty plate. He looked up. "Roy Mustang."
"Yes, master?" Roy tugged at his collar, wishing he could open the window. Between the candles and the food and the long summer day, the room was unbearably stuffy.
"Have a seat." Hawkeye gestured to an empty chair and Roy took it. "You too, Riza."
She bowed her head slightly and sat across from Roy. "I'm sorry it's not much. I would have made a pie, but the apples aren't ripe yet."
"It's for the best," Master Hawkeye said. "You'd only have burned it anyway."
Riza nearly dropped the serving platter but Roy reached across the table to steady it. She let go and he filled his plate before passing it to Hawkeye, who took only a small portion before returning it to Riza, who had managed to steady herself somewhat. She met Roy's eyes and he looked away quickly, mentally kicking himself for staring. His stomach growled as he looked down at his plate. Forgetting for a moment where he was, he began shoveling it into his mouth, not caring how hot it was. Once he had swallowed, he looked up to find both father and daughter staring at him. "Sorry," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "I haven't eaten all day and this is delicious."
"I think you're just hungry, Mr. Mustang," Riza replied, though she looked rather pleased.
"If a man compliments you, Riza," said Master Hawkeye, reaching for a bottle of wine, "it's best to accept it graciously."
"Yes, Father." She looked down and stabbed half-heartedly at an onion.
Roy continued eating, somewhat less enthusiastic than before. He could feel Master Hawkeye watching him the entire time and said nothing until his plate was clear.
"Would you like more, Mr. Mustang?" Riza offered, nudging the serving platter toward him.
"Yes, please." He filled his plate and watched as Riza did the same. Hawkeye poured himself another glass of wine, the corners of his mouth twitching. Somewhat uneasy, Roy cleared his plate more slowly than before then set his fork aside, resting his chin on his hands as he waited for Hawkeye to speak. The man had nearly emptied the bottle, and he set the glass aside in favor of finishing the wine directly. Riza helped herself to thirds, scraping the serving platter clean.
"I expect you in my study at six thirty tomorrow morning," said Hawkeye, setting aside the empty bottle. "Riza will show you where it is."
She nodded and stood, stacking her plate on her father's. Eager to help, Roy set his own on the serving platter and began gathering silverware. "I can do that," Riza mumbled.
"I don't mind. I'd feel awful just sitting here while you do all the work." Roy stacked his glass on the plate stood to reach for hers.
"You're a guest. There's no need for—"
"Oh, let him help, Riza. If the boy wants to make himself useful, I've no complaints," Hawkeye said.
"Yes, Father." Riza took his glass and headed for the kitchen with Roy trailing behind her, the glasses he had collected wobbling precariously. Neither spoke as they deposited the dishes in the sink, and Roy began to wish he had just thanked her and returned to his room. "Are you all right, Mr. Mustang?" she asked and he looked up to see that she was holding up a towel. "I asked if you would dry."
"Right. Sorry. Thank you." He accepted the towel and watched as she turned on the faucet.
She paused and looked up from the plate she was scrubbing. "'Thank you'?"
"For dinner," he explained, twisting the corner of the towel between two fingers. "It was great."
"You're welcome." Her voice was flat, but as she turned to hand Roy a freshly washed plate, he noticed that she was smiling.
Once the sink was empty and all the dishes put away, Riza wiped her hands on her apron and untied it. "Thank you for helping me. No one's ever offered before."
Roy looked down, running a hand over his hair. "You're welcome," he said, yawning. "I should probably get some sleep. Looks like I'm going to have an early morning."
"Would you like a glass of water?"
"Yes, please." He watched as she retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it. Taking it from her, her thanked her and bade her goodnight. He left the kitchen and a tired-looking Riza behind, growing more exhausted with each step until he reached his bed and flopped onto it, still fully dressed. He closed his eyes and reached for the nightstand, not caring that he was still wearing shoes. Something brushed his nose and he flicked it away, trying not to sneeze. The window, he thought with irritation. He had left it open, and after the sun had set, the lamp must have attracted moths. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed and went to the window to close it just as several more moths flew in. He changed into his pajamas, flicked off the lamp, and lay down again, resigning himself to a long night.
Roy opened his eyes slowly. No one ever woke him this early on a Sunday; Chris was often just getting to bed herself as the sun rose. The knocking grew even more frantic. "Please get up, Mr. Mustang," Riza said with a note of frustration in her voice. Of course. He wasn't home and Riza was supposed to take him to her father's study.
"I'm up," he muttered shoving back the covers and turning on the lamp.
She must not have heard him because she knocked again. "Mr. Mustang?"
"I'm up!" he repeated, more forcefully than he had intended. "Sorry. You can come in." He sat up and hung his legs over the side of the bed.
The door swung open and Riza stepped in, carrying a tray. "I was starting to worry I'd have to pour water on you."
Roy glanced at the glass on the nightstand; two moths floated on the surface of the water. "I'm glad you didn't. Just shake me if I don't wake up in the future." He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her.
She bit her lip and looked down, shifting nervously. The tea cup wobbled and Roy braced himself to jump for it. "My father told me not to do that."
"Good advice," he conceded, yawning. "Hopefully I can wake myself until you trust me."
Riza moved toward him hesitantly and held out the tray. "I'm sorry there's no meat."
"An omelet doesn't need meat to be good," he said, taking it from her and propping himself against the headboard. "Thanks, Riza."
"You're welcome." She wrung her hands, eyes on the floor as she turned to leave. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."
"Hey, wait! Have you eaten yet?"
"Of course. I had some toast while I made your breakfast," she replied, heading for the door. "I'll be back in twenty minutes to take you to Father's study."
Roy watched Riza pull the door closed behind her, wishing he had had the forethought to take a shower the night before. Between the train, the dusty walk to the house from the station, and his restless night, he wasn't in much of a condition to make a good second impression, and he had a feeling that he could have handled dinner better.
With a sigh, he ran a hand over his hair, pausing when he felt something caught in his bangs. Once he had combed it free with his fingers, he caught it in his palm to examine it. Apparently one of the moths had decided to attack him rather than his water, and he was relieved that Riza had seemed more interested in her feet than she had in him while she had been in the room.
Setting the moth on the tray, he finished eating. Riza may not have been the best conversationalist, but she was a good cook, and the tea wasn't half-bad either, although he thought it could have used a bit of milk. He glanced at the clock; he still had about five minutes before Riza returned so he set the tray aside to search for his comb. He found it and changed out of his pajamas; it took three tries to button his shirt correctly and he slumped against the window sleepily, no longer interested in fixing his hair. For all he cared, there could be a dozen moths in there.
The sun rose above the trees as Riza knocked on the door. "I'm coming!" he said, heading toward the door. Opening it, he remembered the tray was still on the bed. "I forgot—"
She looked past him to see the tray. "Never mind that. Follow me." She walked down the hallway to the stairs and Roy noticed a set that led up, wondering how he had missed them the night before. He followed Riza to the top and she knocked twice before saying, "I've brought your apprentice."
"Bring him in," Hawkeye ordered and Riza opened the door, motioning for Roy to enter. He looked around the room, impressed. Every wall was lined with book from floor to ceiling except in front of the windows, which had cupboards beneath them. In the middle of the room stood a long table, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs at regular intervals. Master Hawkeye sat in one, hunched over a book that lay open on the table. "You're early," he said without looking up.
"I'm sorr—"
"Better early than late," he said, turning from Roy to address his daughter. "Leave us."
"Yes, Father." She gave an odd sort of half-curtsy and pulled the door closed behind her.
"Sit down." Hawkeye gestured to the chair across from him. "I hope my daughter brought you something to eat."
"She made me an omelet," Roy said, forcing himself to sit straight.
"You must have made an impression on her," the master observed. "She usually just makes toast."
Roy looked down. "I'm sorry, sir. I was just trying to be friendly, but I suppose I can find friends in the village."
Shaking his head, Hawkeye returned his attention to the book. "What are you apologizing for? The girl could use a friend. Why do you think I chose you over someone older, someone with more money?"
"I was hoping it was because you thought I'd make a good apprentice," Roy said sheepishly.
"That's part of it obviously, but sometimes I worry about that child. You should ask her to take you hunting with her this afternoon." He took a piece of chalk from his pocket and tossed it at Roy. "Enough about her. Draw a circle."
Roy took the chalk and looked at it uncertainly. "Just on the table?"
"It's only chalk. You can draw, can't you?"
"Not really, sir," Roy admitted, carefully outlining an admittedly pathetic oval on the table.
"You will learn in time." Looking up from his book, Hawkeye scowled. "Have you ever seen a circle, boy?"
"I said I wasn't good at drawing," muttered Roy, rolling the chalk between his fingers.
"Then try again."
Roy brushed the chalk away carefully to avoid splinters then drew another oval, pleased that it was, at least, less wobbly than the first.
"Again."
Several hours passed before Hawkeye was satisfied with the circles. Relieved, Roy set aside the stump of the third piece of chalk and flexed his hand, wondering if Riza would pop in with water. The dust made his throat itch and he had already coughed it raw, not to mention the fact that it was nearly nine o'clock. The summer heat would be nearly unbearable in the room by the afternoon and he wondered if he would be allowed to open a window.
"Now the left." Hawkeye resumed his reading.
"Sir?"
"Practice with your left hand. It is important that an alchemist be able to transmute even if his dominant hand is injured." He pulled another piece of chalk from his pocket and rolled it across the table.
Roy picked it up with his left hand, unsure of how to hold it. He shifted it around a few times before attempting to draw. This time, the chalk squeaked across the table and he gritted his teeth, hoping that, by some miracle, his efforts would result in a perfect circle.
"What the hell is that?"
Looking at the table, Roy bit his lip. "It's—er—almost an oval?"
"Again," Hawkeye commanded, waving his hand.
"Yes, sir."
By noon, Roy could hardly breathe for all the chalk in the air and his hands ached. In spite of his best efforts, he had even managed to pick up several splinters. Hawkeye had approved his left-handed circles barely ten minutes before, and then told him to alternate hands. While not as awful as they had been at the beginning, his circles seemed to be getting worse each time as his hands had tensed and refused to loosen. He was half-resigned to spending the rest of his life making increasingly sloppy circles on the table in this room that was even hotter than he had guessed it would be. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he picked up the chalk with his right hand. He had just started another circle when Riza entered, carrying a tray.
Hawkeye looked up. "Put it on the table."
She did so and stood with her hands behind her back, watching him.
"Cucumber?" he asked, taking a sandwich.
"It's all we had. I'm going hunting today, though. I finished all of my chores."
Roy tried to catch her eye but she didn't seem to notice; her gaze was on her father who said, "You're dismissed." He took a sandwich and bit into it.
Roy reached for the plate but Riza shook her head. "Your lunch is downstairs."
Hawkeye brushed crumbs from his book. "I will see you at the same time tomorrow morning, Roy."
"Yes, Master." He followed Riza out the door and down the stairs and once they reached the landing, he realized he was still holding the chalk. "Should I take this back?"
She shook her head. "He'll expect you to practice."
Roy coughed into his arm. "Great," he wheezed.
"Are you all right?" Riza's eyes were wide.
"I'm—" he coughed again "—fine, thanks." His voice was nearly an octave too high and he leaned against the wall to cough again. "I think I breathed a little too much chalk. That's all."
"I'll get you some water." She scampered down the stairs to the main floor and Roy followed her, still coughing too hard to thank her.
In the kitchen, Riza filled a glass at the sink and handed it to him. He downed it quickly. "That's better. Thanks." Riza held out her hand as he wiped his mouth and he returned the glass so she could fill it again. This time, he drank only a bit and cleared his throat. "Can I go with you?"
"What?"
"Hunting." He pinched his finger where he still felt the phantom sensation of the sliver he had removed. "You said you were going and your father said I should go with you."
She sighed. "I don't know you very well."
"You said you trusted me last night."
"I don't recall saying that I wanted you traipsing through the woods with me." She untied her apron and threw it on the counter.
Roy opened his mouth to say something about her carrying a gun and decided against it. If she didn't want him to come along, then he had no right to force the issue. For now, he would do what he could to convince her that he meant no harm; after all, if her father was right, no one needed a friend more than Riza Hawkeye.
