Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or gain any profit from this fanfic other than writing practice and improved self-esteem ʅ(◞‿◟)ʃ


Chapter Three:
White, the Prologue

every story has a start, when a writer can scribble her thoughts into a white world.
it is only then that a book truly starts; when the reader truly dives into the words.


The group finally reached the surface and Winry was woken up and put down. She drowsily scrambled to her feet but kept her hand on Mustang's arm for support as her blurred vision cleared out, her memories still slightly messy and confusing. Not long after, Hawkeye spotted a doctor and he quickly escorted the girl to a tent where other patients were being cared for. While she was being tested, Riza used the opportunity to check if her superior was okay. He was talking to a few other soldiers, probably about the damage and how to pay for it. Amestris wasn't in a great financial condition lately, so they would probably need help from other nations, which would be embarrassing for both the civilians and government officials.

Riza walked over to where the conversation was taking place and started listening carefully to develop her opinions. It was clear that she had no place in that group as a Lieutenant, but the fact that Corporal Mustang was sharing his ideas was equally interesting. As soon as Riza opened her mouth to suggest her ideas, however, a coat was hung onto her arm and the conversation resumed without her. Several times, she tried to speak over the men or in small intervals, only to be stopped again.

Soon, another coat was handed to her, followed by a 'thank you' that was thrown into her mouth and shoved down her throat. It was an interesting sight, really. Riza had ideas and everyone present knew she had a functioning brain, unlike a few superior officers and several soldiers. She wasn't sure if they were doing it on purpose or if it was just normal to assume that she would happily hold their coats since she was always carrying Roy's around, but it really got on her nerves that they didn't even ask for her thoughts.

Despite the fact that Hawkeye understood their point of view, what made her heart clench was that, even though some of the men probably wished, they were not Roy. They did not have the right to give her their coats, and much less without asking. She was Roy's bodyguard, not theirs. She was Roy's assistant, not theirs. She was Roy's Lieutenant, not theirs. Where in that tiny brain of theirs was the idea that she was a moving wardrobe? At least from her perspective, being a moving piece of research was already more than enough, and she always had the urge to smack that information onto their faces for them to stop treating her like an object.

Since her father tattooed her, Riza no longer had the right to call herself a child and was treated like a notebook. She couldn't wear bikinis, she couldn't have a boyfriend, she couldn't even make close friends because the man thought she would tell them. There was nothing she could do with her life, only stay at home like a miserable woman and cook and clean and wash. Her moments of relief were when she stepped into school, where she felt safe and free. Though she was quite lonely, it's not every child that has a permanent tattoo that covers her whole back, so the urge to boast about it was always whispering into her ear.

Then Roy came into her life.

It was a white and cold evening, maybe way too white and too cold. Her father had left like he usually did, probably to go to a laboratory or library, but reading in the dim light of her room was Riza, often smiling at the thought of Berthold getting caught in a snowstorm. A bad thought, may I say, because she was supposed to be an innocent thirteen-year-old, not a bloodthirsty demon.

Well, under her father's roof, anyone was easily turned into a bloodthirsty demon, so I guess it's not that bad of a thought.

When the doorbell rang, she grunted in disappointment and scrambled down the steps, already narrowing her eyes. Suddenly, the door looked big and intimidating, and she assumed it was also a bloodthirsty demon. Why exactly she couldn't make herself reach the doorknob was out of her understanding, but it was true that she had probably never touched it before. Her father was the one who usually opened it, and he always took a spare key with him, which meant…

"Go away, you filthy thief!" She screeched, poking her head out a nearby window. Standing outside was a bulky, black coat, with a young man inside it who held a suitcase with his thick gloves. He glanced at her with a bored look and lingered towards the hole on the wall.

"Hello, ma'am, as you can see, I am in desperate need of warmth," he recited, obviously practicing this sentence over and over again on his way to the cottage.

"Then find yourself a residence, this is not a hotel!" Riza banged the window shut but kept the curtains to make sure he would leave.

He did not. He just stared at her, his eyes half-closed and his eyebrows trying to pull the lids up. She didn't leave either. She glared back, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tapping her foot. They stared for what seemed like hours (keyword: seemed) until the man finally put his suitcase down and slid a hand into his pocket, pulling a tiny piece of paper out. Laboriously, he unfolded the paper with his big fingers and squinted at it, glancing at Riza every once in a while. He put the paper down and rubbed his hands together, then pressed his right index finger against the windowpane. Slowly, his finger danced around the glass, sketching letters onto it. When he was done, he knocked twice on the window to get her attention and pointed at the writing.

'Hawkeye?' It said, a few characters written incorrectly since he tried to letter it rightly from Riza's point of view, not his. She shrugged, but nothing was said. Frowning, the man walked away, his ankles sinking into the snow. Riza watched, satisfied, until she noticed he looked just like the visitor her father had mentioned earlier. Before she knew it, she had haphazardly jumped out the window, kissing the snow layered on the porch.

Her face burned. Her arms burned. Everything burned beneath her as if she was swimming on lava. Due to the warmth of her house, Riza was wearing only her nightgown and a thin coat, and that certainly wasn't enough when exposed to all the snow awaiting her. In one quick motion, she stood back up, wrapping her arms around the body and roughly rubbing her elbows. "Hello?! Sir?!" She called, trying to stop her teeth from quivering. "Sir?!"

"Not Sir, Roy. My name is Roy," he corrected, waving the back of his hand at her. "I'm looking for Mr. Berthold Hawkeye, so I'll just return tomorrow. Have a good day."

"Wait!" Riza tripped her way towards him, feeling the beginning of a snowfall on her head and shoulders. The snow crunched under her bare feet, sending shivers all the way up to her spine. "The nearest city is hours away from here, you'll die before you get there!"

Roy turned around, smirking incredulously at her garments. "Who are you to tell me that?"

"Well, I am Riza Hawkeye, it's a pleasure to meet you." She took his hand to shake it, but a small part of her only did that for warmth. "As Berthold's daughter, it is my duty to make sure his guests survive. He'll be home by night anyway, so it's pointless to find a hotel far away."

"That's not exactly what I meant, but thank you very much for the offer. However," he turned around in his heels, "I cannot accept it as I am not in the mood of babysitting a little girl."

She swirled him back to face her by his arm, then confidently stated, "I may be small for my age, but —" a shiver. "I may be small for my age, but I can assure you I am quite independent. Numbers can't really decide one's maturity, and in fact, you don't look that —" once again, she paused, but this time because her words jumbled up into one even she couldn't understand. She cleared her sore throat and excused herself before continuing. "Look that old yourself."

"I'll be sixteen in three months, so I can find myself a hotel nearby easily."

Riza tried to organize her thoughts into words, but they came out like a big, messy snowball, rolling out of her tongue. She tried again, and again, and again, but nothing changed. Her jaw seemed to unhinge from her skull, her teeth chattering and fighting against each other, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. Immediately, she understood her body needed to go back into the coziness of the house, and she scurried towards it in slippery, clumsy steps. Goosebumps prickled her fragile skin, erecting the tiny hairs on her legs and arms, and her feet were at the verge of going completely numb.

And so they did. She tumbled forward and into the snow, only to painfully rise back up. Her hair was now glistening with white beads, her chapped blue lips slowly bleeding. She looked back in horror as words refused to leave her mouth, and in a matter of seconds, Roy had lifted her into the air and was taking her back to the porch. He could feel her trembling against his chest and looked down to see that her eyes had closed and her hands had found their way into her mouth. When they went too far back, she gagged and pulled them away, quickly slipping them into the opposite sleeve. She coughed dryly, gasping after each assault until she could barely breathe and her consciousness started to vanish.

"The keys, Hawkeye, I need the keys!" He shook her, uselessly trying to wake her up, until he gave up and carefully passed her small body through the window, making sure she had a soft landing. He then jumped in himself as far away from her as he could, closing the window to prevent any wind from cooling the house.

Now he had a very, very hard mission. Two, to be exact. The first one being finding Riza's room. The second one being taking in the appearance of the house.

It had a toxic smell, as strong as tobacco and as bad as body odors. The floorboards groaned and the doors rattled with every step he took, and he had a tiny fear of the whole structure collapsing onto him. Every corner had a spider web, topped by centuries-old dust that was catapulted into the air by the wood under it whenever Roy stepped onto said plank. On the living room, there was only a sofa sitting against the wall and a coffee table before it.

Roy made his way up the rotten stairs, praying for it not to fall, then glanced inside each room. They were all empty except for a bed that was probably never touched or dusted. Finally, he found a slightly bigger one, with an organized bed and desk, absolutely opposing the rest of the house. It looked like a whole new world, as if the door was a portal. The walls were a clean white, decorated by anti-military propaganda, and the shelves were filled with books and journals. Her sheets were straight and ironed, and the pillows were arranged in a way that would make anyone want to sink into them.

He envied Riza's position as he lowered her into them, but also pitied the fact that her clothes were soaked with freezing water and he couldn't do anything about it. Her face was pale, and her eyebrows twitched in pain. As soon as her boy hit the mattress, she curled herself into a ball and thanked him quietly, trying her best to smile.

"May I get a towel?" He checked, wrapping a quilt around her. She nodded faintly, so he went into the bathroom and grabbed the thickest towel he could find. It was a blue one that matched her bedsheets that matched the theme of the room, and he immediately noticed that Riza was not a disorganized girl. Sighing, he pulled her cold boy out of the covers and wrapped the towel around it before tucking her back in, using every single blanket he could find in an attempt to warm her up. "Would you like anything?"

A bundle of words and a 'drink' mixed into it.

Roy nodded and started to leave but was stopped by another bundle of words. He asked her to repeat, but it was yet another bundle of words. "Slowly," he prompted, articulating to stress that advice. Riza started to sit up, but her vision blurred and she was forced down.

"My clothes," she started, but wasn't able to form the rest of her sentence. "My clothes," once again, she failed. Finally, after opening and closing her eyes and mouth several times, she spoke clearly… or almost clearly. "My clothes are wet, I need to change."

"Sure? You should rest, change when you start feeling better."

The chattering teeth paused for a moment and air was allowed through them, but no response. She closed her mouth again, resuming the actions, and that was really all Roy needed. He made his way back to her bedside and carefully pulled her into a sitting position. Slowly, she slid her legs out of the bed and rubbed her forehead, probably trying to stop a lurking headache. She then weakly gripped his forearms and pulled herself up, only to slip forward and bury her face in his coat.

After a quick apology, Riza gradually removed a hand, pressing it against her bed for balance, then followed suit with the other. Gently, she took a step forward, but before she knew it her chin dug into the floor and her vision faded to black.

"Idiot, I knew it!" Roy called, lifting her back up. Her eyes, though they opened a few times for seconds, were lost and tired. Blood leaked out of her gum and nose due to the impact and tears were forced onto her eyes, even though she was clearly not aware of them. Roy had just enough time to cover her back up and clean the excess blood when the main door screamed, announcing someone's arrival.

In the blink of an eye, Mustang had already rushed towards it and greeted the middle-aged man that came in, quickly introducing himself and explaining Riza's situation. "Her clothes are wet, sir, I think it would be best to change her into dry ones."

Berthold Hawkeye's small, empty eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into an evil smirk. It was only briefly, however, so briefly that Roy didn't notice — which lead him to almost jump in shock at his master's next words.

It was a miserable sight, really. The man was probably in his late forties or early fifties, but he emitted a dark and traumatizing aura that seemed to age his soul, resulting in an elderly look. Had Mustang not researched about him, he would think he was Riza's grandfather or an older uncle. In fact, the only thing that both of them had in common was the dry, blond hair, which for him, as opposed to Riza's, hung several centimeters below his chest.

Finally, he shrugged and smiled kindly, which contrasted greatly with his intentions. "Just let her die already. It would be a waste of supplies to try to warm her up," he chuckled, heading towards a narrow door.

Mustang faked a laugh, not finding the humor in his joke. When he noticed the man made no move to actually help his daughter, he protested against the inhuman idea.

"If you want Elizabeth to live, go help her yourself, because I really don't care. My wife left me with her eight years ago, and to be honest, my life has never been so miserable," Berthold announced, entering the door and going down a staircase, probably.

With a low huff, Roy turned around and went back up the stairs and into Riza's room, where a sick human sushi laid unconscious. She looked so innocent, her round nose and cheeks pale except for the bright pink blush that dared to creep onto them.

For obvious reasons, he would not find out if she was breathing by touching her neck or chest, so instead, he pressed his thumb against her wrist, stopping his own breathing to concentrate. After waiting a few seconds and not feeling any signs of a pulse, he changed his position, bringing the digit a bit to the left. Once again, almost nothing. The man kept dabbing his finger around her wrist until finally, he felt a low but noticeable throb.

"I apologize in advance, Ms. Hawkeye, but this is for your own good," Roy muttered, removing the pile of blankets from her petite body. After maximizing the heater, he picked her up and laid her next to it, lifting the nightgown ever so slightly to rush the drying.

When he thought the excess water was gone, he went back to business. Initially, since a few blankets were also wet, he made sure to discard those and look for new ones. Next, for comfort, he placed a pillow under her damp hair and massaged her scalp with a towel, finally earning a response in return.

It wasn't the best response he could get on that situation, but it was more than enough to send a wave of relief through his body. Softly, Riza cracked her eyes open, blinking slowly a few times before shutting them completely once again. She kept repeating this sequence, and he could tell that she was somewhat scared and lost. Well, who can blame her? It's not every day that you wake up next to a man you don't remember meeting and so close to a heater your skin burns.

Finally, she split her lips apart, trying to form words, but nothing came out. She moved them over and over again, but so little movement was made that even if she was able to talk no one would be able to hear her. Before she could help it, her face twisted and contorted into various different wrinkles Roy had no idea a thirteen-year-old could have, and a tear left her eye, followed by numerous others, but not yet forming a complete sob.

"What's wrong?" Roy wondered, removing the towel from her head. Riza's body kept motionless, except for the constant jumps on her chest due to the hiccups. She tried and tried to form words, but whenever she was able to start a sentence it would either be cut off by a gasp or it would quickly turn into gibberish. Eventually, her face was covered by her palms and she began to wail, folding her legs up and tucking her toes underneath her feet.

Thank you, she wanted to say, thank you for taking care of this incompetent girl you just met.

Unfortunately, before words were exchanged, Berthold's thunderous voice echoed through the house. "Shut up, Elizabeth!" it ordered, traveling down the corridor, into the room, and slapping her on her already pink cheek. With a lot of effort, Riza mentally straightened her tongue and placed it on the correct position, finally being able to reply. First, she corrected her father. Apparently, he was so ignorant he didn't even know his own daughter's name.

"It's Riza!" she screeched, a pain striking her throat. A good pain, however, that came with the amazing feeling of being right. Roy seemed to back off a few centimeters due to her scream, but quickly returned, removing her hands from her face and dropping his head so that their noses almost touched. Immediately, Riza smiled, then sniffed once before pushing him away with her heavy arms. As soon as a chuckle left her, however, her head seemed to boil and she had to force herself to a stop.

Roy helped her sit up yet again but didn't allow her to stand just yet, asking for medicine instead. She tilted her head in confusion, then stopped to think.

"You don't know what's medicine?" Roy questioned, sitting down himself. Riza's expression didn't change, but she slowly crawled towards her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a small box. She handed it to him as soon as she returned to her original spot, then helped him uncap it.

Horror was not enough to describe Roy's appearance as he lifted the lid. A strong, poisonous scent wrapped around him and was forced into his nostrils the more he kept the box open. "Riza, these are not medicine," he murmured, staring deep into her eyes. "Why do you have this?"

"My father told me it was medicine, but that I could only use it in cases of emergency before I turned eighteen," she explained, pulling a cigarette out of the box and rolling it between her palms. "I never used it, though."

"Throw it away."

Riza stopped rolling and fixed her gaze back at him. "What?"

"This is not medicine, Riza, throw it away."

"Then what is this?"

Roy sighed and shut the box. Tension stretched between the two of them and was so tight it could be cut by a plastic sword. His breath came out in slow exhales, blowing out of his mouth, and he could feel the unease in the girl's gaze. Her hands shakily tried to take the box from his grasp, but he held it tighter and looked up at her, trying not to let his dread spill onto his expression. "I don't mean to pry, but is there something going on between you and your father?"

Riza's hands fell back onto the floor in front of her and she considered for a minute before answering. "Nothing unusual, why?" Truth be told, she didn't really want to know why.

"What I am about to tell you might be a bit shocking, so -"

"Then don't say it. If it's something bad, I don't want to know." Riza snatched the box from him and slammed it shut, wincing at the sound as it pounded through her ears. When she was about to stand up, Roy grabbed her arm and held her down, then allowed his hands to travel up to her shoulders.

"Promise me one thing. It's all I ask," he begged, lightly squeezing her body. "Don't you ever touch those things again. Throw them away, even if you have to throw it out the window, but don't you ever get close to this box again."

And so she did.

But not yet, I'm anticipating myself. Please wait a few more months, or a few more chapters, if that's how you call it.