More Than Loyal – A Collection of Drabbles and One-shots from the Royai 100 Themes
By flOofymikO
Original Publish Date: Jan 13, 2012
Author's Note: Yes, I am finally finishing "Memories." Better late than never, I suppose? So, uh, since it's been such a long time since Part I, I would kindly suggest you go back and read that. It's in Chapter 9. Also, utmost apologies for my rusty, terrible writing; I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.
#87 - Memories: Part II
Dinner was a silent affair until dessert was served. Riza pushed her slice of pie aside, said nothing. Her dining chair toppled loudly to the floor when she simply stood without warning and bolted from the room.
Roy stared at the girl's empty, overturned seat, afraid to speak and immobilized in his chair. Mr. Hawkeye sighed heavily and gave a weary shake of his head, reaching out to help himself to another serving of rapidly cooling mashed potatoes. The house creaked and groaned, uneasy tension nearly palpable under the charged atmosphere. They listened carefully until the sounds of Riza's rapid footsteps faded away, and then Roy let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Sensei..."
"You should go talk to her, Roy."
The boy blinked and stuttered. "Uh... what? Me?"
"My daughter needs to talk to someone her own age right now. She doesn't need her old man."
"But, Hawkeye-sensei... you're her dad. If something's wrong, wouldn't she want to see you?"
"Riza is only... being sensitive about today." He trailed off and fell into a coughing fit, but spoke up again in a gravely whisper at Roy's perplexed look. "It's time for her to let another person into her life."
"I don't understand, sir. What could I do?"
The golden-haired man leveled a steady gaze at his young protege. "Just go to her and be her friend."
The endless sky, the sea-green waves,
the fields of blood-red flowers bloom;
My blurring vision, gasping breath;
I wish,
I wish this weren't so:
Why have you gone where I can't go?
I'm so afraid you'll fade away
Don't fade away...
He stood at her door again, knocking. Just as he had been that very morning. Except this time, he was a little more persistent.
"Riza, open this door right now or I'll break it down with alchemy."
There was a shuffling within the room accompanied by faint muttering. Roy frowned to himself and leaned against the door, pressing his ear flat against the polished wood. "What's that? You need to speak up."
"I said, go away or I'll break your face."
He winced. And I believe you'd do it... that's the scary part. But no, he wouldn't be intimidated by her. His own alchemy sensei had pretty much given him a job to do; like a man, he would do it. He wouldn't back down.
And, dammit, he would find out what was bothering Riza so much!
Roy clenched his fists and grit his teeth in determination. "I'm coming in anyway," he announced loudly, throwing open the door. It swung open easily, far more easily than he had expected, and he belatedly realized that the door hadn't been securely shut to begin with as his momentum carried him forward and sent him face-first into a pile of photographs scattered on the floor. There was a small, choked noise, so faint Roy could have imagined it. But he certainly couldn't be imagining the small girl who sat before him on her bedroom floor, a photograph clenched in one hand, her face betraying an array of emotions until anger finally took over.
Riza sprang to her feet, fire in her eyes, though Roy thought he could see the telltale glittering of unfallen tears. "What are you doing in here?" she yelled. The tears spilled over, tracing moist trails down her reddened cheeks. "I told you to go away. Why are you here? I didn't say you could come in!" She yanked on his arm, her grip surprisingly rough, and forced him to his feet; he barely had a moment to blink until he realized she was openly crying. "You're gonna ruin the pictures! They're all I have left, and if you ripped anything or wrinkled anything I'm—"
She cut off suddenly, her lips still moving as if she'd forgotten how to form words, her silent tears still pouring down her face, and looked down in horror at the crumpled print in her hand.
Roy finally managed to tear his eyes away from her and saw the mess of photographs clearly for the first time. A woman smiled up at him from every tiny frame. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes she was with a younger, livelier version of Mr. Hawkeye wearing a matching smile, and sometimes she was with a tiny girl with long golden hair and familiar brown eyes. One picture stood out, however, because the woman was missing. Instead, the girl stood alone in a knee length black dress with capped sleeves, her windblown hair chopped carelessly to chin length, a bunch of lilies gripped in her small hands. She was standing next to a headstone.
All the pieces clicked together.
Why have I never asked where Mrs. Hawkeye was?
For several moments, all was silent, the pair of them rooted in their places, Roy trying to reconcile the image of the strong, stubborn Riza he knew with this stricken, broken girl before him. In all the time he'd been at the Hawkeye residence, he had never heard about her missing mother, and he had never once seen her in this state. Riza was constantly calm, usually quiet, always responsible. A little adult, managing things on her own while her father focused largely on his alchemy. A little parent, even, making sure all three of them ate, ensuring that her father took his medicine and didn't focus solely on his alchemy. And she certainly never cried; he couldn't even recall a single tear that one afternoon when he'd convinced her to climb the tall maple in the backyard with him and she fell, breaking her arm. The girl who stood frozen before him now was almost a stranger to him.
Almost. Riza was mature and tough, especially for her age, but she was also a girl who was forced to grow up too fast, who he now realized had lost her mother, who grieved in private as she nursed a wound that would never fully heal.
Finally, Roy broke the silence, clearing his throat and jamming his hands into his pockets. He dropped his gaze and stared at his feet. "I... I'm so sorry, Riza. I was being a jerk. And I'm sorry if I messed up your pictures. I didn't know about your mom. I'm so sorry..." She sniffled in response and he found the courage to look back up at her. She was rubbing her eyes furiously, but she no longer seemed to be crying. Roy took a deep breath and wracked his brain for something else to say.
"So, all the food today. It was really yummy. Um, did your mom teach you how to cook?"
She glared at him through her fingers and Roy thought he could see a spark of the Riza he knew. "No. I was too little back then. I learned later, from Mommy's recipe book... " Her lower lip began to quiver.
No! Please don't start crying again! he mentally pleaded with her as he shifted his feet awkwardly back and forth. He would be lying if he didn't admit to the panic bubbling up in his chest. The Riza he knew didn't cry... but the Riza he knew also hadn't lost a mother. This was a new side of Riza. A different side he had never imagined. Nevertheless, it was still Riza...
Out loud, he managed a weak, "I'm sure she would be really proud of you."
Riza whispered a single word that he didn't catch.
"What was that?" He took a single, cautious step closer to the younger girl, hoping that he hadn't said the wrong thing again.
"Is," she repeated. Her hands fell to her lap, wringing the coarse fabric of her skirt as she looked up at the taller boy. Her voice was still quiet, but there was a little more force behind her words now. "She is really proud of me. That's what Daddy says. He says that Mommy's still watching over me, she'll never really leave me, and she loves all the food I make." She began to falter but held his gaze, her eyes asking for understanding, for acceptance, for support.
They definitely weren't asking for pity, Roy realized with a start. This was still the same Riza he had gotten to know over the past year.
This Riza was sharing a fragile, secret part of herself with him, and he wanted to make sure she felt safe doing so.
"Well, you know what?" He didn't wait for her to answer, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I agree with your dad. What I meant was, I know for sure your mom's proud of you. Especially after you picked up her awesome talent for cooking!"
He could hardly see it, but it was there. The smallest of smiles. He felt the relief flood through him. "Mommy was the best at cooking," she murmured.
"I believe you. All that food downstairs is proof!" Roy patted his stomach for emphasis.
Riza exhaled slowly. "We do this every year, you know, since Mommy passed away. We cook all her favorite foods and we eat because Mommy was always so happy when she saw us enjoying her food. She made up all these recipes and I remember watching her write them down in her book. Everything she made was the tastiest. I—I'm glad you liked it too." She bit her lip and held out the wrinkled photograph as if she'd just remembered it was there. Behind the creases was a laughing Mrs. Hawkeye, her arms covered in flour, a spatula in one hand. "I was remembering how she used to bake the best apple pies," said Riza. "But I've ruined the picture now..."
Roy gently picked it up and smoothed it out as best as he could. "Hmm," he remarked thoughtfully, holding it up to the light and pretending to inspect it. "Nope, it's not ruined," he declared with a confident smirk. "I can still see your mom making the best apple pies." He passed the photograph back, curled her fingers carefully around it. "I can see how happy she is, and I can see how much she loves you."
Riza hugged the picture tightly to her chest, scrunching up her face and looking for a moment like she would burst into tears again, but the moment passed and her features instead settled into a peaceful smile. A smile that said, Thank you.
Roy reached out and ruffled her hair, grinning. "Come on, Riza. I wanna hear about all the pictures. Tell me about your mom."
Mosaics set with pearlescent tiles
And countless gems in frames of gold
Shimmer constant, light undimmed;
To dream,
To dream in sweetest sleep,
"You're not alone, so don't you weep—"
A whisper, warm and feather soft
Never alone.
They spent the rest of the evening looking through the photographs. The sun set, its warm rays kissing the surface of every priceless photo in warm farewell. Night came and moonlight spilled into the bedroom, bathing each precious memory in the faintest white glow. And Riza picked up one picture after the other, telling the story contained within each frame, memories preserved in sepia. Sometimes she smiled, sometimes she laughed, sometimes the tears brimmed in her eyes again but Roy pretended not to see. Instead, he saw a girl opening up to him.
A girl who trusted him.
When they were finished, he helped her place them carefully back into a small wooden box painted in cornflower blue. "Her favorite color," Riza explained.
The box went back to its spot on her dresser, and Roy took her hand. "Thanks for sharing all this with me," he said. He hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued. "You're my best friend, Riza. And now that I know you better, I hope I can take care of you a bit better, too. After all," he hastily added before he got too embarrassed, "I'm older than you."
She rolled her eyes and made a face at him. "I can take care of myself," she shot back, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
She didn't let go of his hand, however, and that was good enough.
-Fin-