"Imagine a world if we all looked at other and saw the innocent child in them that we all once were."
-Eric Handler
The polished steel train jolted along the lone country road, winding around and through the hundreds of tightly packed trees that lined the side. The sky above was a brilliant blue, and the clouds floated along without a care in the world.
Seventeen year-old Roy Mustang sat on the worn leather bench, a letter of introduction clutched tightly in his hands. He couldn't tear his eyes from the window, amazed at how open everything seemed to be. And though the evergreen pines seemed to puncture the very heavens, they could never hide the enormous, emerald hills that climbed high above them. Roy could only imagine what it looked like when the snow fell.
He turned his attention back to the letter shaking in his hands, and he gulped down another surge of nervousness. The inked-in name of Berthold Hawkeye was now crumbled slightly from his shaking fists, and he set the envelope on the table in front of him. He straightened his collar for what must have been the hundredth time.
"So you want to find a master now, do you?" Chris had said the day after graduation, Roy standing with his mouth already open to poise the question. "Well don't just stand there, who do you have in mind?"
Roy closed his mouth and flushed in embarrassment. There really was no hiding anything from his aunt. He brought out a couple notes from his bag and placed them gingerly on the bar counter. "Uh, there's a few here in Central, but I was thinking of going south. The professors at the University say there's a brilliant alchemist named Berthold Hawkeye, and that he was making all sorts of findings before he just up and disappeared one day."
Chris raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And what makes him so special?"
"They say he was researching fire-based alchemy."
"Ah." His aunt sighed, then smiled gruffly. "Well, if that's what you're set on,"
"It is."
He received a letter two weeks later from the famed alchemist, extending the invitation to study under him at his house on the outskirts of South City. And so, Chris sent him with two bags to pack (with a strong reminder that he needed to put his clothes in before his books).
"You must have written something that impressed him," one of his professors stated thoughtfully after Roy had told her the news. "I don't think he's accepted an apprentice in very long time."
Roy's stomach plunged when the train jolted to a stop a few minutes later, depositing the passengers onto the station platform below. Roy hurried to gather his belongings, and then felt his nervousness melt away when he stepped outside—so this is where Master Hawkeye lived. He breathed in smell of ripe apples, of freshly baked bread coming from the marketplace close by. He received a few curious glances from the bustling crowd, but he surged ahead with a tipoff from the ticket collector.
Hawkeye Manor was located near the very edge of town, separated a good distance from the farmer's market near the center and farther away still from any neighbors. The house itself stood tall yet aged, visible cracks itching up the side of the walls. He supposed it to be a good place to reside—far enough away from prying eyes, and a quiet place to study the intense science of alchemy.
Roy inhaled sharply as he rapped the chipped wooden door. Would his letter be enough? Or would he just be sent away? His hands shook as he heard footsteps near the doorway, and his heart began to pound.
The girl who answered was slighter smaller than he, and perhaps a couple years younger. Her blonde hair was cropped short, the blunt ends tickling the tops of her ears. She stared up at him with piercing, amber eyes.
"May I help you, Sir?"
Taken aback at being called such a thing, he felt himself stammer.
"Um…hello." He fidgeted nervously with his collar. The girl before him stood oddly rigid, yet he didn't detect any hostility from her. He took a deep breath. "Does Mr. Berthold Hawkeye reside here?"
She blinked once, then nodded. "I will go and get him. My father is currently up in his study. May I ask your name, Sir?"
He hadn't expected this. Roy had heard many rumors about Berthold Hawkeye over the past few months. Whispers that the man was reclusive yet brilliant, yes—but nothing that he also had a daughter living with him. "Roy Mustang. I wrote to him a couple months back."
The girl nodded again, then turned back to retreat into the house.
"Wait!" Roy called after her. "I didn't catch you name!"
The girl looked back at him, eyes widening with surprise. "Pardon?"
"What's your name?"
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Then she smoothed out her skirt and tucked back her hair, eyes skimming the floor.
"Riza Hawkeye." she answered simply.
"Riza." He repeated, feeling the new name on his lips. "Nice to meet you."
Riza's gaze flitted back to his, and Roy grinned at the shy smile that now graced her features.
"Wait here," she commanded. "I'll go get my father for you, Mr. Mustang."
Life with the Hawkeyes was completely different than at the bar in the city. The lessons with Master Hawkeye were long, grueling, and insanely interesting. He never thought he'd find so much joy pouring over complicated equations, detailed drawings, and long lists of ingredients. Even the most basic fundamentals were much more advanced than any of his chemistry assignments from back home.
Nothing could ever quell the excitement he felt when he was first able to transmute loose sand into the rough, red rock he'd once seen in the West. He could feel his curiosity spike with every new piece of information, and he reveled in each new transmutation he could get his hands on.
Berthold Hawkeye was a good teacher, and Roy enjoyed the praise he often received from him. But then his Master would retire to his bedroom around five o'clock every day, and Roy's only company from dinner to bedtime was his daughter.
Riza Hawkeye was unlike any girl he'd ever met. Roy loved his sisters back home, as they had come to be known to him. But they were always so loud, and wanting to know every part of his daily life—sometimes to his annoyance. Riza was not so easily won over. She mostly kept to herself. She cleaned the house, bought the food, cooked the meals, and hung the laundry out to dry. He always found it slightly amusing to watch her out the window of Master Hawkeye's study, standing on her tip-toes to clip the bedsheets onto the clothesline high above her.
"Master, may I ask what happened to Riza's mother?" He had asked one day as he watched Riza teeter back into the house with an overflowing clothes basket.
Berthold paused in the middle of his lecture, and stiffened. "She is no longer with us."
His Master had abruptly ended the lesson five minutes later, and Roy never brought the subject up again.
In his spare time when Roy's eyes started to tire of perfect circles and triangles, he entertained himself by pestering his Master's daughter with endless questions. At first, she only responded with nods, or one-word acknowledgements. He found it to be a sort of game, to see how long he could make her answers.
"Good morning, Riza!"
"Riza, what spices did you put in the chicken?"
"What are you working on, Riza?"
"Look at this, Riza!"
More than anything, he liked to say her name as often as possible. Because no matter how short her answer was, the sound of her name never failed to bring a small smile to her face. She would always call him Mr. Mustang, of course—even though he'd asked her dozens of times just to call him Roy.
About two months into his apprenticeship, Roy woke up early to the cold winter light blinding him through window. Master Hawkeye had gone out that day to pick up a new book on alchemy, and Roy was looking forward to the chance to sleeping in. But as he went to close the curtains, he noticed Riza walking out of the house carrying a white bundle under her arm.
He threw on the coat Chris had given him before he left, and followed her silently through the freshly fallen snow. If she did hear him behind her, she took no notice. Riza shivered lightly, and Roy felt a pain in his chest to see her huddled in a threadbare jacket much too small for her.
He followed her across the sleeping town, silent except for the merchants who were setting up their shops for the day. They cast friendly waves in their direction, but Riza trudged forward as if she couldn't see them. Finally, they rounded their way up to a small space overlooking the city. The cemetery wasn't large, but the space was still and peaceful.
Riza made her way towards the middle, and stopped before a small headstone. Carefully, she pulled out the bundle to reveal a bouquet of white lilies that she had been tending to in the house for the past few weeks. She gently placed it on the grave, then settled herself onto the cold dirt. She sat very still.
Roy baited his breath, then slowly made his way towards the grave. She had to have heard him by now, he reasoned. But she still remained quite rigid, staring up at the headstone before her.
When he reached her, he stopped and debated going back—this seemed private. A million different thoughts stopped in his throat, making the muscles constrict uncomfortably.
"Can I sit next to you?" He finally gasped out.
Without even looking at him, she nodded. He settled himself besides her, and looked up into the name Riza was staring at. It wasn't hard to guess.
"Your mother?" He asked, looking sideways at her.
Riza nodded. "She died six years ago, today."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
The cold wintry silence fell upon them heavily. Roy leaned into the wind that carried the sharp scent of pine, and a tiny hint of lemon that came each the breeze ruffled Riza's hair. He inclined his head slightly to see her better, and watched her quietly. The girl next to him was hugging her knees tightly as she continued to stare at the headstone. She bit her lip, and her chin trembled slightly.
Before he knew what he was doing, Roy reached over and caught a single tear that had escaped the corner of her eye. Riza looked at him in surprise, and Roy stared back. Her cheek had been like ice, yet his hand came away blazing. He suddenly realized how close he and Riza were, close enough for him to count the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes.
Roy shifted awkwardly, moving his position a bit farther away from her.
"S-sorry," he managed. All complaints of the cold were completely driven out of his mind, feeling rather hot underneath his layers. Desperate to change the subject, the words were out of his mouth before he knew it.
"My mom's gone, too."
Riza looked over at him. Her mouth parted slightly at the revelation, and her eyebrows furrowed.
"Your mother?"
Roy swallowed. He hadn't planned on bringing this up…ever. He didn't want Riza Hawkeye's pity. He didn't want to her to give him that same look that everyone else gave him—like he was still a helpless child crying out for his mother in the dead of night.
"Yeah." He stammered. "My dad too." Damn it, stop talking!
Riza blinked, and Roy tried to read her expression. Her eyes were like honey, warm and bright. She didn't look uncomfortable or fidget in any way, only continuing to look at him as though seeing him for the first time.
Finally, she turned to pull a single white lily from the bouquet and held it back out to him. Her eyes plead with a silent empathy and understanding.
"Thank you," Roy stated, still staring at Riza as he accepted her gift.
Riza gave him a small smile, then looked back at her mother's gravestone. The deafening silence fell back upon them again.
"You um, take after your mother?" Roy stammered, trying to hold the string of conversation as best he could.
Great job, Roy. This is the first time we've really talked for longer than a minute and it's about our dead parents.
He'd seen Riza's mother before. Hawkeye Manor held no pictures, except for a small frame that Riza kept on her bedside table. (He had walked into the wrong room on accident, and ran out as soon as he realized the owner. He had avoided that corner of the house like the plague ever since).
Riza's expression softened. "Yes. People tell me all the time that I look just like her." She turned towards him again, her posture more open. "What about you?"
"My mom." Roy said, tasting the familiar grief. "She was from Xing, and she married my dad when she started university down in Central. I don't remember too much of them, but my aunt says I definitely didn't get my looks from her side of the family."
The corners of Riza's mouth stayed curved, and Roy couldn't help but notice how much he liked to see her smile.
They stayed there until their fingers turned numb and their cheeks grew red, and Riza made them both beef stew to warm their stiff bodies. Roy spent the rest of the day by her side as they baked apple pie and talked by the fire.
Master Hawkeye returned late that night once they were already asleep. The next day, Riza went back to school and Roy resumed his studies as usual. But when his lessons were complete and Master Hawkeye had retired for the day, Roy followed Riza around and talked to her while they finished her chores. Sometimes their conversations lasted until late until the night, the candles reaching the ends of their stubs.
"Really, you worked in a bar? And you have ten sisters?" She asked one night as they lay by the fire. The early spring rain pattered against the window, the sound making them both sleepy and relaxed.
"Well, they aren't really my sisters. But they sure acted like it, especially whenever I brought up a girl. You should have seen them when I asked my friend Sarah to the academy formal—they bought me at least three outfits and spent all day on my hair! Of course it rained that night, so it didn't really matter…"
Riza giggled beside him. "That's funny, Mr. Mustang."
He turned towards her, awkwardly brushing the bangs from her eyes—he rather liked the way her hair tickled against his fingertips.
"Riza, how many times do I have to ask you to call me by my first name?"
Riza gave him a shy smile, and averted his gaze as she sat up against the couch.
"At least once more, Mr. Mustang."
The following autumn came quick and cool, a blessing after the sweltering month of August. Roy had stayed with the Hawkeyes for almost a year by that point, and he was starting to get into more complex alchemy. He spent long hours with Master Hawkeye in his study, learning how to transmute solid rock, metal, water, and even jewels. When he wasn't memorizing transmutation circles or solving alchemic equations, he spent his free time helping Riza with whatever she was doing.
The summer that year had been hot and humid, making the apples especially crisp once October rolled around. Roy and Riza had spent most of the afternoon picking the fruit in the orchard across town, the sun steadily sinking in the west.
It was Riza's turn to climb the tree, leaving Roy to stand below with the basket.
"You're not going to fall, are you?" He teased as she methodically gripped onto each branch. "I told you I was fine to stay up there."
She threw him a dirty look behind her. "I've been climbing trees since I was five years old. I can do this."
"Country bumpkin."
"City slicker."
Roy smiled, and inched closer to the trunk. Riza had already nestled herself onto an extended branch near the center, reaching on her tip-toes to grasp an especially plump apple above her.
"You're making pie with that one, right?" He called up.
Riza looked down with disdain and dropped the apple straight into the basket below with perfect accuracy. "Not for you, Mr. Mustang."
"Oh come now, don't I get a bite for helping you?"
"Sure. You can have a bite of supper, how about that?"
"You're no fun."
Riza laughed, looking at him as she tried to step onto a neighboring branch—
"Riza, wait!"
He watched in horror as her foot slipped on a knot, and her body pitched backwards, eyes wide. Roy threw aside the basket and ran forward with his arms outstretched—
He caught her around the middle, her weight and velocity knocking them both to the ground. Roy lay flat on his back and struggled to regain the breath sucked out of him, with Riza gathered half-hazardly on top of him.
"Mr. Mustang! Are you alright?" She gasped and clutched at his shoulders. "Are you hurt? Mr. Mustang!"
Roy groaned and sat up as Riza slid to the ground next to him. "I'm fine, are you okay?"
She furrowed her eyebrows and nodded, fingers still squeezing his arms. She stared at him with such anxiety, and Roy smiled at her with assurance.
She was now very close, and he found himself noticing every detail. Her hair was a tad longer than usual, the breeze blowing away the loose ends to reveal luminous golden eyes, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and the soft pink of her slightly parted lips…
It lasted perhaps half a second, but both drew back immediately after. Roy didn't think her eyes could get any bigger.
"I…I'm sorry." he stammered. "I didn't mean to…I'm sorry!"
To his surprise, he realized she was blushing, and she suddenly laughed.
"Do you always kiss the girls you catch?"
Roy let out a nervous laugh. "Only the careless ones who fall."
She laughed fully now—the sound pure, bright, and radiant. It melted him to the very core.
"Fair enough, Roy Mustang."
Roy cupped her face in his hands, and lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "Say it again."
"Say what again?"
"My name."
Her lips rounded to form the word, and he gently kissed her again, the sound trapped between them.
They lay there, holding hands and talking until the stars started to twinkle into the twilight. Riza settled herself into the crook of his arm, and they comfortably watched the sky grow dark above them.
"It really is so clear up here." Roy started again. "You can hardly see any of the stars in the city."
Riza turned her head to look at him. "Why not?"
"Too much smoke." He answered simply. "That's the price you pay to live at the top of it all."
"Are you really going to go back, then?"
Roy met her gaze, her eyes turning the color of wine in the fading light.
"Everything I'm learning from your father…I want it mean something. I want to help people, Riza. There are people who are suffering, killed even because of mankind's selfishness. If alchemy can help them, then I want to be there—right in the middle of it all."
Riza looked him in wonder, and he felt slightly awkward at his sudden exclamation. Then her brows furrowed slightly, and she dropped her voice.
"When are you leaving?"
Roy turned away from her and looked back up at the sky. He tried not to feel guilty at the look of pain that had briefly flashed through her eyes.
"Soon."
The next week, he got into a fight with Master Hawkeye.
"You'll die the moment you set foot there!" Berthold's face was red with fury, the veins in his forehead throbbing. "And if you don't shoot a bullet through a child's head when they ask, they'll leave you for dead like trash on the side of the road!"
Roy held his ground and shouted back. "Isn't alchemy meant to help people, Master? Amestrian citizens are dying because of all the violence! This power can save them, can't you see?"
"OUT!"
Master Hawkeye did not leave his study all day, and he shouted at his daughter to go away when she came by with dinner.
"I'm sorry, it's my fault that he's like this," Roy stated glumly as Riza handed him a bowl of egg noodles with potato dumplings. "I just can't seem to get through to him."
Riza sat quietly on the opposite site of the couch, avoiding his gaze as she gripped the handle of her teacup. He gazed at her in earnest.
"Do you agree with him, Riza?" He asked quietly.
Riza sipped her tea, still refusing to look at him. "I don't know, Roy."
Roy sighed and slumped against the cushions. "I can't say that I blame you completely. But you don't know what it's like out there. You're mostly protected out here in the rural areas. But at the borders, there are people dying every day, without any chance to defend themselves."
He snuck a glance at Riza, and found her to be sitting up straight, peering at him with her arms crossed over her chest. He went on.
"You don't know what it's like, to see soldiers coming back from the outskirts without any arms or legs, or how many military funerals you see on the way to school. Riza, I…I could change that. Help make a world where everyone is happy and safe."
Riza now looked at him with such intensity, and Roy felt his cheeks burn. He really didn't know when to shut up, did he? He took the bowl of egg noodles and started to eat with a bit more fervor than usual.
He felt the couch dip slightly besides him, and he looked up to see Riza carefully positioning herself next to him. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned her head on top of his shoulder. Roy froze for a moment at her affection, then put down his bowl to look at her.
"You're going to leave very soon, aren't you?" she asked quietly.
Roy swallowed hard. "Yes. The military academy starts in a month, and Chris will kill me if I don't pay her a visit before then. I'm going, with or without your father's research."
"But why fire, Roy? You don't have to chase after something so unattainable and dangerous."
Roy sat in silence, focusing on Riza's soft intakes of breath next to him. He stared into the fire glowing in the hearth, the flames dancing and radiating light all across the room.
"It drives out the dark." He finally responded. "Fire is light, is life. Yes, it can be destructive if left unchecked, but it can also be harnessed as a powerful tool."
Riza said nothing in response, but stayed cradled across his shoulder. He stroked her freshly cut tresses between his fingers, lost in thought. They stayed that way until drowsiness overtook them, and Roy closed his eyes. He woke up alone the next morning on the couch, the scent of lemon still lingering on his shirt.
The arguments between Roy and his Master continued throughout the week, until finally Roy accepted the truth that his Master would never trust him with the secrets of flame alchemy—at least not while Roy was set on the path of the military. That Sunday morning he made a decision, and packed up everything he owned in twenty minutes.
Riza watched him in the doorway, standing over him like some kind of guardian. Roy risked glances at her every so often, and sometimes their eyes met briefly before he continued on.
He took the two bags filled with his possessions down the grand staircase and positioned himself in front of the door. Riza followed him quietly and handed him a small paper bag full of goat cheese, plump apples, and two slices of rye bread.
"It's for lunch," she stated simply. "I'm sorry it's not anything more sustaining."
Roy shook his head. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"So, I guess this is goodbye then."
They stood across each other in the doorway, neither daring to budge. It was the only goodbye that he'd been dreading (Master Hawkeye had refused to speak to him completely, and wouldn't dare being caught seeing him off).
Riza shifted her weight, and fidgeted with the folds of her dress. "Will I ever see you again, Roy?"
He sighed, looking down at the girl that he had trailed behind for more than a year. The girl from whom he had stolen kisses underneath the stars, and talked to until the embers died from the hearth. "I'll come back after the academy, before I begin my career in the military. I'll try again with Master once I graduate—I just have to prove myself first. As for you and I…I don't know. You're special to me, Riza, and part of you always will be. But I want you to live your life." He swallowed, trying to find the words. "I don't…I don't like the way your father treats you."
Riza looked up at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Roy's hands balled into fists—he had meant what he said. As much as he respected his Master, he could no longer turn a blind eye to the way she looked at her father every time he praised his apprentice. There was such longing in her eyes—a chance to be loved and to be acknowledged in a way that Berthold never gave to her. Roy had always admired her quiet compassion and service, but he found Riza to be far too lonely in her own house.
He cleared his throat rather forcefully. "You could finish school, go to a university…meet someone who can get you out of this house. You can be…anything you want to be."
Riza didn't say anything. She looked up at him once more, and gave him a small smile with her hand outstretched. "Alright, Mr. Mustang. Take care."
Roy took her face in his hands and kissed her brow. "Stay safe."
As Roy reached the top of the hill, he looked back at the manor in the rising sun. He can still see Riza standing in the doorway, and he swore he can catch her scent of fresh lemons and apple pie on the wind.
Roy felt a sense of longing twitch in his chest. A longing to drop his bags and run to her, taking her in his arms and assuring her that she'd never have to be alone again.
And then he remembered his mother's arms, his father's smile. He remembered his old home and the library filled to brim with books. He remembered that old piano his father played after he came back from work, always slightly flat no matter how many times they tuned it. He remembered his mother singing in Xingese as she gave him a cookie straight from the oven.
And he remembered their blood on the kitchen floor, the smell of gunpowder in the air, and a soldier's cap that was slightly too big for him.
He had a promise to keep first.
Riza raised her hand in a wave, and Roy returned the gesture before turning his back. He would return someday, he told himself. Maybe then Riza's smile would reach her eyes, and maybe then she would talk to him without a single care in the world—in the arms of someone who cherished her. Someone warm and free, who could give her more than a soldier's solemn vow to carry her picture onto the battlefield. He had to let her go, to find her own dreams. After all, she had no obligations to the military, to alchemy. She had her whole life ahead of her.
She'd be fine.
…
Right?