Riza clutched the damp rag tightly in her fist, frantically pressing it against her swollen eye. She knew even now that it would leave an ugly bruise the next day.

She cursed under her breath as she stumbled on yet another patch of uneven ground. The worn country lane ran at a jagged angle due to the sharp decrease of the hill. It was enough of a chore to descend, even when one's ankle wasn't sprained.

Riza finally reached the edge of the gardens to Hawkeye Manor, and she bit her lip as she looked up at the decaying house. This wasn't going to be easy to explain…

The draft had been sent out earlier that week—all Amestrian young men from ages eighteen to forty-five were required to register themselves as able-bodied and ready to serve at a moment's notice. The fighting for now had been contained in the east around Ishval, but the news reports on the radio repeatedly reported that the boundaries were starting to bleed into the north and south as well. Already a group of sullen-looking young men had left the station that morning for Central. The town had been eerily quiet since then.

She had been on her way home from the market, clinging to a paper bag full of fresh vegetables. It wasn't much, but perhaps she could make a nice broth to accompany the leftover rye bread. She remembered how much Roy liked it, and sometimes her father would ask for a second bowl from his study.

But those were happier times, when the manor housed three instead of two. Now the spare bedroom remained absent of Roy Mustang entirely, the floor littered with broken needles and discarded bottles of rust-colored ink.

Riza wondered dully if Roy had already been sent to the front lines. The past six months since his absence had not left her unaffected.

She reached the edge of town near the crumbling liquor store, where a group of young men stood gathered in a circle. The sharp scent of cheap booze wafted over her in waves. She coughed, and the ones closest to her turned around in glee.

She soon found herself surrounded, the group of eight closing tightly around her. She knew these boys—classmates from her grade, about to graduate in the coming month.

The first boy had grabbed her by the arm, and the groceries spilled onto the dirt as she jerked it away. But he only laughed and took another step towards her, the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Drunk, the whole lot of them. Damn that vile drink—they would barely remember this in a couple hours' time.

The one named Todd tipped her chin to meet his as two of his friends pulled back her arms. Riza faintly recalled how much this one liked to mock her haircut when the teacher's back was turned.

"If we're going to be sent out to die…" He drawled, his words slightly slurred. "May as well have some fun while we can."

Riza had punched, kicked, bitten, screamed. But her determination that they not see her back proved to be fatal as they wrestled her down to the ground, Todd's fingers clumsily unbuttoning her blouse…

"Hey! Get off o' her!" Three shots rang out into the air, and the pack around her scattered. Riza lay flat on her back, breathing hard as the wind chipped at her exposed chest. The blue sky gave way to the weathered face of the old bartender, and he cautiously knelt down next to her.

"Damn bastards," he muttered to himself. "Ain't nobody's right ter force a woman like that…I don' care how drunk yeh are…" He helped her to sit up, and offered her a thick, scratchy jacket that smelled of musk and old scotch.

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly.

"Yer Hawkeye's daughter, aren't yeh?" He asked kindly. "Whatever happene' teh that black hair'd bloke that was with yeh?"

"Military." Riza said shortly. She didn't feel like explaining the details. The bartender nodded offhandedly, and holstered his gun back onto his belt.

"Let me call yer father," he said as he walked towards the bar. "I'll ask him ter pick yeh up."

Knowing her father's response to that request, Riza waited until the bartender was back inside before setting off for Hawkeye Manor. She had found an old cleaning rag in one of the jacket's pockets, and dipped it in the river before continuing on her way.

Her father must have received the call in the space it took her to return, as he was standing just inside the front door as Riza entered. He stiffened, then walked steadily towards her.

"Did they see?" Berthold Hawkeye stopped right in front of her, his voice low and strained. Riza stared up in confusion into his bloodshot eyes.

"See what?"

"My research!" He cried frantically, wringing his hands. "Did they see the tattoo on your back?"

"N-no." Riza stammered, backing into the front door behind her. "I kept it hidden, Father." But her words seemed to have no effect, as Berthold ran his fingers through his unkept hair. His deranged self frightened Riza more than any of the young men that had held her down earlier.

"Father, have you taken your medi-"

"LET ME SEE!" He shouted. "I need to know for myself!" His hands trembled at the sides of his head, eyes blazing. Riza shrunk against the door. Her father—though absent and removed and entirely absorbed in his work—had never once raised his voice at her before.

Riza swallowed, then turned to face the door, away from her father. She let the bartender's jacket fall to the floor as she undid the rest of the buttons of her blouse. The cool air almost stung at her bare back, Riza clutching her shirt in front of her chest.

"Good…it's safe…" she heard her father murmur, running his hands lightly over her skin, tracing the designs. "Are you sure no one saw it?" He snapped again.

"Yes, Father," Riza whispered. "It's safe, just like you said."

She could feel him relax behind her, and he removed his hands from her back with a long, drawn-out sigh. Riza quickly dressed again before turning back to her father. His removed demeanor had settled over him once again, and he shuffled towards the staircase, coughing slightly.

"Should I make some tea, Father?"

He glanced back at her, and she swore she could see a hint of regret in his eyes. Regret towards Riza, or at himself, she would never know.

"Yes…set it outside my door…"

"Yes, Father."

After leaving some buttered bread and a chipped teacup at his study, she would go to the bathroom and wash the blood out of her hair. The cut in her lip and swollen eye would need to be iced daily, and she would need to stay off her ankle as much as possible for a while.

Once she was able to walk without limping, Riza bought a handgun at the firearms store and carried it daily.

It never crosses her mind to cry.

It was official. Riza hated basements.

They were murky, dark, and filthy. What use did anyone in Amestris have to own one, unless to hide someone away in their cramped and suffocating spaces?

Even though she knew it to be of no avail, Riza twisted at the ropes binding her hands for what seemed like the hundredth time. They rubbed at her wrists and ankles, chaffing at the raw skin they had already inflicted for the past three days. She groaned in frustration as they held on as tightly as ever, and she slumped against the wall.

She supposed it could have been worse. They had given her back her shirt after their "examinations" so she wouldn't freeze, and she hadn't been gagged this time as they shoved her unceremoniously back into the basement. She even been allowed to drink some water and chicken broth after each session.

Her captors were rogue alchemists, not slaughterers—slightly more human in the loosest of definitions. At least, they seemed to think that studying the arrays on her back was much more interesting than anything else they could have gained from her body.

Still, she knew her time was running out. Though they demanded to know the secrets of the missing parts, she had never revealed them. She couldn't, as she had tried to explain, for she was no alchemist. Hell, she didn't even know what the remaining Latin said. So they groaned in frustration, even attempting alchemy to repair the damage the Flame Alchemist's burns had left—but to no effect. Fire was a weapon of destruction, if nothing else. Soon enough, they would surely dispose of her…

There were footsteps pounding on the floor above her, and she sighed. What in the world were they doing now? Surely not coming for another session—they have given up after five hours of staring at the tattoo this morning, finally letting out their anger by pounding their fists against her spine.

Riza worried about the Colonel. She had been gone too long, and she wasn't blind to the way that stubborn man reacted when any of his subordinates were in danger.

Her heart sagged with a terrible weight—she was supposed to have protected the Colonel, protected his secret. And though she knew her captors would never fully unlock the full truth from her back, her father's research had been seen and exposed. If she had someone put the Colonel in danger because of this…if they had somehow found a weakness against him…

The door locking her in suddenly rumbled, and Riza was temporally blinded by a flash of blue light that completely demolished the entirety of it. She squinted, only to be greeted by a man's shadow standing in the door frame.

She strained against the ropes in despair. "You've already looked today! Haven't you had enough?" She turned away and curled up against the wall, bracing for the inevitable.

A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders, and she screamed at them to leave her alone. So they had come to kill her after all, apparently. Riza shut her eyes tight, not wanting her last sight to be that of her captors.

"Lieutenant! It's me! It's alright!"

Riza stopped struggling and slowly opened her eyes.

She knew that voice.

She turned to look at the man gripping her by the shoulders, as though afraid she would slip away. His dark hair swept into pleading eyes, full of pain and worry and exhaustion. The circles underneath seemed darker; his face thinner—but it was him.

"Colonel?" She whispered, barely daring to believe he was really there.

"You're alive," he breathed, and he bent down to lean his forehead against hers, his breath coming out ragged and distorted. Riza stiffened, taken aback by his unusual show of affection.

"Colonel?"

He drew back, relief etched into every line of his face. "Lieutenant…I thought I'd….I thought we'd lost you." He exhaled shakily, then turned his attention to her bound ankles. He took out a small pocketknife and began to work on the cords.

Riza bit her lip. She had to tell him, to inform him how she failed. The ropes that had held her suddenly fell slack, and the Colonel tossed them aside in disgust.

"Colonel," Riza stated, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry…they saw my ba—"

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" His hands were suddenly skimming through her hair, brushing her cheeks, cupping her chin. Riza's eyes widened at his touch, staring into his dark eyes that seemed to be trying to pull out all of her unspoken words.

"They didn't…they didn't do anything, did they?" The Colonel's voice held a rather hard edge, and it took a minute for Riza to understand what he was implying.

"N-no, Sir," she responded. "Other than restraining me and the occasional rough-handling, I am unharmed."

The hardness in his eyes remained, but the fire dimmed slightly. His shoulders released a tiny fraction of tension. He let out a small sigh and fingered her hair again. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"But Sir, my back—they may not have deciphered the code, but they have studied the remainder quite extensively. They could have found something—"

But the Colonel only shook his head. "Never mind that, Lieutenant. The rest of the team already has those bastards in custody, and we need to get you to a hospital."

"But, Sir—"

"Riza," The Colonel pressed gently. "That doesn't matter to me right now. What matters is making sure you're alright." He wrapped her arms around her, and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"You're safe now, Lieutenant." He said against her hair. "It's alright. You're safe."

Riza felt her throat burn, and was shocked to find tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. It's okay, I'm okay, we're okay…

The Colonel finally pulled back with hesitation, and he smiled at her. "Let's go home, Lieutenant. Can you stand?"

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet, allowing her to lean against him. He handed Riza her gun, and she felt the familiar weight slide into her fingers once again.

"Thought that might make you feel like yourself—just don't use it on me when you find out how much paperwork I've neglected in your absence." Riza let out a shaky laugh, and the Colonel smiled again. He carefully guided his Lieutenant towards the door to leave, up the stairs and into the setting sun outside.

The Colonel never left her side.

Aww yeah, I like me some angst.

I saw a post a while back about how the first thing Gothel checks after being reunited with Rapunzel was her hair, and the idea kinda ran from there—it was interesting nonetheless to write a sort of parallel drabble. I hope no one came off as out of character, especially Riza. I didn't want to make her a damsel in distress (because she sure as heck ain't one), but she's also had quite a hard life and I wanted to explore her dynamic between her detachment and longing for some sort of human connection.

I hope that I treated the attempted sexual assault with respect. I know this topic can be sensitive and the outcome cruel. Riza's really just has some terrible trauma surrounding her tattoo and that literally scarred her in more ways than one, and I wanted to highlight how Roy loves her for more than what her body offers, and how much she means to him as a person.

Yeah, a little more of a downer, but it still had a happy ending! Thank you for reading, and comments are always welcome!