XI "Roots"

Roy awoke the next morning thinking he'd never be able to wipe his grin away. He lay awake for long moments watching Riza sleep, curled up next to him and buried in his blankets. He'd been seeing this part of her more, now. Hopefully for the rest of his life.

He would have spent all of Saturday morning happily dozing, but as luck would have it the phone rang. The voice on the other end made his face fall, and slowly contort into a shape he usually reserved just for emergencies. Everything had been going so perfectly, and now up popped up a new and nasty complication: "Mom?"

"Do I not sound like your mother?" the earpiece demanded.

He winced and held it a few inches away. "No, I mean—yes. I mean—Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to call, that's all."

"You've got a lot to explain for yourself, young man." Was she ever going to stop calling him that? "Do you have any idea how hard it was for your father and me to track you down?"

Yes. "Sorry."

"Well, you'd better come down to the train station right quick and retrieve us. This place is more of a mess than your situation."

Slightly panicked, Roy showered and threw some clean clothes on. He was halfway to the East City Station before he realized that he'd forgotten to leave Riza a note. "It's really about time I stopped being intimidated by my own parents," he berated himself, making a mental note to call her before he went hunting for them. Knowing his mother, she'd wandered off into some shop and called in the cavalry when she found she was lost.

It was, however, in searching (fruitlessly) for a free phone that he ran into them. They'd been waiting around the platform where they'd arrived, now a good hour and a half ago, expecting to see a man in uniform. It must have been a shock. "Excuse me," he heard his father say, felt a hand on his elbow, the turned and the taller man took a half-step back. "Roy? What's happened to your face?"

He reached up, feeling gingerly at his eyepatch. All of a sudden the flesh underneath was sore. "It's a long story, dad."

"We'll have plenty of time to hear it, Charlie," his mother interrupted in her on-the-edge-of-reason alto, shoving past her husband. "I want to know—"

"You won't hear much of anything in this place," he told her, very not in the mood for a lecture. "The first thing to do is get out of here. Where are your bags?"

He didn't see them, but surely they hadn't come all this way without intending a long stay… "There was a mix-up when we changed trains in Xenotime," his father said. "They'll be on the five o'clock this evening."

"As reliable as Eastern stations always are, I see." Roy sighed. There was no point in trudging all the way back to his flat if they'd have to come back to retrieve suitcases. The line of people waiting for a public phone had not even moved. Surely no one's business was as urgent as his?

"It's a waste of effort to make your customers happy, if you want my opinion," his mother said, shrugging. "As long as they get where they're going they'll be fine."

Maybe he'd have a better chance at a diner nearby. "Have you eaten?"

"There was breakfast on the train, but they closed just before I got there," his father said. He looked hungry. "It must be nearly lunchtime now."

"I'll take you into town, then," he told them, and motioned.

The only café that wasn't jam-packed had a broken phone. It was difficult for Roy to keep his frustration from showing. If it had been on the menu, he would have ordered something with a valium additive. As it was, the waitress took his trench coat (Oh, last vestige of secrecy!) and returned with a somewhat apologetic-looking sandwich. You couldn't fight on an empty stomach—and although he didn't want to answer the inevitable questions about his personal life, he knew he had no choice.

"What brings you two to East City?" He asked before his mother could get a word in, and indiscreetly took a large chunk out his ham-and-swiss.

"We decided that it was about time for a vacation," his father answered over his coffee. "Last we heard, you were stationed at Eastern Headquarters…though now I've noticed 'stationed' might not be the best term."

"I resigned shortly after the revolution." He'd been transferred back to Central a good three years ago, but he hadn't spoken to them in much longer than that. Count on mom's nosiness.

"I'd been under the impression you would have welcomed the change to the government," she said.

"There were…complications."

"Of a violent kind, I see," his father put in.

He touched his eye patch again. It was so much a part of him now that he hardly thought about it. "I have other scars."

"And we heard about Maes."

"A lot's happened," he said quietly. "It's difficult sometimes just to survive."

"Aye."

Obligatory pleasantries over with, the two men lapsed into a companionable silence and let Aya Mustang chatter unheard about matters back home. It was boring as hell, but at least the mundane-ness filled time that might have otherwise been occupied by awkward questions. Roy mentioned that the fair was in town and they paid a visit, and at last the train came in from Xenotime and the heavy suitcases were delivered as promised.

"Where are you staying?" Roy asked, hefting his mother's bag with a grunt and hoping feverishly that it wasn't too far.

It was then that he learned it was customary for the visited relative to graciously host the visiting. No excuse about limited square footage would suffice. He grumbled to himself in leading the way, invited God to instill any kind of natural disaster so the road would be blocked or flooded or quarantined. It would be a trick explaining everything to Riza and his mother at the same time.

The lights were out, though, when they arrived; both a relief and a worry. The first thing he did was dash into the bedroom and pocket the contents of the bottom drawer. While he was trying to figure out where his parents would sleep (he was keeping his bed), his mother found a note.

"You've a message, Roy," she said, thrusting the pad under his nose. "I can't imagine who would have put it there."

It was Riza's handwriting: Call me. She was either very worried or very angry.

"Her, maybe," his father said, holding up Roy's wallet from where it had been deposited on the counter. He flipped through the half-dozen pictures it contained, only one of which framed anybody other than he and Riza. "Your assistant, wasn't she? It must be wonderful to still be so involved in your old job."

"She's retired too."

"It must have been quite a scandal."

"It's a nice bedtime story." Roy fought hard to keep from sneering. It was bad enough that they'd dragged him away from her this morning. His tolerance had been quite strained then, and it was unraveling now.

His father, slightly more adept at noticing his son's moods, closed the wallet and handed it back to him. "I suppose we should give you some time."

"Just…don't go rifling through all of my things, please," he said, cinching up the sash of his coat and heading for the door. "I have enough trouble picking up after myself."

"The phone's there," his mother said.

"I'll be back in a while," he replied, and left.