A/N- I've read a few great stories about Roy and Riza living in an A/U where people get indications of whom their soulmates are. I love the idea of the tattoos with the first words that soulmates speak to each other, but I try something different here. I wanted it to be less cut and dry. I wanted the "clues" to be subject to interpretation. I wanted it to be partially fate and partially choice. Unfortunately, this is un-beta'd and there may be format issues.

He was 12 years old when he heard the two girls who sat in front of him at school whisper about it. His first thought was that it was a fairy tale like those stories where a regular girl got a prince or king to fall madly in love with her. He never understood why girls liked those preposterous stories. Still, if there were soul mates, it would be kind of amazing. He decided to ask Aunt Chris.

The question caused a weirdly sad look to flit across her face.

"It never happened to me, Roy-boy. The girls and I have discussed it, and none of them ever had anything like it happen to them." She gazed intently at her boy, who was trying to not look crestfallen. And then she had a sudden flash of memory.

"You know, your dad once told me that whenever he looked at your mom, it seemed like the sun was shining upon her. I always thought that he meant it figuratively and never asked him to explain. I wonder if he meant it literally."

If his parents had been soulmates, maybe he'd have one, too. Maybe it was a trait that one could inherit, like black eyes.

Riza Hawkeye was nine years old when she came upon a diary stashed in a box in the rotting attic. She blew the dust off of the book and fanned the gold-edged pages. She knew that it was her mother's handwriting, Her memory of her mother was cloudy, but she still had her very early report cards with her mother's signature on them. Riza had managed to move around the splintered floor without making much noise. She was relatively certain that she had not disturbed her father, who was so consumed with his research that he probably wouldn't have noticed if she had fallen through two floors and landed in his study.

She was wrong. He met her at the foot of the stairs . When he saw the diary, both sadness and anger warred on his face. Anger won, and he grabbed the book from her. She dared not ask him about one of the few lines that she had read while still up in the musty space: Whenever I am with Berthold, the sweet taste of spearmint dances on my tongue.

Roy had been told that no one would be able to meet him at the train, that he would have to walk from town to the Hawkeye house. He had good directions, but it was further than he had expected, especially while carrying a big suitcase. He fancied it as the first test of his endurance. Aunt Chris had let him read some of Hawkeye's letter, and it was pretty clear that his new master would not be easy to please.

As he trudged up the path to the house that he hoped was his teacher's, Roy spotted the bent back of a boy digging in the garden. He was startled to see flames surrounding the boy, like a full body aura. He nervously cleared his throat and gasped at the same second that the boy spun around to look at him. The boy was a girl, and a pretty one at that! She just had short hair and was wearing boy's clothes. He almost said, "I thought you were a boy," but he caught himself before he could put that foot in his mouth. He stared at the flames. They reminded him of the alchemical flame tests he had studied. Arsenic blue. Copper green. The red of Mercury. How was this possible?

Riza had been digging potatoes and carrots and picking peppers and tomatoes for dinner. She needed enough to feed three and thought to herself that she wouldn't have to cook for three for long. Her father was a very difficult man. Slowly, she realized that she was hearing the tinkle of piano keys. Had Father put a record on the phonograph? The non-tinny melody sounded more like a real piano, but they didn't have one, and the neighbors were too far away to be heard at their remote home. The song was terribly sad, but there was something hopeful about it, too. It modulated into a major key. She felt like she knew the piece but was also positive that she had never heard it before. She heard an ahem and the music crescendoed.

The boy and the girl stared at each other, mouths open, until Roy gathered his wits and squeaked out a, "Hi. I'm Roy Mustang."

Riza introduced herself and broke her stare. "Follow me, Mr. Mustang."

Following behind her where she could not see him, he reached out and sliced his hand like karate chops through the flames that trailed behind her like a cape in a breeze. There was no heat, but his hand felt like it was being stroked with a feather. He shivered.

She showed him to his room. She was too confused to stay around him, so she ran down to the kitchen to begin cooking. The music continued, and she realized that there was no source other than something inside her and that that something had to do with him. Could he hear the music, too?

Was it possible that this little boyish girl and he were soulmates? Roy wished that he could call Aunt Chris and discuss it with her, even though she had not experienced the thing, but his pride wouldn't let him. He didn't want to seem like a little kid. He was 14, dammit. He didn't have the guts to talk to Miss Hawkeye about it either. What if she didn't see anything special? Was it possible for her to be his soulmate but he not be hers? That sounded dumb. Equivalent exchange and all, but what if there was a mix up or defect? His stomach roiled. Only the possibility of something so wonderful could make him feel so afraid.

A few weeks passed. He tried to be helpful to her. Her father certainly wasn't. Roy kept a record of her flames in his notebook. He theorized what the colors and rhythms and flickers meant. She was cordial but reserved, so he tried not to annoy her too much. He joined her in the library when he had reading to do. The flames flared when he walked into the room and then settled down. Was that good or bad?

Riza could always tell when he was going to join her, because the music swelled. She had gotten used to it. It was usually quiet and somehow comforting. One night she came into the library after him. The music was discordant. He looked up from his book, and she raised an eyebrow. "This is really confusing," he huffed, "but I am going to get it!"

"I'm sure that you will succeed, Mr. Mustang." She actually was sure.

She wished that she could overcome her her natural reticence, but she still could not bring herself to bring up the topic. It disappointed her that he had not brought it up himself. He was more gregarious than she.

One day he came down to breakfast when she was stirring something on the stove, her back to him. He noticed that her flames were low and gray. "Is something wrong, Miss Hawkeye?"

She spun around. He could not have seen her face. How had he known? "Did you hear something Mr. Mustang?"

Huh? What did that mean? Almost in a whisper, he confessed, "I saw something. I see something when I see you..." He was thrilled that he had said it. He was terrified that he had said it.

"I hear something when I'm near you. Piano music. What do you see?"

Was that tension or relief in her voice? "I see flames. They're like an outline or a fringe. Sometimes they flow behind you. They change color. They were low and gray today."

"I'm concerned about Father. He didn't answer when I went to serve him breakfast, and the door is locked. He sometimes does that, but I always worry," she said. But there was a bit of a smile on her face.

"Does all this seeing and hearing mean what I think it means?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied, "but it's not going to help you with my father. You can call me 'Riza' but never around my father. You won't like what happens if you do."

"Understood, Riza!" He loved the feel of her name as he spoke it.

"And it doesn't mean you can leave the bathroom a mess."

"I promise not to, Riza."

"And put your dirty laundry down the chute, because I'm not picking your stuff off of the floor."

"Your wish is my command, Miss Hawkeye."

A/N- Thanks for reading. I hope that I didn't waste your time. I think it is a year or more since I wrote anything. I also want to thank the folks who favorited or followed my stuff during that gap. Take care.