Originally Published: February 25, 2021
Last Edited: Oct 27, 2022
A/N: I'm leaving you all on a cliffhanger... sorry not sorry. The next three chapters cover some vital back-flashes that I want to address before Riza wakes up.
Thank you again for the reviews, follows, and favorites!
Chapter 6
Trust
Saturday, June 11, 1904
Roy's whole body ached from the brawl with the Senior Cadets. While they'd been ordered to run laps, Roy and his two unlikely new friends had been ordered to dig a hole- until Captain Johnson ordered them to stop digging and turn around and fill it in again.
He glanced up at his two companions, once again reassessing his prejudice against Maes Hughes. The taller Cadet had his own scrapes and bruises, a determined set to his jaw. Their Ishvalan classmate hadn't participated in the fight, but since he'd been there and hadn't called a Commanding Officer, he'd ended up with the same punishment.
He grimaced, digging his shovel into the dirt and prying the load from the ground. "You haven't told us your name yet," he began conversationally, tossing the dirt over the top of the hole.
"Heathcliff. Heathcliff Erbe."
"Yeah," Hughes grunted, hoisting his own shovel load out of their hole. "You kind of look like a Heathcliff."
Roy paused, looking over his shoulder at the Ishvalan. "So, Heathcliff. What drove you to sign up for the Academy anyway?" With the persecution he'd received just by being here, Roy didn't understand why he'd stay. As unfortunate as it was, it was hardly a surprise the Senior Cadets had singled him out. Especially with the conflict growing in Ishval.
Heathcliff drove his shovel into the ground, pausing. "For the sake of my fellow Ishvalans. I hope to climb the ranks and someday abolish discrimination within the Military."
Roy let his words sink in. What if- what if he was the one who was discriminated against? Half-Xingese as he was, to some people, that was all the reason they would need.
Behind him, Hughes began digging at the dirt again, "And what made you enroll, Golden Boy?"
Roy turned to look at him, the memory of his father resting in his casket wearing Military blues flashing through his mind. The Officer who had spoken to him- he couldn't remember his face or name now, but he remembered his words.
"One day you'll want to protect your family and friends so they don't die before their bodies naturally give out on them. One day you'll understand why they had to do what they did."
Roy turned back to his work, digging with a slight grunt. "Look at Amestris. We're surrounded by other superpowers. I intend to do everything I can to defend this nation. Even if that means dying by the wayside to do it."
"Well then, that's where the two of us differ. I can do without the dying part. I'll live off of weeds if I have to."
Roy didn't turn to look at him, continuing to dig and toss the dirt over the edge. "Oh yeah? Then why did you even bother enrolling?"
"You've got dreams of protecting the country, but I want to protect the woman I love!"
Roy froze, his mind instantly conjuring the memory of Riza's bruised cheek, tears running down her face as she knew he was leaving her. Turning back to Maes, his voice came slightly breathy from his labor. "Wow, she must be one hell of a girl."
Hughes smirked, "Yeah, she will be," he began, a laugh coming out as he continued, "I just haven't exactly met her yet!"
Stunned, Roy processed that statement before a smile creeped onto his face. This man was that devoted to a woman he hadn't even met yet? It was almost ludicrous. Despite himself, a warm laugh broke from his throat. Maes joined him, the sound warm and lighthearted. Even Heathcliff's laugh began to mix with theirs.
"Goodnight, Heathcliff!" Hughes offered warmly, waving the first year Cadet off as he and Roy began making their way to the Junior Cadet barracks. "Think we have time for a shower before curfew?"
Roy glanced up at a clock as they passed, sensing Hughes attention directed there as well. "Not a good one, but we might get written up if we're covered in dirt for morning bed checks."
"Sounds about right," Hughes ruminated, leading the way to the showers, their steps the only sound down the hallway.
"Hughes..." Roy broached.
"Mustang," he replied simply.
"I'm surprised by what you did today. I thought you'd be like those Seniors, not stand up to them."
Hughes tilted his head, looking at Roy over the rim of his glasses. "You'd think that, wouldn't you."
"You had me hating your guts since you stole that quiche a few weeks back. In a good kind of way. The competition made me work harder," Roy smirked as they stepped into the washroom. Grabbing his shower tote and a towel, Roy picked a stall, the communal showers only allowing privacy below the waist.
Hughes laughed, moving to a stall one over, leaving an empty one between them. "I had a feeling you needed a push."
Roy chuckled in response, beginning to strip, kicking his boots off. "Truce?"
"Truce," Hughes agreed.
Roy turned on the water, getting it to lukewarm at best. He began scrubbing away the dirt, mind wandering as he washed. "How can you be so devoted to someone you haven't even met yet?"
"If I'm not devoted, why the hell would she want to be stuck with a loser like me?"
Roy glanced side-long at Hughes, meeting his olive gaze, freed from his glasses. "Alright, not a bad call."
"Since we're asking questions, why do you want to die for the Military so bad?"
"That's not- I don't want to die, I just know it could happen," Roy clarified, ducking his head in the water.
"Sounded like you want to die. Self sacrificing hero and such."
"I don't want to die," Roy repeated, growing irritated.
"Yeah?" Hughes pressed. "Who did you lose?"
Roy scowled, looking over at Hughes with a glare. "My parents, if you must know."
"Parents? Both of them?"
"My father was a Lieutenant Colonel, my mother a retired State Alchemist. She liked tagging along on his mission. One night when I was five, they didn't come back." Hughes didn't respond, Roy shutting off his water as he snatched his towel, drying off. "So yeah, I know the reality of the Military is you might come home in a body bag."
"Isn't there anyone you want to live for?" Hughes asked, turning off his own water.
Roy hesitated, the memory of Riza hiding behind him from her father making his hair stand on end. "She deserves someone better than me."
Hughes snorted, shoving his way out of his stall, leaving his towel behind. Roy cringed, pulling his own towel protectively around his waist, suddenly worried Maes might be gay, posturing to make people think he was straight.
Nothing against homosexuals- Roy just didn't swing that way.
Hughes stopped on the other side of Roy's stall door, hands resting on top of the door as he kept his eyes locked with his. "Are you telling me you've got a girl at home who you love and you can't be bothered to see if she loves you back?"
"No, that's not it..."
"No, you're just self sacrificing again. I see, your parents died when you were a kid and you don't want to put your own woman through that too because you can't be bothered to stay alive for her sake."
"I mean, I can't guarantee I'll..."
"Do you love her?" Hughes demanded.
Roy blinked, stunned. Love? Riza? He'd never thought to put a word to it before but... "Yes."
"And what the hell are you going to do about it?"
"I- I'm going to get her away from her abusive father," he answered, voice firming.
Hughes flinched, but nodded, "That's a good start, but then what?"
"I- I want to show her she doesn't have to let someone else dictate her life. That she's smart and stunning in her own right, and she doesn't have to let others trample her down." his heart began racing in his chest, face heating as he realized that really was what he wanted.
"Good! And how are you going to show her that if you die for the Military instead of living for her?"
Roy scowled, his sudden courage deflating into reality. "I can't ensure I won't die. I won't promise her that. That'd just be cruel."
Hughes sighed, shaking his head and returning to his stall, grabbing his own towel finally. "And here I thought you were getting somewhere."
"It is cruel. She's already lost so much in her life, she doesn't need to lose me too," Roy snapped, pulling his clothes back on hastily.
"So you're not even going to give her a choice? Sounds pretty selfish to me," Hughes countered in a softer tone, back to Roy as he began pulling his pants on.
"Just about as selfish as wanting to marry her?" Roy challenged, putting his tote back together before stepping out of the stall, returning it to join the rest.
"If you want to marry her, let her choose if that's something she wants or not," Hughes shrugged, pulling his shirt back on. "But I think you're missing the point, Mustang. I didn't say I'd never die. I'm not an idiot. No, I said I'll live for my woman. I'll do everything in my power to go back home to her each night, because she is my everything. Not the Military. Understand?"
Roy met his gaze as Hughes brought his things back, putting his glasses back on. "I guess that makes more sense," Roy relented.
"Good! So you'll ask her to marry you, and you'll live happily ever after, right!" Maes grinned, slapping Roy's shoulder fondly.
Despite himself, he didn't balk at the idea. "One can only hope."
"You do plan on asking her to marry you, right?" Hughes checked.
Roy scoffed lightly at the question. "Yeah, yeah. I'll ask her to marry me when the time's right."
"Good! Now, what's her name and how do you know her?" Hughes asked, a spark behind his olive green eyes.
Wednesday, November 29, 1905
Warrant Officer Roy Mustang stepped off the train, his new dress uniform still crisp, his black trench coat on to protect against the early winter cold. His eyes looked around the familiar platform, nostalgic. It'd been three years since he'd last visited Harsten, his time at the Academy too busy to take trips out into the country.
"Hey, Roy," the platform master greeted, waving to him, "long time no see."
Roy offered one of his characteristic smiles to the familiar face. "Good to be back. Is Miss Hawkeye here?" The train behind him let out some steam, beginning it's laborious start, the wheels slowly cranking to pull the locomotive from the station.
"She's on the east end," the man thumbed in that direction, moving past Roy.
"Thank you," he offered, nervously adjusting his gloved grip on his suitcase. Three years. His stomach was a jumble of nerves. This was worse than the stress of passing his Academy exams a week earlier.
He had two purposes for his visit here. The first was to persuade Master Hawkeye to share his research on Flame Alchemy. He knew Berthold would be unwilling, but he hoped to prove himself capable. He'd been practicing alchemy every chance he had. He believed he had improved, and Maes seemed to agree.
He smiled with the thought of Hughes.
"Why not just take the State Alchemist exam without visiting?" Maes had asked. "You're good enough, and with your Academy days behind you, they'll be extra glad to have you."
"I may be good enough for the standard, but I want a certain codename," Roy had explained tersely, packing up the last of his things after graduation.
"The Fuhrer picks codenames, not alchemists," Hughes had reminded, his glasses gleaming.
"I hear he has a sense of poetics when choosing the codenames, and if I knew how to transmute fire, why wouldn't he name me the Flame Alchemist?"
Hughes scoffed, "Your ambition is too big for your boots."
"Maybe. But I'm also going back to get Riza."
Hughes perked up, "That's your lady friend, right?"
"Yeah. I'm really worried about her. It's been three years."
"If you two were as close as you've made it sound, she'll just be grateful you're back." Hughes reassured.
"Right... They're sending you to Central, aren't they?"
"Yup, though word is things in Ishval are getting worse. We might both end up there in the next year or so," Maes added grimly.
"Let's hope not," Roy murmured.
Roy began walking down the platform, a lump in his throat. Were his palms sweating? He hadn't even seen Riza yet, and his heart was speeding up with the memory of her bruised face. When he'd called a week before, she'd sounded calm over the phone, but she always did. She had agreed to have him over for a visit, saying she'd come meet him at the station and warning him that Master Hawkeye was on bed rest from a bad cold.
He exhaled tensely. He'd never admit he'd dreamt about her during the intervening years, particularly those dreams that were wildly inappropriate. A heat rose in his face with the thought, and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had to be a gentleman when it came to Riza. Aunt Chrissy wouldn't accept anything less.
He was going to ask her to move to East City. He was hopeful the suggestion would be well met, and in the back of his mind he could picture himself asking her on a few dates, courting, getting engaged, then married. Two to three years, if it all went well. If she reciprocated.
The knot in his stomach tightened.
As he reached the end of the platform, a familiar figure came into view. Riza Hawkeye stood on the edge of the road, wearing a tweed sweater against the chill. Her legs were bare to the cold air, her tan pencil skirt only going to her knees. He'd forgotten she wore skirts year round, his thoughts returning to the androgynous military uniforms he'd seen the most over the last three years. He tried picturing her wearing said uniform, critical of the idea. He shook his head slightly, realizing she wouldn't wear any skirts if she was in the Military. The concept seemed foreign. He could see her as a secretary, maybe. They wore skirts.
Riza turned from looking across the street to him on the platform.
Her face was clear of any bruises.
He blinked, realizing he'd just been staring at her. His face grew warm again. Hopefully she'd think any blush was because of the cold, not his own embarrassment. He gave her a hesitant smile, descending the stairs from the platform to join her. "Miss Hawkeye," he greeted, voice a little strained.
She looked tired, her chestnut eyes heavier than he remembered. "Mr. Mustang," she returned just as formally.
An awkwardness hung between them. Had it really been three years already? He started slightly, "Oh, I brought you a gift. As thanks for letting me come visit," he fumbled around in his coat pocket, pulling out a small jewelry box, offering it to her.
She blinked, accepting the box, "You- didn't have to, Roy," she sounded uneasy, but she'd said his name. He smiled at that, feeling more confident.
"I wanted to," he explained simply as she opened the box, looking at the two silver stud earrings inside. She looked confused. Panicking slightly, he glanced at the ear he could see, realizing her earlobe was bare. "I am an idiot. You don't have your ears pierced."
She smiled softly, looking up at him. "I was thinking about it. I guess this is my sign," she closed the box and held it tight. "Let's head home. It's cold."
Sweater or not, she really wasn't dressed for the weather. Roy suddenly found himself pulling off his black overcoat, placing it over her shoulders. "There!"
She blushed slightly, pulling his coat on tighter, not putting her arms through the sleeves. "You didn't have to," she protested quietly.
"This uniform is warm anyways," he waved off, beginning to head down the road, Riza quickly following. He had to resist the urge to shiver, not wanting to make her feel guilty about borrowing his coat.
Her eyes shifted to his uniform, as if seeing it for the first time. She frowned slightly. "He won't be happy to see you in that."
"I know, but I won't lie to him about who I've become." A slight flash of fear entered her eyes, worrying Roy. He grimaced, daring to ask, "Does he still beat you?"
Her gaze moved forward, shoulders tight under his coat. He expected her to refute his accusation, shocked when she answered, "It was just the one time. The other bruises... he just grabbed my arms too tightly when he was in those frenzies of his- or upset."
"So the last time we spoke..."
"Please don't ask me about it, Roy," she ducked her face, hiding behind the coat's lapels as she shook her head, "He hasn't touched me since. At all."
He was silent for a long moment, "Why are you finally telling me?"
She looked up at him, "Because it hurts to lie to you."
It was dark by the time Riza opened the door, leading the way inside and holding it for Roy as he entered. His dark eyes scanned the front room, brow furrowing. She grimaced slightly, pulling his coat off. "Let me take your bag to your room. Father's upstairs in bed," she offered, gently grabbing the handle of his suitcase.
He resisted slightly, looking at her. "I can do that. No need to trouble yourself," he insisted. She let go, her cheeks heating slightly as he gently took his coat back from her. "Um... where's the couch and rug?" he asked hesitantly.
"I'm going to go make some tea," she murmured, too ashamed to admit she'd had to sell the decorative furniture for money. The room was rather empty these days. Some tattered books remained on the shelves, but she'd had to sell a lot of those as well. It had hurt to part with her mother's poetry collection, but she at least still had the worn out copy of Ulden.
She moved past him into the kitchen, trying to ignore the empty space where the table had been. She heard him move up the stairs slowly as she put a kettle on, hearing him cross to his own room and pause for a moment before moving down the hall to her father's. She grimaced, looking out the window at the backyard, hugging herself for warmth.
For the first time in three years, she could hear voices upstairs as Roy and her father were talking. She could also hear her father coughing, her frown deepening. He'd been sick for a few weeks now, and it only seemed to be getting worse. If they'd had the money, she would have insisted he go to the doctor. She suspected phenomena, worried by the knowledge it could kill someone, even with medical assistance.
She moved to the cupboard, trying not to think how bare it was as she pulled out some dried tea leaves. Her stomach knotted at the thought of Roy seeing the lack of food. He'd surely find out, staying the week as he was.
A rough coughing fit was accompanied by Roy's shout, "Master!" Riza looked up, abandoning the kettle and rushing up the stairs, heart thudding loudly in her ears. In her haste, she tripped, hitting her knees and palms. She bit her lower lip against the pain, scrambling up the rest of the way. Turning, the sight of blood froze her in the doorway of her father's room.
Roy was bent over the decrepit Berthold Hawkeye, blood running from his mouth to the floor, his blankets scattered as he had half fallen out of bed. "...Look after- my daughter. She's in possession- of my research. Look after her." His cloudy blue eye shifted to Riza, standing limp against the doorframe. A tear fell along the ridge of his nose, a clarity coming to his gaze she hadn't seen in years before the light faded from his eyes.
His body grew slack, his wide eyed face dipping into the pool of blood. Riza and Roy were frozen for a long moment before Roy looked up at her, his face sheet white. Riza couldn't look away. She'd stared into the gaze of a dying man, a man she had felt trapped and haunted by for years, and his last request had been for her welfare?
No. For his research.
"Riza!" Roy shouted, as if suddenly aware of her existence. He gathered her father into his arms, pulling him out of his bed, turning him upright. "Riza, call a doctor! Master Hawkeye! Master Hawkeye, speak to me!" Riza flinched, becoming properly aware of Roy and her father's dead corpse in a pool of blood. "Riza, call a doctor! Now!" Roy roared.
"He's gone." Was that her voice? She felt numb, stepping into her father's room, eyes wide. "Roy, he's gone."
Roy shuddered with her words, seeming to struggle for a moment before tears began running down his face. He bellowed, clutching Berthold's body. Riza's legs felt like liquid. She vaguely wondered why Roy was so upset when she felt- nothing. Her breath was shallow, swaying as she began to back away. Bumping into the door, she spun, stumbling from the room and down the stairs.
The kettle screeched on the stove as she fumbled with the back door, pushing her way outside and down the steps. Her legs finally gave way and she crumpled to her knees in the dead grass; the cold, winter air piercing her body. Shuddering, she looked up at the night sky, stars splashed across the deep indigo canvas. They were the same stars as they always were. Why did they feel different?
She wasn't sure how long she was there. Her body shivered. Her fingers were numb. Her breath exhaled in clouds. Dead grass pricked at her calves uncomfortably.
Warm arms wrapped around her, Roy pulling her to her feet. Finding her body refusing to respond, he pulled her arm over his shoulder and walked her inside. The house was hardly warmer than outside, heat having escaped through the door she'd left open.
He led her to his room on the second floor, pushing the door open and taking her to his bed. "Reez," he whispered, pulling the blanket loose and wrapping it around her before forcing her to sit. She looked at him, processing the bloodstains on his uniform. She quickly looked away from the sight, moving her gaze to his face. His jaw was set, his eyes hollow as he asked, "When was the last time you ate?"
"Two days ago," she answered numbly.
He was silent for a long moment before turning to the door. "I'm going to get food."
"Don't you dare leave me alone in this house! Not with my father's dead body," she scolded firmly.
He rounded on her, waist cape flaring with the motion as he scowled at her. "You're freezing and starving. I'm getting you food. I will not allow you to die on me, Riza Hawkeye!"
She didn't flinch at his raised voice, a part of her knowing he'd never hurt her. She was still so numb.
After a long silence, she asked, "What about the tea? That'll be enough for tonight. Don't- don't leave me, Roy."
A softness entered his eyes as he sighed. "The kettle was dry when I came down. I'll go make some more." He left the room, heading down to the kitchen.
Sitting there on his bed, a chill ran up her spine as she realized she was just down the hall from her father's corpse. She quickly stood, pulling the blanket close as she followed Roy downstairs.
He slouched slightly, standing over the stove, staring blankly at the kettle. He looked up at her as she padded in, stopping near the doorway. "The furnace isn't working," he commented.
"Couldn't afford the gas bill. It was more important to pay for water and electricity."
He frowned slightly, "Is there firewood in the yard?"
"It's not chopped up yet."
"You watch the tea," he ordered, taking off his uniform jacket. She watched as he meticulously folded the fabric, the pattern looking complicated, before leaving it folded up on the counter, blood stain face up. He rolled up his sleeves as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. After a few moments, the sound of wood cracking and ax thudding reached her inside. She frowned. He could have just transmuted the wood.
Her body felt less numb now, though the feeling remained in her chest. She pulled the blanket off, hiding his bloodied jacket under it. As the kettle began to whistle, she turned off the stove, collecting a pair of cups and pouring them both tea. There was a jar of honey still in the cupboard and she pulled it out.
She opened the door, looking out into the dark, the light reaching him from the windows. She watched him swing the ax, the wood splitting with the effort. She didn't remember the muscular look to his arms- the Academy must have turned his spindly, studious body into that of a soldier's. "Roy, the tea's ready."
He looked at her, panting a little. "Give me a minute," he requested, leaving the ax in the stump as he began picking up firewood.
She retreated back inside, grabbing a spoon and scooping out some honey, she stirred a cup of tea with it as her bangs fell into her eyes. The front door opened, Roy huffing slightly as he took the logs to the fireplace. Riza silently scooped out some more honey with a second spoon, not as generous with the portion, she began stirring it into the cup she intended for herself.
He came into the kitchen, his dress shirt dirty from the logs as he looked at her, then to the tea and honey on the counter.
"I already sweetened yours," she offered quietly.
He frowned, Riza knowing that set look in his eyes. He gently pushed her aside to open the utensil drawer, pulling out another spoon and digging it into the honey jar. She watched him in confusion, her penny pinching practices screaming silently at the action.
He pulled the spoon out with a generous glob of nectar before he turned to her, holding the spoon out. "Eat."
"Roy, that's honey, not food."
"Honey is food, and you will eat it, or I will force feed you."
She defensively slouched, hunger and stubbornness drowning out Ms. Kent's old lessons as she held her tea between both hands, murmuring, "Honey's expensive."
A gleam entered his eyes as he suddenly stepped forward, a rough hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Her tea sloshed onto her skirt and the front of his shirt. He didn't seem to care, instead he shoved the spoon into her mouth, the sticky sap a mess on her lips and chin.
She gave a frustrated shout around the spoon, her mouth glued shut. He let her go, taking a step back and grimacing at the spill. He turned to fetch some towels from a drawer as she pulled the spoon out of her mouth.
"What the heck, Roy!"
"Eat the whole jar," he growled.
"No! I need to save that for-"
"For what?" he turned to her, expression stern. "Riza, I came here with two intentions. The more important one was to get you out of here. Fuck Flame Alchemy. What's keeping you here? You're starving. You can't pay bills. You've sold everything in the house that has any monetary value. Your. Father. Is. Dead," he punctuated the last four words and they hit her like a battering ram.
His voice was more gentle as he continued, "There's nothing here for you. With your education, you'd do better in a city. I want to help you get on your feet. I already talked with my aunt, and you'd have a place with her until you could get a job, an apartment, a life. If you're not comfortable with that, I have a small apartment. I could sleep on the couch. I can't watch you just give up when you haven't even tried! Please..."
The numbness was gone, leaving pain and fear. She inhaled, tears welling in her eyes only to spill down her cheeks. A sob wracked her body, and she was suddenly engulfed in his arms again. Teacup dropping to the floor with a crack, she clutched to his shirt with the sticky spoon of honey in hand, bawling.
It had been three years since she'd felt any type of human touch, and his arms were so strong and warm. He smelled like wood chips and spilled tea and, more importantly, him. The one man she had ever learned to trust.
"I thought you'd left me," she sobbed, pressing her face against his firm chest. "Like Mr. Bishara, and my mother, and the soldiers. Then father chased Ms. Kent away, and I- I was so alone!"
He shuddered, moving a hand to the back of her head, rocking her in his arms. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared to leave you alone with him. I was worried you wouldn't be alive when I came back."
An unsteady sob wracked her as she crumpled into his arms, her legs giving way under her. He had to swiftly adjust how he held her, his hands cupping her cheeks as he lifted her face. He was crying too, his eyes red as tears ran down his cheeks. "I am so sorry. I'm going to get you out of here, Riza. You'll never have to see this house, or this town, or your father ever again. You deserve your own life, and I'm going to help you get it."
She trembled, closing her eyes as his words washed over her. Freedom? From this? How was she supposed to live like that? It sounded so big, so beautiful, and so bright she couldn't even imagine what it would be like. She swam for ideas and came up with only two:
She wanted her own poetry collection, like her mother's. And she wanted Roy.
A weak smile found her as he gently tilted her head down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
He was back.
Sunday, December 3, 1905
The train jolted to a halt, Riza gripping the armrest and grimacing as she tried to keep her seat. Roy seemed unaffected. He'd taken the train to and from Harsten for years, his ease from experience.
At eighteen, Riza had never left home before. Now she had no home to return to. Roy had helped her pack up her things, make funeral arrangements for her father, arrange for the house to be sold, and so much more. Part of her felt guilty about it all, but her full stomach and the relief of not being stuck alone in Harsten, fueled her gratitude more than any other emotion.
"East City Station. This is the end of the line!" a train conductor called from the other end of the car. Passengers stood, collected their things, and began disembarking. Riza stayed in her seat, ankles crossed primly, the frown on her face betraying her disease.
Roy turned to her, smiling slightly, "We're here," he offered, standing and pulling their luggage from above. Riza didn't rise, her eyes shifting to the platform. There were so many trains here, and it was much larger than the station back home. "Hey," Roy murmured, offering his hand. "We need to get going."
She looked between his offered hand and his face, hesitating, "Right," she murmured before taking it and allowing him to help her up. He squeezed her hand comfortingly before letting her go, picking up both of their suitcases, he offered his elbow to her instead.
"I think you'll like the city, Reez," he smiled wanly as she numbly accepted his arm, hooking her hand around his elbow as he guided her off the train and onto the platform.
"Riza!" a rough voice called, Riza turning to see Madame Christmas approaching. She'd gained weight through the years, her face beginning to show age, but she continued to dress just as fabulously as she had when Riza had seen her for the first time.
"Hello, Ms. Mustang," Riza offered, relaxing at the sight of someone familiar.
"Hello, dear. My condolences," she reached them, gently brushing Riza's available arm in a comforting gesture. After so long without touch, it felt strange and slightly invasive, different compared to the feel of her arm hooked with Roy's.
"Where's a baggage handler? This won't do, we need someone to help with your luggage," Madame Christmas insisted, calling over some bored attendants with a sharp voice. With Ms. Mustang taking charge, Riza's boxes (seven small ones with the things she'd decided to keep from the house) were quickly loaded onto a dolly and taken to Ms. Mustang's car. Overwhelmed, Riza hovered close to Roy, looking around uneasily.
The city felt huge, roads and buildings as far as the eye could see. Some of them were so tall they would certainly require elevators, the idea making her uncomfortable again.
"Riza, take the passenger seat up front so you can get a good view as we drive around. Roy's a pretty decent driver, so I'll take the back," Ms. Mustang insisted, Roy quickly opening the door for his aunt.
Riza stiffened, looking at the car as Madame Christmas climbed into the back. It looked uncomfortable with the boxes stuffed in. Why were there so many new things here? Her eyes moved to Roy as he opened the front door, offering his hand again with that characteristically charming smile of his.
She took a preparatory breath before accepting his help, doing her best not to hit her head. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat, hands wringing in her lap as Roy closed the door and rounded the car to climb in behind the wheel.
"Have you never been in a car, dear?" Ms. Mustang asked, gently placing a hand on Riza's shoulder.
Riza jumped with the unexpected touch, turning to face Ms. Mustang. "I suppose I'm not really hiding it. It's a- lot of firsts today," Riza explained. A whine then rumble made Riza yelp, turning towards Roy, his hand in front of the steering wheel, twisting what looked like a key. The car was vibrating beneath them, Riza looking around wildly as she realized the engine had started.
He watched her cautiously, "It's alright Reez, I'll drive carefully."
"Just keep your focus out the window. It's perfectly fine," Chris offered warmly, squeezing Riza's shoulder before pulling her hand away.
Riza nodded, stiffly looking out the window. After the initial sensation of moving, the ride was smooth and uneventful, Riza not really paying attention to Roy and his aunt's conversation.
"I'd like to believe that you're serious about this. That you really do care. Can I trust you, Roy? With my father's research?"
Riza gently hugged herself, feeling the cold air of the cemetery as she recalled their conversation that morning. She hadn't shown him yet, the skin on her back prickling with the thought of doing so. What would he say? Most of the tattoo was in Ishvalan, Riza not sure why her father had chosen the dying language beyond keeping it encrypted. She knew Roy had studied the language with her father, though. Knew he had studied physics and chemistry for years, so certainly he'd understand the equations. Knew he would take that information and become not only a Flame Alchemist, but a State Alchemist as well.
She heard her mother's screams, joined by the Officer who'd taken her. She closed her eyes, tensing against the memory of their bodies burning, remembering her father threatening the soldier who had tried to rescue her from the madman.
She wanted to protect Roy from the madness she'd seen in her father's eyes. Protect him from the hollow shell that her father had become once he realized he hadn't just made a breakthrough in his research, but that he had killed his wife.
Though Roy had taken the entire week off, they'd managed everything within four days. Roy would have a few more days to help her get settled here in East City. A few more days to show him or not.
Roy brought the car to a stop, shifting the gear and cutting the engine. They were parked by the curb in front of a tall building. Riza having to crane her neck to see the top. "What floor is your apartment on?" she asked nervously. Perhaps she could get away with using the stairs.
"The ninth. Don't worry, there's a lift," Roy reassured before climbing out. Well, that took away that possibility.
Though Ms. Mustang's offer to stay at her bar had been well meant, Riza struggled with the thought of staying in a brothel, high class or not. At least she'd slept in the same house as Roy for a few years and she trusted him not to do anything inappropriate.
Riza forced herself to wait for Roy to open the door, and once he had, she was all too eager to climb out onto solid ground. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, a chilly breeze causing her to hug herself for warmth.
"I'm fine." Even the simple lie caused her chest to ache, but she didn't want to talk about it with Chris there. The look in his eyes said that he understood.
Riza rounded the car and stepped up onto the curb as Roy helped his aunt out. "I have to get back to the Bar soon. Besides, I'm not built to carry boxes and such."
"We'll be fine. Thank you for letting us borrow your car," Roy offered before stepping inside, quickly returning with another dolly, he began to unload the boxes from the car and move them onto the cart.
Riza moved to help, but Chris gently grabbed her elbow, diverting her. "Roy says you don't have a coat," she began in a quieter voice. "I know you're probably uncomfortable with all this, but let me help you." Riza glanced down as Madame Christmas pressed a wad of cash into her hands. "If it's more than enough for the coat, buy something else you need, sweetie. We're trying to get you on your feet." Riza's nose stung as tears welled in her eyes. The wad of cash was more than she'd ever held before. She wasn't certain how much Roy had put out to settle things in Harsten, but she guessed it had been a substantial amount.
Madame Christmas pulled out a handkerchief, brushing away Riza's tears swiftly. "There, there, dear. Roy-Boy, don't let her lift a finger. This poor girl needs a bath. I'd suggest a drink, but you're both underage," she added with a gruff chortle.
Roy smirked, settling the last box on the dolly. "Don't worry, I'll watch out for her."
Chris nodded as if she expected nothing less, climbing back into her car. "Riza, if you need anything at all, feel free to call."
"Of course Ms. Mustang," she offered with a smile, her heart full as she watched Chris drive away.
She turned to follow Roy inside as he held the door for her. "Are you hungry?" he asked quietly, pushing the dolly inside and leading the way to what must be the lift.
"No, not yet," she replied as he hit the call button, a rumble coming from the other side of the door.
"You're welcome to take a bath. I'll get dinner started," the door slid open and he pushed the cart inside first, making sure there was room for them both. She bit off telling him not to worry (she wasn't used to eating so often) as the door slid shut behind them, the elevator jolting into motion. Riza staggered, gripping his arm for support. She grimaced, looking up at Roy, his expression rather peculiar.
"What?" she couldn't help the defensiveness in her tone, her cheeks heating as he began to chuckle.
"I'm sorry," he laughed. "You're just so jumpy. I don't think I've ever seen you like this."
She scowled, and after a few long moments the elevator jolted to a stop again, causing her to clutch to his arm even harder. He really was muscular now, butterflies rising in her stomach, and not just from nerves, "I wish you were on a lower floor. I'd take the stairs."
"It's easy to take them down," he chuckled as the door slid open. "Head right, it's 908."
She stepped out, looking down the hall curiously. The walls were an unassuming beige, doors a dark brown with gold numbering. The cart squeaked as Roy pushed it behind her. She found 908, Roy moving to unlock the door, pushing it open for her.
It was small and a bit on the bare side. The kitchen was directly to her left, a small living room ahead with a door on the right leading to the bedroom. A dark blue, two seat sofa was against a dresser in the living room, Riza frowning at the sight. Roy was too tall to be sleeping on that.
Roy began picking up boxes, taking them to the space that should have had a kitchen table. "The bathroom is connected to the bedroom, if you want to go get washed," he huffed, placing a box down.
"Oh, right," she murmured, opening the bedroom door and looking around. A queen sized bed, closet, and dresser were the only pieces of furniture in the room, walls bare and empty. Well, now she knew he was bad at decorating.
She smiled with the thought, moving to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She hesitated and decided not to lock the door. He knew she was in here, it wasn't like he'd come barging in. She pulled off her navy cardigan, then her blouse, her eyes moving to the mirror to look at the red ink on her back, interrupted by her bra straps. She sighed softly, rubbing her upper arms. "Reez, I'll be right back," Roy called from the other room.
Riza glanced at the door, "Alright." She couldn't hear him leave, but after a prolonged silence, she inhaled as she took off her bra. She bent over the tub, hesitating with a hand on the tap.
She frowned, grabbing her cardigan and pulling it on over her bare skin. She pulled it tight, covering her chest as she moved into the living room. She stepped up to the window, twisting the blinds closed as she took a steady breath.
Was she really doing this? Was he ready? Did she trust him? She exhaled, the answer coming easier than she thought it would.
After a few minutes, the door opened, admitting Roy again. She looked over her shoulder at him, pulling her cardigan closer. He didn't see her immediately, stepping into the kitchen and quietly muttering to himself. A knot was forming in her stomach, if this didn't happen now, she'd chicken out. "Roy," her voice cracked.
"Hmm?" He stepped back into sight, initially moving to the bedroom before he saw her, hesitating. "Is something wrong? I thought you were..." he trailed off with her expression.
"Roy- thank you for not pressuring me for his notes. I- I've decided to give them to you. But- I need you to promise me not to misuse them, and to never tell someone else. No one."
He grimaced, moving closer, "Riza, I swear. No one else will learn it from me." Good. If he'd been too excited, she would have changed her mind. "Are they in one of the boxes?"
"No," her voice shook, eyes turning forward. Inhaling sharply, she managed to calm her voice. "No, I have them. I'm not too sure I'll have the nerve to show you again, so I hope you're ready."
"I get to be," there was a warry edge to his voice.
Gathering her courage, she slipped her cardigan down to her waist, jaw tight as her skin prickled under his gaze.
Riza's fair skin froze him in place, the hourglass curves sending his heart racing. The red ink of the tattoo glared at him, detracting, yet accentuating her natural beauty. Berthold had done this to her? "Did he... Did you choose this?" his voice was tight, his chest was too, for that matter.
"Roy," her tone chilled as she looked over her shoulder. Right. He could ask questions later. He grimaced, his Master testing him from beyond the grave. Science before hormones. He stepped closer, examining the Ishvalan text, translating as swiftly as he could- which wasn't that fast.
Of course Berthold led with a poem, the Hawkeyes' home had had just about as many poetry books as alchemy volumes. He lifted a hand, stopping himself just short of brushing her upper left shoulder blade, fingers hovering over the equations engraved on her back. His brain worked furiously. He'd have to do some study on this particular part, and he memorized the equations swiftly, letting them pound in the back of his head as he eyed the symbols. Hydrogen isotopes being combined to create- other elements? There'd have to be a catalyst. A spark.
A note on heat traveling to colder air. The idea peculiar at first quickly turned into understanding. Of course. Yes, that was a thermodynamic law. Simple enough, but good to remember. His eyes moved upward again, following along the right side of the tattoo. Kinetic energy. Yes, it was known to have a by-product of heat, and a dismissal of the phlogiston theory. Roy had never been fond of the idea of fire molecules anyways.
The next section sounded almost poetic, Roy considering furiously. A new thermodynamic law? He frowned. This section was almost as key as the equations. He frowned, eyes moving to the small of her back.
A- poem about Ishvalan mythology? I lost my muse- Amyclae. Elizabeth Hawkeye? And though Phoebus was masculine, Roy had a sense it referred to Riza, losing trust in her father. An apology to his daughter then. A final poem between the two snake heads at the base of her back.
Light and law. Light and Truth. After darkness there is light. In thy light we see. Light in your light. We will see the light.
His eyes caught on the serpents. Mercury? The White Queen? The White Queen made no sense. Mercury, water, cold, were the opposite of fire in every way. Unless Berthold was warning against tipping the scales too far to one side- like he had. A sun for sulfur, and potentially the Red King. The twelve zodiac signs in proper order for Alchemic comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction. The base transmutation circle with a salamander and flame. The cross sections forming earth, air, and of course fire.
A frown flitted across his lips, his head thundering with information. He glanced over the array as a whole, his chest tight as he began seeing the woman instead. She was shivering, Roy unaffected by the winter chill in his full uniform and black trench coat. All she was wearing was a knee length pencil skirt. How long had he been examining the array? Surely more than half an hour... An hour? He gently took her cardigan by the collar, pulling it up her back and returning it to its proper place. He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking up at the back of her head.
"He drugged me. I- I think it was chloroform. I woke up with this and I panicked. I told him to give it to anyone but me, and he... he never touched me again, not even to take a cup of tea, but I was still so scared. Roy," she turned to him, tightly holding her cardigan closed, hot tears on her face. "I never want to feel so helpless again. I can't rely on you to come save me every time someone hurts me," she began to sound more fierce, a fire in her eyes.
He held that gaze, his mind buzzing with Flame Alchemy and her conviction. He opened his mouth, words catching before he managed to speak, "You could learn to fight. The Military Academy could..." he cut off. What the hell was he thinking? She was a Hawkeye. Her father was surely rolling in his freshly dug grave with the idea. Besides, if she was an officer... He still wanted to marry her. It sounded like a huge commitment and they were both still so young. If she ended up in the Military, though, it would never happen.
She seemed to latch onto the half spoken suggestion, heedless of his hesitance, "How much is tuition? If the house sells would I be able to afford it? I know there's entrance exams, what do I need to know?"
"Reez, calm down. There's a war going on right now. Your third year you could be sent to the front lines. You could be asked to kill and die for this country." She didn't waver, determination solidifying in her posture. He hesitated. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but she was hurting so much. Her life was in chaos, and she was right.
He couldn't always save her.
"Please, sleep on it. Your father's right. The Military really will leave you like trash on the side of the road," he implored, lifting a hand to brush her bangs from her eyes. "We'll talk more about it in the morning, if you're still interested."
She nodded, looking down meekly. His eyes followed hers, and though she was covered, he became far too aware of her low cleavage and the knowledge there was nothing between her cardigan and skin. He cleared his throat, taking a step back. A blush tinted her cheeks, biting her lower lip as she looked up at him.
"Um, I'm going to go- work on dinner," he offered dumbly.
She nodded, "I'm going to go take that bath."
They stood there awkwardly for a long moment, Roy taking a strained inhale before moving to the kitchen. After a moment he heard her move into his room. He leaned on the counter, exhaling in a rush. The equations began to pound in the back of his head again. He needed some reference material to make sure he understood correctly.
The image of her back seared into his mind. Stunning and beautiful. Anger flashed through him. How could Berthold force such a thing on her? He had respected his Master. Though he'd always been uncomfortable with how Riza had been pushed aside for him, he honored Berthold for his teachings and mastery of alchemy.
Now this...
His respect was wearing thin. In fact- it was gone, fading away like smoke. His entire frame trembled with anger as he ducked his head, trying to take a steadying breath.
A lamp glowed behind Roy's shoulder. A pillow was stuffed between his back and the armrest of the couch, a thin blanket tangled with his legs. He was bent over a physics book that had been in one of Riza's boxes, previously one of Berthold's collection.
Scanning each page, he flipped through the leaves with little success in finding details about atomic melding. Berthold had burned most of his books on theories of Flame Alchemy, leaving Roy with the likely need to visit a library for more information.
A small sniff came from his bedroom, breaking his concentration. Looking up from the book, he watched the door for a long moment. An unsteady exhale was followed by another sniff.
Closing the book, he peeled his way out of his blanket, getting up and crossing to the door. Knocking gently, he called, "Ri, are you alright?" before easing the door open.
Riza's silhouette bolted up in bed. "Roy?" she croaked, voice thick.
He stepped in, crossing over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved to him, wrapping her arms around his middle as she pressed her face against his chest. He wasn't surprised to feel her tears soak through the thin material of his nightshirt.
Gently wrapping his arms around her thin and nearly boney frame, he held her close. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She silently shook her head against him, clutching tighter than before.
"Do you want me to stay with you?"
She hesitated before giving a small nod.
"Okay," he breathed, shifting slightly, the movement breaking them apart. She quickly scooted over in the bed, Roy following her under the sheets as they lay down. Coiling his arms back around her, she curled up next to him.
Not for the first time since they'd reunited, he wondered how little she'd been eating to get so dangerously thin. She'd only picked at dinner after showing him her back, quickly claiming she was full and refusing to eat more.
He needed to study about nutrition and how to ease someone back into a regular diet after near starvation. There was so much he needed to help her with, he couldn't quite grasp the enormity of it.
Frowning to himself, he felt her quiet sobs ease, her body relaxing in his arms as she slipped into sleep, her breaths growing even and steady. In the dim light, he studied her face, eyes puffy from tears, cheeks almost gaunt now he looked this closely. And her lips... slightly parted and chapped, they took almost all of his focus.
He couldn't tell her. He could just be there for her. Swallowing hard, he leaned closer, hardly daring to breathe with fear of waking her up. He softly brushed his lips against hers, just for a second before pulling back. His heart raced wildly, his blood roaring through his veins as he waited.
She sighed, closing her mouth as she unconsciously snuggled closer, humming gently in her sleep as a soft smile tugged at her lips.
Elated, he grinned, gently squeezing her closer as he looked up at the ceiling.
They'd figure things out. He'd marry this girl one day and treasure her every moment for the rest of his life. He was sure of it.
"Thank you, Hughes," he breathed, closing his eyes.
A/N: For a proper translation of Riza's tattoo, I referenced the article by Soterianyx aka Eucleia who is the author of Hawkeye and the General, an excellent, if sadly incomplete, fanfiction on this platform. I chose to call the Latin text Ishvalan because of the use of the word "aurelian" in the manga and Brotherhood. Aurelian is a Latin word for gold, and Arakawa had Scar identify it as the word for gold in Ishvalan. I know you can't copy and paste links from these forms, but a google search of "translation of Riza Hawkeye tattoo" will have it as one of the first results. (it's a tumblr article)