Roy lit another candle and gripped his pen harder, scratching notes down the margins of the book he was bent over. The sun had long since set, and he was vaguely aware that time had run away from him once again. He heard the faint click of Riza's bedroom door open and close and the quiet padding of slippered feet down the hallway towards the stairs. He blinked and tossed down his pen, eyes dry and hands cramped and ink stained. He sighed, feeling no closer to figuring out the answers than he had all day. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had forgotten dinner (after he forgot lunch) in the flurried haze of a new set of problems to solve. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, resolved to go to the ice chest and search out whatever was left of the dinner that Riza had presumably made. Though mentally and physically strained, he found himself in a pleasant mood. Master Hawkeye was finally trusting him with more complex work and deciding his own schedule within which to solve it. The extended tether felt nice after weeks of rigorous and structured work. He stood and opened the window, letting the night air stir the room. It was warm for early November, downright pleasant in his opinion. The moon shone through laced cirrus clouds, casting silver and white across the leaves of the tree and the swaying fields beyond. He breathed in the scent and the scene alike, centering himself and becoming keenly aware of all of his sorely neglected needs. He took his half empty (and now lukewarm) coffee mug in hand and began to make his way to the kitchen as quietly as possible, desperately trying to remember which floorboards to step on to avoid waking Master Hawkeye (if he ever slept? Roy was skeptical, but tried his hardest anyway.) At the bottom of the stairs, he could see the faint warm glow of light stretching from the kitchen. He paused, listening, and heard nothing. Food first, dishes second he decided, approaching the doorway. He froze momentarily at the sight of Riza, a sturdy quilt around her shoulders, head laid on her arms upon the table, appearing to be asleep. He quickly surveyed the scene: sleeping Riza, the heating kettle on the stove, and faint smell of food warming (toast, based on the bread knife by the sink. Again his stomach rumbled)-she stirred, slowly lifting an eyelid, and then startled into sitting up, drawing in a breath and clutching the quilt closer. Her brown eyes were wide with surprise, and for a moment they both stared at each other, mouths agape. Riza regained her composure first and quietly spoke.
"Mr. Mustang, I hope I didn't wake you."
He smiled warmly. "Not at all, I was just coming for some dinner. I uh-" his stomach growled loudly enough for both of them to hear, and he sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "-got a little caught up in today's assignments."
She tilted her head and regarded him, keeping whatever thoughts she had to herself. He set the coffee cup on the table and yawned deeply.
"I'm sorry to say, I didn't make dinner today. Do you want some toast? We have butter and jam."
It was his turn to tilt his head and regard her. She seemed more tired than usual, even for the middle of the night. And paler, thought it was hard to tell in the low light.
"What's got you up in the middle of the night? Are you feeling alright?"
"Oh, I..." she looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. He pretended not to notice. She looked back up, resolute and tired, "It's nothing."
A timer dinged brightly, startling them both. Riza stood up, turning towards the stove, and immediately stumbled. Roy quickly closed the gap between them and caught her by the elbow and waist. He spoke softly as he guided her back to her chair.
"Riza? Can you hear me?"
She did not look up but gave a slight nod while taking a deep breath.
"Are you alright?"
"I think so, yes."
"Can you look at me?"
"...just a moment, please. My eyes are still funny."
He pulled up a chair and sat on its edge, a gentle hand on quilted shoulder, and asked,
"Funny how?"
She sighed. "Stars, dots, black spots—"
"Ah. Has this happened to you before?"
She nodded, eyes closed, "Sometimes."
"...should I go get your dad?"
Her eyes snapped open, and something like fear passed through them quickly before she looked at him. "No."
His brow creased.
"I probably just stood up too fast." she said, closing her eyes again and laying down her head on her arms, the same position he found her in.
He nodded, and asked, "Are you still dizzy? Does anything else feel bad?"
She gave a muffled reply into her arms, he could not make out the words.
"Sorry, could you say that again? I can't hear you."
She turned her head towards him, eyes shut, and reminded him that the timer had been for the toast, requesting that he please get it before it burned and woke her father. He obliged, dropping it quickly onto a plate before it could burn his fingers.
He sat back down, placing the plate in front of Riza. He clasped and unclasped his hands in front of him on the table before trying again.
"Has the dizziness stopped?" gently, "Does anything hurt?" She turned towards him once again but did not meet his eyes. "No, still a little dizzy. And yes," she hesitated, lowering her voice further and muffling it with her arm, "cramps."
Riza felt humiliated, on top of dizziness and some of the worst cramps she had ever experienced, he had to be here to witness it. The kettle began to scream, and Roy quickly removed it from the heat and began rummaging through the tea cabinet. Riza had not moved, partially from her physical state and mostly from her deep mortification, and sunk deeper when Roy still had not said a thing. She could hear him puttering around, various soft kitchen sounds of chopping and pouring filling the seconds ticking past. A pleasant aroma accompanied the gentle clack of a teacup and saucer near her, and she sat up blinking. Roy was preparing more bread to be toasted, and casually spoke over his shoulder from the counter.
"It's chamomile ginger tea. My aunt and sisters swear by it. And a small sweet treat on the side. Equivalent exchange for the pain, and all that..."
Perched on the saucer next to the cup was a square of chocolate. Her eyes widened.
"Where did you...?"
"I was saving it for your birthday, but times like this definitely call for something special."
She smiled and wrapped her hands around the cup. "It's lovely, thank you."
As the second batch of bread roasted, he brought the butter and jam to the table and sat next to her. She nodded toward him as she spoke, "You can have the first round of toast, you must be starving after no lunch as well."
"Ah, you noticed. I appreciate that, thank you." He slathered the toast and devoured it immediately almost without realizing. Riza looked at him slightly amused and informed him that though there were no dinner leftovers, there were still some cold cuts and cheese from lunch in the icebox. He eagerly thanked her and made a plate, as well as prepared some tea for himself. She heard him pause and suck in breath and turned to see him carrying the plate in his left hand and flexing his right. He sat down at the table.
"Does it hurt?" she asked
"Just a bit. A lot of writing today, I guess." He tried some wrist circles but stopped almost immediately.
Riza held out both of her tea warmed hands. "May I?"
Caught off guard by the gesture, Roy blinked before nodding and holding out his sore wrist. She took it in both of her hands and gently warned, "It might be a little uncomfortable at the beginning but it should help a bit." She began alternating pressure to the delicate part of his wrist, and he could feel bones shifting. After a few seconds he noticed a distinct difference.
"Is it helping?"
"Yes, wow! Thank you!"
The relief was so welcome that he did it notice when she stopped. His wrist sat gently held by her hands: soft, warm, and steady. They each caught the other's eye and both straightened up at once. Roy carefully pulled his hand back and began flexing it.
"How did you...?"
"Please, father writes like that all day and night. Sometimes I am useful to him for something." They both stared at the table, tension flickering at the edges of the room. She sighed and continued softly. "And...my mother. She was a pianist. Bad wrists though, made it hard to play. So she taught me how to help."
Riza had one hand tracing the outside of her teacup and the other still on the table between them. He gently placed his hand over hers. She did not look at him.
"Thank you, Miss Hawkeye."
He pulled back his hand and returned his attention to his plate, realizing he had left his tea on the counter. He went to retrieve it.
"You can call me Riza, if you want."
He smiled. "Okay, Riza. Thank you."
Riza sipped her tea and took small bites of the chocolate square, savoring the flavor and feeling her spirits begin to lift. Roy sat, wrapping his hands around the warm cup, and looked at her.
"Is it helping?"
Riza looked down at her tea with a small smile. "Yes, Mr. Mustang. Thank you."
He smiled, "You're welcome. And call me Roy, please."
"Okay, Roy. Thank you."
"Anytime. Your toast smells ready, I forgot to set a timer. Do you want anything else on it besides the..." He trailed off, gesturing to the jam and butter on the table, and made his way to the stove.
Riza shook her head. "No, this is perfect."