A/N: So I know that I said I'd have the whole thing done by Jan 1, but that was 2018 me, and you can't judge me by 2018 me's standards so you can't be mad.

I hope to have the last chapter up by next week. It's mostly written, but I have a new job now and not very much free time until I can get a routine of some sort put into place. Thanks for the response so far though, it's been amazing! This chapter has a lot of timeskips, to move the story along and focus on the important divergences from canon. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Know You Now

As Riza toweled off her hair, she heard the front door open downstairs. Grumman's booming voice was hard to miss, but she still wasn't quite sure she'd heard him right.

"Roy! What a pleasant surprise."

It wasn't until she heard the familiar voice—deeper, muffled by distance, but undoubtedly his—responding that she fully believed what she was hearing.

"General Grumman," he responded, with all the respect of a soldier addressing a superior. Riza almost snorted at the thought. "This place is very impressive."

Grumman laughed. "One of the benefits of being put out to pasture, my boy. Now I get to live out the rest of my days away from the bustle of Central."

"You're hardly old enough to be making retirement plans."

"Trust me, Roy. The quiet of Eastern Command is practically a retirement already. Now come inside before you let all the cold out."

Riza could hear the joviality of her grandfather's tone, but if he truly believed his transfer was nothing more than a boring reassignment, he wouldn't have been acting so strange since the move. Not that he wasn't always a bit strange, but there was a wariness to Grumman now that she hadn't seen before, a tightness in his posture that made him seem constantly ill at ease. And even though East City was far quieter than Central, Grumman behaved as if it were infinitely more dangerous. He wouldn't let Riza go out alone in the evenings, and she wasn't allowed to spend time after school hanging out with friends without advance notice. She'd broken that rule exactly once, and it resulted in almost half an hour's worth of Anything could have happened to you and I almost sent some MPs out to look for you! Riza was used to him being protective, but she wasn't adjusting well to him being so strict.

"Are those for Riza? She's in her room. Up the stairs, first door on the right."

"Uhhhh…"

Riza sighed, throwing her towel into the wash basket. Maybe "strict" wasn't the right word.

Before her grandfather could fluster the poor boy more, she opened the door to her room loudly and leaned against the bannister on the landing.

"Are what for Riza?" she called out, just to say something to announce her presence. Both men below turned around to the sound of her voice.

Roy had a bouquet of flowers in one arm, holding the wrapped stems while the colorful melange rested in the crook of his elbow. The red roses dotted through the arrangement matched the color of his face—no doubt he was embarrassed that she had heard the exchange—but his smile was genuine.

Grumman smiled as well, with a twinkle in his eye that she ignored. He excused himself with the intentionally flimsy excuse of having to prepare for a meeting, and left with a parting wink.

Riza forced herself not to hurry down the stairs, but her deliberate pacing made her feel fully on display. Roy stayed in place, eyes shamelessly following her movements. She was hyper-aware of where his eyes strayed, from her face to her neck to her hips as she walked down the steps, then right above her forehead. Her self-consciousness spiked as amusement lit up his eyes. Her hair was still damp and she hadn't brushed it, so she could only imagine the bushy cowlicks sticking out from her scalp. That coupled with her long, shapeless skirt and oversized t-shirt made her feel entirely underdressed for the surprise reunion.

When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she walked a little quicker, smiling broadly at him. Playing coy never worked on Roy anyway; he could always see right through her pretend stoicism.

"I know what you're thinking," Roy said as she approached, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You're thinking "wow, he's grown."

Riza reached a hand out and pressed her thumb and forefinger to his plump cheeks, smooshing them together until his lips pursed into an amusing "o" shape. "Actually, I was thinking the exact opposite." Before he could frown or shake her off, she released him. "So are they?"

He blinked. "Hm?"

"For me." She nodded at the flowers. "Are those for me?"

"Oh!" He gripped the arrangement more securely and tilted it toward her. "Yeah. Some of them didn't fare too well on the train journey but—"

"They're lovely," she assured him, taking them from him and pressing her nose into a tulip. "Though not as lovely as the ones your aunt sent me."

"Yeah, well, she has a business and I blew all my savings on lessons."

Riza picked up the slight bitterness to his tone. "What happened? Bad teacher?"

"Great teacher, just didn't teach me what I wanted to know." Roy sighed, shoulders sagging as he lost himself in a memory. He shook himself from his introspection. "Anyway that's not important," he announced cheerily, his smile just a little too wide. Riza narrowed her eyes at him, but it had been so long since she'd seen him in person and if he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't make him.

His smile softened, and he reached out to smooth her rapidly-drying hair, his fingers catching slightly on the small knots. "Happy birthday," he said sincerely.

She knew he was probably only passing through on his way to Central, but the timing couldn't have been better. To see her best friend on her sixteenth birthday felt special, even though she'd spent plenty of birthdays with him before. "Thank you. There might still be some cake leftover from yesterday's party."

He shook his head as he continued to flatten the errant hairs. "No thanks. I think I'd just end up comparing it to Sandra's cakes. It's a shame you had to move."

"She moved with us, actually. Grandfather says it cost him a fortune, but her lemon drizzle is worth it. Come on, you can scavenge a slice while I put these in water."

Roy hummed affirmatively, but made no move to release her head from his improvised combing. He seemed lost in the motions of untangling her short, damp hair, so absorbed that he completely missed her confused raised eyebrow.

He didn't look her in the eye again until his hand had found the curve of her neck. His palm seemed to fit perfectly, cool and soft against her skin as he cradled the base of her skull. His lip twitched into an awkward smile before he cleared his throat and his eyes darkened. Still, he didn't move his hand.

When she caught his gaze flickering to her lips, her chest tightened. Was he…

"Are you planning on kissing me?" She had meant to sound like she was teasing him, but the question came out breathier than expected.

His fingers flexed against her neck. "Maybe."

The room became impossibly quiet. Riza couldn't hear the wind outside, or the gentle, pulsing hum of the wood-burning stove, couldn't hear her own breath, though it didn't register that she wasn't breathing. Roy's nervous confirmation surrounded her like water, muffling her ears and unfocusing her eyes and trapping her from the world beyond the two.

The moment stretched unsurely, and after what felt like forever, Riza felt ridiculous, as if she had just caught herself listening to a record that had been skipping for a full minute. Eventually her anticipating held breath rushed out of her chest. "Well?"

Roy grinned nervously. "Give me a minute," he laughed, stepping in closer to her. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

Riza leaned towards him, tempted to take over and press her lips to his, but she decided against it. He probably wouldn't mind—probably expected it, even—but this was his decision, and she wasn't about to give him the easy way out.

Her patience was rewarded. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her face as his palm tilted her head ever so slightly. When he finally kissed her, it began feather-light, and she could barely feel the slide of his bottom lip before he'd pulled away again. Then, hearing his sharp inhale, she instinctively held the flowers out to the side, away from the space between them. He pulled her toward him again, closer, his lips firm and curious against hers.

She'd thought about him a lot when he'd left for alchemy lessons, missed him, fantasized about kissing him more times than she'd ever admit to herself. The abstract way in which she imagined he'd feel, react, taste, was always like a crashing, rolling crescendo, but it was nothing like this. It turned out that kissing Roy Mustang felt as natural as breathing.

When he pulled away again, she found herself drifting, following him for just a moment before regaining her senses. She pulled herself back, lids fluttering open to meet his eyes—glazed over, pupils blown.

He smiled again, nervousness replaced with something that looked a lot like gratitude. A short, giddy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"You're so… I've always…" He stumbled on his words in a rush of breath before squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened his eyes again. "I missed you."

Riza hoped she didn't look as dizzy as she felt at the simple, earnest confession. "I missed you too."

Sprawled on the couch, she tucked her feet under his legs for warmth, an action she had been doing innocuously since they were children, but it seemed to have a new meaning ascribed to it. It was more than just cozy now, it was intimate in a way she had never considered before.

He seemed to notice too, leaning his head back against the cushions and letting out a contented little sigh at the contact. He chewed his cake slowly, as did she. Whoever would be the first to swallow would also be the first expected to talk, and they were in that awkward in-between space that made her struggle to think of what to say.

He was taking a train back to Central this evening, back to his aunt. East City and Central weren't exactly remote, but they were far enough away from each other that visiting a friend would feel too sporadic, not to mention a partner. So obviously dating seriously was out of the question for them, but they knew each other too well, cared for each other too much to make anything casual work. So the simplest option was to forget anything ever happened and meet again in a few weeks (months?) as friends.

But for now, she could enjoy the giddiness of something new, enjoy the flush of her cheeks when he picked up her feet and placed them on his lap, fingers slipping under the hem of her long skirt to massage her calves.

When he lolled his head to the side and regarded her, she realized that she'd swallowed her piece of cake without thinking. Now he expected her to have something to say.

"Tell me about your lessons," she decided on, mostly just as a distraction. She didn't expect his shoulders to stiffen at the question, didn't expect his fingers to tighten around her ankle uncomfortably.

He chewed for a moment longer before swallowing. "We don't have to talk about that now," he said softly, casting his eyes over her shoulder.

"It's been most of your life for over a year," she answered, an edge of suspicion creeping into her voice. He'd dodged the subject earlier too. And, come to think of it, had barely spoken about it during his infrequent phone calls. She thought it was because alchemy wasn't a topic she particularly enjoyed talking about, but she knew he wasn't foolish enough to think she wouldn't be interested in finding out how his studies have gone. "What's going on, Roy?"

When he met her eye again, the guilt that swirled in them almost made her want to retract her question, to forget about whatever it was he was avoiding and go back to comfortable nervousness for a little longer. Because it made no sense whatsoever to her for Roy to feel guilty about alchemy, unless…

Understanding dawned on her, turned her stomach, crept up her oesophagus, and suddenly the answer was written plain on his face.

"Him?" The question was practically a whisper, though Riza suddenly felt far from calm.

"It wasn't my—"

"Him?" she balked, louder.

"I was told not t—"

"How could… My father… Why didn't you…" Riza stuttered, swinging her legs off his lap and onto the floor, sitting up properly. It was unthinkable, the idea that Roy could hide anything from her, let alone something like this. His expressive face was like an open book to her, she never considered that the only thing he'd need to break her trust would be distance.

"Riza—"

She almost shouted I kissed you!, almost threw his moment of boldness back in his face. Almost, but she stopped herself.

Still, when she bit a terse "I trusted you," his face twisted painfully. He reached out as if to touch her before thinking better of it, hand falling to his side pathetically.

"I'm sorry," is all he said.

"How did you even get him to take you? Did you look for him on purpose? When were you planning on telling me, Roy?" She could hear her voice get higher in pitch. There must have been dozens of other teachers he could have chosen, had he read the name Hawkeye and decided it just didn't matter?

"I wanted to tell you right away."

"Why didn't you?"

Roy opened his mouth and paused, but Riza had already realized the answer. There was only one way this could have happened, only one other connection Roy had to her father.

She stood up and left the room without another word. She didn't stall when he called her back desperately.

"You sent Roy to learn from him. Why?"

Grumman set his tea down on the desk, turning the page of his newspaper. He didn't try to pretend not to understand her meaning.

"Berthold Hawkeye has been holed up in his house since the day we left."

Riza scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you wanted him to have company?"

"No, Riza. His research is very advanced. I wanted to know how far he'd come along."

"You? Or the military?"

Grumman looked up from his paper, eyes soft. "Me. Truth be told, I'm very glad your father has never accepted the offer to join the State Alchemist's program." Then, under his breath, just loud enough for Riza to hear, he muttered: "Though I doubt he'd pass the psych evaluation."

Riza's hackles raised at this. It's been clear since she met him that Grumman has hated her father, and judging from the fact that he'd been estranged from his only daughter, Riza would wager the hatred was older than her.

"So I can't hang out with friends in the evening but you're comfortable letting Roy study with someone you think is a lunatic."

"Roy isn't my only surviving family member."

Riza sighed frustratedly. There was no way she was getting an apology from the man, and she wouldn't take it if she did; it was clear he was not sorry. But she wasn't leaving without something.

"I want to meet him."

Grumman's eyes flashed, but he gave a stiff nod. "We'll visit in—"

"I'll visit. Not you."

His jaw clenched and he remained silent for a full minute, but Riza never wavered. Finally, he spoke.

"We'll arrange something for the spring break."

Riza nodded and turned to leave.

"Riza."

She paused, but didn't turn back to face him.

"You can meet him, and you can spend some time getting to know him," he said, voice darkening.

"But if I have to go there and drag you back home, I will."

She left without responding, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. It was getting harder and harder to live under her grandfather's roof. He treated her like something precious, like she didn't have a mind of her own. He treated her like he thought he'd lose her if she was out of his sight for five minutes.

"Your aunt will be pleased to see you."

Roy jumped at her voice, turning to face her before standing up from the bench so quickly he almost tripped over himself.

"Riza…"

"Didn't stick around to say goodbye?" she teased, stepping closer to him.

"I didn't think you'd want me to," he said dejectedly, scratching the back of his head.

The platform bustled with people loading their luggage onto the train. Nobody paid them any mind as they stood talking.

"I'm… better now," she said. She would rather have had more time to stew in her own anger before forgiving him, but there was no time left. They hadn't seen each other in so long, and he was about to go to another city entirely. Leaving on a sour note would make it much easier to just lose contact completely. So she decided to forgive him quickly, before that could happen.

"I'm still really sorry," he said, and she could tell that he meant it. The train whistled its five-minute warning.

He reached forward slowly, as if trying not to startle her, and took her hand from her side, stepping forward and bringing it close to his chest. Both his hands cradled hers, and his fingers squeezed her palm.

She wasn't yet in the smiling mood, less so as she watched other passengers board the train. Roy was leaving again, going back to the city she had considered home for a time, without her.

"Say hello to the Madame from me."

"Of course. Riza, before I go…"

The nervousness was back in his eyes, and for a moment she thought—hoped, if she were being honest—that he might kiss her again. But his grip on her hands loosened.

"Your father," he began, unable to look her quite in the eye. "By the time I was about to leave, he'd gotten sick. I think it's serious." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of her hand gently. "If you're thinking of visiting him, I'd go sooner rather than later."

Riza nodded slowly, unsure of exactly how to feel. Until today, it had been a long time since she'd even thought about her father, and having swung between so many emotions today, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything more than tired.

"Anything else?" she asked quietly, turning her hand so she could feel Roy's palm against hers.

Roy sighed. "Yes, actually."

She wasn't sure if things had drastically changed or if her childhood self had been collecting a gallery of false memories. It wasn't this empty before, right? Was there more color on the walls? She remembered a garden, not the wild blue grass and ivy she saw on the way inside.

This man before her, with long matted hair and sunken eyes, was a complete stranger to her.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "You look…" He trailed off, but she knew exactly what he wanted to say. Her grandfather told her sometimes, in his softer moments, when his eccentricities melted and his genuine smile shone through.

She looked like her mother.

But Riza has seen portraits and photos, and she has scanned her mother's face countless times. She saw nothing of herself in the woman. Standing in front of her father, she wondered if maybe he and Grumman had collected false memories as well.

"…Grown," he finally finished.

Riza kept her eyes on him, even though she wanted desperately to look away. "Roy said you were unwell."

Berthold Hawkeye smiled sadly. "Mustang. He mentioned that you were his friend. That's why you're here, isn't it? Because of him."

He could have meant that she came because he had suggested she visit him. And he wouldn't have been entirely wrong. He could have meant that, but something in his tone told Riza that he knew better than that. She felt prickly at the thought that this man could know something about her, know anything about her at all.

She was never good at playing dumb, so she decided not to bother. "Yes."

"Has he made his decision, then? Is he becoming a dog of the military?"

"Yes."

"I see." He looked down at his hands, the disappointment clear as water in his otherwise cloudy eyes.

"So you know what I'm going to ask."

"I do."

"What's your answer, then?"

"I think you already know."

Riza's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. She had the juvenile urge to stamp her foot, but that wouldn't do. She wasn't a child anymore, and the man in front of her would have no patience if she acted like one.

"There's a war going on."

"There are always wars, Riza."

"He'll be sent to the front lines. Without your research, he's just another soldier."

"That's his choice."

"He'll die!"

"You live like a dog, you die like a dog!" he snapped, loud enough to echo against the bare cement walls. His outburst was punctuated with a coughing fit. A hollow, bone-shaking fit that had him curled up in his bed, clutching his stomach. Riza clenched her fists, regret rising up her throat like bile. She had all but forgotten that he was sick; it wasn't why she was here.

When he regained control of his breathing, he spoke again, his voice much weaker. "You're asking for too much."

She knew that he was right. Roy had been chosen by her father as a student, and deemed unworthy of the right to learn his secrets. She had no real right to an opinion on that matter, it was between Roy and her father. It was, in all instances, none of her business.

But whose fault was that?

"I have never asked you for anything else," she said, with a coldness she didn't know she possessed.

Riza's neck was wet with drool. After having caught the inside of her cheek with her teeth, she had pulled the collar of her shirt up and bit down on it instead. The material was thin, providing little cushioning between her clamped jaws, but it was better than nothing at all.

"You're barely bleeding," he said, as if praising her. "This may go quicker than I expected. It could be done within a fortnight."

The idea of two more weeks of this brought stinging tears to the corner of her eyes, blurring the bookshelf in front of her into a watercolor. She knew only from the receding light of the sun that she had been lying on her stomach all afternoon, on the hard wood of the desk in the study because the mattress wouldn't have been stable enough.

"Riza, what I'm giving you is very powerful."

She was too afraid to nod, lest the movement cause a mistake, but she released a scratchy, wordless sound from her nostrils, a quiet scream to show she understood.

And she did understand. Because it felt powerful, a raw force injected into her skin, tearing her apart from the inside. He had refused to give her notes, said he had none, that he couldn't write the instructions on paper. And it made sense now, because surely that paper would just burn up, or tear into tiny pieces, if the research could do such wicked things to flesh.

He pulled the needle away but it did little to relieve the pain. Her nerve endings still felt hot, the skin so swollen she worried it might burst open and peel away from her completely.

"I mean it, child," he said sternly. "Someone using this…" He rounded the table and crouched until he was at eye level with her. She could see the veins of her own eyeballs, and they spidered across his face in her vision, the red lines adding color to his face. He hadn't so much as coughed in hours.

"Riza. If you reveal this research, Mustang will have one of the most destructive forms of alchemy at his fingertips. It is your responsibility to make sure he doesn't abuse this. Never show this to anyone you aren't prepared to shoot."

Now that it was safe to move, she nodded, chest shaking as she tried to get some more air into her lungs.

Her father smiled, wiped her wet fringe from her forehead reverently, and stood up.

When the needle pierced her skin again, her stomach clenched and her lungs burned to scream. She kept as still as possible, and thought back to the day she had arrived in Central with her grandfather.

You're safe now, he had told her, and she didn't know what he meant.

Now she knows.

She stared at the gravestone of Berthold Hawkeye, stood right beside the moss-ridden stone with the faded engraving of her mother's name. She hadn't even thought to visit her mother's grave when she was here two years ago. The realization left guilt sitting in the pit of her stomach.

"You shouldn't have paid for all this," she murmured to Roy.

"It was the least I could do, after everything he's taught me." Roy hung his head as he stared at the stone, just as Riza was doing. It seemed like the correct way to stand at a grave.

Grumman hadn't come with her. He said that it would be disrespectful for him to go; her father hated him, though that was more of an excuse than a reason. She wondered if Berthold would be pleased to know that she attended. He didn't seem to think much of anything about her.

"The uniform suits you," she said, watching his smile from the corner of her eye.

"Thanks. Though he'd have hated to see me in it. Your father always told me that soldiers are left to die like trash on the side of the road." Roy laughed gently, as if recalling the words of a doting parent instead of an angry madman. "That may be, but I know it's the only way to make a difference. I know I'll never be happy if I don't try to make this country a better place."

He turned to her with a regretful smile. "I wish I could have done it using his research, but I guess I'll have to work something out for myself." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. You've lost your father and I'm being childish about not getting to use his work."

She stared at him, because it was easier than looking at a gravestone, and because he was alive. Alive and grown and still kind. Gone was the boy who just wanted to prove himself better than anyone at alchemy. She knew his ego was a front, but she hadn't seen the depth of what it was hiding. He truly wanted to help people, and he was willing to risk his life to do it.

She couldn't understand that bare compassion, that idea of fighting for people you didn't even know. She had that urge to protect and to love, but it was given to those that earned it, and mostly to him. If his goal was to save the world, she'd learn to extend her heart, to protect his goal as well, his country, with everything she had.

"Not at all. There's nothing childish about caring." She turned back to the grave, waiting in solemn silence until she had deemed it the appropriate amount of time passed to pretend to have been saying goodbye.

Here Lies Berthold Hawkeye.

"Come on, I have something to show you."

She slammed the front door closed, letter opened and crumpled in her fist, and stomped towards the dining room, where he usually sat with the newspaper for morning breakfast.

The newspaper was folded in front of him, his food untouched. He was waiting with an expectant, almost apologetic expression.

"I didn't qualify," she said through clenched teeth.

"You didn't even tell me you were enlisting."

"But you knew, didn't you? Did you do this?"

"Sit down, Riza."

She ignored him. "You can't make these kinds of decisions for me!"

"It's not safe."

"I know the risks—"

"No, you don't." His voice reverberated through the room, stern but shaking, and Riza faltered at the sound.

That paranoia was in his eyes again, whatever fear he had been trying to hide since the transfer now bubbling up to the surface, curling his hands into fists.

"I'm not talking about war, or duty, or outside dangers. I'm talking about the military. The military isn't safe."

Riza shrunk a little more at the frenzy in his voice. Despite Grumman's unconventional disposition, he had always been steadfastly pro-military. Maybe even power-hungry, while he was in Central. She would occasionally hear him mutter about one day "taking Bradley's post", and unless there was a General she hadn't met, it was clear he was talking about the führer. What was it that could have someone willing to hold treasonous ambitions so frightened?

Though Riza was now aware that if he were afraid, she should be too. But she wasn't—not for herself, at least.

Roy, however… Roy had just gotten his State Alchemy licence. He was a Major in the military that she was now being told is unsafe from the inside out.

Grumman seemed to recognise the glint of concern in her eyes. "I'll do my best to take care of him. But you're not joining him."

"Grandf—"

"Riza. Please sit down." Grumman took off his glasses, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow as if he were trying to wish away a migraine. This time, Riza sat, posture a little less battle-ready.

"I know you want to do what you think is right. But the military is not an option for you. There are other ways you can help," he mumbled offhandedly.

Before she could respond, his hand fell on the table, jolting her. His eyes widened, mouth falling open as if he'd had a eureka moment. Then, his forehead wrinkled, a quick calculation, and Riza got a glimpse of the old deviousness he used to show when he was working from home.

He said it again, more surely this time.

"There are other ways you can help."