I'm supposed to be studying for evolution...but...when ya can't, ya can't, so i'm writing instead...
She did what any sane person would do—she tried to forget him.
The house felt empty—well, it was empty. Completely empty. For the first time in her life, Riza Hawkeye was completely alone.
She did what any sane person had to do—she got a job. It was a stupid job, since the sexist companies in her town felt that all a woman was good for was waiting tables or cleaning things. If she thought she might replace them with work--well, that didn't last. The people at her work didn't like her. She didn't blame them. She wasn't very likable, with her silence, her unbelievable work ethic, and her strange amber eyes.
So many people believed she grew that hard outer shell later in life, maybe when she was in Ishbal, or through the years at the Colonel's side, but it wasn't true. That air of indifference, those cold eyes—they came from that time, when she was alone.
Her father hadn't been the best of fathers, but he had done what was essential. Every month, a check came in his name, a check he would sign and let her have. He let her do as she pleased with the money, as long as there was food on the table. He had rarely harmed her physically, except when he had burned that sign into her back, and even that pain had padded in a while. Mostly, her father hadn't been aware she existed.
But he had kept the men away from her.
Alone now, a young girl with a pretty face and a good enough body and the rumor of a small fortune, she was suddenly fresh meat. They were idiots, of course. Why would a girl with a small fortune work so many hours every week? Why would she walk home in the darkness every night?
And it had been in the darkness that a young man, a little more eager than the rest, had approached her.
It hadn't quite ended in rape, but it had been damn close, and as she slammed the door and leaned against it, her hands trembling, her clothes all but ripped off her, she felt something inside of her she'd never felt before.
Rage.
She stared into space, the anger boiling inside if her, an anger she had never really experienced.
How could he? Her father, well, she had never expected much of him. A man who left his daughter alone as long as the grades were good and the food was on the table wasn't the sort of man one trusted wholeheartedly. She had always been wary of her father.
But the kind of boy who'd stand and talk to her in the kitchen, who'd protest when she drowned the kittens that were unnecessary, the kind who'd walk her to school and take her back again because it was supposedly "on his way" to the bookstore, or he had been buying groceries for her. The kind he heard mutter that she was "she was too damn pretty for her own good…" Well, she'd trusted him.
And he'd left her.
"Roy?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you joining the military?"
He'd stared off into space, trying to formulate an answer. "Because I love this country," he had said finally. "And because of girls like you who shouldn't have to worry about the world."
She'd blushed slightly, always frazzled by his quiet flirtation. "But doesn't that mean that you might be killed?"
"If that means a hundred others are safe," he shrugged. "Really, I don't have much to live for. No real family. Even my teacher seems to hate me."
"No, Father likes you, I can tell. He sees you."
He'd shrugged again.
"How is school for you?" he'd asked instead.
What kind of boy would sit and listen to her talk? What kind of boy wouldn't just wave her off?
She stood on trembling legs and sighed. The past was gone. She had to do something with her life. Waiting tables wasn't enough. But first, she needed a way to protect herself, something that would guarantee the boys left her alone…
She knew where her mind was taking her, and only hesitated a moment before moving in the direction of her father's study.
As she entered, she felt the absence of the man who had seemed to be a permanent fixture of the room. She had avoided the place ever since her father's death. It held bittersweet memories. She remembered vaguely her mother depositing her here while she cooked or went to the market. She would sit on a stack of books, and he'd tell her of things that made her eyes wide and her heart skip a step.
But then her mother had died, and he had begun to withdraw. It wasn't even all that bad at first, but slowly, as she was able to take on more and more of the chores around the household, she would see him less and less.
She began to hate alchemy. It was the thing that took him away from her. And so, on her thirteenth birthday, when he had asked if she wanted to start learning from him…she had said no.
She had regretted it for many years after, because if she thought he ignored her before, he now didn't acknowledge her existence.
She was fifteen when he had moved in, and by that time, she had become accustomed to being a shadow in her home. She spoke only in school, and only to answer questions that were directed towards her. Never spontaneously. No one would listen…why would she bother?
The first time he had asked her a question, it had been something mundane, like "Where are the towels, Miss?"
She had stared at him, surprised, and after a moment, answered hesitantly.
He'd taken the response as an invitation, and continued to speak. "Mr. Hawkeye didn't introduce me to you?"
"I'm his daughter," she replied. "Riza Hawkeye."
"May I call you Riza?"
She hesitated, not sure if this familiarity was appropriate, but then nodded slowly. "Yes."
"I'm Roy," he had said. "Roy Mustang."
She'd never know that he'd wondered about her, later, and wondered at what kind of house he had been apprenticed to. What kind of man doesn't introduce his own daughter? What kind of man pretends she doesn't exist?
Shaking her head, she walked to the desk where her father had died, and reached underneath it. There was a rifle there, not a run of the mill shotgun, but a real sniper's rifle, and a brace of pistols. She took all three firearms, and then turned to where she knew the oil and bullets and shells were kept.
Outside, she thought, and walked through the house with the three guns, afraid of them, yet needing their power.
She opened the back door, set down the pistols and started with the rifle. It was long and sleek and despite it being an item of violence and death, there was a certain beauty in its long frame. Elegant, but dangerous, she thought.
She set it against her shoulder, aimed for a tree through the scope, and pulled the trigger.
The kick of the gun jarred her shoulder painfully, and she took several steps backwards. She saw the small puff of the tree to the right of the one she had targeted, and smiled grimly. So it seemed she wasn't quite ready for the rifle.
The pistols felt smoother in her hands. While the rifle had been more dangerous, more powerful, more elegant than the pistols, these were like…companions. Even friends.
She smiled and tried one out.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, she sat down and started to dismantle the gun, her fingers hesitant. She memorized the innards, gradually figuring out how the gun worked, and finding new respect for the complexity of it.
Gritting her teeth, she unclicked what she would later learn was the safety, and fired again.
To her surprise, there was barely a kick, but the aim was much more off without the scope and the long barrel to steady the shot.
Frowning, she emptied the gun, and then tentatively reloaded.
Determined to take care of herself, for once in her life, she shot again, and again, and again.
"You won't hurt me," she hissed under her breath as she reloaded the rifle. "No one will hurt me."
And the next time she was walking home alone, and a young man approached her, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and aimed it steadily at him.
"Don't you dare," she said quietly.
"You carry guns?" the boy had asked, his voice incredulous. "Those things could kill you!"
"No. They can kill you. But only if I want them to."
They'd left her alone after that, and all she had were her guns and her solitary house. The eccentric young woman who worked a menial job, spoke to no one, and carried a brace of pistols at all time. They were slightly afraid of her. And she preferred it that way.
Well, it's been a while since i updated, but it's a long one, so enjoy...and please leave a review. no, they don't save pandas, but they save me from insanity :D