Day Two: Constant

Roy doesn't know what he expects when the door to the Hawkeye House swings open, but whatever it is, this isn't it. He knows Berthold Hawkeye has a daughter, but the short girl with chopped blonde hair and ripped trousers is anything than what he expects. Even more startling are the clear brown eyes that pin him with a steady look, and suddenly Roy is much less sure about his new circumstances.

It is only through years of dealing with his adoptive sisters that he knows to avoid making any comments regarding her looks or state of dress. Instead, he smiles at her and inquires after her father. Judging from the mildly surprised look she gives him, it's the most initial respect one of her father's students has ever given her.

Roy finds himself thinking of her later, after he's spoken with his new alchemy teacher. He can't help but be curious, and he wonders if he'll have time to maybe talk to her after his lessons.

But as the days pass, Roy finds himself hardly able to breathe, much less seek out his master's daughter. Not due to the fast pace of his lessons, though those sometimes pass in a blur of numbers and formulas. No, it's the sheer unpredictability of his new teacher that has his head reeling. On some days, Hawkeye-sensei summons him at the break of dawn, and on others, Roy isn't called until after lunch. The lessons themselves vary in content: some are filled with books and hours upon hours of reading; others have him drawing simple circles and transmuting nails to screws and back again; still others leave Roy guessing as to their applicability to alchemy. He enjoys the lessons, yes, but he still feels dizzy every time he's dismissed.

One thing that does not change are the meals. Riza's timing is impeccable: breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Coincidentally, this is the only time Roy gets to see her, and though they don't exchange conversation (aside from Roy's thanks for the meal, which she acknowledges with a nod), Roy finds these moments to be the highlight of his day. Whatever Hawkeye-sensei may throw at him, he knows when he'll eat, and that is an unexpected (and very welcome) constant his new lifestyle.

Until one day, it isn't.

Roy clatters upstairs after a particularly frustrating lesson on organic chemistry, only to find an empty table. Frowning, he peers into the kitchen, but it too is dark and empty. Riza is nowhere to be found, and as it's already five past, Roy starts to worry.

He wanders upstairs, cautiously peeking into different doorways. He doesn't want to be accused of sneaking, but he does want to find her (not only for his sake—she needs to eat too). Most of the rooms look dusty and unoccupied, but there is one tucked into the corner of the second floor that looks lived in.

The door creaks a little when he pokes it open, and he winces. There is no indignant cry of invasion of privacy, though, so Roy pushes it open a little farther.

It is small but clean, with white walls and pale green furniture. A flowered quilt is folded on the end of the bed, and a small book rests on the night table. It is empty, and though Roy is curious about the room's owner, he knows better than to push his luck by staying. So he turns away and returns to the first floor, still stumped about where his teacher's daughter could be.

He remembers the mud stains he sometimes sees on the knees of her trousers and doubles back to the back door of the house. The screen door slams against the frame as he hops off the brick steps leading outside.

It's a hot spring afternoon, something Roy had sorely missed down in the candlelit shadows of the alchemy laboratory. Bees drone through the air, fat bodies laden with fluffy yellow pollen. The trees bordering the house are starting to bloom, pale pink buds peeking out between vibrant green leaves. The only thing out of place if the steady thwack-ping of metal coming from the back of the estate.

Roy frowns, shoving his hands in his pockets as walks toward the sound. He rounds a large weeping willow and sees Riza standing with her back to him, dressed in a boy's shirt and rolled-up trousers. Her feet are bare, her blonde hair sticking up in a sweaty mess. She is holding something in front of her, one hand pulled back to her shoulder. Her fingers open up, and there is a ringing thwack-ping!

Roy takes a few steps to the side and sees the thing she is holding is a slingshot, and the sounds are ball-bearings hitting metal cans. It's target practice.

Roy almost feels like laughing at the sight—not because he thinks it's ridiculous, but because he can't imagine her doing anything else. He must make some sort of noise, though, since Riza stiffens and turns. Her eyes widen, and her hands twitch as though to hide the slingshot.

"You're a good shot," Roy says, gesturing to the row of cans she's knocked over.

She nods, then blushes at her own unintended praise. "I practice a lot," she says, trying to recover some sort of modesty.

"I figured," he says, smiling. "Is this what you do before lunch?"

She gasps suddenly. "Lunch! I knew I was forgetting something! You'll be wanting lunch now."

He waves a hand. "Don't worry about it," he reassures, because he doesn't like that frightened look on her face. "I was just curious where you were."

The worry is gone, only to be replaced with something else he can't quite read. "Well, I'm here," she says.

"Yes, you are," Roy says, and feels stupid because now there's an awkward silence between them, and he can't help but feel like it's his fault. So he tries to remedy it. He looks at her slingshot and before he can stop himself, asks, "Teach me to use that?"

She is surprised by his request, and she's not the only one. Roy can't quite believe he's asked this of her and is about to backtrack to save whatever semblance of dignity he can, when she smiles. And it's not like the polite smiles she's given him over the kitchen table. This is her real smile, and Roy is a little dazzled.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I can teach you."

Lunch is a little late that day, but neither of them cares.

Years will pass, and Roy's life will never cease its turmoil. If anything, it becomes more chaotic, but she is there through it all. When everything can change in the snap of a finger (when everything does change at the snap of a finger, and it haunts his dreams at night), she is the rock he has come to rely upon. It is a dangerous path they tread, but she is always there, uniform pristine and files prioritized neatly in her arms. And though he may cringe at the sight of the ever-present paperwork, he knows he is lucky to have her.

He always has been.