Author's note: It's been a while since I've updated this story, so here you go. Sorry it took me so long. I was just finishing up school and I've been working a lot and I just haven't really had the urge to write more for this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.
While stars whizzed behind Roy's eyes, Riza lay awake that first night. She stayed near the edge of the bed, arms and legs straight as boards. Here she finally was in the comfort of another person but still she could not sleep. Not that she was afraid – afraid of dreaming, afraid of her father's discovery of them – but something felt off.
Roy was so willing to help, so quick to offer comfort; a foreign notion to her. But it ought to be strange, she supposed, for this was the first time that she sought it out.
The bed, she realized suddenly. It was the bed that was off; it was much too small. Roy lay on his side, facing away from her. His back nearly touched Riza's arm. On the one hand, she was glad for the company. But on the other, never before had she been this close to anybody – physically or emotionally. She figured it would be something she'd have to get used to. Not that this will be an ongoing thing, she thought to herself. The clock in the main hall struck four. An hour and a half had passed since she'd come in. And there was only one more hour until her father would wake.
It was true that Riza did, in fact, not feel scared anymore but to be so close to her father in the short time that he would be waking up caused her to sit up. She looked at Roy's sleeping form. He snored quietly and his hand twitched slightly. It was best that she leave now. Trying her best not to shift the bed too much, she slid off the side. She crept over to the door, opened it slowly, and exited the bedroom.
Once safely back in her room, she sighed heavily. Roy certainly had made her feel better, but this could never happen again. Should her father find out, there'd be no telling what kind of damage he'd do to them. But the funny thing about something good is that once you've had a taste, it's hard to give it up. Riza's nightmares continued. For the first few nights after seeking Roy's comfort, she resisted the urge to visit him in the middle of the night again. But her fear eventually got the best of her and she went to him. This went on for months. Roy would never deny her a space on his bed should she come to him. Nor did he treat ay different during the daytime. Riza was certainly vulnerable and bruised during these nights, but not helpless. Never helpless. He realized that even the strongest people cracked and needed help.
They had developed a routine. Riza would come to Roy's room in the middle of the night, lie in bed beside him, and leave just before her father awoke. It worked for both children, though the fear of Berthold Hawkeye still loomed over them. Yet not being caught thus far made them feel invincible.
The nightmares switched between the death of her mother and the death of Roy. Regardless of whichever one that perturbed her, she sought out Roy's comfort as usual. One night she dreamt that both of them burned in the fire. As she awoke she sensed something odd in the atmosphere of her home. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was off. It frightened her even more than her dream had. On this night, she ran to Roy's room.
Roy could sense, too, that something was different; unsettling. He pulled back the covers for her as she climbed in the bed. He turned to face her, a questioning look on his face. Riza lay on her back, as usual, and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to say something, but could not bring the words to his mouth. Riza shook her head in fear and swallowed hard. Roy dared to reach out for her hand, resting at her side. Surprisingly, she took it. Grasping her hand, Roy drifted back to sleep. Riza felt the exhaustion hit her like the wind; steady, but unfaltering. Eventually it overcame her and she closed her eyes.
Both children were jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming. Roy and Riza sat up in the small bed and stared in horror as Berthold Hawkeye stood in the doorway. She noticed that it was now light outside, and cursed herself for falling asleep.
Her father's fists were clenched at his sides, face twisted in rage. Riza had never seen the man angrier. Without warning he charged at the bed. The two of them recoiled. Berthold lifted his hand as he approached the bed. He slapped Riza hard across the face and she fell to the floor. Roy leapt off the bed in response. Though he desperately wanted to help – or even defend – Riza, he knew that doing that would only put the two of them in more danger. He stood by his desk, tensing himself. Berthold glared at the boy and returned his attention to his daughter. He reached down and pulled her up by the collar of her nightshirt. He dragged her out of the door and threw her into his own bedroom. Slamming the door shut, he locked it and returned to Roy's room, also slamming the door and locking it.
Riza stayed on the floor of her father's bedroom. She listened to the thumping sounds coming from Roy's bedroom. Tears began to fall from her eyes, but not from the pain shooting through her body. She cried for Roy. She didn't care that her father would soon come to beat her as well. She only felt sorry that her only friend had to be a part of this whole ordeal. She laid her head on the floor and waited.
Berthold had come for his daughter just minutes after tossing her into his bedroom. He came in loudly and abruptly. Again, he pulled her up by the shirt collar. This time, he dragged her back to her own bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
He had beaten her then.
When he was done, he slammed her door shut and locked it from the outside. Riza did not move from her position on the floor. Everything hurt, and she did not want to move. She stayed there well into the day, shifting positions only once or twice. Around dusk, her father entered the room. She flinched at his entrance, curling herself into a ball. He only stayed for a few seconds before leaving and locking the door. She peeked out from where she was. Her father had left her a glass of water and a bowl of what she presumed was cold porridge.
She stretched herself out, body aching all over – partly from the beating, partly from not moving for so long. At last, she sat up. She noticed a large bruise on her right forearm in the shape of a hand. Forcing her muscles to work, she stood up. She glanced toward the mirror on the wall, her reflection out of reach. She decided not to survey the damage at this moment in time. Instead she walked over to her bed and sat on the edge, thoughts going to Roy. Roy was a tough kid, so there was no reason to worry about him. But she couldn't help it; she cared for him.
Bruised, broken and exhausted, she lay down on the bed. And for the first time since her mother died, Riza Hawkeye did not dream at all.
Thanks for reading. Don't know when I'll have the next chapter up, still have to actually write it...but whatever. Reviews are always appreciated so please do if you feel so compelled.