A/N: I know that I keep updating this story rather quickly. All of these chapters are important to the story as a whole, and I haven't been able to wait to post them with my normal update schedule. Look for the next chapter in about a week; work is going to make me slow a bit in my progress.

This chapter may shine a bit more light on "Anniversary," one of my previous stories I have written. If you haven't read it, please do. It helps explain my approach to Riza's childhood.

Please leave a review if you have the time.

Chapter Four: Honest Silence

The days passed in relative simplicity as the two children struck up a pattern. Riza woke first and made breakfast; she waited for Roy, who would then clean the dishes. Afterwards, he would set to repairing something on the never-ending list of broken household items. He would inevitably make a mess, which Riza cleaned as she tidied the house, without him knowing that she was even there. At midday they sat down for a light lunch before getting back to their chores.

Roy had been trying to get Riza out of the house in the afternoons, but she seemed reluctant to leave if it wasn't necessary. The fence around her yard was a cage, in Roy's opinion. He wasn't sure why things were the way that were in the Hawkeye household, but he had more manners than to come out and ask. Each day, he asked her if she wanted to join him on some excursion; each day, she declined.

Once the sun began to go down, the two would work together to prepare dinner, during which Roy would talk and Riza would nod. The dishes were washed, and they both retired to the salon. Roy would take his place on the couch, stretched out with some sort of alchemical tome he had plucked from the shelf. Riza curled up in her chair, a worn book in her hands which Roy never recognized. This is also how they would spend their rainy days, Roy with a cup of coffee and Riza with a tea.

On one such night, Riza returned to the kitchen, an untouched plate in her hands. Her brow was knit in worry as she scraped the contents into a plastic container. "He hasn't eaten dinner in three days," she murmured.

"He'll be fine. He's had his breakfast, hasn't he?" Roy watch Riza give a slight nod, her eyes keeping away from his face. "Then he has at least something in him. Don't worry about it; you can't make him eat, after all."

Riza let out a sigh as she dropped the plate into the soapy water. She said no more on the subject, and the two cleaned in silence. Both children remained mute as they walked to their usual places, picked up their books, and made themselves comfortable.

After several minutes, Roy looked up and over at Riza's chair. He hadn't heard her turn the page once, and her eyes moved as though they kept reading the same line over and over again. Perhaps she had a right to be worried. Even he was concerned, because he had overstayed his welcome by five days without seeing Berthold again. He, however, could stand the uncertainty. Riza was a worrier; he learned this by bits and pieces, but all the signs were there. Over the last five days she had opened up to him in a way he didn't think was possible. Just yesterday, he heard her laugh for the first time. It wasn't a sarcastic laugh or a slight chuckle; she had laughed until tears came to her eyes. Of course, it came at his expense when he tumbled into the mud and slid down a hill, all the while clutching at the earth as he tried to stop himself. She made him clean off with the hose before coming inside, but even being dripping wet was worth it to him. He liked seeing her come to life in those moments.

She was so serious all the time; he supposed she had to be to keep the house in order on her own. But she had more than a no-nonsense attitude when it came to work. It was as though she was holding herself back at all times, keeping herself in a stranglehold. Every time she cracked in her exterior, she caught herself and apologized, just as she did when she laughed at him.

Roy turned back to his book, realizing that he had been looking at her for too long. He sat up and placed the book on the coffee table in front of him, holding the pages down with paperweights. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his intertwined figures covering his mouth as he tried to puzzle through a complicated alchemical formula.

A sudden crash broke the serenity of the room, followed by a roar: "Goddamnit!"

Roy jumped, startled by what just happened. He leaned back into the couch and peered down the hallway, his eyes fixed on Berthold's study. He could hear more shouting, but it was unintelligible.

Riza had virtually jumped out of her skin at the interruption. Her book landed haphazardly on the floor, pages bent under its weight. She had abandoned her place in her chair, and it took Roy a minute to find her again. She had her back pressed against the wall, hiding where the chair concealed a small amount of space in the corner of the room. Her head was resting on her knees, and her arms were thrown over her head. The only sign of her presence was the hem of her dress, visible underneath the chair. Roy stood with the intention of checking on her, but the door to the study flew open with a bang before he could take a step.

Berthold stalked out of his study, growling under his breath about something or another. He moved down the hall into the kitchen, passing Roy without any acknowledgement of his presence. In search of food, he opened the refrigerator and took the plastic container Riza had placed there hours before. He neglected to warm his meal and grabbed the closest silver he could find. As the man turned around, he found Roy staring at him. Moments of tense silence passed between them, and Roy saw his short life flashing before his eyes.

Frozen in place, Roy stood immobile as Berthold made his way back into his study. A large, hardbacked tome flew down the hallway, narrowly missing Roy's head. "Learn it!" was his solitary command, punctuated by the slamming of the study door.

Roy was completely dumbfounded by what had just happened. Did this mean he was going to be Berthold's apprentice? Why wasn't he punished for not leaving the house? His mind was spinning, but he was torn from these thoughts when he heard Riza's long, drawn-out exhale. It was as though she had been holding her breath. Roy walked over to the chair and peered around the back, frowning when he saw how Riza had positioned herself. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, and he did not get the reaction he had expected.

Riza twisted away from his hand, the force of her movement causing the chair to slide over the carpet. The way she looked up at him left him speechless. Her amber eyes were wide, fear shining in them as if she were a small animal. She was shaking almost imperceptibly, and her right hand searched the floor around her as she kept her eyes on Roy. A second passed, and her hand stopped moving over the carpet. Another second, and her head hung down against her chest. Three deep breaths, then she opened her eyes. Her head lifted, and she saw Roy standing in front of her, clearly concerned. Her cheeks tinged red in embarrassment, and she tried her best to hide what had just happened. She grabbed the windowsill with one hand and placed the other on the wall, using both to help herself stand. Her knees were quaking, but she ignored it as best she could. After steadying herself, she looked down at her toes and attempted to shuffle past Roy, barely speaking. "Excuse me, Mr. Mustang."

Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Roy reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her close to him and wrapped her in a hug, trying to help in the only way he knew how. Whenever he was upset, a hug from his aunt or one of his sisters always seemed to help. Riza fought against him, placing her hands on his chest and trying to push him away. She tried to work her way free, but it was no use. She hated physical contact; her personal space was incredibly important to her, and it was being seriously violated. Completely overwhelmed with fear of her father and indignant at Roy, she beat against his chest with her small fists, yet he still did not let her go. Her knees went weak and she sunk down to the floor, and Roy followed her. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and his shirt began to feel wet. She had stopped struggling, and not a sound was made between them until the clock chimed the hour, alerting them to how much time had passed. Riza lifted her head wearily and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. "Please forgive me, Mr. Mustang," she asked, her voice quiet and heavy. "I don't know what got into me. I'm sorry."

Having yet to let go of her, Roy assured her "You have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong."

Riza shook her head by way of arguing. "I overreacted, and I shouldn't have done that. I made a scene and a complete fool out of myself. I have everything to be sorry for."

"Stop it." Roy's voice came out a little more harshly than he intended. "You got scared. Everyone does sometimes. It's okay."

With a sigh, Riza decided that it wasn't worth the argument. "I would like to go to bed now, Mr. Mustang. Please let go of me."

"Not before you sit and have a cup of tea. If you go to sleep now, you'll only have nightmares." Roy was speaking from experience. If he was upset about something, especially his parents, it would haunt his dreams unless he could distract himself. He let her go and stood up, picking her book up off the floor before extending his hand to her. She took it and let him help her up. His hand was replaced by her book, and she found herself being led to the couch. "Sit."

"Mr. Mustang, I can-"

"Sit. I'm making the tea. And for the love of what is good in this world, stop calling me that. I'm not an old man."

Too tired to retort, Riza settled herself on the couch, pulling the throw off the back and wrapping herself in it. It seemed it was only seconds before the kettle was whistling, and Roy was beside her with a mug. He took her free hand and pressed the tea into it, forcing her to hold the cup. He sat himself down on the other side of the couch, his mug in his hands and the large tome open in his lap. He thanked his luck that he had avoided being hit with it; it could have done some serious damage. He frowned, having to read the first sentence four times to completely understand it. This book would certainly be a challenge.

Riza watched him for a few moments before relenting, opening her own book to where she had left off. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, the rustling of pages, and the clink of ceramic against wood. By the time the clock chimed the next hour, both books lay abandoned on the coffee table, their owners fast asleep without realizing they had begun to drift off into a dreamless rest.