A/N: Happy FMA Day, everyone! Here's a short, lighthearted chapter to soothe all the Ed-related angst you might have/see/read. Thank you again to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed. You're more fantastic than the Armstrong sparkle.

Chapter Eleven: A Tale Told by an Alchemist

Roy's boots crushed down in the icy, brown slush covering the dirt road into town. Each step he took sent mud up the sides of his shoes, accompanied by an uncomfortable squelch. He grimaced and tried to shake some of the ground off of his left boot. Central was covered in a blanket of nice, pure snow. Yet here he was, covered in mud and ice. He turned up the collar of his jacket and lifted his eyes from the ground. Riza was several feet ahead of him, almost lost beneath her ill-fitting winter coat.

"Explain something to me. If Giribaz is only a bit more southern than Central, why does it have this crappy pseudo-winter?" Roy asked frustratedly as more mud clung to his boots.

"Because Central is several kilometers north of us, and we get the desert winds from the east." Riza slowed her pace until Roy caught up to her. "You may need to brush up on your geography."

"In what time?"

"We both know that you put off your studies until the last minute."

Roy looked at her with indignance. "I do not."

"This morning you ate breakfast, insisted that the steps needed clearing, and that the house needed sweeping. Roy, you watered the plants. The annual ones. In winter. And this was just before we left for town. I can only wonder what time we'll end up being back."

"Hey, not fair. All of that had to be done sooner or later -"

"Most of it later."

"and we need envelopes if we're ever going to write the sisters back."

"Which you could buy when you go to the post to send your letter." By this point, Riza was poking holes in his arguments just for fun. "You are the worst chronic procrastinator this country has ever seen. You need to do something about that."

"Eh, it can wait." He opened the door to the grocers before Riza could note the irony. They did their best to clean their boots on the mat by the door, but there was little that could be helped. Riza unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the rack by the door, while Roy stayed bundled up in his.

"Morning, you two!" A friendly voice called from behind the counter. Mr. Pratt was an older man, but ambiguously so. His grey hair and moustache aged him, but his face wasn't very wrinkled. The glasses he wore were thick, a result of his poor eyesight, but the frames were modern. Roy had given up trying to guess his age a few weeks after his arrival. This man was a puzzle even alchemists couldn't solve.

"Good morning, Mr. Pratt," Riza returned as she grabbed a wicker basket from beside the door. "Just here to pick up a few things."

"There isn't much. The snowstorms to the north and west stalled a few of our deliveries." Mr. Pratt nodded at his bare shelves. "Not much comes from the south in the winter."

"We'll make do," Riza assured him, thankful that there were at least a few things to be had. She pulled a large bag of rice off one of the shelves and quickly handed it to Roy.

"Why do we need this much rice?" Roy heaved the bag over one shoulder.

"It's cheap, it lasts, and all we need to make it is water," Riza explained as she scoured the shelves. "Who knows when we'll get anything back in stock here. It's not like the town is an economic priority like Central or East City." Canned vegetables began to find their way into her basket. Two jars of peanut butter followed. "Egg substitite," she explained, "or anything else we want it for."

Roy had to admit that he was impressed. He knew that she was savvy when it came to stretching a dollar, and it seemed now that she could make do in situations that would have Central citizens in a tizzy. Wanting to be helpful, he reached up to the back of the highest shelf and found a tin of tea, which he placed in the basket. Riza gave him a small smile of gratitude. She lead the way back to the counter and asked Mr. Pratt "Some matches and sugar, please."

The more expensive items were pulled from behind the counter and placed with the others. Mr. Pratt began to price out the goods. placing them back into the basket when he was done with them. Riza counted out her cens on the counter while he added her total together, her stomach dropping when she saw that she was short.

"Here, let me," Roy offered, reaching into his pocket.

"No," Riza said firmly. "That's your money. This comes out of the food budget, not anything Aunt Chris sends you."

"I'll just put the cens on your tab," Mr. Pratt offered, to which Riza nodded her assent.

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can," she promised, just like she did every time she ended up a little short.

"You always do," the grocer assured her, his smile lifting the corners of his moustache.

Roy watched as Riza lifted the basket and walked to the coat rack. When her back was turned, he dug five hundred cens out of his pocket and handed them to Mr. Pratt. He lifted his eyebrows, to which the older man mimed locking his lips together. Satisfied, Roy lifted the bag of rice back onto his shoulder and followed Riza out into the brisk, winter air. He jogged a few steps until he was by her side. "Where to next?"

"The post office, even if your letter may not go out for a few days," Riza warned.

"You know, when my sisters write 'Roy and Riza' on the envelope, they want you to send them a letter, too."

While Riza supposed that she should have known that was the case, she felt touched all the same. "I'll start doing that, then."

"Good. They keep asking me if I've pissed you off or something because they haven't heard from you." Roy rolled his eyes. When he pushed open the door to the post office, a bell rang just above the door.

Mrs. Edwards, a slender woman who was not yet thirty, appeared from the back room. She carried her daughter against her hip, fighting to keep hold as she squirmed about in her mother's arms. Mrs. Edwards sat the toddler down on the counter, where she extended both arms out to Riza and Roy.

"Morning, you two. What can I do for you?" the woman asked as she tied her thick, brown hair back behind her head.

"I need to mail a letter to Central," Roy explained. "I don't have an envelope or a stamp, though."

"I should have known," the woman said, giving him an amused grin. She began to search underneath the counter for what he needed.

Riza stood in front of the child, who had grasped both of Riza's thumbs in her small hands. Her black hair was cropped as short as Riza's. "Why did you cut her hair?" Riza asked the mother.

As Mrs. Edwards stood back up, she explained "Someone got into her father's chewing gum. I still have no idea how much she swallowed." She shook her head. "Paul swears he doesn't know how she did it, but he constantly loses the packet he keeps it in."

Roy handed his letter, sealed, addressed, and stamped, over the counter to Mrs. Edwards. When he tried to pay her, she waved her hand dismissively.

"You give us more business than anyone else in town. Besides, I can't guarantee when the letter will get there. So don't worry about it this time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Edwards," Riza and Roy choroused unintentionally. As Riza tried to take her thumbs back from the child, she began to wail. Riza picked her up, bouncing her up and down.

"It's okay, Alyssa. We'll be back soon, okay?" Riza soothed. Alyssa stopped crying, suddenly enamored with the bracelet around Riza's wrist. Her small hand wrapped around the silver chain, and Riza let her move her hand up for closer inspection. She walked behind the counter and handed Alyssa to her mother, letting her hold the bracelet as she did so. She slowly uncurled the child's fingers, which almost immediately wrapped around her mother's necklace. With a smile and a wave, Roy and Riza hurried out of the store before Alyssa could notice their absence.

"Did you ever finish that book by Paracelcus?" Riza asked, aware that he had been having a difficult time with the text.

"You mean The Treasure of Treasures for Alchemists or Alchemical Catechism?"

"Either."

"Nope." Roy faltered under the stern, disapproving look he recieved. "I'm trying, I really am. I just can't get through this guy's wording. It's like he decided, a few hundred years ago, hey, let's make this absolutely impossible to read just to drive Roy Mustang crazy."

"I can guarantee you that isn't true." Riza shifted the hand she was using to carry the basket. "I'll tell you what. If you finish both of those books tonight, I'll make whatever you want for dessert."

Roy's eyes lit up. "Fudge?"

"Fudge. But that means you'll have to be patient."

"I can do that," Roy swore as though it was on his own life. "I won't even skim through the pages."

"I'm impressed," Riza laughed lightly. She shied away slightly when she felt something cold fall on her face. Lifting her gaze to the sky, the sensation continued. "Damn it!" she swore, using her free arm to cover the top of her head. "Why don't we own an umbrella?!"

"Because we don't think about buying one until it's raining," Roy explained as he lifted the bag of rice over his head in attempt at staying dry. "Now come on!"

The two children jogged through the freezing rain, their hair plastered down and running water down their faces. Even if they were closer to home than the town, both were freezing by the time they reached the cover of the front porch. As cold as she was, Riza took a seat on the bench and removed her boots, socks, and overcoat. Roy followed her lead, discarding anything he could that was wet or muddy.

"Leave the groceries," Riza ordered, rushing into the house. The two children hurried to the bathroom, trying to drip as little as possible onto the floors. Although the house was warmer, the tile floor was uninviting. Riza pulled the knob on the tub and plugged it, letting the first few inches fill with hot water. She winced as she placed her feet in, feeling pins and needles as she started to regain feeling in her toes.

Roy wasn't as cautious. He moved to Riza's side and, rather than placing his toes in the water, climbed into the tub fully clothed. When he saw Riza looking at him in disbelief, he explained his logic. "I'm already soaked. I can be soaked and cold, or soaked and warm." The water was high enough to cover his feet as he sat cross-legged, and he had enough room to place his hands in the water as well.

"I get it, but at the same time, I think you're insane," Riza admitted. She folded her chest over her knees so that she could warm her fingers. "I hate the winter," she complained. All of a sudden, she groaned and let her head hang. "We still have to go back outside and get everything."

Roy grimaced. "I'm not moving until I'm warm."

Riza spun around and placed her feet on the bath mat. After pulling a towel from the rack, she dried off her hands and feet. "Well, I'm not going to sit in wet clothes." She lifted the towel and rubbed it vigorously over her wet hair. "I'm going upstairs to find the warmest pyjamas I own." She set the towel by the tub for Roy to use. Her hand met the doorknob, and she steeled herself before opening the door. Upon feeling the colder air, she hissed through her teeth before rushing upstairs.

"Riza! The door!" Roy called after her, but she was already gone. A stream of curses poured from his mouth as he stood up, realizing his mistake of sitting in the water as all the warmth escaped from the room. Not taking time to dry himself off, he ran up the stairs as fast as he could, very nearly slipping when he reached the top. The door to his room slammed shut behind him.

Roy sat close to the fire, layered in clothes and blankets. Alchemical Catechism lay closed on the floor in front of him. Riza leaned against the kitchen counter, a second copy of the text open in her left hand. She set it down so that she could stir the fudge, leaning over so that she could quiz Roy. The book was a series of questions and answers, making it fairly straightforward. "What is the object of research among the Philosophers?" she asked, reading from the book.

Roy closed his eyes and frowned, taking a moment to think. "Proficiency in the art of perfecting what Nature has left imperfect in the..." he hesitated, "metal? no... mineral kingdom, and the attainment of the treasure of the Philosophical Stone." He snapped his fingers and opened his eyes.

"Very good," Riza praised. "Now, what is this stone?"

"The Stone is nothing else than the radical humidity of the elements, perfectly purified and educed into a sovereign fixation, which causes it to perform such great things for health, life being resident exclusively in the humid radical.

""Word for word. I'm impressed." Riza flipped through several pages, coming to the last handful. "Speed test: When must the Philosopher begin his enterprise?"

"At the moment of daybreak, for his energy must never be relaxed."

"When may he take his rest?"

"When the work has come to its perfection."

"What is the age of a Philosopher?"

"From the moment of his researches to that of his discoveries, the Philosopher does not age."

Riza shut the book and looked over at Roy. "Very nice. I think it's safe to say that you understand Paracelsus." Her smile was wide and approving. She stifled a laugh when Roy jumped up, abandoning his blankets as he sped into the kitchen.

"That means I get fudge, right?" he asked eagerly, peering over her shoulder at the stove.

"You do once it sets. I thought it was going to take you longer than it did. Do you see what happens when you set your mind to something?"

"You mean when I'm bribed?" He reached over Riza's shoulder toward the pot.

Riza smacked his hand with her spoon. "If that's the case, you really need to fix your work ethic. And don't touch that; you'll scald yourself." She lifted the pot from the stove and began to pour the contents into a baking pan. Roy remained one step behind her, watching her. When she moved to place the pot in the sink, Roy remained in front of the pan. "You aren't going to make it set any faster by staring at it."

"I can try." Roy pondered the situation. "Maybe I could use alchemy to speed it up..."

"Out," Riza commanded as she swung her spoon in his direction. "Out of the kitchen. We've had to repair it once already this winter. I'm not dealing with a botched experiment on fudge."

Roy retreated backwards, avoiding her swing. He lifted both of his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright. I won't use any alchemy."

Riza held out her hand in front of him. "Chalk."

'What?"

"Give me your chalk."

Roy huffed and pulled a piece out of his pocket. He placed it in the palm of her hand. When she continued to look at him, he reached into his other pocket, retrieving another piece. Riza tapped her foot, giving him a look that said don't make me get it myself. He relented, handing her the pack from his back pocket. "Happy now?"

"Yes." Riza tucked the loose pieces into the carton.

"You know, I'm older than you. And I'm bigger than you. You should be listening to me."

Riza ticked her arguments off on her fingers. "You're older than me by two years. Add in emotional maturity of boys compared to girls, I am theoretically older than you are by a year. Secondly, you're taller than me by maybe two inches, on a good day. We both know we've been bouncing back and forth on that one almost every month."

Roy squared his shoulders in a subconscious attempt to make himself taller. "Well, theories and technicalities don't count."

Riza smirked in a way similar to Roy's, and he found it unnerving. "Aren't theories and technicalities a large part of alchemy?"

"Gah!" Roy threw his hands up. "Fine. I won't touch the fudge until it's set." He turned his back and walked to the couch, taking a seat on the arm.

"That's all I wanted." Riza slipped past him and brought her copy of the text back to the shelf. She trailed her finger over the spines of each book until she found what she was looking for. "Now, let's see how well you understood The Treasure of Treasures for Alchemists."

Roy let out a groan so pained that he might have been dying. He let himself fall back onto the couch, his legs hanging over the arm. Riza looked over at him and rolled her eyes. "I think you missed your calling as an actor."

"You could be a little kinder to someone who's dying," Roy protested, staying where he was.

"Dead men don't get fudge."

Roy bolted upright. "Don't even play like that. You're cruel, Riza Hawkeye."

Riza chose to ignore the comment, busying herself by turning the pages of the book. She sat down in her usual chair and tucked her legs beneath her before saying "Explain the tincture to me."

A/N: The italics are direct quotes from the source text.