A/N: So this chapter got away from me and decided it was going to do what it wanted. I'm happy with it, even if it is still somewhat short. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Sixteen: Summertime

Spring wasn't really a season in Giribaz. Once the rains stopped, the ground leeched away all the water with desperation. Even the flowers bloomed with caution. The air became bitter and dry; the only benefit was the lack of humidity to hold down the desert heat. It didn't take long for the winds to blow in from the East, bringing the parched desert with them, searching for a reprieve.

Riza took to wearing a hat or a scarf over her head whenever she went outside to do her chores. Roy soon learned to do the same after getting a nasty sunburn after a day patching the roof. He had to be held down while Riza tore open the thick leaf of a plant and applied the gel to his neck. Not keen to have that strange paste on him again, Roy wandered into town the next day and returned with hat in hand.

Roy lay prostrate on the floor, an alchemical tome open before him. He had cuffed his jeans as far as they would go, and he had abandoned his shirt altogether. The garment had turned into a rag, which he used to wipe his brow every few minutes. The Hawkeye residence had no such thing as a cooling system, which he lamented vocally for days after he became aware. Every window was wide open, and the slight breeze only made him remember how hot it was when it died away.

Riza cropped her hair back for the first time since she cut it, which provided some relief. She, at least, had several pairs of shorts and thin, sleeveless tops. She felt guilty that she had forgotten to tell Roy to pack summer clothing when they last visited Central, but there was nothing she could do now. Her fingers worked at folding a piece of paper into a fan, which provided some relief.

Roy sat up and looked at his companion. "You know you literally live in the middle of hell, right?"

"Virtually," Riza corrected.

"I meant what I said."

"It could be worse. Ishval is unbearable in the summer, according to Grandfather." She had taken her idea for tying a scarf around her head from one of his stories. She was glad to hear thay it held no religious significance for the followers of Ishvala, and it was extremely practical. "Jean is closer than we are to the desert, too."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," Roy grumbled. "Let's move to the north."

"... Why?"

"So I never have to deal with this heat again."

Riza smirked. "But then you'd have to deal with the cold. And don't forget the snow."

Roy groaned dramatically and let himself fall onto his back, his head landing on the book. "Why do you always have to be right?"

"It's a gift." Riza began to wave her paper fan up and down in Roy's direction.

Despite Riza's initial concerns, virtually nothing had changed over the past month. It was only awkward when she or Roy chose to make it so. What had seemed natural to them before remained that way. Their banter, reading by the fireplace, all of it came with no effort. It was reassuring for her, with the added benefit of keeping her father in the dark. She knew he wouldn't care, but the last thing she wanted to do was give him a reason to lash out.

"I'm dying," Roy swore, and he could feel his back stick to the wooden floor as he shifted, removing the book from under his head.

"The dead aren't nearly this dramatic." Riza offered him her glass of water. To her amusement, Roy poured the contents into his hands and splashed his face. "It'll get colder once the sun goes down. Just be patient. Finish your reading."

Yet again, she was right. Berthold's time limits became more ridiculous as the assignments became more difficult. Really, Roy wondered if he wasn't the one being studied. He grimaced as he rolled onto his stomach and opened the book. His hair hung down in his face, sticking to his forehead; no matter how much he fought it, it just didn't want to stay out of his line of sight. Giving up the battle, he opened to the page where he had left off.

Now the man pardoned by God can prepare and make ready an object or substance of the above mentioned red or white, of Sol and Luna, which is called the Lapidem Philosophorum, or the very ancient Water-Stone of the Wise, from the substance in which God placed such potency at the creation or genesis of the world, or the oft-mentioned materials or Subjectum which God, out of love and grace, implanted in the highly-endowed divine man.*

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Roy awoke to a gentle prodding in his left side. His eyes fought to open themselves, and the sight that greeted him was the grain of the wooden floor. His face scrunched up as he lifted his head, pushing himself into a seated position. Riza stood over him, hands on her hips. Rather than the scolding he had anticipated, she reached a hand out to him and helped him to his feet.

"Come on."

Roy allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs, Riza's hand still clasping his own. She led him into her bedroom, which puzzled him, and then she climbed out her open window, which confused him more. He walked to the window and stuck his head out, looking for her.

Riza stood not far from the window, sure-footed despite the slant. When she looked back at him, Roy realized that he was still supposed to follow. With far less grace, he pulled himself out onto the roof. The night air was drastically colder than the heat of the day, but even still, he was comfortable in what he was wearing. He sat down beside Riza, who had perched herself near the peak of the roof. When she lay down on her back, he followed suit.

He had lived with the Hawkeyes for nearly a year, but he still hadn't gotten used to the way the stars shone at night. The sky was so unpolluted that the stars made up for the lack of streetlights. Riza raised her hand and pointed at the stars. "Look, it's the ouroboros."

Roy followed her direction and squinted, unable to see the constellation. Riza reached over and tilted his head slightly, trying to guide him. "Just a few degrees to the left. No, you overshot." She moved closer to him and placed her head next to his, trying to get a better idea of where he was looking. "Riiiight there."

An oddly gathered group of stars tried their hardest to make a circle, but Roy saw an oval, at best. "I've never heard of this one before."

"It's one my father taught me," Riza admitted. "When I was young, we used to stargaze on the roof, all three of us, just like this." Her voice had turned wistful. "My mother would hold me in her lap and point out the stars she knew, and my father tried to think of names for the ones she didn't." She felt Roy tense beside her. "I know you want to ask," she murmured, keeping her eyes upwards. "I don't know what happened. Back then, the schoolteacher was still alive; I came home from my classes and she was gone. Father wouldn't let me see her. When we buried her the next day, only the two of us were there. I was five years old."

Not knowing what to say, Roy offered an "I'm sorry."

"Grandfather knows something that I don't about what happened. He won't tell me, though. I think he might have told Aunt Chris." Riza moved her head to rest on Roy's chest. In silence, she listened to his heart beat. "Father stopped being himself. He used to be a good man, but... well, you know him now. He won't go into town, you know. I think he blames our neighbors for not helping. Helping what is anyone's guess. He just... hates people now."

Roy placed a hand on Riza's head, smoothing her hair as she continued. "Everyone is still really nice to me, but only when I come around. At first, people would bring us meals or other things we needed. M. Pierre even brought us all kinds of goods when he found out. But that stopped after Father answered the door a few times. He called it charity." She hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. "Grandfather wrote once and offered to send me to a private academy. I don't know what Father said, but we never got another letter from him."

Roy exhaled through his nose, processing this information. He couldn't help but wonder if their paths would have crossed if she had gone to that school or moved in with Grumman after her mother's death. He was drawn back when one question entered his mind. "What was her name?"

"Eva." Riza smiled softly. "People say I have her eyes. They say hers were like honey. I don't know how mine ended up darker. And I have her nose."

Roy silently thanked God for that.

The two had long since ignored the stars, and Riza had closed her eyes. Cicadas trilled from the forest, annoyingly perseverent. Riza's hand lay across Roy's chest, and his fingers lingered in her hair. It wasn't until a sharp breeze sent needles through them that they even thought about going inside. After they clambered through the opening, Riza slid her window shut and closed the latch. When she turned around, Roy brushed her bangs back from her face and softly kissed her forehead, aware that they would have to continue their conversation in the morning.

* Taken from An Anonymous Treatise on the Philosopher's Stone