August 23
It was a dark and stormy night…no, really.
Roy sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. Another flash of lightning lit up his room, followed closely by a deafening peal of thunder. Shivering, though the night wasn't the least bit cold, he crept out of his bed and pushed aside his curtains to look out the window.
Third time this week, he thought. Riza certainly hadn't been kidding about the August thunderstorms. And this one seemed to be more severe than the others he'd experienced.
It wasn't actually raining at the moment, although what he could see of the ground below was definitely damp. The electrical storm waged on in the clouds above, and Roy found himself fascinated by the streaks of forked lightening that chased each other across the sky.
He wondered, with another shiver, how often the lightning struck buildings around here, and whether they had lightning rods on the tops of their barns and things, as most of the buildings in Central did. They must have something similar here, he was certain. Otherwise they'd have terrible fires to contend with after each storm, since most of the buildings were constructed of flammable materials.
Although the frequency of the blinding flashes and deafening booms seemed to be decreasing somewhat, Roy still felt too uneasy to go back to bed. Maybe some chamomile tea would help him sleep, he thought, and pulled on the rumpled shirt and cotton pajama pants he'd discarded earlier in the evening. They were much too warm to sleep in this time of year, though for decency's sake he wouldn't dare wander about the house wearing only his boxers.
Padding along the hallway in bare feet, Roy cast a long, wistful look at Riza's closed door. No light shone from beneath it, unfortunately, so there was no excuse to knock and ask her to join him. He almost went right back to his room when he realized that the idea of hot chamomile tea was much less comforting without the promise of Riza's company in the bright warmth of the kitchen.
But he was already awake. And the storm hadn't entirely moved on, yet, so there was little chance of falling back to sleep any time soon. Roy sighed and plodded down the stairs anyway.
"Don't be childish," he thought to himself. "You don't need someone to hold your hand. It's not like you're afraid of thunder. It's just a bit loud, that's all. The noise is keeping you up, nothing more."
He was so preoccupied with his internal monologue that he didn't register the fact that the kitchen light was on. Or that someone was already standing at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil. He stopped short just inside the doorway, astonished.
"Not the Hawkeye you expected to see, I presume?" his teacher asked in a dry tone, without even turning around to look at him.
"Hawkeye-sensei! No, that's not—I-I didn't—" Roy stammered, confused. But curiosity quickly overcame embarrassment. "How'd you even know it was me?" he asked. The man hadn't even glanced his way when he first entered the room. Berthold finally turned to face him with an amused expression.
"My daughter has never made quite that much noise coming down the stairs, my boy," he answered.
"Oh. Right," Roy said, feeling faintly foolish. Stupid question, really. Especially considering how often he had personally commented on Riza's propensity for silent, stealthy movement.
"Tea?" Master Hawkeye said, gesturing to the steaming kettle.
"Um, yes, please." Roy rubbed his bleary eyes and settled at the kitchen table in his usual place, watching his teacher moving quietly through the kitchen with mugs and honey. "Did the storm wake you, as well, sir?" he asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Berthold replied, fussing with the kettle. "I have always had trouble sleeping during a thunderstorm. Something about the electricity in the air makes me restless. Antsy, if you will."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Roy mumbled.
"It's a most unpleasant sensation, and one that makes rest impossible," his teacher continued as though Roy had not spoken. "Here you are," he added, handing Roy a steaming mug.
"Thanks," Roy murmured gratefully, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.
"It also makes it extremely difficult to concentrate on equations and sigils. Hence my presence in the kitchen rather than the laboratory at such an hour," he explained, lowering himself into the chair across from Roy.
"Yeah, I can see how you'd have trouble focusing on your research," Roy agreed with a grimace as another loud rumble shook the very foundations of the house. His teacher smiled wryly.
"Yes, the noise is distracting indeed. Although I suspect my discomfort has something to do with the manner in which the electrostatic discharge affects the atmosphere. I've never been able to test the theory in a controlled laboratory experiment, of course, but such is my belief," he said.
Silence fell as the two of them sipped tentatively at the still scalding liquid.
It was strange, in a way, and yet not strange at all. Roy was sure he'd never even seen Hawkeye-sensei in the kitchen before, and yet here he sat as comfortably as though they'd been meeting like this every night since Roy's arrival. It wasn't as awkward as Roy might have expected, even with Berthold's piercing gaze raking over him, cataloguing and deducing and filing away all the little details he read from Roy's posture and expression and tone of voice. Roy had grown used to being examined like a specimen on a slide, he supposed, so it didn't really bother him as it might have done several months before. Although he suddenly wondered what it was that his teacher observed.
Above them, another peal of thunder crashed, and Roy jumped in his seat.
"I see we share a dislike of electrical storms," Berthold said gently. Roy hoped his face wasn't as flushed as it felt. He ran an unsteady hand through his sleep-ruffled hair.
"We don't get them quite like this back home," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I guess they make me a little nervous still."
"You will grow more accustomed to them in time," his teacher replied with a sage nod. Roy pricked up his ears. He had been wondering lately, how long Master Hawkeye would consent to tutor him before he was sent packing. And a phrase like that implied that his teacher intended to keep him around—at least long enough to "grow accustomed" to the inclement weather.
"I hope so," he replied, carefully. A small, enigmatic smile appeared on Berthold's face.
"I've found that making a soothing cup of tea provides an excellent distraction from those things which cause me uneasiness, although congenial conversation is certainly beneficial as well," he said. "However, I am afraid you will have to settle for my company tonight, rather than my daughter's."
"I take it the storms never disturb Miss Hawkeye, then?" Roy asked boldly, looking down at his tea with calculated nonchalance. It was as close as he was willing to get—there were just certain topics he didn't quite dare to discuss openly. What, if anything, his teacher might think of the friendship between his student and his daughter was near the top of Roy's list. He could almost hear his aunt's voice whispering in his ear, telling him to listen to what wasn't being said as much as what was.
"No," Berthold was saying, slightly amused. "Even if the noise woke her, my daughter would prefer to watch the lightning from her bedroom windows. In thrills, but does not frighten her."
"She's a brave girl," Roy answered solemnly. He felt his teacher's piercing gaze upon him again, and raised his eyes to meet it, fearlessly.
"That she is," Berthold said very softly.
Roy felt that there was an extra weight to the words, somehow. As though there was another layer of meaning, as though his teacher was admitting to something wonderful and precious and secret.
Another flash of lightening illuminated the world outside of the kitchen windows, and the lights above them flickered. Roy knew that he must choose his words carefully if he wished to continue the current conversation. But before he could marshal his thoughts, Berthold spoke up again.
"So how did your repair on the ladder turn out?" he asked, somewhat abruptly.
Roy hesitated for a less than half a second, before grinning cheekily. No point in denying it. Clearly he already knew why Roy had been fussing about with the ladder in the first place.
"Great, once I accounted for the difference in density between the cedar and the pine," he replied. "It's much sturdier now than it was before. Even Miss Hawkeye thought so," he added, slyly.
"Good, good," his teacher nodded gravely, and then fixed him with another of those burning stares, willing him to understand. "I am…pleased with your progress, Mr. Mustang. I have written to your aunt to discuss the terms of your continued apprenticeship."
"Thank you, sir," Roy said respectfully, as a warm feeling flooded his belly.
If an offer of extended apprenticeship wasn't tacit approval of him (and his growing friendship with Riza,) then Roy didn't know what was. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but his teacher simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and calmly sipped from his mug.
"And how are your lovely sisters, my boy?"
Roy blinked. His teacher had never asked him about his personal life before, and he couldn't imagine what brought on his sudden interest.
"They're very well, sir, thank you. I've just had a letter from them."
"I see. Tell me about them, if you please."
In spite of the suddenness of the odd request, Roy found himself telling his teacher all about his adopted family members. Ingenuous Ada, who'd been widowed at nineteen; Dependable Juliet, who showed her affection with food and wanted to be a military investigator; Gentle Elinor, the most calm and sensible of the girls and the de facto older sister of the lot; Sweet Lucy, whose bright, cheerful face and honest kindness made loving her irresistible; Brave Violet, who took late night classes in the hopes of earning her teaching credential; Dreamy Claire, who spent all her spare time either reading or writing; Clever Veronica, who assisted her private investigator father when she wasn't working with Chris; and Feisty Sophie, who was a genius with a needle and thread and whose red-gold hair was the secret envy of the whole of Chris's establishment.
Berthold listened with the same calm gravity as always, occasionally asking a question or making a comment.
"You care for these young women very much," Berthold said. "Though none are your true blood relatives." Neither statement was a question, but Roy felt compelled to answer anyway.
"Yes, sir. Blood relation doesn't really factor into it. It's…I dunno; I suppose you could say they're close friends, although that doesn't quite feel like the right word, either," he mused. "I've known most of them for years, now, and I've lived with some of them. The ones who rent rooms with my aunt, I mean. They've just become a part of my family."
He looked up to find Berthold's steady blue eyes fixed on his face.
"I see," he breathed softly. Again, Roy found himself wondering what exactly it was that his master saw. As he was pondering this question, he noticed something else.
The thunder had moved on.
"Oh!" he said, looking out the window. "It's stopped. I didn't realize."
"As I said, congenial conversation makes for an excellent distraction," Berthold said, rising gracefully and gliding to the sink with the empty mugs. He moved as soundlessly as his daughter, Roy noticed. "You should try to get some rest before sunrise, my boy," he added over his shoulder.
"Yes, you're right. Thanks for the tea. And for everything else, sensei," Roy said, dragging himself to his feet. Berthold turned to smile at him.
"Until the next time, then. Good morning. And sweet dreams."
Roy was crawling back into his four poster bed before he recalled that another late night conversation, weeks ago now, had ended with the exact same words. And the voice in his head that sounded like his aunt murmured that it was no coincidence.
He was still smiling when he fell asleep.
A.N. Thank you all so much for your patience! And for all of the reviews, follows and favorites, especially to my guest reviewer(s) whom I am unable to thank individually. You guys rock!
xoxo Janie