January
January 5th
Hawkeye-sensei was unexpectedly docile over the next several days. He stayed in bed per doctor's orders, submitted to his daughter's mild fussing without comment or complaint, and ate each and every meal under her watchful eyes.
He also summoned Roy to his bedroom two mornings after what Roy had begun to think of as 'the incident.' Berthold was propped up on several pillows when Roy arrived, and he sat there looking as frail and fragile as a man who'd recently been through a long and difficult illness. All except for his eyes—those held the same fire as always.
After the initial awkward conversion, in which he apologized for the trouble he'd caused and gravely thanked Roy for his quick thinking and level-headedness, Berthold studied his student's face so intently and for so long that Roy grew nervous and squirmy under the scrutiny. In the end, Berthold simply waved him away with vague instructions to continue his reading in biochemistry until they were able to meet again for a proper lesson.
Roy nearly ran from the room when he was finally dismissed, and found Riza waiting for him in the hallway.
"Are you all right?" she asked him, frowning. For just a moment, as she studied his face with an intensely serious expression, Riza looked exactly like her father.
"Fine, I think," Roy chuckled nervously, still vaguely unsettled. "That was just…one of the odder conversations I've had with Hawkeye-sensei."
"What do you mean?" Noting the flicker of fear in her eyes, Roy shook himself and hastened to reassure her.
"No, it's nothing bad," he said quickly. "I just got the impression that he was…assessing me, somehow. Judging me. He-he's never looked at me like that before. It was just…odd," he mumbled, shrugging.
He couldn't quite find the right words to describe the feeling of foreboding that had curled up deep in his belly when he'd looked into his teacher's eyes. And he didn't dare to try and explain it for fear of making Riza worry about her father any more than she already was.
Something flickered across Riza's features so quickly that Roy wasn't certain that he'd interpreted it correctly. But it looked like comprehension.
"Did he…say anything to you?" she asked tentatively after a moment.
"You mean about what happened the other night?" Roy asked, confused. Riza hesitated, frowned a little, and then nodded. Roy felt like he'd missed something. "Um, a bit. Thanked me for running to fetch the doctor, complimented me on the thing with the door. Wanted to make sure I'd put it all back right," he added with a smile. "You?" Riza's frown deepened.
"He did apologize for shouting at me, when I'd tried to check on him," she said softly. "But then he lectured me on the paramount importance of his work, and reminded me that I must never disturb him while he's in the middle of his research." Abruptly, she lowered her head and started to turn away. Roy reached out and caught her hand lightly in his to prevent her escape.
"He told me he was sorry that he'd frightened us," he said softly, silently willing her to turn back towards him so that he could see her face. Please don't be crying, he thought. After a tense moment where neither moved (and Roy scarcely dared to breathe), Riza sighed softly, her shoulders slumping in weary resignation.
"I think he's sorrier that he collapsed in the middle of an important experiment," she murmured. "If he'd had the chance to finish it before passing out, then he probably wouldn't have minded." Her voice caught on the last word, and Roy bit his lip, hard. That was a truer statement than he wanted to admit.
"What happened with the lab key?" he asked gently. Riza finally turned to face him again, fumbling with a thin silver chain around her neck as she did so. A familiar key dangled from the end that had been tucked beneath the neckline of her dress.
"I was planning to have it copied tomorrow," she explained. "I meant to go sooner, but I…didn't want to leave him just yet."
"Let me go for you," Roy said impulsively. Riza's face lit up. "You stay here and keep an eye on him," he added. "Was there anything else I can get while I'm in town? Milk, bread, anything?"
"Oh, would you?" she gasped, eyes shining. "Thank you, I—yes, I think we do need bread. Um…and maybe some coffee as well; we're nearly out. You know where Mr. Yale's shop is?" she asked, referring to the town locksmith.
"Yeah, just behind the post office, right?" Riza nodded.
"Here," she said, unfastening the clasp on her necklace. Roy started to hold out his hand, but Riza was quicker, leaning in close as she secured the necklace around his neck instead. He flushed pink as her fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin of his neck.
"T-thanks," he managed to stammer when she stepped back again. "I'll, uh, I'll be back soon."
"All right. See you in a bit, then," she replied, offering him a shy little smile.
In the end, Roy returned with three small silver lab keys dangling from the chain around his neck. It had occurred to him that Berthold loathed nothing so much as being interrupted in the middle of his work, regardless of the reason. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that his teacher had conveniently 'lost' or hidden the spare key before locking himself in the lab the next time. Even if the additional spare was never needed, he knew Riza would appreciate having an extra one that her father wasn't aware of. Just as a precaution. Neither spoke of it, but both teens were haunted by the thought of what might have happened if Riza had been alone in the house when Berthold collapsed behind locked doors. And though the man would never admit to it out loud, Roy knew that the thought disturbed his teacher as well.
January 9th
The coughing started just four days later.
When Dr. James arrived late one afternoon to check in on them, as promised, he paused in the doorway of Berthold's suite and frowned deeply at the scene within.
"Please tell me you've just choked on a sip of your water, Hawkeye," he said threateningly. Berthold managed to shoot him a venomous glare in between gasping breaths. "No, it can never be anything simple with you, can it?" he sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair.
"Doctor James?" Riza questioned in a small voice. She had been sitting at her father's bedside, waiting for him to finish the soup and bread she'd brought up for his supper.
"Ah, forgive my flippancy, Miss Hawkeye. I was afraid something like this might happen, what with the cold and the damp in that lab of his, but I'd hoped to be wrong. Let's have a look, then," he said, moving towards the bed. Without waiting to be told, Riza slipped off her chair and moved towards the open door, where Roy had stopped and hovered after leading the doctor upstairs.
"C'mon, let's wait for him in the kitchen," he said softly, reaching for her hand. She nodded wordlessly and let him lead her away, giving the doctor and his patient some privacy.
Doctor James found them sitting side by side at the kitchen table with steaming mugs before them and identical expressions of dread on their young faces.
"Now, then, you needn't look so glum as all that," he said gently, lowering himself into a third chair. "Your father has come down with a rather nasty cold, but with plenty of rest and fluids and the medicine I'll prescribe, he'll be right as rain in another week or two."
"Thank you very much, Doctor. When shall I pick up the medication?" Riza asked, almost mechanically.
"Oh, I'll send it along tomorrow morning, don't trouble yourself about it. Ah, thank you, my boy," he added, as Roy quietly filled a third mug with hot chocolate and set in in front of him. "Now then, I know he sounds terrible, with that horrid wracking cough of his—the cold has settled in his lungs, you see. But as I said, rest and proper nutrition will go a long way toward getting him back on his feet."
"Is there anything else I should do?" Riza asked.
"Has he been eating these last few days?" Riza nodded. "Good, good. Keep on doing what you've been doing, then, light meals and lots of fluids. He needn't be confined to his room if he feels up to moving about, but I'd like you both to try and keep him out of that laboratory."
"He'll never agree to that," Roy started to say, but the doctor raised a hand to cut off his protests.
"I'm not saying he can't carry on with his work, or his research, if he's insistent upon it. But he mustn't sit down in that cold, damp basement for hours at a time, especially not in this weather. He can read those books of his and write up his notes in his study, where there's a nice fire. You two should do anything you can think of to keep him occupied outside of that lab. Once I'm satisfied that he's made a full recovery, of course, he can do anything he likes."
Riza and Roy exchanged a glance and a nod.
"We understand, sir," Roy said at last.
"We'll do whatever we can," Riza added softly. The doctor's face softened.
"I know it's a lot to ask of you. But it shouldn't last longer than two weeks, and I'll come by every few days to check on his progress, all right?"
"Yes, sir," they'd answered in unison.
January 10th
The two conspirators planned out each day carefully. Meal times were the easiest, as Riza had an excuse to wait quietly at his side throughout so that she could carry the dishes away again. In addition, both teens still had lessons to be overseen, so they took turns carrying piles of books into his room, feigning ignorance on various subjects and pleading for his assistance. Berthold coughed almost delicately into a handkerchief and sipped at the hot tea they carried in with them, probably seeing through their naïve attempts to distract him at a glance. But he played along anyway, calmly and patiently answering even the most inane questions and launching into detailed and complex explanations whenever possible. Roy wondered whether he was trying to distract himself, as well.
Some mornings, he allowed Roy to help him down the stairs and into his study, submitting even to the extra blankets tucked over his lap with a good grace. There, he read and fidgeted with his notes, pretending not to notice that his daughter and his student took turns doing the various chores and other errands so that he was never actually left alone. And yet he stubbornly continued his reading and writing late into the night, when he accepted his daughter's arm as he traversed the stairs back to his bedroom.
January 20th
Roy realized that Berthold's illness was worse than he was letting on nearly two weeks after Dr. James had first visited. When Roy entered his teacher's bedroom in the morning, he found the man only half-dressed and wheezing, half-sprawled in the armchair by his bedside.
"I don't…think I'm up for…the stairs, today," he gasped. "You'll have to…study alone…for the time being." And he began coughing violently. Roy, pale and anxious, helped his teacher back into bed. Carefully, he held a glass of water to his teacher's lips until Berthold gave the signal that he'd had enough.
"Can I get you anything? Tea? A book? Anything?" Roy asked in a small voice, placing the half empty glass back on the nightstand. Berthold shifted restlessly.
"You needn't fuss," he said, having finally caught his breath. "I'm in no condition to make it down stairs today, much less carry out any experiments. I'm not going anywhere."
"Sensei, I—" Roy started to say. Berthold just shook his head.
"No use denying it, child," he said wearily.
"We just…I mean…it gets so cold down in the lab," Roy mumbled. Berthold surprised him by smiling faintly.
"So it does," he agreed. "Most unfortunate that one cannot divorce one's intellect from the frailty of one's mortal coil, is it not? Minor inconveniences like hunger or cold can, to an extent, be conquered by one's will, but the effects of illness on the body are not so easily ignored," he sighed.
"Yes, sensei," Roy replied, slightly uncomfortable.
"All I require now are the patience and endurance necessary to see this illness through to its end. For this too, shall pass," he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning back against his pillows. "But until then, I must, as they say, 'take it easy.'"
"But—" Roy started to ask. But he cut himself off, biting his lip. Berthold opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"Go on," he commanded. Flushing a little, Roy obeyed.
"If you knew what we were trying to do, why didn't you say something sooner?" he asked meekly. Berthold managed a weak, phlegmy chuckle.
"I resolved to say nothing unless your machinations became tiresome. I couldn't begrudge my daughter the modicum of control they gave her over a situation in which she is ultimately helpless." As Roy was considering this idea, Berthold suddenly beamed. "Besides…it amused me," he added.
"Sensei!" Roy admonished, but he couldn't help but laugh self-deprecatingly as his teacher smiled up at him.
"I'll rest a little now. But I should like my daughter to read aloud to me, later this afternoon, if she's amenable. Ask her to bring something contemporary, won't you? I tire of the histrionics of the Drachman writers she's been translating."
"I will, sir."
When he relayed the message to Riza, she managed a little half-laugh.
"I wondered how long he'd play along," was all that she said. She was dressed to go out, having intended to run to the market during Roy's 'shift.'
"Here," he said, reaching for the basket dangling from her arm.
"Hm?" she replied, distracted.
"The marketing. Let me. I know you'd rather stay here, so why don't you let me worry about the groceries for today? Go on and find a book to read, for later." Riza smiled and touched his arm.
"Thank you, Mr. Mustang. Take your time; there's nothing especially important on the list for today."
Roy did take his time, mentally composing his next letter to home as he walked slowly along the familiar road. The mid-winter day was chilly but dry, and the pale sunlight was comfortably warm on his face. Once he reached town, he meandered a bit, stopping now and then to chat with the merchants and haggle over the prices. He noticed that many of the items he picked out were drastically cheaper than they normally were, and he wondered whether it was because the shopkeepers knew his teacher was doing poorly. Mrs. Pippen even slipped him a bottle of her famous cider that he hadn't paid for, with a little wink and smile when he tried to protest.
When he passed the feed store, Polly Plummer darted out, her golden hair streaming out behind her as she ran toward him.
"Mr. Mustang!" she cried. "Please, will you take this to Master Hawkeye for us?" As she spoke, she held out a small jar full of a reddish brown liquid. Roy peered at it dubiously as she thrust it into his outstretched hands.
"Sure, yeah. What is it?"
"A cough remedy. I know Doc's looking after him, but Mum insisted. It's an old recipe passed down from her mother's grandmother: ginger, cider vinegar and honey. Oh, and cayenne pepper."* Roy wrinkled his nose involuntarily, but tried to smile.
"Er, sounds great," he said politely. Polly grinned at him.
"It tastes pretty terrible, but a spoonful every few hours has always done the trick whenever any of our lot get sick. And Doctor James said it certainly couldn't hurt, when Mum asked him about sending it to Master Hawkeye," she added, a little shyly.
"Thanks," Roy said with a more genuine smile. "I'm sure he'll be glad to know you're thinking of him."
"I gotta get back. Tell Miss Hawkeye I said hello!" Polly called out, already halfway back to her store. Roy resumed his walk back with a lighter heart. It was always nice to see how much the people here cared for one another. Even if they were all in awe of the great Alchemist, they still wanted to help him in whatever way they could.
As he rounded the last curve in the road, idly swinging the market basket full of groceries in one hand, an unexpected movement from the house caught his eye.
On the Hawkeye's front porch stood a young man wearing a long black coat over crisp military blues. Roy froze in his tracks, surprised, as the man leaned slightly away from the front door in order to peer through the only uncovered window on the ground floor. Unaware of his audience, the young man rapped his knuckles sharply on the door.
"Hello! Anyone home?" he called in a clear, kind voice. "Hello?" His words roused Roy from his stupor, and he cautiously moved closer.
"Can I help you?" Roy asked, slowly approaching the front steps. The young solider started a little and whirled to face him.
"Hi, there," he said with an easy smile. "I was beginning to think I'd been sent on a wild goose chase," he added with a self-conscious little laugh. "Would you happen to know whether Mr. Berthold Hawkeye lives here?"
"You've got the right address," Roy said, slightly wary. "But Master Hawkeye has been ill recently, so he's not seeing any visitors." The man's face fell slightly, making him look suddenly much younger.
"Oh, I see," he said sadly. Roy felt an unexpected rush of pity for him.
"What did you need to see him about, anyway? Maybe I can take him a message?" he offered impulsively.
"Do you know him, then?" the other man asked with a hopeful expression. And then, spotting the basket in Roy's hand, his eyes lit up with understanding. "Ah, you must be one of Master Hawkeye's alchemy students!"
"Yes, sir. Roy Mustang," he replied, offering his free hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry; how rude of me. I'm First Lieutenant William Price," the young man said. As he moved forward to shake Roy's proffered hand, Roy squared his shoulders and straightened his back in an unconscious imitation of the other man's military posture.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Roy said.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slight movement at one of the upper windows, and realized that Riza was watching them. And probably listening, as well. And that she'd almost certainly ignored the soldier's knocking intentionally. Something to keep in mind, he knew.
"Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Mustang," Lieutenant Price was saying cheerfully. "So he's been ill, has he? Nothing too serious, I hope?" Roy nearly snapped out a smart-ass retort, but the other man's eyes shown with such genuine sincerity and good will that he hadn't the heart.
"He'll make a full recovery," he said instead. "Please excuse my bluntness, sir, but are you a friend of sensei's? He didn't say he was expecting a visitor."
"No, not at all. I've never met the man, myself," Lieutenant Price replied affably.
Roy smiled a little. At least this Price character hadn't attempted a self-serving lie—he'd already revealed that he wasn't known to Berthold when he'd asked if he had the correct address. Roy mentally marked him as honest but perhaps not especially clever.
"Oh?" he said simply, raising one eyebrow and plastering a look of innocent curiosity on his face. As expected, the other man hastened to explain.
"Nope, I'm just out here on a mission. You see, I've been sent to speak to Master Hawkeye about the State Alchemist program."
Not all that surprising, Roy thought. Before she'd ever written to Master Hawkeye to arrange Roy's apprenticeship, his aunt had mentioned several times how greatly sought after the man was. She'd also mentioned his strong feelings against becoming a 'Dog of the Military,' although she'd neglected to add that the military was still actively trying to recruit him. Roy had simply assumed she'd been referring to an earlier point in his career.
"Wow, really? The State Alchemists, huh?" Roy said ingenuously. "Well, I'm sure he'll be sorry he missed you."
"To be honest, he probably won't be," Price said, grey eyes sparking. "He's become something of a legend 'round HQ, actually, since so many others have been sent to recruit him. I'm number twenty-seven." Roy let out a startled bark of laughter. Now THAT was a surprise.
"I didn't realize he was so popular," he said, truthfully enough. Twenty seven?!
"Yes, well, your master is quite talented. Or at least, so my superiors say. I'm not an alchemist, myself, so I'm a poor judge. All alchemy seems pretty amazing to me," Price chuckled again. "But I'm pretty sure they keep sending the new recruits to try their hand at persuading him to join as some sort of hazing ritual. You know, just to see how we'll handle it," he confided with a boyish smile. "From what I hear, he's rather, er, adamant about avoiding conscription."
"Well, I'm sorry you won't be able to speak with him," Roy said, choosing his words carefully. He was starting to rather like this Lieutenant Price, but he certainly wasn't about to invite him in. Riza would strangle him, assuming Berthold didn't beat her to it.
"Oh, it's all right," Price said with a rueful smile. "At least I can say I tried. Say, would you mind giving him this letter for me? When he's feeling better, that is?" He produced an official-looking packet from his inner coat pocket. "It's just the usual offer, explaining the terms and such," he explained when Roy looked doubtful. "He's already got another twenty six just like it."
"All right, then," Roy said, accepting the letter. A sudden gust of cool wind made both of them shiver, and Lieutenant Price cast a wistful look over his shoulder at the house. Again Roy felt an inexplicable rush of sympathy for him. "Listen…I'm pretty much a guest here myself, so I'm not really at liberty to invite you in, but can I get you some tea or something before you head back?" Price beamed at him.
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd be much obliged. It is rather chilly out here," he replied.
"Come around back," Roy said. "There's an enclosed patio with a couple of chairs. It's not heated, but we'll be out of the wind back there."
He led the other man around to the back of the house and waved his hand in the general direction of the patio chairs to indicate that he should make himself comfortable. When Roy slipped in through the back door, he half-expected to find Riza in the kitchen demanding to know what he thought he was playing at, but the room was empty. In fact, the whole house was eerily quiet around him. Shaking his head, Roy put away the groceries he'd picked up before making a quick pot of tea, which he loaded on a tray and carried out to his unexpected guest.
"Oh, thanks a million," Price said sincerely, gratefully accepting his cup and wrapping his fingers around the warm enamel. Roy grinned.
"Don't thank me before you've tasted it. I can never make it as good as Ri—as good as my aunt does," he covered, suddenly afraid to reveal that his teacher had a young daughter. Price didn't seem to notice the near-slip.
"Hey, gotta be better than the stuff we get in the barracks," he smiled, blowing across the surface lightly before taking a careful sip. "Mm, yes, much better, well done."
"Huh. Thanks, I guess. Say, if you're not an alchemist, how come they sent you to recruit one?" Roy asked curiously.
"Oh, well. Most of us in the military are just ordinary soldiers, you know," Lieutenant Price said. "The State Alchemists are…well, they aren't rare, exactly, but they're definitely an elite force."
"They wouldn't normally be sent on recruitment missions, then?"
"Oh, sure, sometimes. Mostly alchemists come to us, hoping to be accepted into the program. But when there are really talented amateur alchemists, like your teacher, who haven't ever enrolled in the exams, that's when the military will reach out to them; try to get them interested, you know. The first few men who spoke to Master Hawkeye were actually State Alchemists."
"And once he'd made his lack of interest in the position clear…" Roy said, beginning to understand.
"Then HQ started sending those of us a bit lower on the totem pole," Price finished for him.
"So you're not wasting manpower on what's pretty much a lost cause, but at the same time, Hawkeye-sensei knows the military is still interested in him. Just in case he changes his mind."
"Exactly," Price smiled. "It really is too bad he doesn't want to join up…we could definitely use a brilliant man like him."
"Hm," Roy said noncommittally. "Since your people have tried to recruit Hawkeye-sensei before, then I'm sure you already know how he feels about the military and the government."
"Sure. And it's got its fair share of flaws; I'll give him that," Price admitted. "No system is perfect, of course. Not when it's being run by us imperfect human beings. The Fuhrer has our best interests at heart, though, and I believe that he's got the good of the Amestrian people in mind."
"Even though there's been a lot more armed conflict with the other nations since his rise to power?" Roy asked, repeating something he'd heard whispered about in the streets of Central City. Price shrugged.
"Well, think about it—we're a small country smack dab in the middle of four great empires, who'd all probably like nothing more than to absorb us entirely. It's not exactly a recipe for peaceful living," he said simply. Roy hadn't thought of it like that before.
"No, I guess not," he admitted. Price warmed to his topic.
"We're literally surrounded—there're enemies on all sides. Someone has to protect the civilians who can't look after themselves, right? That's where the military comes in."
"Can't look after themselves?" Roy repeated, faintly offended.
"Take this little town, for example. Folks around here seem real nice and friendly, but when it comes down to it, they're just farmers and shopkeepers. If they were invaded tomorrow, they wouldn't last two minutes," he said, shaking his head. Roy had a fleeting mental image of the Kingsley boys, backed into a corner and trying to protect their mother and sister with nothing more than a few farm implements as faceless enemy soldiers advanced mercilessly. He shuddered.
"I suppose," he murmured uncertainly. He was torn between the desire to defend his friends and a nagging fear that this young solider spoke the truth.
"I'm sure they'd do their damnedest," Price said kindly, correctly interpreting Roy's frown. "And I'm not saying that any one of them is weak or incapable, you understand. It's just that, up against a determined enemy with proper training and better weapons…well, it wouldn't exactly be a sporting fight, is all."
"I…yeah, I see what you mean," Roy conceded with a sigh. "I guess I'd just never thought of it like that before."
"Sure," Price said easily, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair a bit. "I never did either, until…well. Until I had to." A shadow passed over the handsome young face, and Roy's intuition stirred.
"You lost someone," he said softly. Price sighed and stared fixedly at something in the distance.
"My older sister," he admitted, after a long pause. "We lived in a tiny little no-name border town, not much smaller than this one, in fact. There were some folks operating a smuggling ring, folks who were in the country illegally. And these men were brutal. At the slightest provocation, they'd crush anyone and anything they thought might get in their way."
"And your sister?" Roy prompted, hardly daring to breathe. Price's face twisted in pain.
"Bad case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was barely twelve, but she stood up to them, tried to take them on, to buy me enough time to get away," he explained in a curiously thick voice. Clearing his throat, once, twice, he went on: "I ran until I couldn't run anymore, and I screamed until I was hoarse, but…by the time I found someone willing and able to help…it was already too late."
"I'm sorry," Roy said, helplessly. Those two words had never felt so inadequate. "I—I've got sisters of my own, back home, and I can't…I don't know what I'd do if something happened to one of them." They sat in silence for another few minutes, their tea long since grown cold.
"I was just a little kid," Price continued at last. "But I blamed myself for a long time. All I could think was: if only I'd been stronger, I could've protected her myself. I could've held them off so that she could have escaped. Maybe I could have saved her instead of the other way around. And then finally I thought, well, I can't change the past. But maybe…just maybe I can prevent some other family from going through the same thing, you know?"
"So you decided to enlist?" Price nodded.
"The men who tried to help us that day were soldiers, you see. No one else had the guts to stand up to those men. And after all, that is the military's job. Protect and serve, and all that."
"'Be thou for the people,'" Roy quoted quietly. Price smiled a little sadly.
"Yeah. I wasn't quite bright enough to study alchemy and become a State Alchemist myself, but I'm a damn good foot solider. I want to stand up for my fellow countrymen, you know? To stand between the good, decent people and the folks that want to do them harm. I don't want a single child to have to suffer the way my sister and I suffered. So…I joined up as soon as I turned eighteen."
"That's…a really honorable thing to do," Roy finally said. Price blushed a little and rubbed at the back of his neck.
"That, um, that was probably a heavier conversation than what you had in mind when you offered me tea," he said, laughing a little nervously. "Sorry about that."
"No, don't be. I'm glad you were honest, actually," Roy answered. Price fiddled with his tea cup for a moment.
"Hey," he said, slowly. "You're studying to be an alchemist…you ever considered the military?"
"Can't say that I have," Roy replied. "I dunno that I'm good enough to be a State Alchemist, not anywhere near." Price grinned and rose, stretching his arms over his head.
"Well, when your teacher chucks out that letter, you ought to have a glance at it. It explains some of the perks and benefits of the program. Just a thought, no pressure."
"Yeah, couldn't hurt. Thanks."
"No, thank you, for the tea and everything. I should get back if I want to catch the next train out," Price added, consulting his watch. "Hey, thanks again, Mr. Mustang. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Yeah, sure. Have a safe trip," Roy replied automatically.
But his eyes were fixed on the letter in his lap.
Riza didn't question him about their unwanted visitor, seemingly more interested in the small gifts from her neighbors. When presented with the Plummer family's cough remedy, she smiled for what felt like the first time in days.
As predicted, Berthold merely snorted at the sight of the letter and ordered Roy to throw it into the fire at once. Roy pretended to comply, obediently crossing the room to toss the envelope into the flames. But only after he'd tucked the contents into the waistband of his trousers, concealed by his jacket. He felt faintly ridiculous for being so secretive, rather like the character in some cloak-and-dagger spy thriller, though far less glamorous. But his vague sense of embarrassment didn't prevent him returning to his room at the earliest opportunity so that he could read through the terms and conditions of the proposed contract to join the State Alchemists. They were more generous than he'd imagined. Before crawling back into bed, Roy thoughtfully tucked the letter into his notebook. Maybe it was something he should consider, after all.
January 27th
By the third week, Hawkeye-sensei's illness wasn't showing much improvement. He was also beginning to grow restless, though, and Riza and Roy had their doubts about how much longer they could keep him out of his lab, sickness or no.
On one particularly restless night, Roy was reading aloud from a scientific journal, some article about the advances being made in the field of automail. He glanced at his teacher as he paused to turn a page, and found that the man was watching him with the same intensity that had made him so uncomfortable a few weeks before.
"Sensei?" he asked uncertainly. "Is…something the matter?"
"She's worried about me. Isn't she?" There was no need to ask who he was talking about.
"Yes, sir," Roy answered softly. Berthold sighed.
"My poor little lion-heart. She thinks I don't know what she suffers. She believes she's kept it all hidden from me," he murmured. "But I know. I've always known." Roy frowned.
"What are you—?" he started to ask.
"Idiot girl," Berthold said suddenly, in a fonder tone than the words might have suggested. "She thinks I don't know each and every thing they did to her. She thinks that she's protecting me…us…by hiding the truth and suffering indignity and pain in silence." Roy noticed, with increasing alarm, that his teacher had bright spots of color on his cheeks, and that his eyes were glassy and bright.
"Sir, are…are you talking about your daughter?" Berthold ignored the question.
"And then you came. You're the one, I think. And not merely the only one capable of it. Many of them might have been capable…but you're the only one worthy of the honor. She thinks so, too. She told me so herself, you see. Told me that you were different from all the others; from all those many that came before. My sweet, brave girl. None of them was fit to lay a finger on one hair of her head," he rambled, growing increasingly agitated.
Frightened now, Roy slowly stretched out a hand and rested it on his teacher's brow. He drew it back almost at once. The man was burning up.
"Sensei, have you taken your medicine today?" he asked.
"Hmm? Oh, hello, my boy. When did you get here? And where did my Riza get to? She was reading to me, just a moment ago," he trailed off, looking vaguely around the room as though his daughter might be hiding somewhere.
"I—I'll be right back, sensei," Roy managed in a shaking voice.
Thundering down the stairs, he nearly collided with Riza at the bottom. Steadying her and the tray she'd been carrying, he quickly told her about the fever in a low voice. Moving quickly, she exchanged the dinner tray for a basin of cold water and a cloth while Roy searched the house for the medication Dr. James had left only the day before, finding it at last in a drawer in Berthold's study. Between then two of them, he and Riza managed to convince Berthold to swallow the medicine tablets, and Riza gently bathed her father's brow with a damp cloth while Roy paced at the foot of the bed.
"It's all right," Berthold murmured as he looked up into Riza's worried eyes. "I'll be all right once the fever breaks. It will all be all right, you'll see..." Riza merely pressed her lips together and brushed a strand of his damp hair away from his eyes.
It took another hour, but the combination of the medicine and the cold compress finally lowered his fever to a more acceptable temperature, and Berthold had succumbed to his exhaustion. Shaken and anxious, the teens decided to camp out in his room, just in case he should need them for anything in the night. Roy dragged the chaise lounge in from the dressing room for Riza to sleep on, while she fetched blankets from her room. Roy opted to curl up in the armchair, which luckily was one of the comfortably overstuffed types, and drifted into an uneasy sleep listening to the low, rumbling snores of his teacher.
January 28th, 4:28 am
Roy woke sometime in the early morning with a stiff back and a kink in his neck, and decided to move his things to the floor. A glance at the uncovered windows told him that it wasn't yet dawn, and the only light in the entire room came from the embers in the fireplace. It was oddly intimate, sitting there in the warmth of the rosy half-light and listening to his companions breathing softly while everything else around him remained utterly still and silent.
Dumping his blankets on the floor near the hearth, Roy quietly tended to the dying fire, stirring the glowing embers and gently blowing on them as he slowly added bits of kindling. By the time he had the flames crackling merrily, Riza had extricated herself from her cocoon of blankets on the lounge. After resting a hand on her father's forehead, she sighed in relief. Pulling one of the blankets over her shoulders like a cape, she padded over to Roy's fireside nest and slowly settled herself beside him.
Without a word, he slid an arm around her waist and let her lean her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, staring into the dancing flames, until the pearly gray light signaled the arrival of dawn. As silently as she'd joined him, Riza rose from her place at Roy's side and glided away, blanket wrapped tightly around her.
In all the excitement, Berthold's feverish words about hidden suffering and worthiness completely slipped Roy's mind. As it turned out, he wouldn't have cause to think about them again for several more years.
A.N. Thank you all so much for your incredible patience. Not to make excuses, but this past month has been rather a rough one for me. And this was a difficult chapter for me to write-we really are entering the home stretch this time! As always, your feedback is deeply appreciated! And a special thank you to my anonymous reviewers Gabby, sky, and Guest, who I am unable to thank individually!
*Oh, and this is a real cough remedy. It works better than about 90% of the over the counter stuff out there. At least for me :D
xoxo Janie