Chapter 20: She Was Gone
On Riza Hawkeye's last day as a civilian, she awoke to the persistent patter of the rain on the curled shingles of the tenement building. She rolled onto her back, instinctively compensating for the narrowness of the dilapidated mattress. She squinted up at the familiar mildew stains on the sloping ceiling, reluctant to rise. She was not tired, for she had taken care to settle in to sleep early the night before. Rather, she knew that once she moved from the bed, she would have to accept the reality. This phase of her life was over, a new one wsa about to begin, and it would have been dishonest to pretend that she wasn't apprehensive. Proud, and even perhaps excited, but apprehensive nonetheless.
At last she rose. For the last time, she shuffled down the narrow corridor to the shared bathroom. She washed and dressed. Yesterday she had packed all of her meagre possessions into her father's battered old carpet bag. Now, she folded her nightgown and slipped it in with the rest. She put on her shoes, made the bed neatly, and made a final sweep of the room to ensure that she had not forgotten anything.
Mrs. Leung was in her doorway when Riza came down the stairs. She cocked her head. "You are leaving?" she said, though she knew the answer already. Riza had given notice weeks ago.
"Yes," the girl said softly. "Thank you for everything."
"You go to East City. Your young man go to war?"
"No!" Riza almost yelped. "No. I'm going by myself. Mr. Mustang is still in school here."
"By yourself?" The landlady seemed momentarily puzzled. Then she held up her index finger. "You wait," she said. "Wait here."
She vanished into her parlour. Riza heard the sound of hasty rummaging, and a muttered Xingese oath. Then Mrs. Leung emerged again.
"Here," she said, taking Riza's free hand and pressing something cool and metallic into it. "Gift for you."
Riza looked down. It was a medallion on a faded red ribbon. The workmanship was exquisite, and the metal was painted with chipped enamel that must have been beautiful once. It depicted a dragon with a feathery beard coiled around a globe. Though no bigger than a bottle cap, it had a heft to it that told Riza it was made of gold.
"I can't accept this," she said, trying to induce the old woman to take it back. "It's too much."
Mrs. Leung shook her head. "It keep you safe," she said. "When I come here on steel road with husband, mother give it. for journey, for new beginnings, to keep safe. Now steal road gone beneath sand. Husband dead. No babies. I give to someone. To you. Keep you safe."
Riza felt an inexplicable lump in her throat. "Thank you," she whispered, afraid to say more. She stepped forward and gave Mrs. Leung a quick, fierce hug. "Thank you for everything."
Then she hurried from the building as quickly as she could.
discidium
When Riza had announced that she had applied to the Eastern Academy, Roy had gawked like an idiot. He dimly recalled saying something inane and unspeakably stupid. She had folded her hands primly in her lap, regarded him levelly along the length of the park bench, and said firmly, "That's what I want."
But why did she want it, Roy had protested! Eastern was a lousy school! She was brilliant: she'd excel at the National Academy. Opportunities were better for its graduates and anyway then they could be together, the two of them only a year apart in their studies. Besides, if she went to Eastern she would have to leave Central in July, and she'd miss Maes' convocation and induction and—
But Riza had only fixed him with a cool, determined eye and repeated; "This is what I want."
Watching her now as she said her goodbyes to her employer, Roy reflected that she looked like a soldier marching into battle. The realization that this time tomorrow she would be a soldier, with battle in her distant future if not in her immediate one, visited him with a wave of vague nausea.
An enormous grin reflected itself off of the wet window of the flower shop, obscuring Roy's view of the three females within. He turned in annoyance towards the stocky blonde with the simian jaw.
"You're a soldier," Orson Oakley said cheerfully.
"That's right," Roy replied, a certain coolness of tone masking his exasperation. He knew that the man was retarded and couldn't help being just a little dense, but he had no patience to spare today.
"Miss Livvy's a soldier."
"Hum," Roy said noncommittally, squinting against the rain to try to catch Riza's expression. She was talking to the daughter now – a tall, pretty young lady with trim hips and lovely round breasts. Roy would have stolen a nice, long look at her on any other day.
"Riza's gonna be a soldier, too." Now Orson sounded almost dejected. Roy turned in mild surprise.
"Yes, she will," he said. "She'll be a very good soldier."
"I don't want her to go away," Orson said. "I like Riza."
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," the cadet said sourly. Why had he encouraged her? Why had he agreed to this? It was ridiculous. She didn't have to run off and join the military. There were lots of things that she could do. She could... or maybe... not to mention...
There was nothing else she could do. Not if she wanted a university education. Not if she wanted to be something better than a shop girl or a factory hand. Roy couldn't offer her anything better. He didn't have any right to tell her what to do with her life.
The shop door opened, and Riza came out, closely followed by Mrs. and Miss Oakley, who stayed beneath the awning out of the rain.
"You be sure to write," the older woman was saying, smoothing the collar of Riza's coat. "And bundle up warm. I hear eastern winters can be awfully harsh."
Riza laughed a little. "You heard that from me," she said. "I grew up in the east, remember? And anyway, East City's farther south than Hamner. I'll be fine."
"And when you're in town, I expect you to stop by for a visit," Mrs. Oakley went on. "I'll be very hurt if you don't."
"I will," Riza promised. She let the woman embrace her briefly. "Thank you so much. You're a wonderful boss."
"I couldn't have asked for a better accountant. Gracia has big shoes to fill." Mrs. Oakley looked fondly at her daughter. "Take care of yourself, Riza dear."
There was a brief scrimmage as Riza climbed into the truck, with Orson on her left and Roy on her right. The young soldier held her tatty case in his lap, trying not to press against her as the vehicle lurched into motion.
"You're so pretty," Orson said, glancing at Riza between scans of the rear-view mirror. He took one hand off of the wheel and patted her knee.
"Hey, hands to yourself!" Roy said protectively.
Riza smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Mustang," she said quietly. "I don't mind."
Orson, who had looked momentarily hurt and astonished, grinned happily. He squeezed Riza's leg affectionately and then returned his hand to the business of steering.
Roy felt a stab of possessive envy. How did that young man dare to touch Riza like that? And why did she let him? It wasn't fair.
He wormed his arm out of its place between Riza's shoulder and his chest, and stretched it out behind her head. His fingers dangled down, casually grazing her far collarbone.
Riza cleared her throat pointedly. "Please don't do that, Mr. Mustang," she said primly.
Abashed in spite of himself, Roy withdrew his arm, tucking his hand away from her. She didn't want him touching her. He couldn't explain just why that made him angry... at Orson.
At last they reached the train station. Rather than pull up to the loading area by the doors, Orson parked the truck. He got out, offering Riza his hand. Roy exited via the other door, slamming it with a little more force than was quite necessary. He started to walk towards the door, but stopped after three steps. The other young man was following them.
Surely he couldn't mean to come inside with them? Roy thought with horror. He didn't want to spend his last moments with Riza under the chaperonage of this overgrown child.
Riza turned towards her long-armed friend. "Orson, you have to get back to the shop," she said. "You've still got the morning deliveries to do. It was very kind of you to drive me."
"But... but..." Tears brimmed in the boy's eyes.
"Come on. You have work to do," Riza told him gently. "Oh, Orson, don't cry. I'll write to you, I promise."
"You will?" he sniffled.
"Of course I will." Riza wrapped her arms around him, wrapping him in an embrace that he reciprocated emphatically. "This is goodbye for now. You get back to the shop."
"'Kay," Orson grunted gruffly.
Riza stood watching as he pulled away, and she waved, smiling sunnily as the truck disappeared out of sight.
"Thank God," Roy said. "I thought he was going to come in."
Riza turned on him, her face furrowing into a reproving frown. "You mustn't say that," she admonished softly. "Orson's a sweetheart."
Roy wanted to retort that that was exactly what he was afraid of, but somehow the smart remark that his new, confident self would have made did not seem appropriate. Instead he hung his head meekly. "Sorry," he said. Then he changed the subject. "You have your ticket?"
Riza nodded, producing it from within her coat. "East City," she said. "One way."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Roy asked, stopping at the turnstile. "It's not too late to change your mind..."
"Of course I want to do it," Riza said firmly. "I've always wanted to join the military. Don't you remember?"
And he did. In the earliest days, she had played at being a Special Soldier, charging across the plains of Amestris bearing important missives for the Fuhrer himself. As a student at the one-room school, she had taken an ardent interest in the military history of the nation, reading tales of its heroes and making a study of the great campaigns. She was destined to be a soldier, as he was destined to be a State Alchemist. It was inevitable, Roy realized abruptly, and there was no point in fighting it. It was destiny.
"Yeah, well, if you need any pointers," he said. "You know, for drilling or tactics or anything... just drop me a line. I've done it all."
"Thank you," Riza said earnestly. She reached out a small, white hand for her bag. "I... I suppose this is goodbye."
"Hell, no!" Roy exclaimed with false bravado. "I'll come out and visit during the Victory Day holidays."
"That would be nice," she whispered. She was no longer able to make eye contact with him, and suddenly Roy was glad. He was afraid that if he looked into her eyes, he would start crying.
He held out his hand.
"Good luck, Cadet Hawkeye," he said.
She gripped his fingers and shook his hand firmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Mustang," she breathed. She glanced up at him for the briefest of moments, and then cast her eyes down and vanished through the gate towards the platform.
All at once Roy wanted to throw his arms around her, to hug her to his breast and kiss her and never let her go. "Riza, wait—" he cried, but it was too late.
She was gone.
discidium
The last time Riza had ridden on a train, she had been coming to Central, newly orphaned and practically penniless. At the time she had been terrified of what lay in store for her in the big, strange city. In retrospect, that terror seemed like nothing at all.
Riza sat on the hard seat, petrified with fear. Here she was, in a wooden box rattling away from the one person she trusted. For she did trust Mr. Mustang. She trusted him and she cared about him and she wanted to protect him.
That was the reason she had to join the military. If he was going to become a State Alchemist, and pursue his goal of making Amestris a better place, he would need loyal soldiers to serve with him and protect him. Riza could not guarantee his safety on the battlefield unless she too was there. She could not follow him into the circles of military bureaucracy without the trappings of a soldier. If she wanted to take care of him, she had to follow him.
It seemed strange, then, to be running away from him... and yet... she knew that she had to do this, too. Not for Mr. Mustang, but for herself. She needed time to grow up and to discover who she really was. All her life, she had been overshadowed by powerful male personalities: first her father, now Mr. Mustang. They overwhelmed her quiet being, their needs and goals outshining her own. If she wanted to find out who Riza Hawkeye was, she needed to distance herself from Mr. Mustang's consuming presence, at least for a little while.
Yet still, the distance – growing with each passing second – tore at her heart. Riza turned her face towards the rain-streaked window, and slowly let her bastion of strength dissolve. She had eighteen hours before she would alight in East City to begin her training as a cadet in the military. There would be time later for stoicism and courage.
Now, silently, she wept.
