Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.

Theme: 096. Tomorrow, Too

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

Angles

096. Tomorrow, Too

At the time, he felt the panic settle in her bones.

Riza was fifteen and standing in her bathroom, covering her chest with only her hands, back turned to the mirror and head on her shoulder to see the cruel markings. All around her she had spread rolls of gauze like candles in a religious ceremony; and rolls of linen bandages and endless things to cover herself. Even then, Roy could tell she was ashamed of what had happened. With her cropped boyish hair and feminine body, she had been a pretty teenager; but now she found herself terrified of her own skin.

"I am sorry."

He whispers like a mantra, a chant of protection. But it is already too late. Her father had marked her skin, and she is sad, horrified by the reflection of her back. She had been a simple child, sheltered from the world, naïve in her upbringing; but perhaps this is the start of her understanding of how life is not always fair. He had thought at the time how maybe that would mend her skin, like the spell of an alchemist, but it never would. Instead, she looks at him blankly, too sadly for a girl of her age. His black eyes flutter softly over her body like burnt moths. There are no words to make this better.

"It is not your fault. You are too young an alchemist, too young."

The implication is obvious. She thinks he will become like him. He frowns. No, he could never do that to his own child. Riza had volunteered for it out of necessity; she could not see anyone else bare the pain; no other child could carry the burden of the sin of such a man. To her, it is just numbers, formulae; a riddle in a lie trapped in some pretty pictures. The only difference to a normal tattoo is the danger it held, and the way it burnt her skin. Even now, she does not want to understand it. It is too much. In her youth, she cries.

"You know I never could."

He tells her, and slowly edges his way across the bathroom; careful to not upset her ordering of medical supplies. Today, she is still as pretty to his as she has always been; as pretty as she was yesterday. And tomorrow, she will still be radiant in his eyes. His hands shake at the collage of words and math marked into her skin while her own lay over her chest, her shoulders turned in, nails frayed and bitten in painful terror. But when he finally places his quaking fingers on her shoulder she recoils, and cries even more.

So for that night they sat like strangers, and years later when she shows him the scars; it is like looking at her that night; and her eyes reading desperate, alone.

Teenage Roy and Riza. I do not think I have had this in the 100 drabbles yet as a focus, but I felt it should be mentioned. Their reaction to the scars could have been horrible, but pulled them together more than anything ever could.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.