Chapter 1 - Scars and Secrets

She had taken him shopping since he had found himself in nothing but a hospital gown. She had yet to tell him where his clothes had gone – his clothes and the other few things he had been allowed to bring to the orphanage.

He forgot about all that when she actually let him pick out his own clothes. Roy was overjoyed yet slightly overchallenged with making so many decisions. She didn't even looked at the price tags, wordlessly paying whatever he piled up on the counter. She went as far as stopping on the street to buy him the ice cream he wanted. He didn't even have to whine or beg.

It was why it confused him when they had to take a public bus. In his new clothes but still cold and dusty, he nearly nodded off against her shoulder.

He woke when she gently nudged him. Even more than her not owning a car, the size of her apartment surprised him – the lack of size.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really equipped to host anyone," Riza said. He was starting to get used to her voice, however little she talked. It sounded tired and strained, slightly hoarse but he blamed that on the tears from the hospital. It only dawned on him then that he had forgotten to ask why he had been brought there. Why she had cried.

The thought came and went when from another room, a dog ran up to them.

"Doggy!" Roy bounded over. His heart skipped a merry beat when the dog greeted him back just as enthusiastically, immediately trusting. He licked Roy's cheek, making him laugh. "Atta boy, oh," he turned to Riza, "he's so adorable, can he sleep in my bed? Has he eaten yet and if not, can I give him supper?"

She watched them with that frown of hers. A flash of pain streaked her eyes no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.

She knelt down beside them. "Of course you can. You'll find his food in that cabinet." She pointed over her shoulder into the puniest of kitchens Roy had ever seen. He was well aware that his parents hadn't been poorly off, but this was an imposition.

He followed the gesture regardless, pretending not to hear when she whispered to her dog.

"Sorry I took so long. Do you recognise him?"

Roy tried again but failed to remember her. As far as he recalled, the only blonde woman he knew was Mrs Steinfeld, but she was old; had a daughter his age. He wondered why she hadn't come by the orphanage even once. She'd promised to visit the funeral.

Roy glanced over his shoulder to where Riza was petting her dog. Would she take him to the funeral? A complete stranger? And then would his family come to take part and finally pick him up? His father had siblings, a younger sister at least, Roy was certain of that. He just couldn't remember having met her before. She lived in Central too, or so he had once been told.

"That's a little much," Riza cringed when Roy almost emptied the bag of dogfood, the bowl overflowing. Hayate dug in, well-aware that his owner would take back whatever she could in a moment.

"He likes it." Roy pouted.

"He won't like having to drag extra kilos around the block," she mildly chided. "Hayate, no." Hayate pulled back his ears, but stepped away obediently. Roy watched as she knelt down to scoop up what now littered the floor. She didn't reprimand Roy for making a mess or overdoing it completely, simply dropping the food back into the bag he was still holding.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked. He had a million other questions – more pressing ones – but his brain blanked out on him. It had been for a while now, the urge to go to the bathroom sudden and strong.

"Just over there." Riza pointed, this time at the door closest to the entrance. There were only two.

Her voice was soft, still somewhat broken. Roy guessed it was the reason why she didn't speak much. She had answered his every question until now, but with what little light it shed on his situation, he had ceased asking.

Riza Hawkeye was her name. And no, she had not made it up, however much of a cool superhero flare it had. He'd asked that too.

She worked for the military as a 'First Lieutenant'. They were in East City – he was there because that was where they had apparently found him. 'They' were a group of soldiers, who had followed a criminal and then arrested him. She had shot the man twice.

That was all Roy knew. He had a feeling that he would not be staying with her forever, but he couldn't be certain. What he did know was that he didn't like her place – old and rickety. The water from the drain was cold, the faucet rusty. She either hardly came home from her job or didn't care about herself one bit. Or perhaps she didn't have any money.

The fact that she had just bought him a handsome amount of clothes eluded him completely.

He eyed the bathtub. Merely imagining the hot water gave him shivers. It was freezing despite the heater being turned on. When he put his hand to it, he realised it must have been broken because it was freezing too. Turned on but out of service.

From the hospital to the bus and now here, everything had been cold. Cold and unwelcoming and uncomfortable. Roy stared down the bathtub. He recalled his mother when they had bathed, her smile warm and inviting. Carefree; unknowing of the terrors he had to see when identifying her. Roy swallowed at the lump in his throat.

"I don't know, I didn't ask." He could hear Riza's voice. The door creaked as he peered out the bathroom. She paused where she was sitting at the table. She had taken off the military jacket. Not the gun holsters on her belt or around her torso. They were scary and exciting at the same time.

She glanced up. The voice on the other end of the telephone continued talking. Their gazes met. Hers softened with sympathy at how Roy just stood there, lost and clinging to the doorhandle. She reached out a hand. It made his throat constrict further.

He still wanted that hug from the hospital.

He ran over. Head down, hiding his stinging eyes, Roy didn't heed her hand. Instead, he all but leapt into her lap, smothering his face in her chest. Riza winced, but her hand was on his back before he had let out the first sniffle.

"Hold on," she told the person on the phone. Roy harked intensely when she actually set down the receiver to wrap both arms around him. "Is everything okay? Do you need something?" she asked. She asked. She didn't tell him that it was alright; that he didn't have to worry. She asked how he felt.

It was enough to make his tears flow, and he let them, soaking her black turtleneck within a heartbeat, the tears gushing from his eyes. His chest quaked with a hefty sob, nose running.

She had put down the phone for him; interrupted her call and whoever was on the other end. How Roy wished the children at the home could see him now. Being squished in a tight hug, getting her undivided attention, his opinion of value to someone. The corners of his mouth twitched but not enough for a smile.

"I'm okay," he finally sniffled.

"Are you sure? Is there something I can get you?" she insisted.

He smiled then. "No." Roy never detached his face from her, rather cuddling in further, his voice muffled. "This is good."

Riza waited another moment, then hummed affirmatively. She rubbed his back, something that warmed him both physically and mentally. Sandwiched between her caresses along his spine and her chest, he didn't mind anymore when she picked the phone back up.

"Sorry, yeah. No, it's fine," she spoke just as softly as before. The voice on the other end was impossible to understand, but it was male, that much Roy could tell. "No older than six," Riza replied. "No, nothing until his current age. Yes. No, not yet," she replied with brief intervals of the man asking questions. "Maybe, I don't know. Yes. Yes, okay. Sorry and thank you, Havoc." Her voice quieted. "Good night." She replaced the receiver on its cradle, the telephone giving an echoing ping.

Her ribcage expanded against Roy in a long sigh.

"Who was that? Was it your boyfriend?" He peeled away to glance up at her. She looked down. Her gaze mellowed. She placed her now freed hand on the top of his head.

"No," she said. And she said it so decidedly, he didn't ask any further. Her fingers stroked through his hair, making his shoulders relax. He hadn't realised how tense he had been. "Would you like to take a shower?" Riza regarded her hand that was now thinly coated in dust.

"A bath. I always bathed at home," he lied a little. But the shower had looked rundown and he still had that image of his mother bathing with him in mind.

"Alright," Riza conceded, again without the expected protests. "Will you let me get up to prepare it?" She tilted her head. He nodded against her, scooted backwards and climbed off. He had hardly had the capacity to take in her uniform before, now watching the waist cape swish behind her as she walked. It looked like the perfect place to hide; like an umbrella fort of sorts. There was a harsh difference going upwards, the cape and baggier trousers tapering into a somewhat suddenly slim waist. She looked smaller without the jacket on.

From the back, he now actively registered the guns strapped to her torso, the leather cross on her back making his eyes widen.

He followed, observing as Riza bent over the tub to turn the faucet on. With a small groan, she succeeded in opening it. She must not have used it often. She left her hand under the running water until deeming it sufficiently warm, then clogged the drain.

"I'll start on dinner," she said, getting up. He followed. She glanced at him, asking again if everything was alright when he just remained close to her. He only hummed, standing, staring at nothing in particular. The exhaustion from before was catching up to him, now that he was losing the warmth the hug had granted.

"Won't you come too?" Roy asked once in the tub. Riza shook her head.

"I'll get you out once you're ready," she told him. She got up, fetching him a towel. About to leave the room; leave him all alone!

"But…" Roy tried to think fast, "Mama always… bathed with me…" he quietly said. He lowered his gaze to seem extra pitiful. It had worked with his nanny without exception. Riza was silent for another moment, then sighed. His head sprung back up when she left the room. He wanted to call out, his hands on the rim of the tub to scramble out, a strange void forming in his chest, a desperate need not to be left alone. But then he heard a light click.

The gas of the stove had been turned off.

Riza returned, the towel still in hand. She dropped it on the bathmat in front of the tub. Then she went to the sink. Gathering up her hair, she tied it up, having to pin stray strands out of the way. She caught his only slowly settling glance in the mirror.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised through the elastic between her lips. She undid her trousers next, shedding her the uniform neatly on a frail wooden stool. "Besides, the hot water might do me some good."

She heaved another sigh, but her shoulders just wouldn't fall. Not even when she stepped into the tub to join him, the foam dancing on the rippling surface.

"Are you warmer now?" Her hand reemerged from the blanket of bubbles. He liked the way it felt on his head. "You're still all dusty." He grabbed her hand when she was about to take it away, securing it. "I can't wash it for you if you don't release me," Riza gently reprimanded. "Unless you want to do it yourself."

He let go, pouting at her chuckle. He liked the sound of it. With his eyes, he followed as she reached out to grab the shampoo. She had to twist to fetch it from around the shower curtain behind her end of the tub. His eyes widened to saucers. He hadn't asked himself why she faced him while undressing. Now he didn't have to ask 'why' anymore. There were more important questions to be asked.

"What… is that?" Roy reached out but she was faster. He blinked, dumbfounded when it was suddenly her breast he was groping, not her back. Riza blinked down at him with an equally long pause of puzzlement at how things had turned out. She didn't want him to see; she hadn't expected him to just touch it.

He gave a scrutinising squeeze. "Mama's are bigger."

"Good for her." Riza's voice was tight, a vein pulsing on her temple. "You haven't changed that much after all," she growled. He frowned, so she let it go, exhaling sharply.

"She wasn't so skinny either." Roy touched her ribs. "Woah!" he gasped when she slumped into the water, submerging herself until her neck. The wave it created splashed him, sending him floating against the other side of the tub. Despite himself, Roy laughed – a dirty, childish laughter. It made Riza smile honestly for the first time.

She fetched him back with her feet on his sides and he struggled, splashing even more, squealing when she tickled and held him captive. Hayate stormed into the bathroom, barking at the commotion. Riza had to keep him from jumping into the tub. Roy seized his chance to flee. She was much quicker, snatching him back, making him screech and then laugh even more.

Out of breath, Roy only stopped laughing when there were several loud stomps in the apartment above them. A neighbour shouted something that must have been insulting, judging by the way Riza pulled a face.

Roy stared up at her – her from the hot bath flushed cheeks. The tearstains were finally washed off. A faint scar parted the underside of her chin. Blonde hair shimmered where he had sprayed it. Expanding and deflating her chest, her breathing calmed sooner than his. Her eyes flashed down to him.

He gave an innocent grin.

Sure enough, it worked. Riza relaxed, leaning back. She must have felt his grip on her arms, because she didn't let him go, allowing him to sit on her knees. She stretched them out, regarding the way her toes poked out on the other side of the tub.

"What is that on your back?" he tried more politely this time. Riza held his questioning gaze for another moment. He didn't back down.

Head dropping back, she closed her eyes. "What exactly do you mean?" she asked.

Roy frowned. He tried to conjure up the image of what he had seen, to remember if there was something else she could be implying, something he had missed.

"The black lines," he said, deciding to pay better attention when she would get out of the tub.

"The black lines…" Riza suppressed the next sigh. He felt he would hear her do that a lot in the future.

Before he could begin pondering what that would be like – his future; a future with this woman – she went on.

"Roy?" She brought her head back up. He gulped, but hummed positive. "Can I ask you to keep a secret? One you cannot tell anybody under any circumstances." He nodded sternly, but she must have still seen the insecurity lacing his eyes. "Okay." Her voice mellowed. "Do you know what a tattoo is?" He nodded. Then shook his head. "A tattoo is ink that has been pricked under your skin deep enough to stay forever."

"Sounds painful…" Roy mumbled.

"It is," she agreed. Soothingly, she traced her thumb up and down his back where she held him upright. "And you can't ever get rid of it, at least…" she faded out.

He glanced up from below when she didn't continue. "Why did you get it if it hurt so much?" he wondered out loud. It was big too; he hadn't even seen it end where she had leaned out of the water. There had been thin but also thick lines, each a hundred, perhaps a thousand stings of a needle. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting that, least of all of that size.

"My father gave it to me," she quietly said. She didn't look at him as she spoke. Hayate whimpered. She drew one hand from the warm water, scratching his ears. Roy felt selfish but couldn't help leaning back into the hand that was still on his back to make sure it stayed. "It's a secret I've never shared with anyone apart from you."

"You never told anyone until now?"

"I did." Her frown returned, and so did the pain in her eyes. "I told you." He mirrored her frown, though with puzzlement. Maybe she was that sister of his father and he simply didn't remember? Had she coloured her hair? "Roy…" Riza met his gaze with uncertainty, something that unsettled him.

"I won't tell anyone," he fleetly blabbed. She shook her head. A trace of tenderness ran across her features just before vanishing again.

"I know you won't." She brought her hand back from Hayate to stroke over Roy's head. "Let me wash that for you – the water will get cold."

He sat there, staring at the bathroom door while she massaged shampoo into his hair. She had definitely been about to tell him something important. He closed his eyes when she rinsed his hair, and when she got out and wrapped a towel around herself, he was too focused on musing what she might have been about to tell him. Maybe about his parents. His aunt. Maybe that she was his aunt. Or maybe just another thing about her tattoo.

The other thing, he remembered! He turned, only to find himself picked up and swathed into a towel. Muffled, he tried to escape, but then stopped. She was rubbing his hair dry, something he would never fight.

"Mama didn't have so many scars either," Roy muttered, a little to himself. Using the way Riza crouched close to him while towelling him dry, he touched her arm. There were several streaks along her biceps, and when he looked down, he saw a lighter but larger scar just above her knee.

"What did your mama look like?" Riza asked.

It took him a second to process the question. His smile grew, stretching from ear to ear the more he retold – her looks, her habits, the way she spoke to him and the food she made. Had spoken and had made.

Roy fought his tears while Riza was busy preparing dinner. He had been so happy that she had asked. She was the first person who had not shunned the topic; distracted, acted as if nothing was amiss or that his parents' death was already a faraway event that he had come to terms with.

As if it counted less how he felt now, given that he would – most likely – overcome his grief in the future.

Roy wiped his eyes with his sleeve. With his other hand, he gripped the fabric of her skirt. Riza glanced down, unable to catch his gaze. Another thing that differentiated her from the caretakers at the orphanage was the fact that she didn't stop worrying at some point, just because some time had passed or because he didn't look close to tears anymore. She didn't press him for details, but he felt that she was ready to support his every mood at any moment.

When he still wouldn't speak up after having gotten ready for bed, Riza surprised him with a hug. Roy blinked to himself, a warm twist travelling through his stomach.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she whispered. His eyes grew to saucers. His heart sped up.

No one had told him that yet. Everyone was sorry for his loss; sad that his parents were gone. Nobody had ever even mentioned how good it was that he hadn't been there at the time and that he hadn't died too.

Nobody had said it, but he knew they had thought about it – how it might have been better if he had left with them, not to be left alone now.

He felt the itch return to his eyes. With his tiny fists, he clutched Riza's shirt as he returned the hug. She gave a squeeze.

Warm – hot even – shivering, then stilling all over, Roy decided to trust this woman— no, to trust Riza with his life. And that he would never let her leave the way his parents had left him.