1890

Through luck or chance, Roy Mustang was born into money. His birth was celebrated across Central; almost everyone instantly knew his name. By the time he was a year old, he had his own staff – someone to cook for him, someone to shadow his every move and clean his messes, and his own nanny to raise him. He had the finest possessions available, was the best-dressed child in the city and never knew hunger. Roy could play piano, read, ride a bicycle, and do simple math by the time his fifth birthday arrived. Every parent with a daughter Roy's age begged for a betrothal to be set.

Chester Mustang owned the largest steel mill in Amestris. He was the overseer of three hundred men, the supplier for all construction companies in the area and the wealthiest man in Central. His wife had the finest jewelry; his house was located in the wealthiest neighborhood in city; and his servants were compensated with twice what normal upper-class citizens paid their help.

Victoria Oakley married into the Mustang family at seventeen. By twenty-two, she owned her own business. Her modern sewing style quickly took off; in less than a year, her name was known by every woman across the city. After three years, she was sending monthly apparel shipments to Xing, Creta, and Aerugo.

In 1884, when Chester turned forty-five and Victoria turned thirty-six, the couple began to desire an heir. Between the two of them, they were worth more than any other civilians in Amestris, and they felt the need to have some sort of insurance policy – somewhere for all of their money to go. Less than a year later, their child was born. Then, two weeks following their son's fifth birthday, their insurance plan was kicked into play. Roy became an orphan.

At the funeral, Roy stood silently for the whole service, holding the hand of Emmeline, his nanny. For as much as his parents were loved by the citizens of Central, their family members did not feel the same. Victoria's siblings cast Roy away with muted glares; Chester's cousins pretended as if the child did not exist. It was only his Aunt Chris, the younger sister of his father, that paid him any mind.

"You'll be coming to live with me, I guess," she told him. He kept his eyes downcast and didn't let go of Emmeline.

Roy's clothes and a few of his toys were loaded into his Aunt Chris's car. He buckled himself into the backseat and glared at the floor all the way to her house. When they got there, Aunt Chris told him to put away his things in the smallest bedroom; it was only a fraction of the size of Roy's room in his parents' house and he hated it. He threw his favorite truck against the wall, tossed his clothes out the window and threw the lamp to the floor, breaking it.

His Aunt did not acknowledge his behavior. He carried on for hours: screaming, crying, kicking things and ripping apart the room. All the while, the woman calmly cooked dinner in her small kitchen. When the noise quieted down in the early hours of the evening, she went to check on her young nephew. He had fallen asleep on the floor, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. She left him there through the night.

When the morning came, Roy cautiously entered the kitchen and sat at the table. Aunt Chris gave him a bowl of porridge, which he devoured quickly.

"Go and take a bath," she told him when he was finished eating.

"My clothes are all outside," he told her.

Her eyes sparkled and she smirked as she told him, "Well you better go and get them."

Roy quickly learned how things in the new house would be. He would no longer be spoiled. Aunt Chris made him clean his mess, sweep up the broken lamp and wash all of his clothes. When Roy asked for the rest of his toys that had been left in his big house, Aunt Chris denied him his wish.

"But I need them!" Roy whined.

"No, you don't," she snapped. "A little boy needs only nourishment and shelter to be healthy. You are a spoiled little brat and I won't have that in my home."

Within a month, she broke Roy of his bad habits and taught him new, better ones. Every morning, he made his bed, brushed his teeth, and ate his breakfast; then he got dressed, walked down the road to school, and did his work well. In the afternoons, Roy completed his chores, assisted the neighbors with any work they needed done, and ate his dinner. When darkness came, he took his bath without any complaints. At bedtime, he tucked himself in.

Emmeline visited from time to time. After raising Roy for five years, she had become attached.

"He seems so happy," Emmeline commented one day to Aunt Chris.

Aunt Chris smiled knowingly. "Little boys need structure. If they are spoiled, they will gain nothing."

1894

Roy's inheritance sat in the bank collecting interest. Aunt Chris used only what was necessary to supplement her meager income – and still then only used it on Roy himself. When Roy asked for things, she told him that he would have to work for it. Roy knew about his money, and sometimes even asked for it.

"No, you can't have it," Aunt Chris told him. "You'll earn your money. If there's something you want to buy, get a job."

So he did; at nine years old, Roy began filling his free time with odd jobs. He helped Mrs. Frank get her cat off of the roof; he went to the grocery store for old Mr. Greer when he broke his leg; and he mowed the lawn of the young couple down the road, the Duncans, because they were too busy with work to do it themselves. He learned the satisfaction of having a bill put into his hand after a hard day of work. It was invigorating.

"What are you going to spend all that money on?" Aunt Chris asked him over dinner. He had two thousand cens.

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to buy the new comic book of his favorite series; he wanted to buy a piece of candy from Mr. Jenkin's shop at the corner; he wanted a new jump rope, as his old one had just broken. But he had worked so hard for his money. Did he really want to give it up for those things?

Finally, he said, "I'm not going to spend it on anything. I'm going to save it."

For the first time in four years, Roy felt like he'd made his Aunt Chris truly proud.

1900

In the weeks leading up to the millennium, many of the citizens of Central were unusually subdued, given the upcoming event. A noise ordinance was passed, banning firecrackers, loud music, and outdoor partying after midnight. So when silent light works went up into the sky in the early hours of the New Year, the city was in an uproar (albeit, a bit of a silent one).

Roy watched with bright eyes from outside Madam Christmas's bar, where Aunt Chris was serving celebratory shots of bourbon and glasses of champagne. A dragon made of orange stars dove through the sky, disappearing behind the tall buildings of the inner city. A red phoenix arose in flames, died, and rose again. Blue and purple fish swan through a sea of stars while yellow and green birds flew through the streets.

When Aunt Chris joined him to watch for a few moments, Roy looked at her in amazement.

"How are they doing that?" he asked.

Aunt Chris threw her arm around her nephew's shoulders, something neither would normally allow; the occasion called for a little family spirit, however, so Roy paid this little notice. "I'm pretty sure that's alchemy, that is."

Roy was smitten. "Can I learn alchemy?"

"Well, Roy-boy, I guess you could, if you found a teacher." Aunt Chris returned to her patrons and her duties; Roy stayed outside, watching the show, until all of the lights had faded away.

#

"I know how I want to use my money," Roy said a few days later. Aunt Chris had never kept from him the knowledge of the savings account that was in his name. Roy always knew exactly how much money was in the bank; it was his, after all, and Aunt Chris felt no need to deny him the truth. Once he'd learned the value of hard work and money, Roy had even occasionally added to the account. He never used all of the money he acquired from working odd jobs, and the concept of interest intrigued him.

Aunt Chris – Madam Christmas, here, now – was preparing to open up shop for the evening, polishing glasses and pulling out frequently-used bottles. Roy was wiping the bar stools and tables. She paused to look at him – it wasn't every day that Roy decided to spend money.

"And how is that?" she asked.

"I want to learn more about alchemy," Roy said solidly. "I want to find a teacher."

For a long minute, Madam Christmas stared at her adopted son. He'd grown up to be a smart, healthy young man; he was nothing like his father. He was happy with the little things, knew the value of a cen, and treated people the right way. He deserved a little bit of fun.

"I'll take you to the bank tomorrow," Madam said finally. "You can withdraw enough to buy some books on the subject. If you like it alright, we'll find you a teacher."

#

Roy was a fast learner. Six books and some practice later, he repaired the broken leg of a bar stool so Madam Christmas didn't have to buy a new one. Next, he fixed a case of broken glasses, leveled a wobbly table and brightened the fading paint of the bar sign. When old, drunk Mr. Delphy gave a request for a new cane, Roy snapped off a tree branch from the oak across the street and made one for him.

Everyone was impressed. Most of all was Madam Christmas.

"I've been asking around for you," she said as they were cleaning up one day. "There's a man living just outside East City and he's looking for an apprentice."

Roy watched her for a moment, confused. She clarified.

"Alchemy, boy. He's an alchemy teacher."

1901

It took Roy three months to convince Berthold Hawkeye that he would make a worthy apprentice.

He visited East City for the first time in March. The cherry blossoms were just beginning to bloom and the alchemist's front porch was covered in pink and white petals. Berthold answered the door and they stood on the porch to talk. Roy explained himself and spewed off an offer of an insanely high amount of money.

"No," Berthold said. "Go away."

"But you didn't even see my alchemy!" Roy complained.

"You're not worth my time. Go."

The second time Roy visited was in April. Rain was falling heavily and the city was quiet. When Roy knocked on the front of the of Hawkeye house, a young girl answered, her hair tied back and a dust cloth in hand. She surveyed him for a moment, then shut the door in his face without speaking. Roy was so dumbfounded that he didn't even knock again. He stood on the porch, waiting.

Berthold reopened the door a few minutes later. "You're back, are you?"

"I've been reading more and I'm already better than the last time I was here," Roy rushed. "Let me show you!"

Roy jumped off the porch and dashed out into the rain. He drew a simple circle in the mud, placed his hands down, and transmuted a small, muddy hut that kept the rain off of him. He crawled out through the entrance and trudged back up to the porch, sloshing mud all the way, grinning.

However, his skills did nothing for his cause. "Fix my garden and get out of my sight." Berthold slammed the door in the face of the dejected boy. Roy trekked back to the train station and went home.

Madam Christmas was not sympathetic. "Work harder," she told him. "Become worthy." It was easier said than done, but Roy took her advice. He spent countless hours in the library, bought every book on alchemy that the city could offer him, and practiced every day.

Finally, at the end of May, Roy packed his belongings once more and headed for the train. "I'm not coming back," he told his aunt. "I'll see you when I'm done training." She waved him off and didn't offer him good luck, as luck had nothing to do with it – either he was or was not worth Berthold Hawkeye's time, and nothing like luck could change that.

The sweltering heat of the east weighed Roy down as he made the long journey from the station to the Hawkeye estate. When he arrived, the girl was pulling weeds in the front garden. She noticed him coming up the walk and disappeared into the house. By the time Roy was on the front porch, the door had reopened.

"I thought I told you to get out of here," Berthold Hawkeye said.

"I did," Roy said daringly. "And now I'm back."

Berthold smirked at him for a long while and Roy thought he'd finally done it. But then the man went back into his house and left Roy standing there in the heat. Roy sat down heavily on the porch steps and wiped away the sweat from his brow. He wasn't going to give up, but what could he do to impress this man?

The girl returned and went back to her work. He didn't know her place – was she a maid? Berthold's daughter? If she was the daughter, where was the wife? The girl caught him staring. Her gaze reminded Roy of his school teachers; she looked as if she could see straight through him.

"Who are you?" Roy found himself asking. She turned back to the weeds, bangs falling into her face, and did not answer. "What's your name?" Roy tried again. "Are you Hawkeye's daughter?" She continued to ignore him. "Can you even hear me?" he asked.

Her head shot up and she gave him this look. Her eyes said: Of course I can hear you, dumbass. I'm ignoring you for a reason. Roy was startled; the girl smirked.

Roy had nowhere to go. He refused to go back to Central and admit defeat. He would have to find somewhere in East City to stay until Berthold was willing to accept him. His age, or maybe his determination, made him linger. Finally, with nothing better to do, Roy kneeled down in the dirt next to the girl and began pulling weeds.

They worked in silence until the job was done.

"What now?" Roy said.

The girl began to gather the pile of weeds that they had accumulated. She wasn't able to carry them all, so Roy helped. "There's a compost pile in the back," she said. "We put these in there and then we pull suckers off the plants."

They walked to the back of the house and dumped their catch into the rotting pile.

"What exactly is a sucker?" Roy asked. They returned to the front of the house and started on one of the gardens.

"Look, right here. Plants have their normal stems – they get their nutrients through them. But sometimes a new growth begins in the junction of two stems. It's the beginning of a new plant – called a sucker. If we let the sucker grow, it will suck all the nutrients away from the parent plant." She carefully broke off the tiny growth. "If that happens, the parent plant could die."

"Is this a sucker?" Roy asked.

"No, but this one is."

They worked until the sun began to sink below the horizon. While the girl removed suckers from the second flower bed, Roy cut the grass. His arms began to ache, a sunburn formed on his cheeks and the back of his neck, and tiny cuts on his fingers (thanks to the thorns from the roses) burned badly. But, when the yard was cleaned and finished, he felt satisfied.

He followed the girl up onto the porch as she went inside.

"Wait here," she said.

It wasn't long before the door opened once more, but this time it was Berthold that Roy came face-to-face with. The older man handed Roy a towel to wipe his face with. "Get inside," he said. "Wash up before dinner."

The shower was already running when Roy got upstairs, so he waited outside the bathroom door. The girl was quick and exited after only a few minutes, wet hair hanging limp over her shoulders. She was dressed in clean clothes and smelled like lavender, as did the steam that followed her out into the hallway.

"All yours," she said airily. She slipped past him, smirking.

Roy took his shower and stowed his thing in the empty room at the end of the hall. He found the girl downstairs in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of stewing vegetables and fresh lemons. She offered him a glass of water, which he downed immediately.

She moved around the kitchen with such grace – he watched her as she went through all the motions of cooking a meal. Her hands were steady on the knives, gentle on the produce, and firm with the seasonings. She measured nothing, just poured what looked right and stopped at that. Watching her humbled Roy, in a way.

He walked up to her and stuck his hand out. "I'm Roy Mustang," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

Turning away from her chopping block to look at him, a small giggle slipped from between her lips.

"You have some nerve, Roy Mustang." She smiled at him and took his hand. "I'm Riza Hawkeye."

1902

They collided in the hallway, causing Riza to drop the supplies she'd been carrying. "Sorry!" Roy helped her retrieve the things she had dropped. She was wearing her cleaning clothes – an old white t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She normally would've had her hair tied back, but it was now too short to do anything else with. "What are you doing?"

"I haven't cleaned the attic in a while. I know it gets dusty and animals get in if I don't patch all the holes." She started up the stairs; he followed.

"I can help you," Roy offered. "I can patch the holes for you."

Riza looked at him skeptically. "Shouldn't you be studying?"

Roy shrugged. "I finished the book I was reading and he isn't ready for practice yet. I have some time." They surveyed the damage – two or three holes, a thick layer of dust, and a clogged air vent; nothing too major. "How do you like your books?" he asked.

"I'm almost finished with the first one," Riza said. She gave him an honest smile. "I love it."

"What's all this?" Roy poked around a pile of boxes in the corner. Riza, cleaning cobwebs out of the corners, looked over her shoulder at him.

"Just some old family things – books, pictures. You know." She climbed onto the narrow window sill to reach the rafters. Roy went over to her and placed a steadying hand on her hip. He looked up at her, smirking.

"I bet there are some embarrassing baby pictures of you in there."

Riza shrugged. "Probably. I wouldn't know." She handed Roy the dirty cloth. "Give me the duster?" He did.

"Aren't you curious? I would be." He helped her down from the sill. She put a hand on his chest, bracing herself. Since cutting her hair, Riza had changed. Her eyes were brighter, her smiles wider, and her silences shorter. She caught him in her gaze and he was frozen to the spot. Sometimes, he forgot that she was still just a girl.

"I am a little curious," she said quietly, staring at his lips.

For a long moment, they stood together. Then Riza remembered herself and, blushing, stepped away. "I need to finish this."

Roy nodded. "Okay."

Sometimes, she forgot he was just a boy, too.

#

And, really, that's all he was: a (teenage) boy. Roy often found the showers at the end of his day had to be cold ones.

#

There was more to alchemy than Roy had ever imagined. Circles, arrays, lines, runes, symbols. Every specific design had a meaning, a purpose. When Roy learned a new setup, Berthold made him draw the transmutation circle over and over until he could perfectly sketch it upside down, sideways, and reversed. Only then was Roy allowed to transmute.

For as much time as Roy spent studying, Berthold Hawkeye seemed to spend twice that on his own research. When Roy asked what his Master was studying, his Master simply replied: "The most powerful alchemy imaginable," and would elaborate no further on the subject.

It was a breezy late-autumn Sunday when Berthold Hawkeye told his daughter and his apprentice, "I'm working today. Go out and do something."

The Hawkeye estate was situated on approximately five acres of land. There were neighbors close on each side, but the property behind the house extended into thick forest. With little desire to interact with school friends or neighborhood children, Roy and Riza put on their boots and delved into the woods.

Riza carried with her a hunting knife; Roy carried a stick of chalk and a canteen. The sun wasn't quite overhead and the thick growth above them prevented much light from reaching the ground. The two made their way through the trees with no set goal – Roy pulled back thorned branches for Riza to pass; Riza pointed out poison ivy and warned against toxic berries.

A fence at the edge of the property caused little hesitation. They scaled it with ease and continued on into denser greenery. They walked for an hour, then two, winding through pathless forest. Roy spotted a deer and stopped short. He turned to whisper to Riza, but found that she was no longer behind him. He spun in a circle and snapped some fallen branches (the deer bounded away into the distance).

"Riza!" Had she gotten lost? Maybe she had fallen – was she hurt? He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her behind him. Roy was no good at tracking and realized that spinning around had been a bad idea. Which direction had he come from? He called out again – "Hey! Riza!"

Something brushed his arm; he spun around.

She was there, looking worried and confused. "What is it?" He pulled her to him and hugged her. She laughed against his shoulder. "Roy, you act as though this is my first time in the forest. I grew up here. I know my way around."

He hadn't realized. Part of him assumed that she had always kept to herself, locked in her room or sitting alone in some part of the big house. But of course she would be familiar with this patch of land – she'd spent her life in this area. If he felt stupid, he didn't show it. Instead, "Where did you go?"

Riza grabbed his hand. "Here, I'll show you."

She led him through a patch of ferns to their left and farther in. She ducked under a fallen tree; he climbed over. Soon, Roy could hear running water – the birds were louder, the light brighter, the trees thinner and father apart. They broke through the last layer of cover and entered a clearing.

A clear, cold stream ran through the center, bottomed with smooth stones and crayfish. Riza grinned at him, took off her shoes and socks, rolled her pants up to the knee, and waded in. Up to her knees in the deepest part, she turned and looked at Roy, and she laughed.

It was a beautiful sound, her laugh. Sure, Roy had heard her laugh before, but this. This was different. Here she was, out in the open, free, under no obligations and away from her father. She was only fifteen years old – very much a child, still, but that was so easy to forget. She ran a household, took care of her father, and went to school almost every day. She rarely acted her age.

"Aren't you coming in, Roy?" Riza called to him. And really, how could he tell her no?

He followed her lead – stripped off his shoes and rolled up his pants. The water was cold and refreshing. Roy walked slowly out to meet her. Just as he got near, she lunged and splashed him. He thought nothing of the fact that he would soon be eighteen and automatically splashed her back. She shrieked and darted through the water; he chased after her.

Riza dashed under a low, overhanging vine just as Roy caught up with her. He grabbed her at the elbow and tugged. They lost their balance on the slippery stones and fell into the weak current of the deeper area. Roy landed on his knees, but Riza went under fully. She surfaced, sputtering and laughing, and pulled him back under with her.

They got out of the water a while later when Riza began to shiver. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood in a small patch of sunlight, shaking. Roy wrung out the tail of his shirt. "Do you want to head back?" Riza nodded.

They put on their shoes and started back towards the house. They were a couple miles out – two or three, over uneven terrain while soaking wet and cold. Coupled with the falling darkness, the trek back took longer. By the time they got to the fence, Riza was pale and shaking.

"Maybe not the smartest idea I've had today," she admitted through clicking teeth. After they jumped the fence, Riza found another fading area of sunlight and sat down in it. "You can find your way back from here; I'll follow you in a few minutes. I'm just going to sit here for a while."

Roy scoffed at her and tugged her back up into a standing position. "I wouldn't leave you out here. Come on, up." He pulled her onto his back and she didn't protest, just clung tightly to him. The little bit of warmth radiating from him was nice; Riza burrowed closer and hid her face in his shoulder. He carried her the rest of the way, moving at a slow but steady pace. Her quivers died down, her breathing slowed, and her grip loosened. She was nearly asleep when they got back to the house.

He set her down on the porch and held onto her until she'd steadied herself.

"I owe you," she said quietly, and gave him a small smile.

"You can pay me back some other time," he replied. "Go take a warm bath. That'll make you feel better."

She didn't need to be told twice. Roy sat out on the porch, not wanting to drip throughout the house while he waited. As night fell, crickets began to chirp and birds went quiet. The stars in the East were brighter than back home in Central. Roy made a mental note to call Madam Christmas sometime in the next few days.

Riza reappeared half an hour later, dry and fresh, with a towel and a cup of hot tea for Roy. She sat beside him while he drank, knees tucked inside her two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt (it was one of Roy's – whether or not he noticed, she was unsure; either way, he said nothing). His clothes were cold but dry, so she leaned against him and sighed.

"I'm sorry I acted so childish," she said softly.

Roy offered her some of his tea; she took it. "Don't apologize. It was nice – cute, even." She could see his smile, even though his face was turned away. She handed back his tea. "You have to let it out sometimes, you know."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Roy." They sat until she began to sag and doze against him. He tried to pick her up and carry her, but she pushed him away, snickering. "I can walk, you know!" she said.

"No, I didn't," he teased her. She raced him inside.

1903

When he wasn't studying or practicing his alchemy, Roy spent his days outside of the house. Even after almost three years, East City was still exciting to him. It was one of these days, spent on the streets, that he ran into a military recruitment program. The uniformed men gave him a pamphlet, some advice, and a slap on the back.

"Joining the military is a great way to do something good for your country," one of the officers said. Roy made up his mind, then and there.

#

June was unusually rainy and gray. Riza was out of school for vacation and Berthold had gone to Central for a few days to look into some new research materials. Roy was left with three advanced alchemy books and strict no-transmutation-in-the-house rules.

Taking a break from studying, Roy wandered the darkening house until he found Riza. She was sitting in her bed, curled in on herself, reading a book. Her eyes invited Roy into the room, so he perched himself on the edge of the bed and peeked at her reading material.

"How many times have you read it now?" he asked.

She blushed, almost. "Maybe four times. I think this is the fifth." She closed the book and set it aside. After just more than a year, the spine of the book was already beginning to crack and pull away from the binding. "What are you doing?"

"I was reading, but my eyes hurt. I'm done studying today." Roy stuck his lip out, just a little. "Besides, I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry." She pressed her bare toes against Roy's thigh. He grabbed her foot and rubbed his thumb over her ankle. Arching her foot into his hand, Riza said, "Do you want me to make you something to eat?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes, please."

Riza pulled away from him and slipped off the bed, abandoning her book. "Come on, then. What do you want?"

Roy followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen. "I don't know. Do you have any of that stew you made a few days ago?" He hopped up onto the counter – something he would never have done if Berthold had been anywhere in the house. Riza eyed him impassively and pulled a bowl from the icebox. The stew went into a pot and onto the lit stove.

Riza pulled an apple from the basket on the counter and began to slice it. Outside, thunder clapped and lightning flashed; inside, the lights flickered and went out. "Oh, damn." The room was lit only by the flame on the stove. "I'll go get a lantern," Riza said. "I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the darkness of the hallway and returned a minute later with a burning lantern. She set it on the counter and went to stir Roy's meal. In the orange glow of the room, Roy was reminded of a ballerina. Riza was always light on her feet and seemed to drift from place to place. She knew every corner of the room by heart and paid no mind to the light. Roy was certain that she could have navigated the room in the dark.

After it began to simmer, Riza tipped the stew into a bowl and placed it on the table with a plate of apple slices. Roy went to the table and stood, apparently confused. "What are you going to eat?"

"I didn't really think about it," she admitted. She sat down; he followed suit. Riza grabbed one of the apple slices and grinned at him. "I guess I'll just share with you."

"I could make you something," Roy offered. He wasn't very good in the kitchen, but he knew how to make simple things: toast, sandwiches, noodles.

Riza smiled softly at him. "Thank you, Roy, but I'm okay. You go ahead and eat." He watched her for a moment, frowning, until his teenage hunger pains kicked in and decided for him.

#

Flu season caught Roy off guard. He was sick unlike any other time in his life and did not move from his bed. His fever spiked, he refused food and drink, and shook uncontrollably any time he was awake. Riza tended to him as best as she could.

He woke to find her pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. He woke again, later, to find her holding a cup of water to his lips. He slept without realizing and knew nothing of the time. Riza covered him with extra blankets when his fever spiked and fanned him when his fever broke.

After four days, he opened his eyes and sat up.

"Roy, what are you doing? Lay down or you'll hurt yourself." She pushed him back down and covered him with a quilt. His brain pounded against the inside of his skull. He slipped back into unconsciousness and woke again, for real, a few hours later.

"Do you want to try something to eat?" Riza asked after she propped him on some pillows.

"Okay," he agreed, and she brought him some toast.

Roy surveyed the room as he ate. The bedside table was piled with towels, a cup of water, and a thermometer. Across the room, one of Riza's books sat beside Roy's on the desk. A cocoon-like nest of blankets covered the floor beside the bed.

"Have you been sleeping here?" he asked.

"Yes," Riza said. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

Roy made it through his toast, but felt exhausted after. The sky outside his window was black, so he laid back down. Riza turned out the lights and slipped into her own makeshift bed. He watched her through the darkness until his eyes became heavy. His lips moved with silent words he didn't comprehend. Through the shadows, she shifted.

"Riza?" he whispered.

For a moment, she was silent, and he wondered if she was already asleep.

"Yes?" she whispered back, finally.

Her silhouette lifted slightly from the floor. Roy's throat felt tight. His head spun. He shut his eyes.

"Never mind," he said softly. "Goodnight."

1904

It was hard, leaving the Hawkeye estate. His alchemy was powerful, his shoulders broad, and his hands strong. But when it came to walking out that front door, he faltered. Berthold did not leave his study to see his graduating apprentice off, but Riza watched him with wide eyes from the shadows. Outside, even the sky was overcast and gloomy.

Lingering would have been harder, so he didn't. He walked over to Riza and reached out to touch her, but couldn't. He dropped his hand.

"I'll see you," he said, and left.

#

The Academy was nothing like he expected; it was better, in some ways. He felt out of place for the first time in his life. None of the other boys – men – were like him. They all had their reasons for wanting to join the military, of course, but none of them seemed to have the reason Roy did. He kept himself busy, worked hard, and kept his goal in mind at all times.

Roy wasn't particularly skilled with any of the weapons. He could shoot a gun – accurately, at that – and he could handle a sword with ease, but nothing felt natural. He wanted to use his hands, his alchemy, the one thing he was truly skilled at. He heard about the State Alchemist Program and worked harder.

When Christmas came around, his fingers itched to pick up the phone. Not to call his aunt, but to call Riza. He wondered how she was, what she was doing, where she was spending the holiday. Deep down, he knew: she was alone, like always. But he couldn't bring himself to call.

1905

After leaving the Academy, there seemed to be only one logical next step. Roy needed something special , something that would make him a State Alchemist, and there was only one place to get that.

Stepping through the front door of the Hawkeye house felt like coming home.