Work Text:
Word travels quickly in the small village of Friburg; the gossip is speedy and insidious. Berthold Hawkeye’s former apprentice, a city boy who had off and run to join the military, returns to town only for his master to die in his arms. He ends up staying to attend the funeral and continue Hawkeye’s research, living on the crumbling, disgraced estate with the late alchemist’s demure daughter. This young man sparks interest in the townsfolk, and the whispers swapped at the marketplace that carry his name are bleak and disapproving.
Riza lives somewhere above the talk, where the voices can’t reach her. It was perhaps the one positive result of her and her father’s isolation from the rest of the town. As she walks arm-in-arm with Roy Mustang, the hottest topic of the time, she finds herself blissfully immune to the wary glances and scowls the shop owners throw her, and the rumors rolls off Roy’s shoulders as well. She shows him the new developments in town he’d missed in his absence as they shop around. Roy beams while they talk, his hand clasped over hers.
“Good morn, Miss Hawkeye,” a fruit vendor greets, as Riza stops to inspect the wares for imperfections. Dutifully, Roy stands by her side, his arms clasped behind his back. “This one’s your new beau, huh?”
The woman gestures to Roy. Riza feels her whole face go as red as the apples in the baskets before her. She snatches her hand back from the particularly appealing peach for which she had been reaching, and stammers, “He’s, uhh – Roy is-”
“I’m her tenant,” Roy cuts in quickly, and offers one of his charming, sideways smiles to the vendor. “Lance Corporal Roy Mustang, hello. I studied under Mr. Hawkeye a few years ago and am here continuing my research.”
“Ah, so you’re the military boy we’ve been hearing about.” The woman’s voice is still polite, but Riza hears how her tone flattens. “Never believed a student of old Berthold’s would end up joining the academy.”
“It was good to see you, ma’am,” Riza blurts hastily, throws her a polite smile, and drags Roy away by the arm before the conversation can take a turn for the worse.
Later, they sit across from each other in the estate’s library, where Roy studies and Riza reads. She allows herself to dwell on the words of the fruit vendor. The military had not been popular in the region recently; conflicts in the far east with the newly-annexed region of Ishval had weighed heavily on the small village, and they had been forced to fork over many valuable resources to the military in the resulting fallout. The uprising spreading through the eastern sector had yet to infect Friburg, but protest was definitely beginning to stir. That unease, combined with Roy’s enrollment in the academy and their rather unorthodox living situation, had made them Friburg’s hottest scandal of the time.
But for them to think Roy is her beau? No, absolutely not. She examines Roy where he sits across from her, his hand tangled in his bangs, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sure, they’re close, but beau is not the word she would use to describe what Roy Mustang is to her. He is her closest friend, but even that doesn’t seem to cover it. Companion isn’t strong enough, and confidant seems impersonal somehow. She chews on her bottom lip. He alone knows and guards and studies her greatest secret, the one tattooed all down her back; she, in turn, shares the weight of his past and the dreams of his future. It had brought them together rather than driven them apart. She thinks back on their talks over the past few weeks, after her father’s funeral. She thinks of the way he holds her hand when they walk to the market alone, the conversations they have in the bay windows in the sitting room, and -
Oh no. She realizes, her stomach dropping, that she loves Roy. When had this started? now that she knows she loves him, all their moments in the past are suddenly put behind a veil of affection. Perhaps she loved him when he stayed awake with her the night her father died and simply held her hand. Perhaps she loved him when, one sweltering summer’s day years ago, he escaped from her father’s watchful gaze and spontaneously took her for an adventure in the estate’s expansive forest. Perhaps she loved him when he first showed up at her doorstep, just fourteen years old, and introduced himself with a friendly crooked smile.
“Riza?” His voice pulls her from her thoughts, and when she finally snaps to, Roy is reaching towards her. He presses the back of his hand to her forehead. His lips are pursed in concern. “Are you feeling alright? You looked really flushed.”
“I’m fine, Roy.” She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. “Just a little tired.”
To pass the time during Roy’s academic leave, she cleans. Roy studies near her as she sorts through years and years of the fruits of her father’s horrid hoarding habit. It is no longer a chore now that she is doing this for herself, and not for her father and his demands.
Both of them are aware that Roy will have to return to the military in a matter of months, but the subject is never broached – in fact, Riza finds that they both have a way of avoiding important conversations. They grow closer each day of his leave, and are so familiar with each other that Riza has never felt the need to voice her feelings aloud. Roy has always behaved similarly, and it isn’t long before their harmony is expressed in their daily interactions. Let the townsfolk talk - it is nice having such validation. He puts his arm protectively around her shoulders when they visit the market. When Roy’s favorite jazz combo is on the radio, he dances around with her in the kitchen when he should be washing the dishes. She kisses his cheek before retiring to her bedroom each night. Riza cleans, Roy studies, and together they spend days and days in each other’s presence, finding comfort in proximity, enjoying the snug silence.
Roy begins to master the research that had destroyed Riza’s back. Riza begins to clear her house and her head of her father.
Soon comes the day when Roy can make beautiful spirals of flames, fireworks that ignite and explode at his touch. Central Command has been bugging the young officer to return to his duties via a steady stream of official inquiries, so he reluctantly packs up his bags and prepares for his departure. His exit coincides with Riza’s completion of the catharsis of the house. It is spick and span when they saddle Roy’s luggage to the Hawkeyes’ aging mare and set off for the small Friburg train station
Roy has lost his status as a novelty in the town due to the considerable duration of his stay, but a few stray eyes still follow the two as they make their way to the platform. He hesitates before stepping onto the train, standing before Riza with his hands tucked in his pockets. For once, the words they left unsaid dangle awkwardly from the tips of both their tongues - Riza can see it in his expression, the very curve of his brow.
“I guess this is goodbye for now,” Roy says eventually, rocking on his heels. Neither of them wanted to be the first to say it. Riza clears her throat.
“For now,” she repeats with an ensuring smile. Roy can’t help but return it, and reaches out to brush a stray hair from her eyes.
“I’ll write when I can. I - I’ll have to prepare for my certification exam, so I’ll be pressed for time.”
“You soldier boys,” she jokes. “Always everywhere at once, aren’t you?”
This time, his smile is soft and rounded, almost resigned. It is bittersweet, and they don’t speak because words could not capture the occasion. Roy, for all his eloquence, and Riza, for all her frankness, seem to have accepted that some things do not need saying. The moment is all they need: the soft late summer breeze that already smells of autumn, the quiet bustle of the other train passengers, the solidity of the wooden planks beneath their boots. They search each other’s eyes for all those missing words, for all the things left unsaid, until -
The train blows its whistle, and startles them both. Roy laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Guess that’s me.”
“I’ll see you on the other side of the war, Roy.” She stands up on the balls of her feet and kisses his cheek. He embraces her, briefly and tightly, before boarding the train with a step backwards.
“See you on the other side of the war.” He salutes to her, and she watches his dark mop of hair round the corner of the cabin and take a seat by the window. She waves him away until his face is indiscernible, and continues to watch the train until it vanishes far, far away down the tracks.