Chapter Text
He knew the funeral would have been harder on her, so he keeps his musings to himself as they walk back to the hotel. She lost a father, and he only lost a teacher. But he lost that teacher before they were done. Maybe his daughter had the research for flame alchemy, but he’s nervous about deciphering it alone. He’s a confident man, but his teacher had always been cryptic in his notes.
She had agreed to talk in his hotel room, and he’s relieved. The manor, which he associated with learning in his youth, now looked like death and neglect. Clouds were darkening, and he wanted to be in a brighter place when the rain hit.
The first patter of drops hit the window in the hallway as he unlocks the door. She waits, quietly. He lets her into the room first, noticing the inch she’s grown since he was last here.
He thought about her often while away. They always had a wall between them in the form of her father, but he’d sneak down to her room every night and talk. Without her, those years learning alchemy would have been friendless and too lonely to endure. The instinct and habit of sharing everything with her at night was an obvious gap in his new life.
In return, she had listened attentively and memorized him. Maybe she’d felt for him. He had a feeling often that she might have had a crush, but he was desperate for someone, even if it was a girl years younger than him. Her serious, mature nature, though it often concerned him for one so young, had made her a valuable companion.
Rarely was she equally vulnerable in return, so he had difficulty reading her now. She cried the night her dad died, but he’d seen no tears since.
“We don’t have to do this right now, Riza,” he says, closing the door behind him.
“Why would we wait?” she replies, walking to the window and watching the rain begin.
“I mean… We just buried your father. You should take some time to grieve. I can visit in the future, if you still want to give me the research then.”
“No.” She turns from the window. “This is a part of it for me. I need to give this to you so I can move on.”
He nods. Is it normal for daughters to be eager to move on?
She walks towards him, and he realizes she’s nervous. She turns around and places her jacket on his bed. He frowns, wondering if the notes are inside of it. She fiddles with something with her back to him, and it’s not until she lowers the shirt that he understands.
He feels frozen, both comprehending and confused.
When he can finally move, he closes the distance between and covers his mouth in horror.
“Riza, did he do this to you?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
He swallows and runs his hand over the expanse of the tattoo. It covers her entire back. He doesn’t know much about tattoos, but he knows this would’ve taken hours and days. She would’ve been in pain the whole time and sore as hell for the recovery. The skin is at least smooth, so it healed well, but this doesn’t decrease his horror.
“Did this happen while I was gone?”
“Yes,” she answers. “As soon as you left.” He sees goosebumps rising on her skin, trailing behind where his fingers trail.
Had he kept this from happening sooner? Or had his leaving prompted this cruel act somehow?
“Why did you let him?”
She pulls her shirt back up and whips around, arms crossed over the unbuttoned shirt and an expression of hurt on her face.
“Whenever did I ever let him do anything? You know it wasn’t like that.”
“But this is massive, Riza. You must’ve been in pain for -”
“I know.”
He takes a moment to consider his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he… was capable of this.”
She raises an eyebrow. The hurt in her eyes is fading into a heavy sadness. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”
He sits on the bed next to her jacket. She sits next to him. He can see the slope of her chest through the gaps down the front of the shirt she still hasn’t buttoned, as though she still thinks he wants to look at the mark on her back. But he feels sick.
“I knew you weren’t close, but…”
Then some memories resurface and make him shudder. The way her father never made requests to her, only demands. How Roy thought she was a maid when they first met. The small cupboard by the kitchen where she slept. The clothes she outgrew and had to patch up.
“This was him inflicting pain on you for his own selfish purposes.”
She shrugs and rubs her upper arms self-consciously. “It was the pinnacle of his life’s work.”
“Which he could’ve put in a notebook and trust you with, not permanently scar you. This is abusive, Riza. You’re not even an alchemist. This is on your back for another person to use.”
She stands and walks to the window again, still rubbing her arms. Roy clenches his hands into fists, a new fury washing over him.
“I don’t need you to make me feel ugly, Roy.” Her voice shakes and checks his anger.
“I’m not saying you’re ugly! I’m saying that Master Hawkeye was -”
“Stop!” She faces him again, hands covering her face. “We just buried him! I can’t hear this!”
He waves his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m not -”
“I know what he did.” She’s still covering her face and slides along the window and the wall until she’s sitting on the floor. “I’ll never be free of him now.”
The sentence makes him shiver. He climbs off the bed and crawls to her. She retreats further into a ball as he wraps his arms around her. The way her back shakes confirms she’s crying.
He presses his head against hers. “No, he didn’t change you. You’re still my beautiful friend.”
“He’s all over me,” she mumbles into her arms.
Since he’s been gone, he tapped into his own physical and mental strength. He learned to feel powerful. Now, his heart clenches, and he’s never felt so useless.
He easily moves into a crouch, picks her up, and carries her to the bed. She’s fully sobbing now, as he curls behind her and holds her, petting her hair. Neither of them really got to know their mothers, but he mimics what Chris did when he was kid. This is nothing compared to a child’s heartache, but in this moment, Riza feels so small and childlike. He wraps a blanket from the end of the bed around the both of them.
“He doesn’t own you, Riza. You’re safe. You’re with me. I’ll study what’s on your back. I’ll master it, and then it won’t be his array anymore but mine. Okay? You’ll be safe.”
She uncurls herself, wrapping her arms around his torso. He places his cheek on top of her head and feels an urge to kiss her forehead and cheeks, like Chris might’ve done, but as she moves closer, he can feel her breasts push against him, and he’s aware this is no child in his arms.
He keeps rubbing her back and hair, whispering assurances, until they both fall asleep.
--
“What were you thinking when he told you his idea?” Roy asks as gently as he can.
They’re laying on their backs now, staring at the ceiling as the sun falls and casts various hues. Occasionally, their hands brush, and if it’s a hard question he asks, he gives hers a squeeze.
She hesitates for this question, but he’s in no rush.
“I think… I thought I deserved it. I had marred my body first.”
He squeezes her hand now. Sometimes, it’s him the question is hard for.
“What do you mean?”
“There was a dress code at home. I’d mastered it by the time you came, but before that, I struggled. The biggest offense was if my skirt was too high. The uniform for my size was too short for his taste, and if he caught me leaving the house wearing it normally, he would…there would be consequences.
“And once there was a boy to help out when Mom died. We split the chores and Father paid him. We became friends, my first friend.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her raise a hand to catch a tear.
“His name was Nillo. And one day, Father saw Nillo give me a hug and fired him on the spot. Then he took me inside and said it was my fault for letting my skirt show so much skin. So, I… I marked my legs to make sure I never did something like that again.”
“What did you mark it with?” he whispers, afraid of the answer. But she doesn’t have to reply. He knows.
He props himself up on an elbow. “May I see?” He can see her fear, but she nods anyway. She curls her legs towards him, and he gently slides up her skirt until he sees twin lines on both thighs, about three inches above the knees. They’re deep and white.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” he says while tracing the scars.
She shrugs. “He said I was the Hawkeye Manor’s last hope. He had some idea that I had to save myself for some man who would inherit the title and need an heir. And when he asked me to bear the tattoo, he said, ‘Then your husband will truly receive a treasure.’”
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s such bullshit.”
“He thought I was tempting bad heirs when I didn’t dress certain ways.”
With a groan, he falls back to the bed and grinds his teeth for a moment. He’s never felt so helpless.
“I should’ve seen it.”
Again, she shrugs. “It’s just how things were.
“No.” He turns on his side and holds his hand to her cheek. “I should’ve seen you better.”
He can see her eyes watering again as she says, “Just see me now.”
—
She can’t move back into the manor; they both agree. He spends the rest of his leave cleaning it out and preparing it to sell. In the evenings, he studies her back and commits it to memory. He promises he’ll master it.
At night, she stays in his hotel. For the first night, he grabbed a blanket and pillow and laid on the floor, but he woke up with her next to him. After that, they shared the bed. A few times she woke up crying and asked him to tell her good things.
He tells her about Jerich and Hughes, his best friends in the academy. He calls them the brothers he never had and relays their shenanigans in enough detail to make her occasionally chuckle. Her laugh has always been rare, so he treasures each chuckle.
And he tells her about Central and Chris. She’s heard these stories before, but she likes to hear them again. He only stops when her breathing becomes heavy and rhythmic.
As she sleeps, he tries to figure out what is happening between them, but any box he tries to put it in cannot contain them, and he’d rather have no box than sacrifice any part of their dynamic.
He doesn’t know how to leave.
—
“Where will you go?” he asks the day before he leaves.
“I’m not sure. I never thought much beyond some distant day I’d be wed away. I don’t know what I’m qualified for.”
“You can do anything. I know that’s intimidating, but it’s true, Riza. No one can stop you. If you never want to marry, there’s no old man to disappoint anymore. You can build your own farm, join the military, move to Xing.”
She smiles at his suggestions. “Maybe I should take some time and figure it out. There’s a grandfather, my mom’s dad, that I’ve never met. My father hated him.”
“Sounds like a good man to me,” he quips.
She smiles again. “Maybe showing up destitute at his door would be… convincing enough to take me in.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, I know you have to return. But… will you write to me?”
He kisses her hand. “Yes. Send me a note to tell you where you end up, and I will write.”
“I will. I promise.”
—
The first letter she receives at the Grumman residence is brief:
“I did it.”