Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The girls on the other side of the aisle giggle. I rearrange my hands in my lap, trying to ignore them. Still, my cheeks feel slightly warm, those traitors.

“… kinda handsome.”

“Shh!”

“… definitely more good-looking than Felix.”

“I bet he could take even Gunter in a fight,” Marsha whispers, although whispering is relative, seeing as I can hear her just fine.

“Shhhh!” Audrey hisses, then they all giggle again.

The train rucks, making my heart leap into my throat. Why does it do that? Why can’t it just stay still and quiet and not unsettle me all the time? Is there something wrong with the tracks? Are we going to derail?

I glance out the window. We can’t be much further than the last time I checked – I can still see the dense coniferous woods in the distance. At least six more hours to go.

Something rattles dully, perhaps in another wagon. My hands clench around the fabric of my skirt as compensation for not making a sound of fear – my entire body is drawn like a bow because of how much I try not to squeak with every jiggle.

More than ever, I wonder why I agreed to this. I know why, of course. Facing the window brought the very reason I’m sitting here into my field of view.

A book in hand, mouth frowning ever so slightly in concentration as he reads, sits Roy Mustang. Going on eighteen and the alchemy apprentice of my father, Roy has lived with us for nearly three years now. It took us both a year to warm up to each other, but if I’m being honest, I very much appreciate his company. Not least because most days, he is my only company.

I don’t have friends in school. There are bullies, for sure, and there are acquaintances – someone to exchange a word or two with when cleaning up the classroom or wave hello to at the market. I don’t know if Roy sees us as friends, but I like to think that we are. The difference between him and others is that he not only exercises an endurance I have seldom witnessed – both with his research as well as with living with us – but because he has made the effort to get to know my father.

Not that he had much of a choice.

My father is a brilliant man. When push comes to shove, he can stop a landslide in its tracks, force a flood to divert, bring a forest fire to its knees. He used to be a hero to the village. He still is to me.

Father hasn’t spoken much to anyone since my mother’s death. He stays in his study to do research. He now teaches Roy, although it seems to me that he rather gives instructions for Roy to work on by himself. Father is kind, but cautious; he doesn’t like strangers nosing around, and thanks to him being cloistered-away, nobody does.

Which is why Roy surprised us both – and I think himself too – when he persuaded Father to let me go on this school trip. I didn’t know what to think, but he put in so much effort that I couldn’t refuse.

And so here I am, clutching my skirt, my ears droning with the noise of the train and gossip of my classmates. They aren’t entirely wrong.

Roy is still reading, though he hasn’t turned a page in ages. It must be alchemy.

With my eyes, I trace along his jawline. Strong and angular, as if to purposefully highlight his Adam’s apple. He already passed his voice break, unlike most boys on the trip.

The last comment circles through my head as my gaze wanders up and along his nose. I know for a fact that Roy could beat Gunter if they came to blows, because he already has. There’s no way of telling without knowing, but if Roy tilts his head just so for the light to catch between the hairs of his brow, I can spot the faintest remains of the black eye he’s had for the past three weeks.

He was impressed when I accurately foretold that the bruise would slip my father’s attention entirely. I wasn’t. He has never noticed mine.

Roy’s eyes flash to me. I flinch, looking away but it’s too late. I can see him smile. I wet my lips.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. I must look every bit as anxious as I feel.

I sigh but the tension won’t lift off my shoulders. “I’m fine,” I lie.

He smiles again. He knows. “I’ve taken this very train five times now and the worst that happened was that I spilled my drink over my shirt.” He offers me a grin.

Somehow, that makes my hands unfurl slightly. I’m grateful he lowered his voice and copy him. “Were you… nervous on your first train ride?” I ask him. I can’t pronounce the word ‘afraid’; if I admit it out loud, I risk actually whimpering the next time something jolts.

“I don’t think I was all that aware – I rode my first train when I was six weeks old.”

“Six weeks?” My eyes widen.

“My aunt insists it’s because my father wanted to show me to her desperately, but I think she’s making that up.”

“Where were you going then?”

“Central City – just like now. Only I doubt we took this long where we came from. I was tiny.”

“Oh, of course.” I nod, trying not to react on the way my stomach twists at the reminder of the long journey. “Where you were born.”

“Yeah. Yeah…” He frowns. His words slow down in time with mine. “But then—”

“Where did you come from if you were going into the city?” I guess his thoughts. His mouth stands open for another moment, trying and failing to wrap his head around the inconsistency in his own story. “There must be multiple stations in Central,” I suggest.

His frown intensifies. “There are,” he vaguely discloses, but I can see that he already ruled that theory out. He huffs, slumping into the backrest. “I can’t believe I never noticed that. My aunt got some splainin’ to do,” he declares with a pout that makes me smile. It vanishes the second he beams at me – he knew he could get me to smile if only he acted childishly enough.

I don’t know why it works. I suppose I never see anyone who can be so serious act sillily.

“Hey, do these dates tell you anything?” He presents a page of his notebook.

28.01.1894

18.02.1894

12.08.1894

24.01.1898

14.02.1898

12.04.1898

He turns the page, revealing more combinations of the same numbers across the spread.

“Decoding?”

“Yes, and since it had something to do with the material of the shingles last time…” he trails off.

Father is a master of coding his research. Even with all the basics and tricks Roy elaborated, and my knowledge about my father, his house and family, we barely scraped the surface of how he had encrypted Roy’s homework. I was a little sad to know that Father had used the house as reference and not me and Mother, but I try not to read into it too much. He must have chosen a less obvious option for security reasons.

“The house is older than 1894, and so was his car…”

“A car?” Roy’s eyes spark up curiously.

“It’s still there, in the barn. It broke down a long time ago.”

He nods in recognition.

I study the dates again. “I lost my first tooth in August 1894, but I don’t remember if it was the 12^th or not,” I offer.

“How do you still remember that?” Roy marks the date with a quick dash.

“I found the box.” I lower my voice further, but judging by the snoring to my right, the man on our bench is still asleep. “Where my mother kept them.”

“Spooky,” Roy laughs. I smile into my lap. He has his way of laughing that makes you feel good; as if you actually did something positively amusing. As if he’s laughing with me – or for me, seeing as I didn’t laugh. “Did she keep hair too?”

“I don’t know.”

“My sister once told me – the one who moved out – that she wanted to make a collection of all her baby’s firsts. The first tooth, first pacifier, first socks and so on. And the first lock of hair. And when the baby came, it was the only one in the entire hospital born without any hair whatsoever,” he laughs.

I return a smile. I can’t believe there are so many babies born around the same time in one place. Or that people travel all the way to a hospital to give birth. Central must be even bigger than I imagined. A fresh twist knots up my stomach.

“I think it’s cute.” Roy scratches his chin with his index finger. “I kinda wish I’d find one of those heirlooms from my parents someday,” he sighs. My eyes soften with sympathy. It makes him straighten, and he shakes it off with a smile. “Your Ma sounds like a really nice person. I feel like I’m getting acquainted to her with every little thing you tell me.”

I glance away and he follows my gaze to the window.

“Woah, so many sheep…” he watches them excitedly, the herd stretching across the fields like giant shreds of clouds.

I can’t focus on them. I didn’t even mean to look at them. My heart is pounding in my chest, my face warming up. I grip my blouse with one hand, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s the warmth all over my body.

I don’t often talk about my mother, but when I do, Roy is always so eager to know, so kind in his responses. I don’t know what it should mean to me that he would have liked to know her, but it does mean something. I’m so happy all of a sudden, I hardly notice the brief rocking of the wagon. I’m only now aware that I managed to blank out my tattling schoolmates since Roy started talking to me.

He is still smiling out the window. Rural sights astound him, even after three years.

As I watch him, I think that I might actually weather this train ride better than initially assumed.

Chapter Text

Despite the announcement, Riza winces a little when the train brakes. I’m glad we’re finally here – she spooked at every station.

The other kids are chattering excitedly. Some get up and crowd the windows. The teachers are having a hard time keeping everyone in check, which is no wonder. Three classes with only two teachers. I guess their school can’t afford to send them away on multiple trips.

It’s also no wonder that when they herd everyone out in a more or less organised chaos, they forget to count Riza as the only one on this side of the aisle. I frown pityingly as her fingers fiddle and fumble in her lap.

She is torn between hasting after them and not wanting to push her way through the cluster of people clogging the aisle. I clear my throat to carefully gain her attention. Her head snaps up anyway.

“Let’s wait. At this rate, we can’t get your luggage past them.” I point up to where her valise is in the overhead compartment, then nod at the crush of people. She lets out a breath, shortly humming her agreement. She still looks uneasy. I don’t blame her – she’s such a quiet girl, the sheer amount of noise and people in such a confined space must scare her.

All the more reason for her to have come to broaden her horizon. Expand her comfort zone. I have a good feeling about this.

We wait until most of the passengers have cleared out. I keep an eye on our luggage to make sure no one takes it on accident – or on purpose. She stands when I do, and stays close as I lead the way out the train. I look around the platform, but the students aren’t anywhere near. Did they not count once outside the train?

Shaking my head, I turn to Riza. Her eyes are huge, flickering about with so much going on. She doesn’t look as if she’s searching for her class, she’s more like a deer scanning for potential death around the corner.

I nudge her arm. “Come on, I know how we’ll spot them.” My bag slung over my shoulder (I didn’t bring much since I’m going home) I refrain from taking Riza’s. She’s clutching it for dear life and I don’t want to bombard her with even more sensations.

I squeeze my way through the crowd. Riza is on my heels, bumping into me whenever I stop to make sure she follows. Each time, she apologises quietly, and each time, I tell her not to worry. We reach the stairs going up onto the footbridge for crossing platforms. The people down below already seem smaller and further away. It gives her a bit of a breather, but she’s far from relieved.

“Oh, look.” I make her turn, pointing down the tracks. A train is coming in just now, the brakes squeaking on the rails beneath us. “Watch this – oh, and cover your ears!” I shout at her over the noise. Then I lean over the banister and wave both arms. The engine driver sees me. I brace myself, throwing a grin over my shoulder just as he pulls down the cord of the horn.

The entire station jumps when the train honks at full blast. Riza has her hands over her ears, one of them springing to her heart. When I laugh at the people shrieking in momentary shock below, she returns my grin with a small one of her own. It widens mine exponentially.

“Aren’t we in trouble for this?” She has to raise her voice to be heard above the steam the train’s brakes release.

“I only waved,” I give a shrug, “and he chose to respond.” I wink to reassure her. Seizing my chance, I pick up her valise. “But since the 07 is here,” I indicate the train under our feet, “the main exit will be jammed. We can take the West Gate into town and cut the others off on the main road.”

She smiles, surprising me. “You make it sound like some secret operation.” She still has to yell for me to understand.

“Maybe it is.” I throw her another grin, leading the way down the other side of the bridge.

As I thought, the West Gate is by far less crowded, and we make it to the stairs going down onto Upper Luza Road without problems. Since I still don’t see two adults shooing around lots of fifteen-, sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds, I decide to stick to my plan.

Until someone bumps into us.

“Hey!” I call after him. Riza gasps, and that’s when I realise. “Shit— Hey!” I holler, eyes trained on Riza’s bag in the man’s hand. My feet twitch into action but I stop short. I turn to Riza, lost and panicking, then back to the fleeing thief. I can’t leave her here. And I can’t let the guy get away.

I grab Riza’s wrist and run. She stumbles at first but keeps up as we rush along the pavement. He’s heading for the main exit! He’ll be gone in the crowd if we don’t catch up!

I shove someone out of the way, Riza in tow, when another man nearly hurls me to the ground. I cough, catching myself before falling. My fingers twitch, glad to find Riza’s wrist still secured. I whip my head around but the man is gone.

So is the thief.

My shoulders fall. Wheezing, I narrow my eyes at the flocks of people streaming out of the station. I try to find anyone hurrying more than usual; anyone in a dark trench coat like the first guy. It’s no use. Even when I find something similar in colours, it’s gone before I get a good look at it, swallowed by the masses. I let out a cry of frustration.

“I’m so sorry,” I begin as I turn to Riza. Shit. She looks close to crying. Her chest is heaving with pants. Her pupils have shrunken, but her eyes are empty, her gaze hollow as she is overwhelmed by the throng. I loosen my grip on her wrist. It’s trembling slightly. “Change of plans,” I tell her, trying to sound as if I actually have one.

Her eyes meet mine, lost and helpless. I have to put a hand on each of her arms to snap her out of her paralysis enough to get going.

“My things…” she breathes shakily.

“We’ll get them back,” I promise, unsure if it’s a good idea to do so. “In fact, I know just the guy we can ask – there he is now!” I can’t believe my luck. Neither can Riza. She frowns at me as if I’m making it up, which, truth be told, I had been doing up until now.

I wave at the taxi, my other hand tightening around the strap of my backpack. I can’t believe I let this happen. I almost would have preferred— heck, I would prefer if they had taken my luggage instead of hers. Apart from my alchemy notes, there’s nothing important in there. Riza doesn’t have the money to replace all of her clothes, not even half.

The taxi swivels over, stuttering into a halt in front of us. Riza leans back as far as she can without moving her feet, every muscle in her body tense.

“I’ll be jiggered! Roy, my man!” Damien greets me enthusiastically as he cranks the window down. He’s younger than Madame but not by much. He also hasn’t shaved in a few days. Not that it’s anything new. He grins at me with those crooked front teeth of his, fingerless gloves drumming merrily on the steering wheel. “I didn’t know you were back in town!”

“I need a favour,” I say, opening the backdoor for Riza. “It’s alright,” I quietly tell her when she hesitates. I get in next to her, leaving no room for her to worry that she’ll be left alone. “We’ve been robbed. Some creep in a trench coat took her bag.” I let my bag slump onto my knees, digging for my notebook. “He wasn’t much taller than me and pretty thin – I could see his small ankles. He’ll be wearing low shoes and too short trousers,” I explain as I scribble Riza’s valise onto an empty page in my notebook.

“Tough toenails!” Damien gives a croaking laugh. “You really attract disaster like no other, kid.” He starts the car.

I rip the sketch out of my notebook. Before I hand it over, I have Riza jot down what’s inside her bag. I can see she’s still trembling – or perhaps trembling again, seeing as this must be her first car ride ever. That old heap in the barn must have been dead long before she was capable of thought.

I scoot closer, even though I know she’s not the type to enjoy physical comfort. Or contact in general.

We turn a corner, passing a flower shop, a jeweller, two retailers, a pharmacy, another grocery shop, a kiosk and a watch manufacturer before taking another right. Riza’s eyes are darting back and forth, trying to take it all in. She doesn’t even have a jeweller in town, least of all more than one retailer. This must be overstimulation on every level.

“I’ll keep a sharp lookout for ‘im,” Damien says, grinning at me through the rear-vision mirror. He’s not used to me sitting in the back.

“And tell the others.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

We turn another two corners. I know Damien can handle himself, and I’m aware that we should make haste to get back to Riza’s class, but for her sake, I wish he’d slow down or not almost run over every second fire hydrant. When he nearly does then, the car squeaking as it pivots back onto the street, Riza grabs my knee hard in fear.

“We’re almost there,” I soothe her. Her eyes meet mine briefly, then return to her lap alongside her hand. I can see she wants to curl up and pretend this isn’t happening. I would like to piggyback on that last thing too, but I have to stay focused. I made a vow to take care of her and so far, I’m not doing too well.

“Here we are, lad,” Damien says as he invents a parking space that spans half the sidewalk. “I bet the girls are gonna go down like ninepins when they see you.”

“I’m sure they will.” I grimace. It’s not the girls I’m worried about, it’s Madame. She might know I’m coming if my letter already arrived, but once she hears I let someone get away with Riza’s luggage…

“Do give Janine a kissy from me.” Damien puts his arm over his seat to pucker his lips at me.

“I won’t.” I slap a couple of coins into his hand.

“Oi!” He swipes at me, laughing. I duck, reach over Riza to open the door and get out after her. “Eh, it’s probably for the best.” Damien waves off. “See you around, kid.”

“Don’t forget to ask the others!” I point at the piece of paper he put over his tachometer. He returns a mock salute and starts the engine. It buzzes until we’ve rounded the corner and disappeared into the side alley without incident.

I sidle around dustbins and smaller trash barrels, never without making sure that Riza is following close behind. She has fallen mute, which concerns me more than I care to admit. So much for my good feeling about this trip. It must be nothing but a nightmare to her.

I fumble along the wall until I find the brick that’s loose at the height of my knee. Taking it out, I reach into the hole, avoid the mousetrap and reach up where a key is sitting on a carved-out ledge. I’m not afraid to let Riza witness. I’m even ready to tell her about the mouse trap so that she won’t ever fall victim to it – or how I already have twice, if only to cheer her up – but she isn’t looking. Blankly, she stares at nothing. I think I could walk straight into the river and she’d follow me, simply because she is too lost and too numb to make decisions on her own right now.

“I have to warn you,” I tell her carefully, reluctantly, “because the girls can be a handful…” I scratch the back of my neck. Again, even though they will without a doubt barge right into telling Riza the most embarrassing moments of my life, I’m less afraid of them than of Madame. I almost hope she isn’t there today, but I need her intel and network to get Riza’s valise back.

I take a deep breath before turning the key in the lock of the back door to Madame’s establishment. “Welcome.” Dim purple lights and cigarette smoke greet us. “To the place where I grew up.”

Chapter Text

I couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to bring home a guest. Should have looked at the time. It’s slowly getting dark out, ringing in the evening – and with that the first shift of the girls.

In a bevy of clacking heels, chattering and gossiping, they flock down the corridor just as we step into it. I almost reopen the door to hide outside until they’ve passed but it’s too late.

“Roy-Roy!” Flo cries. Like a swarm of geese, they all turn their heads. Waddling over in an uncoordinated mess, they crowd around us. I move in front of Riza.

“It’s been over a year!” Lottie scolds me.

“Your hair’s all over the place.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Did you bring the cookies I asked of you?”

“I didn’t know you were coming!”

Great. So then the letter hasn’t arrived. Madame is not going to be amused.

“Enough already.” I step away from Gina tussling my hair even more out of place, without success.

“Ohmigod, did you bring a girl?”

“She’s so cute,” Kitty gasps, “but I thought you said—” She stops short. She studies Riza, the focus in her eyes infecting the others as she traces Riza’s short blond hair. Slowly, she straightens. They exchange glances. “Is that—” She can’t finish when the coin drops, a huge collective gasp shaking even the wainscot.

I step aside but make sure that there’s enough distance for no one to just reach out and dishevel any more hair. Not only would Riza never come near me again if I allowed them to do it to her, Master would burn me to a crisp.

I clear my throat to explain, when Riza bows her head.

“Riza Hawkeye,” she introduces herself in a quiet voice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She even does a hint of a courtesy. My sisters will flip.

“Awww!” They squeal in unison. What did I say?

“She. Is. Adorable!” Gina sings.

“More than adorable! You weren’t exaggerating in your letters!”

And there they go, humiliating me beyond belief.

“Ellie…” I grumble warningly. It only makes them giggle. I don’t dare to face Riza. “Is Madame out yet?” I ask, trying to make it sound the least urgent possible. They’d never let me go if they knew there was some intriguing story behind this. Or that I messed up.

“Seeing some old friend of hers; he’ll be here soon,” Flo says, spying down the hall to the side. I wait until she turns back to us. “You’re in luck,” she winks, “the old coot hasn’t arrived yet.”

“She won’t like me towing her away though…” I mutter, more to myself.

“She never does.” Lia gives me a pat on the head. I swat her off. Honestly, I’m taller than all of them by now; it wouldn’t hurt if they stopped treating me like a child.

Taking a step back in the hopes that they will pass us and get to work, I shield Riza. She’s too polite to tell anyone off and the girls are still marvelling at her as if I brought in a rare jewel or delicate China doll.

“Alright girls, let’s go or we’ll be next on Madame’s list.” Lia claps her hands. With disappointed sighs and wistful glances from me to Riza – especially Riza – the girls file through the velvet curtain and into the bar.

“I bet he didn’t bring me anything – again!”

“Relax, he brought the girl. We can bake the cookies ourselves now!” They giggle and nudge each other playfully. When the last swishing of dresses fades into the general murmur of the bar, I relax. A glance over my shoulder tells me that Riza is doing the same, slightly.

“Sorry about that…” I’m really only making matters worse. If that were a subject at school, I’d have graduated at the age of ten. Probably earlier.

A poorly plastered crack in the wall catches my eye. Definitely earlier. How I haven’t been put up for adoption a second time after my parents’ death is beyond me.

I find Riza’s gaze and she follows me down the hall. The more doors we pass, the more nervous I become. I don’t remember what state my room is in, but it’s never qualified for ‘good’. Especially not for someone as tidy and Riza. I don’t want to be inhospitable but I also really don’t want her to see – or smell – the vegetating landfill that is my room.

“Give me a moment,” I tell her once we’ve reached the private parlour upstairs. At least that’s what my aunt calls it.

There’s a couch and two broad armchairs that neither match any of the other furniture, nor each other. Between them is a coffee table, littered with ashtrays and newspapers. The curtains are drawn, even though this is the upstairs. To the right is Madame’s room, locked of course. On the left is the door to my room and straight ahead that of the bathroom. I realise only now that I really need to go.

“Shouldn’t we go to the police?” Riza quietly asks.

“I’ll just go get my aunt,” I try to sound nonchalant and confident. “She’ll know what to do.” I turn on the heel, then back again. “If you want, you can use the bathroom,” I point at the door, “or sit down, whatever you like.”

I’ll make her some tea, I decide then, hoping it’ll calm her down at least a little. There’s a kettle on the sideboard next to Madame’s room. I pick it up and fill it in the bathroom.

Riza only moves when I return to set the kettle on the cast iron burning stove in the corner. Cautiously, she weaves her way to the couch. Her eyes open wider the further she sinks into the old cushions. The enormous red and gold pillows on either side make her look even more petite. She shifts to the side as not to disappear in the crack between the cushions, neatly folding her hands on her lap.

It’s more than strange to see her in this setting. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her. Maybe I should have dropped her off safely at the hostel and then gone to the police by myself. And here. I can’t tell what she’s thinking but she can’t be at ease.

This isn’t at all what I had in mind when I wanted her to expand her comfort zone.

“Okay.” I walk out backwards to make sure she isn’t too afraid about being left. She opens her mouth but I’m faster. “I’ll be riiight back; I’ll just—” I freeze when running into something. Someone. I gulp. “Hello, Madame.” My voice comes shriller than intended. If I wasn’t sweating already from all the running at the station, I am now.

Riza is studying my reaction somewhat anxiously. It fuels my courage. I can’t show fear in front of her, not when she relies on me to solve all of this! And really, I’m being ridiculous. So what if Madame’s pissed I interrupted her meeting? This is more important than a chinwag with some old fart!

“And here I thought Amelia was making it all up,” Madame slowly says. Yeah, right – she wouldn’t have come upstairs if she hadn’t believed it.

I turn briskly. She looks me up and down, exhaling smoke from her nostrils in a sharp sigh.

“Madame, we need your help,” I say outright. I won’t start coding in front of Riza – I trust her and she has a right to know. “Her luggage was taken.”

Madame catches me off guard by snatching my gesturing hand. I widen my stance to keep from retreating.

“What is this?”

My eyes dart to her hand around my wrist but I don’t see anything amiss.

“Have you been in a fight?”

Oh, shit.

“I didn’t start it,” I somewhat spit at the ground. I hate it when she sees right through me – how did she even know?! I checked my face and it was fine!

“Yet you still let them provoke you,” she tsks. “Honestly, I thought you were more of a man to—”

“How else was I supposed to protect—” I hesitate, “someone,” I stutter. Her eyes are blazing.

We don’t interrupt each other. We just don’t do that. She taught me to never talk over someone you respect and now I’ve broken that one golden rule. I feel hot all over. Why did she have to see the bruise? And in front of Riza! My palms are all sweaty. The hair on the back of my neck rises with how much my body is opposed to the defiance on my features.

Her fingers unclasp around my wrist. I take a small step back, my arm glued to my side.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. It takes every fibre of my will – of my manners – not to break eye contact.

She watches me; lets me simmer for a moment longer. My cheeks are burning.

Then she sighs, still with irritation, and I know I’m not out of the woods just yet, but she’s ready to leave it for another time. Her gaze falls on Riza.

“Where was the luggage taken?” she asks me.

“Upper Luza Road. The 07 came in a minute earlier, so it was impossible to pursue him.”

“Him?”

“About 1.70 m tall. Thin, wearing a trench coat and flat-front dark trousers – no break hem.”

“Break hem?”

Shit.

The corner of her mouth twitches upwards around her cigarette.

“We lost him at the main gate,” I lamely overplay her amusement.

Riza makes most of her clothes herself. Even the centre gathered ruffles on her blouses or the dozens of delicate pleats on her long skirts. She taught me all of those terms.

Frankly, when she sits there in the warm light of the study, serenely cranking her hand-turned chain stitch machine or even just sewing by hand, I can watch her for hours. Whenever my head hurts from stressing over alchemy I cannot solve, I watch Riza work. Sewing is one of my favourites.

I can see why it amuses Madame. I delivered such a sermon about disliking all that girly drivel of my sisters before leaving three years ago; I would die of shame if the others had heard me just now.

“I made Damien a sketch.” I clear my throat. “I’ll make another for the police. Riza can tell them what was inside.” I round the coffee table. Riza rises from her seat, bowing her head, lower than with the girls, when Madame’s eyes land on her once more.

“So then you are Riza Hawkeye.” She steps in front of the coffee table.

“I apologise for having failed to introduce myself beforehand.” Riza bows again, meeting Madame’s eyes from below.

“Nonsense,” she waves off, “you have nothing to be sorry for, young lady.” She’s addressing Riza but I know it’s meant to scold me. “Poor thing. Only just arrived in the city and now this – a proper Central greeting, I’m afraid.” She shrugs. Her regard is soft though. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so fond of someone she’s just met. Or anyone, actually.

Her head jerks to the burning stove behind her. I glance at Riza reassuringly before going to grab the kettle. Steam rises, so I fill a cup and drop in a teabag and a single cube of sugar.

“You’re going to need replacements for your belongings,” Madame muses aloud.

“Oh, please, I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Riza quickly excuses. She takes the cup in both hands. Her next words get stuck when she sees the teabag – that’s right, I don’t think they have those very often out in the countryside. It’s cute how quickly she can be fascinated.

“The girls will be happy to share their clothes. Roy-boy, get her some supplies from the bathroom, go on.” Madame nods her head at the door behind the couch. “And make me a sketch too while you’re at it.” She turns back to Riza when I disappear behind the bathroom door.

Damnit, this room needs cleaning too before I can let her enter. I’ve never been this aware of untidiness since before I moved into the Hawkeye household.

“Was there anything valuable in your bag?” Madame asks.

“Uhm, no, nothing.”

I return with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, a bar of soap and a comb that I fleetly free of hair. I go back to grab some sanitary pads and stuff it all in my washbag that I shake empty. I have no idea if she needs those yet but I don’t want to force her into asking.

“I kept my money and ticket with me,” Riza produces her little clip purse from the pocket of her skirt. She’s still in her school uniform. She’s going to need something for the night too.

“Actually,” I remember as I return, “I think your father put something in there.” I walk around the couch. Riza looks at me with huge eyes, a mixture of fright, regret and curiosity shining back at me. “I thought maybe he told you.” She shakes her head. “It didn’t look like anything special – maybe a note or some paper money.”

“A note,” she echoes. She doesn’t get hung up on the money at all, even though she could have used it desperately. I was surprised myself when I saw Master clandestinely slipping something faintly rustling into the bag. He barely too a full step out of his room to wish us a safe trip.

“Well,” Madame says, “they might just leave the bag somewhere in an alley if it’s not interesting.” She takes one last drag from her stub before crushing it in the nearest ashtray. I haven’t crossed the room to get my notebook yet when she’s already plopped a new cigarette between her dry lips. “I’ll have the girls spare you some clothing, at least for the night,” she adds when Riza wants to politely refuse. “Roy-boy, you prepare a room.”

“Oh, thank you very much, but I don’t want to trouble you any more than I already have.” Riza blushes lightly.

“She’s staying at the New Optain Square with her class.”

“Her class?” Madame raises a brow.

“The school is taking the three eldest classes on a trip. I wrote a letter,” I defend myself.

She isn’t impressed. “We’ll discuss this later. I’ll have Georgina call you a taxi.”

“It’s only six blocks away.”

“Says the boy who just lost his protégée’s luggage to a common thief,” she counters without blinking. The lighter shuts with a faint clink where she lit the second cigarette. “I have a customer to attend to.” She turns to Riza. “I will see to it that your belongings are searched for, but I cannot promise anything yet.”

I gulp. Maybe I should listen to her more often. I can’t under any circumstances tell Madame that I promised I’d find Riza’s things; she’ll make me live on the street until I can keep my word.

“Here is our number.” Madame holds out one of those high-lustre, extravagantly with golden edges printed business cards she only ever hands over once in a blue moon. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her actually give one away. “If there’s anything you need, give us a call. You have coins, right?”

Riza nods. She sets down her untouched tea to receive the card. Her eyes are sparkling as she tilts it to see the glossy finish. “Thank you very much, Mrs Mustang.”

“Chris will do.”

I want to scream. I mean, honestly? First that look, then the customer room, the damn card and now her first name?! Why not just whip out adoption papers and buy Riza a townhouse while she’s at it? I’m not even jealous – okay, I might be a little jealous – but seriously? Mostly, I’m just confused.

I like Riza a whole lot and I knew my sisters would too, but Madame? She has so many ‘daughters’ she could be pampering, so why now…?

I flinch when Madame snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Get your head in the game or I’ll send someone else to escort her to the hostel,” she reprimands. I grumble but no words make it past my tightly pursed lips. She’d bite my head off. “I’m going back behind the counter. I want that sketch before eleven – there might be someone passing by who could prove useful in this hunt.”

Chapter Text

It’s pitch black when we step outside. I take a deep breath. Surreptitiously. I don’t want Roy to think I didn’t like his home.

I often pictured what a ‘hostess bar’ might look like. I’d never heard of anything like it before, and when Roy explained it to me, I didn’t think anyone could grow up there. Now that I saw it – at least part of it – I’m still not sure what to think.

Everything is dim and quite stuffy. Cigarette smoke hangs thickly in the curtains and carpets, and every room seems to carry a different shade of dark green or purple or red. The hallways are so narrow, I had to walk behind Roy when we left. I’m glad he was in front of me – I was afraid I’d fall on the creaking old stairs. It’s amazing that such a place exists within a city this big and modern.

“We can take a taxi if you don’t want to walk,” Roy informs me.

He’s the one who amazes me the most. How did he turn out so cheerful and active in a place that… murky?

I shake my head. “Walking is fine.” I ache to walk; to run. I still can’t wrap my head around all this. My suitcase is gone. I was robbed and then brought to this strange place and now I have to get back to my class and I’m not certain how to feel about that. A strange woman allowed me to call her whenever. I’m going to have to go to the police.

Father left me a note.

My heart speeds up a little. I’m grateful for the crisp pace Roy sets. Our breaths are forming clouds as we make our way down the sidewalk in silence. There are streetlamps everywhere – all the pavements are lit. Back at home, I’d be lucky to spot a single light in someone’s window.

“I’m, uh,” Roy drawls, staring ahead, “really sorry about my sisters. They can’t always read the mood.”

“They’re really nice,” I assure. And I mean it – the bag of clothes he is carrying on his shoulder is proof. He doesn’t say anything about his aunt, so I suppose it was an all in all positive reaction on her part. It was hard to tell. I’m still afraid I’m overstepping boundaries by having her help me.

“And annoying.” He shrugs.

I smile at how he doesn’t seek eye contact. Not that I do. I think he might have been embarrassed, but I wouldn’t know why. I wish I had siblings that cared for me so dearly.

“I didn’t imagine them that much older than you, but I suppose it only makes sense.” I can feel his gaze dart to me. “Your aunt is very nice too. I like her.”

“She likes you a lot too – better than me anyway.”

“Don’t say that.” I frown up at him. “She’s only watching out for you.”

He tuts softly. “More like watching me. I know she thinks I don’t notice but I do. I’m not a child anymore.”

“She was worried.”

He lets out a mild huff. I know he’s toning his vexation down for me.

He is so vivacious; so spirited and bold and ardent. It’s incredible that sombre-looking place was able to nurture such a strong character. Or perhaps it simply wasn’t enough to dampen it. Either way, it only strengthens my belief – belief in him. He’ll sort this out. He’ll make this all right. I trust that he will.

Then why won’t my heart stop racing?

He walks me all the way into the lobby of our hostel. The only light is that at the counter. Apparently, everyone from my school went out to see how the moat of Central Command is lit up at night. They will be back for dinner, the receptionist says.

Roy coaxes her into giving me a second key to the room I was assigned. Like with everything else since I stepped foot into the train, I don’t know how I would have managed without him.

“I’ll pass by the police station on the way back,” he promises as he hands me the bag with his sisters’ clothes. It’s a strikingly bright red, adorned with little buttons and pin badges. I’m scared the clothes will look similar but I don’t tell him. I just nod, thanking him for the umpteenth time.

He’s so kind, taking care of everything. I don’t think I could tell it all over to the police without crying, but still…

The doors fall shut behind him. My shoulders sink. The lobby is quiet apart from the clock above the door. The bag weighs down my arms, but I don’t move for another moment. The receptionist is back to painting her nails with some pungent smelling lacquer.

Upstairs, I unlock the door to a room of three bunk beds. My stomach lurches at the thought of having to share a room with the girls from my class. I don’t even know who stays in here; if perhaps the older teens were split up. There are things on every bed. I can’t bring myself to shove any of the bags off, not even off the bed they apparently only used for dropping more luggage, so I settle for the floor.

Dresses. Frilly and bouncy or tight and revealing. They’re not my size and still don’t cover the entirety of my legs. And they’re bright – rich purple, flashy yellow, deep pink. I’ve never worn anything this… attention-grabbing. I’m glad I at least have my school uniform to wear outdoors.

I slide the bag under the bed and get up. I’m overreacting, I tell myself. Those women were more than generous and all I do is complain. I survived the train ride, I don’t have to go to the police, I was given a key to the room – I have a roof over my head and there will be dinner soon. I could do well to stop moping. It’s only the first day.

I lock the door behind me. I take a wrong turn and land at a glass door, leading out onto what must be the fire escape staircase. At the other end of the hall, I find the stairwell. Once in the dining hall, I select a table in the far corner and wait. Wait for my classmates and teachers to return, for dinner to be served. For courage.

And while I wait, all alone in silence, I wonder why Roy can’t be my age. Why he can’t be in my class and sit with me; distract me like he did on the train.

Something clatters in the kitchen a good half an hour later. Someone is moving about. A stove clicks into ignition, bringing water to boil. More employees enter behind the still closed counter, chopping on a wooden surface. It’s reassuring to know that even though everything here is strange and grand and crowded, people still only cook with water.

I spook when the doors swing open. I didn’t even notice the chattering in the lobby, the noise all but assailing me like a stampede of cattle as Mr Carr and Mrs Wright herd the students in. Pippa, Pheobe and Annabel spot me. Immediately, they whisper among themselves. They sit at a neighbouring table but far enough to signal they don’t want me to talk to them. I don’t.

Mr Carr passes my table. I stare at my lap, hard. I can see his feet linger close to me.

“Get up!” he yells.

I wince.

“You can’t sit there, you hooligan!”

I peer up to see him pointing at a boy who hopped up onto the serving counter. Mr Carr thunders away, shouting at the group of dirtily laughing boys.

“… totally in trouble,” Phoebe say to the others.

“I don’t think they noticed,” Pippa pipes up.

I dare to raise my eyes, looking past them to where the kitchen is opening up, starting to fill the serving counter. I freeze. Annabel is staring directly at me. I keep my eyes trained on the food, pretending to be focused on it, but I know she’s not buying it.

I let out a breath of relief when the girls get up to grab their trays. I wait until almost everyone is seated again – especially the older students – to get myself dinner. It really doesn’t appear all that different from at home – potatoes in a runny gravy with beans and a small chunk of white meat. It lacks salt.

The rapid beating of my heart has finally calmed when Annabel suddenly waves her hand.

“Over here, Mrs Wright, there’s a free seat.” She offers the table between mine and theirs.

My fork hovers above the plate. I already know this is to blow the whistle on me but I’m not prepared for how she goes like a bull at a gate

 “So, Riza.” Annabel turns to me as soon as Mrs Wirght has sat down. “I didn’t see you at all on our tour today.” She gives me that sweet, fake smile. “Where have you been?”

The other girls giggle. I want to disappear so badly.

Mrs Wright apparently didn’t feel addressed in the slightest, stabbing a potato.

Annabel goes on asking, “Did you enjoy a private tour with your roy-al stag?”

Phoebe and Pippa snicker at the scandalous comment. More and more girls around them interrupt themselves to listen. My cheeks flush. I feel hot all over. I want to leave.

“More like a stallion, you know…” Phoebe nudges Annabel, but the latter keeps going.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to leave the group. Did you have a special permit? Or did you sneak away on purpose?” She blinks at me in feigned puzzlement. The corner of her mouth twitches up into a smirk when Mrs Wright frowns.

She sits up straighter. I regard my food intensely but it’s no use. Mrs Wright might be a bit slow and always placid, but she isn’t stupid. No answer is an answer in itself.

The chair scrapes under the weight of her chubby frame. It’s loud enough for even the last table to hush down.

“Miss Hawkeye,” she says.

My face is burning unbearably. I shut my eyes briefly, but it doesn’t get better when I open them again. I lost all appetite.

“Did you walk off on your own?” She sounds surprised. She should be – I’m the only one who never fails to bring her homework or clean the classroom. Only now, it’s not in my favour. The way she gasps lightly practically sucks everyone’s full attention to me.

“I was—” I swallow. I’m gripping my skirt so hard, it wrinkles.

“You can’t run away in such a big city! It can be dangerous.”

Why did she have to say ‘run away’? Now I sound like some wannabe daredevil.

There’s a snort from the other side of the room. One of the boys at the other corner got up to have a better view of the spectacle.

I flinch when Mr Carr rises from his chair. “You went off on your own?” He weaves his way through the tables to mine. His voice is always loud; always booming threateningly.

Tears shoot into my eyes but I refuse to let them show. “I wasn’t—”

“She went with the man who lives at her house,” Annabel says above the whispers around the dining hall. They immediately flare up into animated gossip.

“A man?” Mrs Wright sounds genuinely concerned.

“No,” I try, but my voice fails me when Mr Carr scoffs.

“Explain yourself, young lady!” he somewhat hollers despite the fact that he’s right next to me.

I supress a sniffle. I really, really want to leave. How is it that the same title sounded so different coming from Chris Mustang?

“You went off with a strange man?”

Why must he phrase it so much worse than it is?

“He’s no stranger,” Annabel pretends to be helpful, “he lives with her, even though he’s much older.”

More gossiping explodes.

Mr Carr slams his hand on the table next to mine, making me jump. “Silence, the lot of you!” he bellows.

“Come, now, dear, let’s talk about this.” Mrs Wright gets up and takes my arm. I want to wrench it away and curl up in the corner. She notices me twitching and lets go. I follow her without protest though; anything to get out of here.

The doors fall shut behind us. It hardly does anything to drown out Mr Carr’s roaring to settle everyone down.

I gulp in the less stuffy air of the hall. It’s like an ice-cold shower in the middle of summer. Mrs Wright watches me with concern. I didn’t notice until now that I’m trembling.

“Miss Hawkeye, I’m very surprised at you,” she says disappointedly.

I sniffle. “I didn’t run away. There were so many people at the station that we lost the group, and then someone stole my luggage, and we had to go to the police…” My voice betrays me, fading into a squeak. I swallow the lump building in my throat. This is already so much better than in the dining hall but I can’t help it anymore when tears well up mercilessly. I knew I couldn’t retell it without crying. It’s bad enough my luggage is gone, but my father might have left me a letter in there!

“Who is ‘we’?” Mrs Wright asks.

“Mr Mustang and I. He is my father’s apprentice. He grew up in Central and he helped me find the way.”

“And where is he now?”

“Back at home, I suppose,” I mumble. I pray she doesn’t hear the ruefulness ringing in my reply.

“I see.” She ponders for a moment. I don’t glance up to see if she’s looking at me. “Then you don’t have anything to wear, do you?”

A shiver of relief travels down my spine. That sounds as if she won’t stay mad at me. “Mr Mustang’s sister kindly lent me some clothes.” I don’t tell her how many sisters he has or where they work. I didn’t know these kinds of establishments existed until Roy told me about them, but even if I hadn’t been there today, I am confident that not everything happening within those walls is entirely legal.

The door bangs open and shut. Mr Carr stalks over to us, surging with anger. “So what is all this about an illicit tryst with a stranger?” he shouts. I shrink into the corner.

“It’s not like that at all,” Mrs Wright soberly says. “She got separated and then her travel bag got stolen. She went to the police with the man from Central.” That’s what the village used to call Roy during his first months.

“A man twice her age in a big city!”

“Seventeen,” I whimper.

“Right,” Mrs Wright tries to sound appeased in front of Mr Carr but I can hear she has her doubts. I’m grateful she doesn’t pronounce them. “And the police are informed?”

I nod.

“Then you can go,” she tells me.

I don’t hesitate to obey. Bowing my head, I push out of the corner and haste up the stairs. I blank out the way their voices keep travelling; keep discussing.

The room is unchanged when I enter. I consider taking a shower now that no one is there yet. In the end, I don’t dare. They might come back while I’m still in the bathroom. So I wash up quickly and change into a dark blue nightgown with straps. My arms will be cold but everything else is too short for my taste. It’s wide around my chest and hips. I hurry to hide the bag under the bed again and then myself. Without touching anything the girls left on the lower bed, I slip under the covers and press myself to the wall. When after some time chattering and footsteps come down the corridor, I pull the blanket over my head.

It’s only the first day…

Chapter Text

It’s midnight when the girls finally stop chattering. There’s a bell tower somewhere nearby; that’s how I know. When it strikes one o’clock, I’m still awake. I lie there for what feels like another half an hour. I can’t sleep. My stomach is grumbling but even if I had something to eat, I don’t think I could. It’s too warm in here with six people. There are cars driving by outside all the time!

The curtains are closed but with the streetlamps outside, there’s enough light to find the door. I clutch the room key and my little purse to my chest as I descend the stairs on tiptoes. I’m afraid the heels of my shoes I clumsily slipped into might clack.

The lobby is dark, the reception empty. I hover with my coins over the slot of the wall phone. In my other hand, I hold the prettiest business card I’ve ever seen.

I lower my hand. Quietly, I sink into one of the chairs in the waiting area. I can’t call him in the middle of the night, even if they are open late. I shouldn’t be stretching their generosity. But I just…

I insert the coins before I can reconsider, then dial the number with great care.

If I can hear his voice for just a minute, it might calm me enough to be able to sleep. I know now at what time we leave here tomorrow for the city trip; I can non-bindingly drop a hint and leave it up to him whether he wants to come.

It’s going to make me stay awake all night, wondering whether he will, I know, but at least that might smother the sneery comments the girls in my room imprinted into my brain before going to bed.

The phone bleeps. I can hear my own breath echo back at me. This was stupid.

I wince when there’s a crackle.

Voices buzz from the receiver. Murmuring, laughing, merriment in the distance. There’s music and clinking of glasses.
“Yes, hello?” a female voice chants charmingly. I stare at the card in my hand.

“I, um…” I don’t have enough money to mess this up and keep dialling without knowing if I landed at the right place. “This is Riza Hawkeye.”

The woman on the line gasps. “Ohmigod, of course! Hang on, sweetheart—” She drowns in the background noise, the connection rustling where she must be holding the receiver away from her. “Roy‑Roy!” she sings with delight. “Get over here, honey, it’s your girlfriend!”

I blush three shades of red. Something crashes on the other end. Laughter carries over, mostly of women.

“Wow,” I can hear some man say nearby, “I’ve never seen him get up so fast.” More giggling.

Suddenly, his voice. Irritated, he stomps over, growling something unintelligible at his sisters who burst into more laughter. Still, it’s so different from my classmates. Playful, well-meaning despite the embarrassment they must be trying to make him feel.

“Fine, fine, just—” There’s a loud rustle as he grabs the phone and shoos his sister away. She begins to say something else but he cuts her off with what I can only guess is some rude gesture. The other girls are gasping and cackling with mischievous glee. “Riza?”

And then he is there, his voice so close he could be standing next to me. My heart skips a beat.

I adjust the receiver, my lips dry.

“Is everything alright? Did something happen?” he asks before I can so much as say my name. “Did the police get back to you? I can go there if you want.”

“No,” I edge in, “no one called.”

“Did you need—” He interrupts himself when one of the girls’ voices drifts closer. “Hold on—” The connection crackles. “—in a bit, okay? Give me—” Another rustle. I press the receiver to my ear.
The phone bleeps. He hung up.

I stare at the dial for an entire minute, the bleeping in my ear. Finally, I hang up too. He must have meant that he will call right back – in a bit, he said. He said it to me, right? I study the fee list for phone calls. No matter how many times I recalculate, I didn’t make a mistake; the connection didn’t end because of a lack of payment.

I slump back into the chair. My arms are cold. My legs are too. After five minutes, I bring them up to rest my chin on my knees. Another five minutes, then ten more. I give up on staring at the phone. My eyes drift shut. Now I heard his voice and it only upset me more.

At least he was awake, I try to tell myself. At least I didn’t rouse and disturb him – although I can’t be too sure about the latter. He might have been having a good time with friends or his family.

He sounded worried. I didn’t mean to—

I jump nearly all the way off my chair when someone raps on the window. My pulse shoots up, but when I turn, the shiver running down my back is warm and pleasantly fuzzy.

Roy grins at me through the window of the lobby. His chest is heaving.

I brush down my dress and go to meet him at the entrance door. I pull but it won’t budge. When it still doesn’t open after he tried from the outside, he goes back to the window.

I watch as he holds up his hand horizontally. With the index and middle finger of his other hand, he begins to imitate walking on his palm. His fingers sort of levitate, rotate and repeat. Then he wiggles the fingers that depicted what I presumed was the floor, confusing me further.

I must be frowning profusely, because he starts laughing. He wipes down his face, gaze wandering upwards as he tries to come up with a solution. He often looks at the ceiling when he does that.

He grins at me and I realise I must have been smiling at his failed attempt. I take a step forward and let out a long breath. His brows rise, and then the corners of his mouth when I draw a small question mark into the mist my breath created on the window. My smile returns at how he quietly cheers to himself at the idea.

Fire stairs, he wobblily writes into the fog of his own breath. I nod and return to the corridor upstairs. When I find the glass door leading outside, I wonder how he is going to come up here. I’ve never seen these types of fire escape stairs, but surely, they don’t go all the way down to the street to invite burglars.

Something clatters. My heart speeds up. He didn’t try to climb and fell down, did he? Even so, how would he have reached—

I blink twice when he’s suddenly there. In his usual dress shirt and trousers, he smiles at me. He’s also wearing a dark grey suit coat. The way his formal shoes give off a light shine catches my eye. He combed his hair.

He knocks gently on the glass door. It thaws me from my momentary trance. I open the door and slip through.

“Careful.” He catches the door before it can fall closed. At the same time, he brakes my momentum where I stumble out onto the iron grid platform. His other hand dives into the inside pocket of his coat from where he produces a white handkerchief.

In a single motion, he twists it around itself and secures the lock of the door to stay open a slot wide.

“That was ingenious,” he praises my idea from before. “I was about to run back and grab a pen.”

“I didn’t think—” I stop myself. I would feel even sillier if I told him now that I thought he was going to call back and then lost hope. He ran all the way here and would have even run back on a second’s notice. He didn’t even change shoes. “You look very dapper, Mr Mustang.”

He shoots me a pleased grin. “You get used to it.” He shrugs but I know he is content that I noticed his ‘upgraded’ attire. “Is this all they gave you? You must be freezing.” He slides out of his coat at once. I open my mouth to protest but before I get out a single coherent word, he has draped his coat over my shoulders. “Hold on, no…” He takes it back, holding it out. A gust of cold wind dampens my refusal and I gratefully slip into the sleeves.

“Thank you.”

“If I’d known, I would have brought you more.”

I shake my head. “It’s alright. I’m really thankful to you and your sisters.”

“At least one of us is.” He grimaces. He must be referring to the phone call just now. Remembering it too, I feel my cheeks warm.

We look down onto the dark alley below the stairs. Up ahead is another building. A few windows are lit from behind their curtains. I can see a silhouette behind one of them, somewhere above us. The cars driving by are a lot louder now. Police sirens are blaring in the distance.

We sit against the wall.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Roy asks after a pause.

“No. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“Not at all! I was actually wondering how… you were doing…” He scratches his nape. I smile to myself. “I thought maybe this way you wouldn’t have to spend all your money on phone minutes.”

“Thank you.”

“I brought some coins too.” He starts digging around his trousers’ pockets but I cut in.

“No, please don’t. I already owe you more than I could repay.”

“Nonsense,” he protests. “I’ve lived under your roof for almost three years now.”

“You pay my father rent.”

“I don’t pay for the deliciousness of your meals.”

My blush sprouts anew. “The food is included…”

“Or the gardening class, or afternoon teas or fixed buttons,” he tugs on his shirt for emphasis, “or swimming lessons.”

“I would never charge you for that.”

“Then we’re even, Riza Hawkeye.” He reaches over to tug at his coat, closing it around my drawn-up knees. I want to object and move away but surprise myself when I only laugh at the way he practically bundles me up like a wrapped gift. He wiggles his brows.

I tell him about the city tour tomorrow.

“That’s great. If you go to the National Central Library, you must be passing by the Toffee Treasure.”

“Toffee Treasure?”

He tuts and shakes his head. “What kind of a tour is that without including one of Central’s best sweets shops?” His voice drips with severe mock-disappointment. “I’ll show you, don’t worry.”

I don’t feel the wind anymore when it howls between the buildings. I feel so warm and calm, knowing that he’ll be there tomorrow.

“Thank you for coming, Mr Mustang.”

“Of course. I wish we could see each other’s buildings, then you wouldn’t have to pay the phone. We could morse each other through the windows – like that stalker up there.” He points at the silhouette still in the lit-up window.

“I’m glad my father asked you to come – I felt bad when he made you swear to stick around…”

“I hope you don’t think I’m only here because of the oath.” So then it really was that serious. An oath… Is that something alchemists do? “I’m really glad he let you come – there are so many things I can show you in Central! You always teach me these cool things – things about survival and housework and nature— oh! I flipped over my sister’s pancake today – in the air with the pan, like you taught me – and she went completely nuts,” he laughs. “She almost toppled over in her chair. “So she told the others, calling it beginner’s luck, but then I did it again! Madame was furious with how much they were screaming in disbelief but I think she was impressed too.” He puffs out his chest proudly.

It’s nothing in comparison to how much he has helped me with my stolen luggage and all, I think to myself, but seeing him this happy makes me happy in turn.

He boasts some more about how he baffled his sisters. I rest my chin on my knees, cosy in his coat and soothed with him talking my ears off. His hand on my shoulder spooks me slightly. He gives me a smile, and I know he’s right when he says I should be getting some sleep.

I’m astonished to find that I might be ready to find sleep this time.

“No, no, I insist,” he vehemently refuses to let me return his coat. “It’s not like I can’t snitch it back after the laundry.” He winks. The laundry back at home, I understand immediately. Always getting his way, isn’t he? Any favour he wants to grant, he will.

Just as adeptly as before, he swipes the handkerchief away from the lock, holding the door open for me.

“Milady,” he bows teasingly, gracefully handing me the handkerchief. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

And with that, he disappears down into the alley. I still don’t know how he does it.

I stand there for another minute, spellbound.

On tiptoes, I return to my room. No one rouses as I climb into bed and under the sheets, Roy’s coat snug around me. Coins weigh down the pockets. Of course, he smuggled some in there.

I fall asleep with my thumb tracing the embroidered ‘R’ on his handkerchief.

Chapter Text

I hear them coming before I see them. Chattering and giggling, the older girls are leading the way more than the teacher. He yells at them for it. Mr Carr. My lips twist into a frown. Not my favourite character in this ensemble.

Behind the first group of girls follow the younger ones, everyone mingled, and in the back, kept from dragging too far behind by Mrs Wright – Riza’s former classroom teacher – are the older boys. And the sixteen year old ones too – pretending to belong with the cooler, seventeen-year-olds.

I spot Riza before she sees me. Towards the back, keeping to herself and away from the flock of girls, she watches her lace-up ankle boots rather than the architecture around her. Architecture I can hear Mr Carr yell all sorts of facts about, however half-baked or wrong.

“Here, the buildings are replaced by white marble,” he is saying as they pass the old convenience store which’s front it covered in scaffolding. I bite my tongue as not to laugh. A snort comes anyway, drawing the attention of the younger girls to where I lean against a lamppost. “With such a heavy material, there is no way to build as high as in this… apartment block for example,” he gestures at the office complex on the other side of the street, “and so only few buildings can be turned into one like this.”

This time a short laugh slips out. Mr Carr looks up. He’s such a choleric, his nose is all scrunched up, fire dancing in his eyes.

“Quiet!” he hisses at the girls who started giggling. I wiggle my brows once in their direction, a most charmingly innocent smirk pulling up the corner of my mouth. That infects the older girls too, everyone whispering and giggling regardless of Mr Carr raising his voice.

Riza shrinks at the commotion. As she draws back further, her eyes flash about to where she would be safe – the poor thing – when her gaze lands on me. My smirk returns, but my eyes soften. Hers light up.

“You there, how dare you interrupt my teachings!” Mr Carr almost catches me off guard as he stomps over, pointing an accusing finger.

I raise a single brow. Took me years to perfect it but always draw’s a lady’s attention. “So sorry.” I slowly push his finger out of my face. “I couldn’t help myself with all the… alternative facts you were telling. It must be to quiz your students later; find the mistake, right?” I sound too patronising. Oh, but he deserves it. His hovering hand twitches. I think he’d very much like to strangle me right then and there, so I enjoy the social convention the public forces him into.

“… Mustang.” I hear the students whisper, then Riza’s name.

Mr Carr’s expression changes. He must have heard. “Then I suppose you could do better, Mr Mustang?” he sneers as he leans back out.

I return a poised smile I can see he wants to slap me for. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your—”

“Oh, but please.” He mockingly steps aside to present the convenience store. “Have a go.” His lips twist into what I find is too creepy a smirk for someone working with children.

I push off the lamppost and clear my throat importantly. I could tell them a fairy tale now and would win against Mr Carr’s crumbling ego anyway. No one’s talking, all eyes on me. I send Riza a quick smile before I start.

“This ‘marble’ here – valuable as it may seem,” I can’t keep from taunting him a little more, “is actually nothing more than the plaster cast you would wear on your arm if you broke it.” I step into the scaffolding and knock against the material. A hollow, not at all clacking or heavily dull sound echoes off. The students start to murmur. Some of them laugh.

Mr Carr is for once not storming over to quiet them – he is busy searing with rage, glowering at me. Any more and he’ll melt right into the manhole beneath his feet.

“Central is the most densely populated area in all of Amestris—”

“Mr Carr already said that,” some immeasurably bad boy-feeling sixteen-year-old interrupts.

“Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll bring home an A,” I tell him dryly. The girls giggle. The boy awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets, and shoves his friends away when they snicker. Good grades and being cool don’t mix for these kids. “Of the fifty million people in Amestris, roughly nineteen live in Central, thereof most in Central City. Impressively, it is also the best administered city.

“This paster here is part of that bureaucracy. With as many people as we are, it would be easy for terrorists or separatists to create a mass motion of concern. The solution the strong military presence enables is covering up any disturbances or mishaps for the public eye.” I knock against the plaster again. “And then reconstructing behind the scenes – in this case behind the makeshift façade.”

“Won’t people see anyway?” a girl asks lazily, loudly chewing gum. She indicates the building opposite that Mr Carr declared an apartment block earlier.

“The military is very careful to operate during regular working hours to feign normality, or they get the worst out of the way over night. That over there is one of the twelve administrative offices in Central,” I casually call Mr Carr’s nonsense out. He shoots me a glare, and I return it, unfazed. Crossing my arms, I lean back against the scaffolding. “Each administrative office has an undisclosed partner office where copies of all files are kept. They are therefore all archives as well as offices, so that if an accident occurs, nothing is lost.”

“Are there terrorists in town?” A younger girl squeaks, eyes big and watery.

“Sometimes,” I shrug, “although this has nothing to do with that.” I pat the plaster. “There was a police chase and the pursued car crashed into the shop.”

“Did you actually see that?” Mr Carr asks. The whispers die down.

I can’t help a gleeful smirk. “I was right over there when it happened.” I nod over to the other side of the road. The students gasp, excited whispering breaking out, annoying Mr Carr profusely. It amuses me in turn.

I’m getting a little too cocky though; that last thing was stretching the truth. I do know for a fact that some culprit rammed into the shop, and I came here after Kitty told me it had happened – I wanted to know if he had anything to do with Riza’s luggage. By the time I arrived around three thirty in the morning however, the military had already covered it up in this pseudo façade.

I can only just hide a wince when the door of the shop flies open.

“Stop knockin’ on the goddamn wall, you little brats!” A man in a dirty blue overall yells as he barges his way out the building. The students jump. One girl shrieks when the man’s eyes travel, narrow with irritation. They land on me.

I should get into betting more. If luck were a person, I would kiss her right now.

Hold my gimlet.

“Hold my gimlet!” he exclaims. “Roy Mustang!”

I step over the scaffolding to meet him. “Sammy!” We do our handshake. I don’t think any of the gaping students could quite follow.

“Mighty good to see ya, kid. Mighty good.”

“Likewise.” I grin. “I hope I didn’t rile up Rufus and Jack in there.”

“Ah, ya know them bad ears,” Sammy laughs.

“How’s Nat?”

“Tired,” he laughs again.

“As expected. When are you calling it a day today?”

“Six? I dunno, kid.” Sammy does this brief wag with his shoulders instead of a shrug. It transfers to his nose, his moustache wiggling along.

“Then I’ll be back before you close up; bring you two something to draw on. Sorry, you three,” I emphasise. It earns me the beaming smile of a proud, newly-minted father.

“You’re too much, Mustang,” he chuckles.

I wave him goodbye, turning to cross the street. Mr Carr huffs unbelievingly when the students just file in behind me like a bevy of ducklings. He pushes his way to the front.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he enquires. He knows there’s no way they won’t follow me now.

I stop where everyone can cluster the sidewalk without risking being run over by a car.

They keep on staring at all the cars and trucks in awe, especially the boys.

“Isn’t the next stop on your agenda the Third Branch of the National Central Library?” It’s not really a question and he knows. Maybe I should dial it down a notch, but he is so easy to provoke and he deserves it. I step away before he can yell at me again, scanning the students.

My eyes find Riza’s in the back. I leave Mr Carr fuming to go there.

“Hey,” I whisper once close to her.

“Good morning,” she says back softly.

“May I see the schedule, Miss?” I raise my voice even though I know I’m right. Which will piss off Mr Carr infinitely more.

“Of course.” Riza smiles shyly, amusement flashing in her eyes.

“The National Central Library is down Paumis Lane!” Mr Carr jostles through the students to shout at me from a shorter distance. Riza shrinks, something I won’t tolerate.

“We’re taking this way though,” I coolly tell him. Unsuspiciously, I put a hand on Riza’s back, guiding her out the other side of the cluster of snickering girls. “Or else everyone would miss the chance of a lifetime. The Toffee Treasure.” I start down the pavement, Riza by my side and her classmates on our heels. Mrs Wright is too preoccupied with making sure that no one goes missing this time, but even so, I don’t think she would protest. Mr Carr on the other hand is scrambling his way to the front.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh? We’re taking Paumis Lane, end of story! Get back—” He tries and fails to intimidate the older girls in the front to turn back. “Who appointed you as tour guide anyway?” he returns to attacking me.

It halts me in my tracks.

I turn back slowly. The entire student body practically stretches their ears towards us like gum under the shoe.

“You did,” I reply without batting an eye, “about ten minutes ago.” I want to gesture down the street; remind him of his embarrassing defeat at the construction site, but I set my jaw instead, giving my most obviously fake smile. Riza looks uneasy, so I will finally drop a gear. “But I would be happy to hand the job back over to you.”

He narrows his eyes but ceases spraying bloody murder from them.

“Right after the Toffee Treasure!” I can’t resist.

Mr Carr’s angry yowl is drowned out in maliciously jaunty babbling as the three classes follow me buoyantly. I make sure Riza doesn’t get swallowed up by them, setting a swift pace. She falls into step effortlessly.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” she hisses.

“These are my hunting grounds.” My stomach is aflutter at the way she bites her lip in amusement. “Also, this way I can run some errands on the way back.” I say with what I hope she takes as nonchalance. Her smile remains as she glances down, this time more to herself. My sisters would laugh at me for a hundred years and a day if they saw how Riza’s smile softens my features.

The students are giddy with excitement when I show them the Toffee Treasure.

It’s a mixture of a café and a sweets shop. There are tables to sit down and eat one of the many treats they bake freshly every day, but there is also candy. It’s snug and warm inside. Cocoa powder and rum flavouring coat our nostrils with every breath. The spiral staircase leading upstairs is strung with wrapped candy, sugar plum, pralines and more. Mobiles with sour wine gums dangle from the ceiling, meringue roses line the vitrine, and a small window allows a peek into the kitchen where the confectioner is pouring melted chocolate into moulds.

I’m about to justify my choice to the teachers as gift shopping opportunity for the families at home, when I notice that they’re gone. Both of them. I can only just spot Mrs Wright reaching for a bag of white nougat before she disappears behind a wall of enthralled teenagers.

“I think this was a wonderful idea.” Riza smiles up at me. I thought she had gone inside as well.

“I doubt their dentists will agree.” We watch some of the younger boys stuff their faces with the caramel cookies they just bought. “Or that any of that candy survives the trip back.”

“Even just until the trip back…” Riza looks fascinated and disgusted alike at the way Chester is eliminating an entire package of shortbread in two huge bites.

“So then I ruined the civic centre and lunch,” I joke.

“You always do strive to break a record.” She’s smiling coyly.

My chest expands with pride. Sammy might have just had a baby, but I made Riza Hawkeye smile.

“Anything else I should crash today?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, megalomaniac.”

I think she was about to nudge me playfully – as in, initiate physical contact of her own free will, can you believe it? – when a car’s brakes squeak to a brutal halt right in front of us. I pull on Riza’s arm out of reflex, somewhat shielding us behind the closest streetlamp, when I recognise the car.

The students have gathered inside the shop, squeezing and pushing to catch a glance onto the street. I let go of Riza, just when the front door of the taxi springs open.

“Damien!”

Chapter Text

“Oi, lad!” Damien calls excitedly. “Look what I found – apart from you, haha!” he laughs.

Riza follows me hesitatingly, but she is drawn to the taxi when I wrench open the rear door.

“My clothes…” Riza’s eyes light up.

They’re strewn across the backseat, some having fallen into the legroom. Inevitably so, considering Damien’s style of driving. I close the door the second I spot a piece of underwear. Her classmates are all behind us in the shop.

“Excellent work, Damien,” I praise, genuinely impressed. He cackles self-complacently.

“Found them in an alleyway, I did. Had the gang drivin’ all over Central when Johnny suddenly called. Said he’d seen someone toss a bunch of skirts in the dumps; thought he was a creep and a kidnapper.” He leans over the steering wheel, conspirative. “Turns out he was a thief!” He slaps his thigh, laughing.

“And the bag wasn’t there?” I glance from him to Riza where she’s inspecting her clothes again.

“No bag.” Damien shrugs his shoulders. “No creep either – by the time Johnny gave a shout, it was all abandoned. Apart from this cat – isn’t she a cutie?” He nods at me enthusiastically. Riza winces when there is, in fact, a black cat climbing out from under the seat. “Likes the buzz of the engine.”

“That’s great,” I sigh a little. It doesn’t look as if whatever Master Hawkeye left in there is among the clothes; Riza seems disappointed in her relief. Still, it’s a start. A damn good one. “Would you mind bringing them,” I lower my voice, “to the shop? Gina will be there now – she can gather them up and put them in a different bag for the time being.”

“You’re the boss.” He salutes me with two fingers.

“And tell Johnny thanks. Drinks are on me all night,” I promise.

Damien whoops, then honks jollily as he races away.

“First caries and now alcohol?” Mr Carr somehow materialised next to us despite the completely clogged shop entrance. I bite my cheek as not to jump from the sudden holler. Also so that I won’t provoke him any more than already.

I want to tell him how it was a private conversation, how I have friends, how I – they – solved the impossible, but somehow keep from pronouncing any of it.

“You’re a bad influence,” he grumbles.

“It’s not like I’ll be buying you any; no amount of gin would make you merry…” I can’t help it but at least I mutter. Riza coughs, alarmed. Mr Carr returns to the shop to yell at some students, so he couldn’t have heard. Not that it matters. He already looks about ready to poison me.

I walk with them to the Central National Library. While they explore and later eat lunch, I use the time to go back into town. I stop by Sammy and his colleagues with a small gift basket for him and his wife. I’m glad that I already have a reward for Damien and the others – although my wallet won’t be rejoicing with me; Madame will charge me every Cens since I made a promise.

I saunter down the street, hands deep in my pockets. Riza and her schoolmates will be going to Central Command by now. That’s not exactly a place I can smuggle myself into.

My feet are carrying me towards the shop, but I end up at the police station. Two military officers exit the building as I climb the stairs. Once they’ve passed me, I turn to watch them leave. To wear one of those uniforms… One day for sure.

It’s busier than it was last night. Perhaps the car chase and the destroyed convenience store.

“… around his age.” One of the three police officers behind the desk points at me. They’re all in uniform, two of them additionally wearing long black overcoats. “Hey, you,” the man raises his voice at me, “what are you doing in here?” He seems more alarmed than annoyed about a civilian walking in.

I approach the counter. “I apologise for any inconvenience. I just wanted to ask if there are any news about the theft I reported.” They don’t recognise me, so I have to specify. I’ve always kept a low profile when it comes to the police or state military. For Madame’s sake.

“Nothing new,” the man tells me as he dismisses his colleagues. Now he looks slightly vexed – as if he expected much worse – or better, to be honest. They must be on a case with only few hints.

I don’t pry or coax him into revealing details – not that he’d notice – when I look at the time. Five thirty. They might already be on their way back to the hostel. It’s not exactly close to the city centre; it’ll take them a while, but dinner is served at six.

Thanking the officer, I leave again. I don’t tell him that we found her clothes. Damien will have to give me some details about the location and alleged culprit first. And anyway, they might stop the search altogether if they know it’s ‘merely’ about the bag itself.

The street is empty when I arrive at the hostel. I take a peek behind the building to the fire escape staircase. Not sure why though. I simply… remembered us sitting there and had to go. One of the windows is wide open but I don’t know if it’s Riza’s. She didn’t turn on the light when she went back to her room.

Finally, I can hear the never-ending chitchat of Harper and Athena above the other nearly thirty children. Mr Carr is leading the way. His steps become harsher the closer he gets to the hostel – he must have spotted me where I stand under the awning.

I don’t greet him and he doesn’t greet me. I think for a second that he’ll spit on my shoes by the way he screws up his nose as his eyes drill into me. The girls giggle as they pass. I flash them a most fetching smirk. It doesn’t amuse the boys one bit, at least the older ones, when the girls whisper and swoon like clucking chickens.

My smirk softens into a smile when I catch sight of Riza. A couple of the girls turn, puzzled, disappointed but I pay them no mind. I meet her halfway. Mrs Wright halts next us where she formed the tail of the group.

“I’m guessing you will be picking up your belongings now?” she asks. Riza nods, as do I.

“I’ll make sure she gets back safely,” I assure. Mrs Wright studies the sincerity on my face for another moment, then lets out a sigh.

“Alright.”

“If it gets too late, we’ll eat at my place and then call a taxi.” My wallet is weeping, I know. To my surprise Mrs Wright agrees without protest. I almost miss out on the excited sparkle in Riza’s eyes that convinced Mrs Wright. Almost. My heart jitters.

Riza says nothing, but as we make our way to Madame’s establishment, there’s a small spring in her step.

“You’re back, good,” Madame greets us all the way from behind the bar. It’s early; not more than two customers have arrived yet. One of them – a man in his thirties – is lounging in the far corner, looking heartbroken over his third drink. Lia will be a good match for him tonight – she’s the most reasonable, compassionate one when someone’s on a downer.

The other customer must be that friend of Madame. He’s at least in his mid-fifties and has a pointy moustache. He is cradling his first brandy – I can tell by how crisp the ice is. He sways it around in its glass when Madame’s attention drifts to us. We approach the bar but halt at a distance.

“We’re hungry.” We have something to get done.

“Get changed first.” We have Riza’s clothes. “And Roy,” she halts me in my tracks.

My identity seems to attract the older man’s attention. He swivels slightly in his stool – what a child – but I’m not prepared for the sudden intensity in his gaze. It’s nothing like the one Mr Carr would give me. It’s not even on me, but Riza. And are his eyes watering?

Madame rasps, “I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I turn on the heel, leading Riza through the curtain and up the stairs.

That man’s eyes were blazing so keenly, it nearly gave me goosebumps.

“Me too,” Riza says. I almost stumble over the carpet. Did I say that out loud? I’m not yet ‘in character’ for business, because usually, the moment I enter the bar, I’m no longer a boy, I’m a spy. Why would I crumble so easily and – most importantly – about something so embarrassing?

Her eyes flicker to mine with uncertainty. She’s looking for confidence.

At that, my own discomfort melts away, replaced with every ounce of carefree positivity I can muster. “Let’s get changed,” I propose, “into your own things.” Her face lights up. “This shouldn’t be such a reason to celebrate…” I scratch my nape. If I hadn’t lost her luggage in the first place…

“No, I’m glad,” Riza assures me.

We find nothing in the parlour, so I peek into my room. It’s still a mess, but better than yesterday. My bed is almost free of laundry and books – and whatever else might be lurking beneath the rumpled pile that is my duvet. Regardless, it looks more than inviting, considering how little sleep I got last night.

Riza’s light gasp pulls me into the present. She went to the bathroom but is still standing in the doorway. I follow her gaze. Her clothes.

Wow, the bathroom is still a mess too, but at least someone dusted (most) surfaces.

That someone must have been busy all afternoon, because in small stacks or partially still drying on the washing line –strung from the shower curtain to the pipes on the opposite wall – are Riza’s clothes.

“Oh, how can I ever thank your aunt for this?”

“Not at all,” I laugh. “Just look at how neatly these are folded – come to think of it, that they’re folded at all. She couldn’t have had anything to do with it.” I reach up to flick at the clothesline. “I’m guessing Ruby.”

“That’s so kind of her…” Riza has her hands in front of her chest as if in prayer.

“Her shift starts at seven thirty. She’ll be around. And the others too.” I roll my eyes. Riza glances up at me, gratitude giving way to amusement. She must have heard in the tone of my voice. I really need to get my act together once we’re downstairs.

Especially since Madame wants to talk.

I also need to swallow my nerves, so I step past Riza.

“Well, Miss Hawkeye, you’re in luck. Our newest assortment of the most fashionable, Riza‑esque articles just arrived.” The corners of her mouth twitch up at the snobby voice I imitate. “Do feel free to try them on.” I tug on the hem of the long-sleeved nightshirt dangling next to my head. She reaches out for it. I dodge and disappear behind another. “Only today, you can profit from our one-time offer: everything that fits you is on the house.”

“What will you be wearing, Mr Mustang?” She weaves through my dangling hideouts to find me.

Dancing around them, I evade her. “Nothing special – maybe the same as yesterday?” I slide the nightdress down the washing line to cut her off. She steps aside but I’m already at the door again, ducking beneath drying fabric.

“And what would be special?”

I freeze when she’s right next to me. I don’t know how she did it. I also don’t know why I don’t wince away or elude her like before. Her face is so close to mine, I could count her lashes as she blinks up at me in equal surprise.

“Uh…” I straighten swiftly, bumping my head on the doorframe in the process. “I guess a three-piece?” I’m impressed I remember her question at all. I finger a button at my collar. “It’s not like we have to dress up or anything.” I sound stupid, at least I feel like it. “Just, I thought maybe you wanted to change out of your uniform.” I clear my throat, not knowing why. Honestly, what is wrong with me today?

“Of course,” she says as calmly as she always does. My heart falters and skips at the same time.

So then it’s just me.

I excuse myself before she notices any more than already.

Just me – what? I should be glad she isn’t a nervous wreck for once. And I am glad. The more I think about it, the more I’m at ease.

We’ve got her clothes back – they’re washed and mostly ready. She’s here and staying for dinner. (That was never a ‘maybe’, actually; I just phrased it like that in front of Mrs Wright.) Riza’s doing alright. She’s even relaxed enough to go along with my goofing around. We’re good. We’re getting there.

Now the only thing missing is her bag and Master’s mystery gift.

I go to my room and exchange my shirt for one that’s ironed, then throw over a greyish olive suit coat. Riza’s words about something special are ringing in my ears. This is still normal though – luckily so. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a frumpy bowtie.

I stroll back into the parlour where I tie my good shoes. I’m thinking of at least checking my hair in the mirror, when the bathroom door opens. My mouth falls open in slow motion.

Riza steps out in her usual lace-up ankle boots. She brushes down a dark green pleated skirt that ends mid-shin and slimly frames her waist above her navel. Flawlessly tucked in is a white button-up blouse with a high collar and close-fitting lace sleeves.

She fumbles to keep the delicate cuffs in place at her wrist, until she notices I’m there. And staring. A most adorable pink tinge highlights her cheeks.

“Is this okay?” she asks. As if that’s up for debate. I swallow at the sudden dryness of my throat. What a splendid job I’m doing of keeping it cool. “It’s nothing special, but I brought it in case we would be going to a theatre – the one you told me about.” Her eyes are shining up at me, seeking approval.

How did she hear me roll my eyes but doesn’t see how I’m practically leaking with enchantment?

Wait, what?

“You look lovely,” I say without thinking. She smiles shyly.

As usual, I find my courage by counterbalancing any change in her attitude. Clearing my throat meaningfully, I stick out my elbow. “Shall we?” I’m back to playing the snob.

Riza laughs softly with a strong exhale through her nose. She bows her head, then takes my arm. “Certainly.”

Chapter Text

“Aaah!” My sister shrieks in delight when she sees us descending the stairs. I twitch to release Riza but it’s too late. The stairs don’t offer all that much room anyway; the two of us fit next to one another only just so. “You. Are. Gorgeous! You even match!” She trills. “Oh, where’s the camera when you need it?” She looks around, but not for long, her with make-up heavy eyes drilling into us. “Absolutely adorable. I want to drop dead.” She fans herself with her hand.

“Madame still busy?” I try to sound nonchalant.

“The old codger just left,” she confirms. “Looked as if he’d seen a ghost, but kinda… happy about it? I don’t know – I’m getting the camera now.” She squeaks to herself in a rapture.

“Don’t bother,” I tell her but she’s already gone. I roll my eyes.

“I feel underdressed,” Riza whispers to me. Anyone would after seeing my sisters at work.

I give her hand on my arm a light squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about it.” I open the curtain a slot wide and we steal a glance into the bar. More customers have arrived, most of which I know. The bar is packed full of young but mostly old men. Madame is serving. The girls must still be in the back. “It’s not the looks that count. Granted, to the clients, they do, but not to us. That’s the whole idea.” I wink, lowering the curtain.

“Like an undercover mission,” Riza breathes to herself. I grin. “Was that Ruby?”

“Gina.” I can see why she thought that though, with Gina’s bright ginger curls and all. “The others should be in the dressing room. Let’s go see if anyone left us some dinner.” I lead her to the kitchen. I’m not too keen on another of those ear-drum assaults once they see us. Because, however unintendedly, we do match.

I open the door for Riza.

Everyone is there. Now I want to drop dead.

“Riza, dearie!” Ellie gets up from the table at once.

“You’re here – and my, don’t you look pretty!” Kitty joins in.

“Did you need something?”

“We could bake the cookies together!”

“With ten minutes left?” Flo raises a to-perfection-plucked brow towards the clock above the door.

They’re all in fetching cocktail dresses and heels that make them rival my height. Kitty is perched on a counter, skewering a piece of diced cheese with a fish fork as not to ruin her nails. Leaning against the counters in the corner are Ellie and Ruby, while Flo sits at the table with her feet resting on the opposite chair.

“Did you leave anything to eat?” I take a look into the fridge.

“Not if you’re too lazy to cook,” Kitty laughs.

I growl, only fuelling them into more laughter.

A hand lands on my head. “Madame will be waiting in her office,” Ruby tells me gently.

I purse my lips. I neither want to go, nor do I want to leave Riza here.

I watch them one after the other with threateningly narrowed eyes. I already know they’re going to do their utmost to embarrass me. They don’t even have to put in much effort or do it on purpose; it’s just in their nature. And they’re four against one – five once Gina returns.

If she finds that stupid camera, I swear…

“Honey, you wanna drink something?” Ellie asks Riza, opening the cabinet. The liquor cabinet. I shoot her a most unbelieving look. She grins sheepishly, and chooses a regular glass instead.

“I’ll make you a hot chocolate,” Kitty proposes.

“Definitely!” Ellie answers in Riza’s stead. “Get the cinnamon sticks.”

“Here, the sugar—”

“No, we’re using proper chocolate,” Flo gets up, her chair creaking. “This has to be good.”

“Right, right.”

I pull Riza outside for a moment. I can’t believe they’re actually making it easier for me to leave Riza here for a bit, not harder. A miracle.

“It’s alright,” Riza tells me before I can apologise. “Your meeting sounds urgent. I’ll be fine. I still need to thank them for the laundry after all.” She offers me a smile. It infects me without the rational portion of my brain getting much of a say.

“Okay.” I let go of her sleeve. “I’ll hurry if I can.” I glance at her one last time as I make my way down the hall. “Oh, and Ruby is the blonde one,” I say before disappearing around the corner.

The door to Madame’s office is shut. I knock.

“About time,” she croaks from inside.

I let myself in. A wave of cigarette smoke rolls over me. That’s a bad sign. I’ve kept her waiting.

She sits behind her giant solid wood desk. To the left is the window – closed, curtains drawn – underneath a console table with nondescript glasses and empty phials. Inside the drawer are bottles with partially lethal liquids, depending on their dose. With all the experiments she has done over the years, she can spot most drugs a mile away. Anything to protect her girls.

It’s how I’m so good at chemistry, and how I developed an interest in alchemy. Anything to protect the girls.

The carpet muffles my steps as I approach. She holds my gaze and I understand. I sit down.

The chair isn’t dusty when I run my fingers along the curved oak frame. Someone was in here before me, perhaps several times throughout the months of my absence. At least recently, she has had someone in the office – it must be serious.

My first instinct is to run back to the kitchen and make sure Riza is safe. I grab the underside of the chair to force myself to stay still.

“You took your sweet time, so I’ll get straight to the point.”

“Is it about the man just now? I know he’s in the military.” I saw his car two streets down. He’s from the east and of adequate rank.

“No, he’s none of your concern.”

I frown slightly. It’s unlike her to keep someone from me.

“You were out with the kids today, correct? Was there anyone following you?”

My frown intensifies. “Not to my knowledge.” Why would anyone be following me?

Madame doesn’t answer my unspoken yet obvious question. Instead, she takes her cigarette out of her mouth and leaves it in the ashtray. She hasn’t even finished it. I feel a certain pressure under her gaze; a weight that something’s coming. Something seriously concerning.

She opens the drawer at her side and sets down a bundle between us. The cloth falls loose as she does.

A revolver.

“There have been two kidnappings in the past four days. Both of the targets were between the age of fourteen and fifteen. One of them has been returned to her family against a handsome sum of money. They had to sell their business in order to pay it.

“The other victim was found dead the moment the family involved the police.”

I want to swallow but my mouth has dried out. I return her hard gaze with a light quiver in mine.

“Was the other one—”

“A girl too, yes. Fifteen years old.” My heart shrinks. “She was taking a bus alone to see some relative but never made it there.” She slides the gun closer to me.

I exhale under my breath to steady my hand, then take it firmly.

Madame taught me how guns operate. Every few years, she makes me prove I didn’t forget – how to cock and decock the hammer, how to load them. I could dismantle it here and now but I’ve never actually fired one in my life.

It rests heavily in my hand.

“Is this why everyone’s here?”

She raises a single brow. As if I wouldn’t notice.

Gwen is busy with her baby and not returning for work anytime soon. Janine is out in the field to see some Xingese informant. Lia has her free day today – as does Flo, yet there she was. Apart from Lottie, that’s the whole squad. Five out of nine – currently eight. Madame’s being wary.

“There was someone at the window of the apartment building next to the hostel,” I suddenly remember. “Around two o’clock at night. Whoever it was must have seen us on the fire escape stairs. Kept watching for as long as we were there.” That stressed-out police officer makes sense now; he must have thought I’d report another victim. “A window of a hostel room was open tonight.” Damnit, I forgot to check if the light across the alley was on again…

Madame rubs the flab under her chin with two fingers. She gained weight again. “Being in a group can give them safety, but they’re a perfect target if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Riza’s classmates are tourists from the countryside – what ransom can you expect from farmers?”

“I’m afraid that’s not a question we have the luxury to ask. The poor girl fell from up high, but whether it was an accident or the kidnappers’ overhastiness hardly matters. Fact is she’s dead.” Madame slams her fist on the table. “I don’t want you leaving Riza by herself for even a minute.”

“Self-evidently.” I’m offended she would even suggest I let Riza walk back alone. I know what she means though – looks like I’ll be tagging along that school trip for a while longer.

“Keep your eyes peeled.” She dismisses me, lighting a new cigarette. “An accomplice could be lurking anywhere.” She exhales through her mouth, her words fading into the cloud of smoke, veiling her face.

I close the door behind me, supressing a cough. My hand lingers on the handle. Deep inhale. Deep exhale. I stand there for another moment. With my waistcoat hiding it away, the revolver is tucked safely into my belt. The handle brushes my lower back with every step to the kitchen, as if to remind me of its presence; of the danger lying in wait.

The girls have left save for Flo. Riza is at the counter, her pretty lace sleeves rolled up as she kneads dough. She’s wearing an apron to shield the front of her skirt from flour. The oven is buzzing around some casserole dish.

“You don’t have to cook here.” I sound indignant as I stalk over, because, really? They’re making her work? “Would you mind?” I throw Flo a glare.

“I was going to say the same thing – don’t you mind me.” She reapplies her lipstick in a slow, deliberate curve.

“It’s alright, Mr Mustang, I wanted to,” Riza says, having seen my disapproval coming. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. I hand her a fresh towel. “Your sisters were so very kind to me. They insisted I keep this!” She presents the hand-crank eggbeater. Her voice betrays her reluctance to accept the gift, but her eyes are sparkling like the starry sky. She loves the old thing to bits. “So I wanted to repay them somehow, even if it’s not nearly enough.” She lowers the eggbeater.

My shoulders drop alongside it. I didn’t mean to dampen her spirits. How one rickety old eggbeater could make anyone this happy is beyond me, but this is Riza. Anything she likes, I want her to have it.

Before the mood really goes south, I point at the dough she was kneading. “Sweet yeast bread?”

Her eyes light up again. She nods.

“And…” I bend down to peek into the oven. “Potato gratin?” And so quickly!

“Potato and pumpkin.” She crouches down too to watch our dinner. “I used this for the cream!” She holds up the eggbeater again, beaming a smile.

My heart skips a beat with how happy it makes her. I should have bought her one long ago.

“Need help with that bread?” I ask her, feeling less watched where we squat in front of the oven together, the table shielding us from Flo’s view.

Honestly, Riza makes me feel like a child again – and I mean that in the best way. Being here at the bar, practicing my spying skills, schmoozing snitchers and playing the unaffected adult in the presence of my sisters and aunt… I forget how much fun it can be to simply be myself.

“We could braid it,” she lowers her voice because I did.

“You know, if you wanted to do them a favour, you should make that sweet potato shepherd’s pie. They’re crazy about sweet potatoes.”

“Are you sure this is still about your sisters, Mr Mustang?” Amusement twinkles in her eyes.

I bite my lip. Last time she made that, I gobbled that whole thing down. It’s a good thing Master doesn’t hang around anywhere but his study – I’m rather sure he would not have been content with me devouring our meal for the next days in a single go.

My lips curve into a smile. It disappears as soon as we get up. Flo is snickering, watching me with teasing curiosity. I keep a straight face until she makes herself scarce.

Finally able to relax, I help Riza knead and braid the dough, and then grease the baking tin. She gasps softly when it’s time to make the egg wash. Proudly, she uses her newly acquired gadget.

The delicious, hearty scent of the casserole wafts into the kitchen when we shove the bread into the oven. I wipe down the counter and hop onto it. Drumming my fingers, I invite Riza up too. Once seated, she brushes off her hands on her apron.

“I’m sorry if they pestered you.” They already pestered me all night; I can’t imagine these twenty minutes have been very pleasant.

“I like them,” Riza says in that not yet shy but angel-tender tone she has. “They were very kind to me. They asked me all sorts of questions.”

I cringe.

“But it didn’t feel at all like I thought it would. They reminded me of you.” She glances up at me from below, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I told them that we talk.” She says it as if it’s something out of the ordinary.

Thinking about it, I realise that it probably is. Not just probably. Riza doesn’t have friends, not really, and she never stays at school long enough to actually confide in a teacher like Mrs Wright. A few neighbours ask her how she’s doing every once in a while in passing, but that’s about it.

I don’t remember her having had a proper conversation with Master either. Ever. And I’ve lived under their roof for almost three years now.

“What did they say?”

“They giggled mostly.” She glances at her dangling feet.

I cross mine at the ankles. “They do that a lot…”

“Was it okay that I told them that?” She looks up at me suddenly, her eyes shimmering pools of misgiving.

At the sight of hers, mine grow indefinitely softer. “Of course. It’s not a secret that we talk.” I shrug to appear casual but bring my shoulders down again. She’s being so open; something she doesn’t do with anyone else… “I never told them, because they only annoy me about it, and, well… I guess I like our talks being… ours. Just ours.” I dare to peek at her.

She’s watching me with those spellbindingly sincere brown eyes.

My cheeks feel warm. I let my gaze drift aimlessly towards the opposite wall. “I mean, I don’t really, like,” I blow raspberries, “tell them things; we don’t talk like—like the two of us do.”

“I didn’t tell them what we talk about.”

“Uhuh.” I stare at the clock without reading the time.

“It must have been boring for them, I suppose. Asking me. I’m sorry if it might make them want to lure it out of you.”

“It’s fine.” I’m so embarrassed at my stutter, I do it again right away. So much for me acting my age around her – what am I, twelve?

“But I’m still glad they asked. I never…” Riza fades out.

I hold my breath. My entire nervous system jolts when her head drops to my shoulder.

“I never thanked you for listening to me,” she quietly says.

I swallow and pray for the drumming of my pulse in my ears to quiet the hell down so I can hear her.

“I’m grateful you talked me into coming, Mr Mustang. I’ve really enjoyed spending time at your home.”

My chest deflates like a flabby balloon at the sheer cuteness of her.

I don’t even process that I just thought that when the clock comes back into focus. It’s gotten late. We need to eat, then I have to bring her back to the hostel. The gun in my belt feels as if it’s boring into my back, sending a twist through my bowels.

I’m not sure she would still be grateful if I told her what’s going on…