The solitary call of the blackbird echoed across the dripping tree branches. The air hung still and heavy. In the quietness, each drop and gurgle melded together in a gentle white noise, like a warm glove around the mind. Shame about the blackbird.

Riza dragged herself gently from the cocoon of the blanket and pulled on her still wet clothes. Sleep scratching in her eyes, the return of the damp clinging to her skin, it was very unhappily that she wrestled her sopping boots back on before nudging Roy's leg persistently.

"I need to go get something," she whispered loudly.

"Hm?" he mumbled, rolling over and shoving himself inelegantly on his elbow, eyes squinting at her sleepily.

"I'm going," Riza repeated, standing up and brushing her trousers down. "Wait here for me to return. Don't try to go back to the manor on your own."

Roy sat up, the blanket falling around his waist. "What...?" he began mumbling, scrambling to rub his eyes clear. Riza stepped out onto the ledge. The rain had loosened smaller stones through the pass back to the woods. The sun wouldn't rise for another half hour, and the pale moonlight had long disappeared, but the sky was paling just a little. If she was careful, Riza was confident she could make it down to the tree line without incident.

Roy didn't call after her. She half-slid, half-clambered down to the woods and slogged her way, shivering anew, back across the swollen stream, and onto the road. It was half washed away, strewn with debris. Riza's eyes softened - the milkman wouldn't be coming out with the road in this state.

Well, enough was enough. Every inch of her was covered in mud and leaves and damp. She hadn't eaten in hours, and she'd spent the night in a storm. Whatever story Berthold wanted to tell his sister, she was going inside and putting something dry on.

The house stood darkly against the pale indigo sky. As she drew nearer, the windows and porch took definition. The lantern above the door hadn't been lit all night, but below it, seated on the step was a floppy brown coat.

Riza walked past the open gate, stepping over puddles until she reached the wet and muddy porch. She climbed to the top step where her father slouched and sat down beside him, the length of the step between them.

Berthold exhaled through his nose; his head dropped to his chest. Riza watched him dispassionately, waiting.

The gutter dripped rhythmically onto the earth. Berthold set his eyes on a far distant horizon. "She's not your family. She's not even mine." His jaw was tight, his explanation coming through his teeth. "She's only a deranged woman with little grasp on reality."

Riza remembered how the woman spoke her father's name - playful, like a teasing caress. "Who is she?"

Berthold wanted her to look away. Riza staunchly refused. He owed her the truth. She wouldn't leave. Not without it.

He struggled, fighting with how best to answer her and bring her resentful demands to an end. He'd paid his penance. His hair was plastered to his skull and neck, the worn robe he wore when he felt it was too chilly inside heavy with recent wet. Riza's chest tightened. He'd gone looking for them, probably when the rain started dying down. He may have even gotten so far as the woods. But he was no match for the hike on a good day in broad daylight, and he knew it.

He also knew intentions and limitations didn't matter when someone was hurt because of your actions, so he sat all night in the rain out of solidarity and punishment.

Riza never wanted that. For all his genius for mathematics, calculus, and metaphysics, Berthold had yet to learn that punishing himself accomplished nothing, and he could avoid doing it all together if would simply stop treating her like everything he told her would kill her! "Father-"

"Before your mother..." he blurted out, silencing her. "I met Hana. Hana was willing to test the very boundaries of thought on what alchemy was. She made massive, highly speculative arguments, mostly about ecology and the flow of life." His brow pulled together in a bitter scowl. "I found my question, the formula I have spent my life trying to crack, based on a proposition she made in a throwaway example."

Fire. That's what Berthold had given his life to understanding. Not the flame itself, or even the heat it gave off, though he despised the cold. He certainly wasn't enthralled with fire's destructive capacity, either. It was the idea of breaking it down into manageable numbers. Numbers that would control the uncountable element. He'd devoted his whole life to cracking it.

Riza remained still, listening, waiting.

"It turned out her ethical boundaries were mostly a front. I broke off contact, and we went our separate ways."

Yes. This story also made perfect sense. Riza had, in fact, heard a rant or two about the alchemist who inspired Berthold's research performing increasingly dangerous experiments on unwitting neighbors. Berthold had raged that it was alchemists like that who ended up being used to justify the state's control of alchemical knowledge.

He should have told her about this woman before. "Why was she here?" Riza pressed, unrelenting.

"She's losing her mind, what does it matter?" Berthold snapped. "I told you, you shouldn't know the details of my research. It's not safe-"

Riza stood up. "No. No, it's not safe. But last night, neither was I. Or you, or your student. The world is not a safe place, regardless of the people acting in it. We need to look out for each other. You said that."

She forced herself to breathe and unclench her fists. Once you shouted, you lost the fight. It was the same as throwing a punch during recess. Her heart pounded. This wasn't the first time she'd faced Berthold down, but the rush of defiance and trepidation was as intoxicating and frightening as ever.

"I respect your boundaries to the best of my ability," she went on, her determination not enough to hide the tremor in her voice, "but I won't put any of our health on the line again. Not when you won't tell me why you're putting me in danger."

"Don't threaten me!" Berthold rose like moving stone in the slow dawn, filling Riza's entire view. "You're still a child! So arrogant and immature! How dare you think you know better!"

Riza kept her face blank. God, but she was so angry and tired, she despaired as Berthold's towering rage spread its arms towards her and adrenaline charged through her veins to meet it. Look the monster in the eye, dead on, and withstand the assault.

"While you run around and climb trees and put books on shelves in petty excuses for libraries, there is an entire network out there of powerful people who hold the power to snuff out your existence with a snap of their fingers!" Berthold hissed. "You don't understand the politics! But you shop with their currency..."

His tone became sneering. "The Fuhrer, generals, state alchemists... They buy good men and women, trick them into selling their souls in the name of patriotism and the greater good of the people when all they want are tools to use and dispose of on their way to amassing more power and wealth."

Riza didn't so much as blink. This was how it started if she played the game right. A mean, exhausting, rigidly turn-based game, where he got all the shots.

"And if those leeches weren't a good enough example of humanity at it's finest, there are people like Hana!" He threw an arm out in mock courtesy.

Bingo.

"All the money in the world, no desire to share it, and a lust for fame and adoration! She is a genius, with a mind centuries ahead of our era, and with all that knowledge she uses her ability on weaker people who couldn't have known better or protected themselves... People like her only value life as it suits their needs."

If that were true, the people of Amestris needed good, intelligent men and women willing to do the hard work and become powerful enough to do something about it. "You don't fight to help them." The words were past her lips before she could stop them. "The creed 'Alchemist, be thou for the people' needn't only apply to state alchemists."

"I won't play their game!" Berthold shouted. But the anger melted immediately, the words hardly fading over the fields before he had dropped back onto the step, eyes turned away in submission. "I won't do it. All a man has, at the end of the day, are his principles."

"He also has his legacy," Riza replied, unable and unwilling to make her tone more sympathetic. He didn't need to agree with her - in fact, Riza was sure he wouldn't. But he had to hear her.

Berthold stared bleary past the trees. "Roy. He'll be my legacy. And you. My principles will live on with you."

Riza took several deep breaths against her simmering disappointment. She couldn't share those beliefs. How could he commit himself to hiding from the world when there was something he could do to help?

"I don't see the world like you do," she finally said, bowing her head in apology.

"What are you talking about?" Berthold grumbled dismissively.

How could she explain something she felt only in the moment?

Jenny cried on her shoulder by the lake as she told Riza she was moving away. It was the first time either of the girls had cried in front of each other, and Riza had been glad for Jenny's tears because she knew she'd miss her, too.

The anticipation of opening the letter that she'd snagged and hidden from the morning post, that made four hours of arithmetic crawl with sadistic slowness. The relief and delight at the polite, serious tone and wealth of information cleanly penned by her grandfather's, the general's, hand.

The spike of pride when her bullet hit its target dead on.

Those moments were valuable. They were the whole point of living. When was the last time Berthold had stopped being terrified of everything and everyone long enough to have a moment?

It didn't matter. He wouldn't understand. He'd told her as much as he was willing to, and she didn't have the energy to drag anything else out of him.

"Will your colleague be coming back?" she asked.

"You don't need to worry about her," he said tonelessly, staring out across the fields again. "One of her experiments went wrong years ago, knocked her memory right out. She sometimes remembers a few things and gets lost on little journeys. Her private orderlies picked her up when the storm broke."

The truth that was probably a lie. Riza stepped off the porch and walked away from him, back to the woods. The last of last night's clouds were disintegrating in the blushing east. "Put something dry on, and start the kettle," she said, reaching the gate. "When I've brought your student back and we've all had hot baths, I'll make some food. I meant what I said, father."

She closed the gate behind her, her wilted pride reinvigorated when her voice didn't tremble this time. "I won't put our health at risk if you don't tell me the reason. It's not a game, to me."

ooooo

Roy was waiting at the far bank of the overflow bridge, the duffle bag that housed the rifle slung on his shoulder, clearly expecting to be yelled at.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait!" he started saying, cutting himself off when Riza wordlessly crossed the sludgy bridge, took the bag from him and headed back through the bright crisp trees towards the shed. He stayed silent, letting himself fall behind her just like on the way to the market, graciously leaving her to her thoughts.

Not that she had any left. The rest of the day was planned during the walk back to the cave. Check on Widow Coleman after breakfast. Take the rifle to Mr Bailey's on the way. Bring the milk back before supper. Rewash the fleece and blankets on the line. She had tasks assigned for the two men, too, scrubbing the mud from the porch, yard, and walkway. At the moment, her mind was blankly running on automatic. Nonetheless, she appreciated the silence, and he was kind enough to let it last until Riza had stored the duffle bag in the now lopsided shed and were heading back to the manor.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his tone carefully bland.

"The manor is in a bit of a state after the storm," Riza told him, hating every word she spoke. "There's a lot of work to be done."

"Oh," he said. "I see."

Thin streams of light began to reflect off the droplets.

Roy broke the silence again, his voice light and casual. "Yesterday, being your assistant, spending the night in the rain. That wasn't a training exercise."

That was it. Riza just didn't have it in her anymore. She hung her head, not caring that she'd just given the lie up. It wouldn't help, wishing she could close her eyes and disappear but she inhaled deeply, wanting it anyway, more badly than anything.

Roy caught up to her side, bending down to look at her face. He pulled back, taking her silence as agreement again. "I suppose Master Berthold didn't want me around at the manor for the day," he continued just as casually, a tiny frown on his lips, "The question is, is it alchemy related, or adult world related?"

What was he doing? Riza watched him count his options out like he was revealing his master scheme. He turned to her, a laugh on his lips, though his eyes were unusually tight.

"Master Berthold is pretty close-lipped about how far along he is in his research on how to control fire," Roy mused, "He could have spent the day doing experiments or testing some of the theories we talked about. On the other hand, he's also a proud man who wouldn't want me to be involved in the private running of his estate."

Astute observations, Riza noted, letting him carry on his detective work without interruption. This was probably how he had spent the last three months analyzing her and her father, she thought, her interest heightening.

"You were pretty adamant we couldn't spend the night somewhere dry," he drawled, "but that wasn't the initial plan. His plans must have taken longer than he thought, so you had to keep me away for the night. My money's on experiments." He slowed his walk, his expression becoming less playful and more reserved. "Will he be angry about how we spent last night?"

"Yes, probably."

Roy looked chagrined. "I'm sorry to put you through so much trouble."

The squelch of wet undergrowth was replaced by the crunch of gravel as they turned onto the road before Riza stopped. Last night wasn't fair at all. Not to her and, especially, not to Roy. His hair had dried in a disarray of dirt and leaf bits, and his clothes gave off a damp, old odor. A thunderstorm wasn't a small event when you had to weather it head on! Roy Mustang had come all the way from Central to learn alchemy, not made to sleep in a storm! Riza couldn't bear it.

She rotated to face him and bowed low. "I'm sorry for endangering you while you are under my father's care. It was our job to make sure you're safe while you are here, and I failed to do my duty and plan ahead better. Please accept my apology."

For a second, she thought he'd laugh at her, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline with his growing confusion. "Alright," he replied uncomfortably, his pale cheeks dusted with pink. "You did well as a survival guide, though," he added, forcing the sentence to sound less awkward by making it matter-0f-fact.

It forced a smile to Riza's face and she carefully suppressed it, turning back to the road feeling a little lighter. "You make a terrible partner in the wild."

"I..!" Roy spluttered. "I was raised in the city! Things are more sophisticated there!"

City brat, she thought. It was actually a struggle to keep her face neutral.

"If you'd been a better teacher-" Roy started.

"What aspiring young alchemist apprentice, under the tutelage of a flame alchemy specialist doesn't know how to start a fire?" Riza demanded.

Roy reeled like she'd slapped him. Drama queen that he was, he bounced right back, sheepishly watching her from the corner of his eyes. "You're 14, and you knew exactly what to do to get us through that storm when everything was going wrong. You had to look after me."

That was true. He really should know more for someone his age. Riza shrugged. "I didn't mind it so much. You were good company. Though, when I tell you to stay put, please listen to me. There aren't any bears in this part of the north, but it's still dangerous for people who aren't used to the area."

"I know, I'm not a kid," he said sourly. His eyes suddenly lit up and he turned to her earnestly. "Then teach me."

She stopped when he did. "What?"

"Let's make it a real thing!" He met Riza's bewildered eyes with conviction in his own. "In order to perform alchemy, the alchemist must be able to use their mind and body to its fullest potential! Train my body! Teach me how to survive in the wild!" With a wide step he was in front of her and on the ground, head planted on the floor.

"Don't you already have enough teachers?" Riza asked, her cheeks reddening in astonishment.

"There's no such thing!" he announced, bowing lower. "Please, Madame Riza! Please teach me!"

Riza openly stared at him, not bothering to hide her furious blush. There was a high probability that he was mocking her, but… he hadn't looked quite so pale when he first arrived in Yiug, had he? Country air suited him as well as it did Berthold. He could probably use a physical coach. The image of herself barking orders at Roy as he ran tracks around the field gave her a shudder. No, that was her father's job. She couldn't do it. No, nope. "No," she said and walked past him.

The gravel scattered as he ran up beside her. "It never hurt to ask." His voice was pleasant and offhanded, accepting her rejection without complaint.

The walk had grown increasingly pleasant as the sun-dried their clothes and hair. Riza felt it when their roles changed; Roy's foot crossed the threshold of the house and Berthold bore down the stairs from his study in a flurry of business. The pupil and the master, and the ghost of a pupil past. Riza left them, heading straight to the bath. Back to uphold the rhythm of the day.

Two weeks later, Riza came home to the aftermath of an explosive row. Roy might respect his teacher, but he was still a boy after all, and Berthold abided no idiocy in his presence. At midnight, she found Roy banished by the shed, fishing pensively in the cool summer breeze.

"Round two for sleeping outdoors?" he called at the sound of her feet crushing the fallen leaves.

Rather than reply, Riza picked a spot near him, stretched out the blanket, and unpacked buns and cheese she'd snuck out her window.

In a swift, hard motion, Roy staked the fishing rod in the ground and scooted to the blanket. Riza left him to his light supper, setting up her cleaning equipment. The grill still needed a good scrub after they'd left their dinner on it. Since she was going to be here all night, now was as good a time as any.

A long hour passed. Roy shifted to occupy a smaller corner of the blanket when Riza finally set the clean grill aside and lay back, gazing at the clear sky. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked.

"Someone has to make sure you don't die in the wild," Riza replied, breathing in the soft, summer breeze, listened to the melody of the crickets and the babble of the stream. "And you're right. It's a good night for camping." It'd been a while since she appreciated the air out here.