My latest personal project lead to me lounging in a jail cell. I was in civvies, going by the name 'Angel' once again. I was caught in the vicinity of something or another that I'm told was illegal. It was complete bullshit but I hadn't stopped when I hear the sirens and calls to 'get down'. It didn't register in my brain that they would be talking to me, especially not in that tone of voice. I had forgotten that I was in skinny jeans, a purple shirt, and my tan coat. No military ID on me anywhere. I'd wanted to fly under the radar so I could pick up info about the latest drug kingpin who thought he could fuck with my city, but not so undercover that even my own subordinates didn't recognise me. I had let the Madame have one of her girls scrounge up some makeup for me, so I had dark eyeshadow and eyeliner on that had smudged sometime during the shuffle from the streets to the jail. I now looked like some sort of racoon, not to mention the nasty bruises forming on my jaw and ribs from the rough idiots who'd brought me in. It was a bit hard to breathe actually. My hair wasn't doing much better, I looked well and truly ruffled. I'd used alchemy to dye it a deep black for the night as well, like Edward had done in the end of the first series of Fullmetal Alchemist, the weird one that hadn't matched the manga. I had yet to be given my one phone call, though my mug shot was already in circulation. I'd given them the name Angel Morgan, technically both were names I used that belonged to me, it just wasn't on record that Morgan was my middle name. I didn't look like myself in the mugshot, more punk rocker than anything else, and the name wasn't associated with me in any way. I was in different boots, these added very little to my height, unlike the combat boots I usually wore. I was well and truly, someone else. Which was bad if I wanted to throw my name around and get out of here.

Oh, I could have escaped, it would have been stupidly easy, circles on my gloves or not. I could have blasted my way out and left a trail of destruction, or simply slipped away into the night. But 'Angel' didn't know alchemy, 'Angel' didn't want to cause trouble. So I would have to stay the night if I couldn't get my one phone call in to the Madame. She had a fund to get her girls out, and I was assured months ago that she would spring me if need be. She was probably joking, but I planned on calling her in anyway. I didn't have nearly enough on me at the moment to pay for bail, and so I was forced to wait. And duck my head whenever someone I worked with more often came by. I was in the main lockup and there was a surprising amount of traffic going through. The people I was supposedly involved with must be up to something big. I'd already missed work. The first time in my life I'd ever just, not shown up. Perhaps I could convince them that I'd been somewhere else on assignment, or with a different department for the day. I better not have been swept up in a 'drugs bust'. I'm still unsure if Roy ever suspected if I had something to do with the drug business back before Promised Day, so that wouldn't look good for my defense. I'd seen Maes going through there more than once and he didn't so much as glance at me. It wouldn't be in the best interests of my persona to be seen speaking with military personnel and then being released. They'd either put together who I was or label me a narc, neither of which would be good.

I kept up this attitude even when dawn came once again. The twilight. And another dawn. You'd think they'd have given me my phone call. I resolved to improve this shit the moment I was out of here and back in uniform. As the sun rose on my third day with no phone call I had long since resigned myself to catching Maes the next time he went by. But only Maes. Again, I couldn't be sure if anyone else doubted me because of my unhealthy enthusiasm for drug related cases. Which is why when I felt an extremely familiar energy through the pulse I slumped over as if asleep, and let my hair fall over my face. The energy came closer and I had to mute my connection to the pulse, I always seemed more hyper aware of him than I was of others. His deep voice was asking questions about the arrests when he drew level with my cell. His footsteps and voice stopped abruptly and my heart seized, wondering if I was recognized.

He asked the guard in an even tone of voice,

"Who's in this cell?"

There was a rustling of papers and the guard huffed,

"A new one, caught near the shit happening on Duff street. Insisted she didn't have any idea what was going on but it was Clemons' people who bagged her so we couldn't just turn her loose. You know how he is. Here, found it, says her name's Angel Morgan."

Mother of shitfuck, it's a good thing I hadn't tried to reveal my identity if these guys were Clemons. That asshole was out get anyone who wasn't born in Amestris, he'd use any reason whatsoever, and this would be a damn good one, my word against that of his people. I'd be out of the country before I could so much as sneeze.

There was a few seconds of silence and he spoke again, voice cold and somewhat frightening.

"Open it."

The man didn't question him, not even when Roy told him to leave. He just left the key and vanished. I was still feigning sleep, wondering what the hell was going on. He took a few steps into the cell, stopping only a few feet in front of me.

"I know you're awake, so you can drop the act."

I sighed, sitting up straighter, hair still in front of my face. Dread was creeping slowly up my spine. I'd never heard him sound so furious, and especially never heard anything of the sort directed at me. He continued, his voice low and dangerous.

"I'm going to ask you one time, Angel. Where. Did you find. That. Coat."

I stared at my knees in confusion for a few seconds before I managed to put it together. I hadn't shown up for work. For, like, three days. I'd failed to so much as call in. I'd told Jean I would be doing some undercover stuff sometime in the future, so they probably assumed I was off doing that, and now Roy see's a coat I'd gotten in another dimension, the only one with a cut quite like it, on a girl in a cell with the first name of a hooker. Yeah, didn't look good. I looked up at him, grinning nervously, wild 'Bellatrix Lestrange' style hair covering most of my face still.

"Eh, hey there. Funny meeting you here."

His eyes widened and he spluttered,

"Stephanie! What the hell?!"

His surprise disappeared to make way for anger, though much more muted than before.

"Why are you still in here? Why didn't you-Jeez, do you have any idea how worried we were?"

I shrugged,

"Well, I had an idea of course."

He rolled his eyes and I continued, not letting him interrupt.

"And I would have been long gone, but this is Clemons show."

Well, I hadn't known that before, but he didn't need to be told as much. I continued.

"You know how much he hates me. I was planning on just phoning the Madame and getting bail as 'Angel', who's known to be one of hers around here, but I still haven't gotten my damn phone call. When I finish with my current project I'm fixing this shit."
He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands,

"How do you get yourself into this crap? What were you doing there anyway, I heard there was some seriously fucked up cult shit going on, there was a virgin sacrificed or something."

"Oh, is Jean okay?"

The joke was so unexpected he actually laughed, a real laugh. I saved that for the living room. My mind palace can have gifs on the wall, aren't I lucky? Harry Potter style photograph in place I waited for him to recover. He rolled his eyes at me, still fighting a smile.

"Jean is fine, the woman sacrificed was actually not 'properly' sacrificed, I'm told. They weren't able to completely drain her blood before the military arrived."

I scowled,

"What the hell were they even trying to accomplish? Sacrificing virgins….it only kills demons within a one mile radius. Why would they want to kill demons if they're in a cult?"

Roy just gave me a strange look for a few seconds before deciding to ignore my nonsense.

"Well, I could alert the Madame that you're here and she could show up to bail you out. She's good with her stories, probably just say that she noticed when you didn't check in."

I nodded,

"Thanks. Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any soda on you, would ya?"

He snorted,

"Of course not. You'll just have to wait until you get."

"What about water? They've been ignoring the lower profile prisoners like myself."

He frowned, glancing around the cell, as if seeing it for the first time. No furniture, not even a bucket. There were two kind guards that would walk you to a restroom, one at morning and one at night. But neither had the resources to slip the lot of us food and water. Clemons was determined to slash the budget for this place, in any way possible. This mean that 'temporary' prisoners weren't treated correctly. Since I had no identification and different features from other Amestrians I was treated worse. Looks like I would constantly be treated as a second class citizen, if I was ever treated like a I was actually a citizen in the first place.

He was still staring at the cell around us so I snapped my fingers a few times to get his attention,

"Focus, buddy, the state of my cell isn't the point here. Didn't you have somewhere to be earlier? I'd hate to keep you from the magnificent Clemons."

Roy turned his eyes back to me, expression still unhappy.

"Stephane, why have you kept your hair in your face? Never once have I seen you willingly keep your hair in your eyes. Is something wrong?"
Well, a bit.

"A bit, the Madame had someone do up my make up before I left and now I look like a demented raccoon."

"Well I could see that already."

I put my hand to my heart,

"Ouch, way to make a girl feel good about herself, Casanova."

"Who?"

I facepalmed, not caring if it made my make-up disaster worse. This was a mistake, because it brushed my hair back when I looked up. Roy was kneeling in front of me in a heartbeat, frown back in full force. He gently brushed a gloved hand over the now dark and ugly bruise,

"Steph….what….? No. Who?"

I avoided his eyes,

"Sergeant Bernard Hill. They assumed I was a civilian foreigner who had something to do with the cult shit that was happening a few blocks away from where I was digging for information with my network."

His other hand brushed the hair away from the other side of my face, turning my head gently in search of more bruises. My heart was hammering from the close contact and I mentally cursed, this was going to set back my 'get the hell over it' plan back by several months.

When he spoke I felt his breath ghost gently across my cheek and just knew I was probably turning red.

"Where else are you injured?"

My eyes darted to his and away again quickly,

"Ribs."

He observed me for a few more seconds before standing swiftly and making his way to the cell door.

"I'll have you out of here shortly."

He pulled the door closed after him, and I snuck a glance as he disappeared from view. On the warpath. I almost felt sorry for Bernard Hill.

Tentatively off hiatus for this story.

~TimeLordOfPie