A/N: So I'm finally back! I know I said this would be earlier than it is, but I'm Irish and we're renowned for being kind of hand-wavey with time. We also had an incredibly important referendum recently that I've been campaigning for for years and we WON! So the past few days has been crying and celebrating, but I'm ready to get back to the story now!

I know I said one more chapter, but I got carried away with the team, so there's at least one more on the way, maybe two. I wanted some Rebecca and I wanted to write more Breda because I think he is such an underappreciated character! But I'll continue writing throughout the evening and hopefully there won't be as much time between updates as there has been.

Thank you for all of your comments and favs, they mean the world to me! Please enjoy!


For the next few days, all of Central Headquarters was chaos. Riza felt that while everyone was under a lot of pressure, her team had been given more responsibilities than most. She thought bitterly that the Colonel and his subordinates had helped save the world, and now they were expected to clean the mess they'd made in the process.

The base was mostly restored, though some of it remained unfurnished. They had been lucky to have been allowed to get started on Ishval before Central had been rebuilt. Nobody had been expecting Central to take such a hard beating, but she and Mustang had planned the Ishval restoration for years. They had adamantly told the acting-Fuhrer that they were going to get started as soon as Mustang got his sight back, with the promise that they would lead a team from Central, and not move to the desert. Central still needed their expertise.

Riza didn't expect that the expertise she would have to provide for were party planning. Grumman's inauguration was coming up, and she had been asked to help Rebecca with some of the arrangements for the ball. Rebecca's oncoming promotion to Fuhrer's assistant made it clear why she was there, but Riza suspected nobody would be able to give her a satisfactory answer as to why she was chosen. After the party, Fuery was going on vacation so they would be a man down in the office, which probably won't stop being hectic in the aftermath of the Promised Day for quite some time. Riza sighed. They had worked hard to get to the position they were in now, but the last few steps were going to be overdrive. Getting rid of corrupt military men (and monsters) was a relief, but the eccentricities of their new Fuhrer was bound to be exhausting in a different way. As proven, in her mind, by the plethora of tiny last-minute errands she was being forced to go on.

Rebecca was helping her, holding up two swatches of blue silk.

"They don't have enough military-blue for the chair coverings. Do you think we can get away with using royal blue on the rest of them, or will we have to go with a different supplier?"

Riza suppressed a sigh, trying to focus on the two swatches. There were subtle colouring differences, but nothing that eyes as sharp as hers would be able to discern. "The royal blue will be fine."

"Awesome. I'm so glad you're doing this with me, I'd still be agonizing over the table-coverings without you!"

Rebecca loved fashion and had an interest in interior design, but she had never planned anything quite as big as an inauguration dinner before, and with their time-limits, she was a ball of nerves. Fortunately for her, Riza was too tired and too apathetic to the pageantry of military balls, so she had taken to being the deciding voice, mostly choosing convenience over personal feeling. All of the options given to her were elaborate, expensive and fitting for the monarchical event, so choosing one from another was easy.

The job was menial and felt beneath her, and she was sure she was only given it by virtue of her gender, which should have infuriated her. But if she was honest, she was happy to be out of the office. His office. They hadn't any chance to talk since the night in Ishval, and while she knew they would have to eventually, every time she thought about how the conversation would go, she remembered his regretful face on the train. She understood, and even agreed, on a base level, why he might have regretted what happened between them. But she wasn't in the right place to talk about it just yet.

She suspected he knew that she was trying to avoid him for the past few days. Every time she had to return to the office for files or things from her desk, she could feel his eyes follow her as she moved through the room. She wouldn't look directly at him, but in the corner of her eye she would see a movement, as if he were going to stand up or say something, before he would go back to whatever task he had been doing instead. She reasoned that he would probably find it difficult to talk to her about this too. Therefore, it was better really, that they give each other some more space before addressing the problem.

"Hey Rebecca, I need to borrow your lovely assistant."

Rebecca and Riza turned to see Havoc approaching, a cigarette in his mouth and a smile on his face.

Rebecca turned to Riza and pouted. "Why are men always taking you away from me?"

Riza smiled at her friend. "I'll be back soon. The flowers should be arriving tomorrow, can you figure out where to store them until they are ready for display?"

Rebecca gave a mock salute. "You can count on me! Oh, and by the way, we're going dress shopping this evening!"

Riza sighed. "I don't have the time-"

"Yeah, well too bad, Riza! C'mon, it'll be fun! I'll veto the dresses you pick that make you look like a frumpy spinster, you'll veto the dresses I pick that make you look like the sexy mistress of a businessman. We'll come to some kind of compromise. Fun!"

Before Riza could rebuff, she felt Havoc's heavy, muscled arm fall around her shoulders, forcibly steering her away from her friend.

"I'll take your silence as a yes!" Rebecca called down the hall after her.

Riza huffed. "Is everything alright, Second Lieutenant?"

Havoc grinned, steering Riza into one of the empty, refurbished offices a few doors down. "Just dandy, Hawkeye. Though I'm not here to talk about me."

"Why are you here? Why are we here?"

Havoc took his arm from her, turning to face her squarely. He looked down at her, his expression sobering. "What's up, Ri?"

Riza raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why the hell have you abandoned the team to pick out colour schemes and entrees? You hate this kind of stuff."

She crossed her arms. "I hate a lot of things. It has to be done."

"By you?"

"If it's to be done on time, yes."

Havoc's eyes softened. "And that's all?"

Riza sighed again, for what felt like the millionth time this week. "This would be a lot easier if you would just tell me what's bothering you, Havoc."

He scratched his head and looked down, a small frown on his face. Riza was disturbed by his mannerism. It wasn't like him to look so earnestly worried.

"Listen, I know I upset you on the train, and I made some wise cracks in Ishval, but that's just me. I'm not trying to pick on you or anything." He looked at her again, and she was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. "I'm not as straight-laced as you, but I'm not a fuck-up. I'll be good in front of the big brass. I just thought we were close enough that we could joke around."

Riza's heart broke a little at his words. She had been flitting around for days, Havoc must have gotten himself so worked-up over the idea of her being upset with him. She wanted to hug him. She chose instead to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

"Hey, I'd never have made it this far in my career if I let a little teasing get to me." He smiled at that. "And I know you respect me, and that you're only having fun. My absence is absolutely nothing to do with your behaviour."

His forehead smoothed in relief. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Great. I'll let you get back to your flowers or whatever. And Hawkeye?"

"Yes?"

"Pick out an extra slutty dress for me."

She regarded him coolly. "Don't push your luck."


Roy inspected two ties in front of him, narrowed down from the rest of the collection in his wardrobe. What a silly thing to be so worried about, he thought. He's spent every waking moment since he regained his sight planning reconstructions and reunions and trying his best to begin making up for every mistake he's ever made, and now he was agonising over which tie he should wear. Well, almost every waking moment. He gave himself and his team one night of drinking and music to unwind, and it ended up being…

He shook his head, focusing again on the ties in front of him. The decision was trivial, but it was at least a distraction. And if he were being honest, it meant something to him that he looks as good as he can tonight. Not just for the inevitable brown-nosing he would have to endure, but because she would be there.

He had been working on a game-plan to try and even the playing field a little after she had given him so much of herself that night. But all of his plotting fell to the wayside over the past week, as she took up basic out-of-office jobs and barely looked at him the few times she had been in his company. Now, the entire plan was pared down to getting her to just talk to him.

And tonight was the night; there was no way she would be able to avoid him all night. Sure, she'd probably try – Roy knew better than anyone how intense her stubborn streak could be – but with her grandfather and his mentor being crowned king of the country, neither of them were on active duty, so she wouldn't be able to hide behind the veil of being busy with work. Grumman had even given them the next day off, explicitly telling her that she had no excuses for trying to leave the party early. That was clearly for Grumman's benefit, and Roy didn't begrudge the man's desire to share the celebration with his last remaining family, but that didn't mean Roy wasn't going to use the situation for his own personal gain. Just like Grumman used Roy's coup for his own agendas.

He's missed her, in the past few days. He had felt weirdly naked without the sensation of her sharp eyes looking out for him. But she wouldn't be able to avoid looking at him tonight. And when she did look at him, he wanted to look good. So, after minutes of careful deliberation, he chose the burgundy silk tie, knotting it around his collar and straightening it. Picking up his silver pocket-watch, his keys and his wallet, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror, pleased with his choice of tie, and walked purposefully out the door.


Riza had gotten ready at work with Rebecca. After the official, public inauguration, they had returned to headquarters to finish the arrangements for the party and, knowing that they were not going to have any time to go home, they had gotten dressed and ready in the locker-rooms. Riza plaited Rebecca's hair as she applied her lipstick, scrutinising herself in the compact mirror she held.

"Is this colour okay? I don't know if it pops enough."

Riza didn't know if it popped enough either, not understanding exactly what popping meant in relation to lipstick. "It looks great, Rebecca."

"You're not wearing your hair like that, are you?"

"Keep still. What's wrong with my hair?"

"Come on, Ri. You always wear it that way. This is a special occasion. Plus, if you left it down, it will help hide the scar on your neck."

Riza pulled a little on a lock of Rebecca's hair, partially to chastise her for not staying still, and partially because of the well-meaning insult. "I'm not ashamed of the scar."

"You know that's not what I mean. You're a badass, babe. You don't need to show off your war-wounds to prove it." When Riza secured Rebecca's hair, she stood up and faced Riza, eyeing the scar.

"I… I still can't believe he let-"

"Rebecca," Riza warned, her voice dropping an octave.

"I know, I know! I wasn't there, I trust you when you say he couldn't have helped." Rebecca's eyes shone with sadness, tears threatening to spill, before she clamped her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened them with determination.

"I'll do a side-braid. It'll cover the scar and keep it out of your face." Riza must have looked a little wary of the offer, because Rebecca pressed on. "Come on, it'll make up for you not choosing the dress I wanted you to buy."

Riza rolled her eyes and sat down, allowing Rebecca to take the clip from her hair and begin brushing.

"That dress was ridiculous."

"It looked hot as hell on you and you know it."


It had taken a lot of effort for Roy not to arrive too early to the party. It was good for his look to be fashionably late, which he had to remind himself was important. For some reason. But he was anxious to see her, and for her to see him. They would talk a little, maybe have a drink or two, maybe dance a little. They'd work something out, like they always do. Maybe he could convince Grumman that it wouldn't be the end of the world if she left early, and he'd make sure she got home okay. Maybe he'd ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and just sneak her out with him, take her to his place and make her moan like she moaned less than a week ago, over and over until they collapsed from exhaustion.

But that was thinking a little too far ahead. And more importantly, tonight wasn't about him getting her to bed; it was about him getting her to look him in the eye again. Well, technically it was about celebrating a new leader of the country.

As he entered the hall, he admired the general aesthetic of the evening. Military blue colours draped over the tables and chairs, there were flowers and banners dotted around and the staircase to the balcony was gleaming clean but left tastefully undecorated, the mahogany wood outshining any carpet that would have otherwise covered it. He had to commend her work. He may not have liked her spending her time on all of this, but she'd done a good job.

Crowds of well-dressed people were already sitting at tables or standing at the bar. The dancefloor was ready but the orchestra hadn't started yet so it was currently empty.

He smirked as a few heads turned towards him in recognition. He always liked the feeling of being known – renowned – and the approving glances from some of the women in the room was a nice confident boost. He scanned the room for some familiar faces (for her), and his eye caught a waving hand a few yards into the room. The hand belonged to Breda, who was slouched over a drink at the bar beside Fuery.

Approaching them, he smiled at the people he passed. A small swoon from the wife of a general put a little more of a strut in his step as he reached his subordinates.

"Hey boss. Looking good."

"You too," Roy said honestly. Breda rarely wore suits, but he always pulled them off with the poise of someone who wore them religiously. It always amused Roy that Breda was considered so uncouth and slobby, given that he was probably one of the most intelligent and articulate people Roy had ever met. Breda and Roy were quite similar in ways; Breda garnered trust by acting like the type of person nobody should be worried about, whereas Roy used silly charm and vanity to throw people off the scent of his agendas.

"Want a drink, sir?" Fuery asked. Roy shook his head, thanking him. He had decided that he'd be better off clear-headed tonight, so he was planning on sticking to water.

"Have you seen the others?" Where is she, he stopped himself from asking.

"Havoc's outside smoking and last I saw of Falman, he was explaining to Rebecca why her idea of arming every citizen in Amestris would cause more problems than it would solve."

Roy chuckled, scanning the room for Falman. If Rebecca was here, that meant Hawkeye was here too. And luckily, Falman was a very easy-to-distinguish man in crowds, so it should be a piece of cake finding them.

"I'd better go mingle. Don't go too crazy on the whiskey, men." Breda grunted, turning back to his conversation with Fuery.

Walking through the small cliques of people, Roy eventually spotted Falman's head poking out above the sea of heads. He couldn't distinguish who Falman was talking to, but he moved towards him anyway. He only managed a few steps before he was accosted by a Colonel from South, who introduced him to his group of colleagues and their dates. Roy put a strained grin on his face as he got sucked into conversations he didn't want to be having, knowing that tonight was about politics, and there was no polite way to excuse himself yet. As the Colonel's wife talked about how difficult it was to travel to Central, Roy's eyes kept wandering around the room, eventually finding Falman again. Unfortunately, by then, Falman was talking to one of the drill sergeants from Central, with no Rebecca or Hawkeye in sight.

As he zoned in and out of conversations, he felt a familiar prickling at the hairs on his neck. His forced smile relaxed into something more genuine. Even when he was blind, he could always tell when she was watching him. He felt at ease, knowing, confirming, that she was somewhere in the room. He decided against turning around to look for her. For now, it was enough to know that she was there. He had the rest of the night to talk to her.


This was getting ridiculous.

She was so close to collapsing from exhaustion, but she had been staying as alert as possible all evening. She made sure never to stay in one place for too long, constantly floating around the room to find people to talk to that weren't him.

She'd be able to handle just avoiding him, but mixed up into this whole absurd situation was the fact that they were at a military function, and she was his bodyguard. So on top of trying to keep his attention away from her, she needed to have him in her line of sight constantly. She knew she should just relax; there were guards on-duty and he was probably in the safest place in Amestris, but he was also an infamous war hero at a time when the military was weakened and rebel groups were growing.

She almost caught his eye when he turned away from his conversation. She spun around and made for another location, eventually spotting Breda beside some entrees.

"Hawkeye, you gotta try one of these." He handed her an amuse-bouche and she accepted it gratefully. As Breda grabbed another bite-sized snack for himself, he cast his eyes up and down her body. Breda was a brash person, but never to the point of making people feel too uncomfortable. Riza didn't feel twitchy under his scrutiny.

"You look great, by the way."

"Thank you, Breda." She cast a quick look down at her dress – an emerald green silk affair that started tight around her neck, chest and waist whilst the skirt hung loosely at knee-length. Rebecca had pouted when she bought it, having favoured a loud, scarlet dress that had barely enough material to cover a child's frame. She had looked like she was wearing a negligee, and when she had voiced that opinion to Rebecca, Rebecca nodded as if that was the entire point. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

Breda shrugged. "I guess. Classy do's don't do much for me, and I've been ordered not to get too drunk. What about you? Why aren't you stumbling about the place yet?"

Riza smiled, turning her face away to scan the crowds. She could see Mustang, talking to Havoc as Havoc checked out a general's wife. "I think one glass of wine would be enough to put me to sleep for days."

"Yeah, it's been pretty crazy. Listen," Riza's attention snapped back to Breda. "What do you think is going to happen next?"

Surprised by the question, she paused. "I'm not sure. The Colonel's bound to get promoted to General, given the current shortage," that we helped propagate, she inflected.

"And everyone else?"

"Well, Falman might move back North. I think he's afraid to admit he liked it there. Fuery will probably be considered to lead the communications division, or at least get a high-ranking role. Havoc will do anything to stay out of Armstrong's division. I would hope he stays around. I will continue to be the Colonel's adjutant."

Breda's shoulders sagged, as if relieved. "Good. I was afraid you were mad at him or something."

Riza kept her expression as passive as possible. Of course Breda would get close to the mark. Havoc saw the tension, but had assumed it was his own fault. Breda was much too intuitive to make that mistake. But he wasn't completely right either. She wasn't mad at Mustang. Instead of placate Breda and possibly give him more information than he should have, she continued.

"I'm not sure about your immediate future, Breda. But you'll be a General one day. You're undervalued in your current position. You're far too intelligent a resource for the military to waste.

Breda blushed lightly at the compliment, which surprised Riza. Very little shook Breda up. She turned her head again, scanning the crowd and making sure she was safe to stay for another few minutes. The Colonel was across the room, still speaking to Havoc.

"I would like that. I'm a strategist, I'd like to use that for the good of the people."

Riza smiled. "You will."

"Speaking of strategy," Breda grinned at her and again she got the feeling that he knew too much. "Yours isn't going to work."

Riza raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Breda raised his hands in mock-surrender. "I'm just saying, it's much easier to work with someone when you can look them in the eye."

She tried to supress a scowl, settling instead for a glare. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. Suggesting something would mean that there's something there to suggest. And there isn't, right?"

She bit the inside of her jaw. Breda had an amazing knack for toeing the line of insubordination. If she were to scold him for it, it would be far more revealing of herself than of him.

"I hope they make you a General sooner rather than later, Second Lieutenant. It would be refreshing to get you out of my hair.

He simply grinned and handed her another amuse-bouche. "You don't mean that."

She softened her glare as she accepted it. "No. I don't."