READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED: I'm honestly not sure if I should rate this M or not. There is a scene at the end that is QUITE graphic, if only for a few paragraphs.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Hello? This is Colonel Benjamin Heat, of the Department of Terrorism, team Coldfire. I-"

"Coldfire? We don't have a Coldfire listed?"

"Hmmm? That's odd. Are you sure? Room 117, under Lt. General Armstrong."

"I don't recognize it, but I'll check the records."

"…"

"Ah, never mind. I suppose we just haven't worked with them much. I have your team's records right here."

"Ah. Marvelous. Well, I need to call in a sick day for tomorrow. I'm feeling very under the weather, so I don't believe I'll be able to make it."

"No problem, Colonel. I'll give them a call right away."

"Would you mind? I don't want to be of any convenience."

"Of course, Hon. That's what I'm here for."


Felix sat atop the rooftop building across from Heat's apartment, waiting in forced patience. These past two days had been hopelessly uneventful, and he was getting desperate to alleviate his boredom. Not a stake out my ass. He had spent nearly the entire time camped out in his nest, watching his target through his binoculars do paperwork. Everything he had heard through his directional mic had been as unsubstantial as pen scratches and radio noise.

This was his last night on duty, thankfully. He was supposed to track Heat up to the Military Ball, but Mustang had given him explicit orders to pull security at the Ball, and his orders superseded anything given by Olivier. Thank God. His legs hurt from being in the same position for so long. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stand another day of this.

Who was he kidding? Of course he would be able to stand it, even if he wouldn't be happy about it. Hell, if it was his orders, then he would damn well make sure that he enjoyed himself. He was a soldier, and orders were orders. Obeyed without question.

Lightly, he heard noise come through his ear bud that was attached to the directional mic. ("Hello? This is..enjamin… oldfire") A pause. He was no doubt on his phone. This very well could be what he was waiting on. ("At's odd…utenant Genera…mstrong") another pause. Shit. Either this was a call to work, or a call about work. Good thing the directional mic he was using wasn't a grade A piece of shit… ("Under the weather…") Well that was clear as day. He couldn't make anything out after that, but that was enough. Enough to determine if he was taking to HQ, or talking in code, at least.

"Hello? Kara? This is Eva again. Is Mrs. Brulexa there?" Over the past few days Felix had gotten down the female imitation voice to what, he believe, was believable. It was at least better than it had been at first.

"Sure thing, Eva." Fuery, it appeared, had not. He waited for a couple of seconds for him to call in Olivier, who was obviously out of the room. Lucky her; she wasn't stuck all day waiting for Heat to make a move that he never made. He would have to ask Hawkeye how she was able to lay in wait for hours, or days on end without so much as moving a muscle. However they did it was beyond him. All he knew was that he would never be able to be a sniper. The technical prowess he might have, but he certainly didn't possess the patience.

"This is Mrs. Brulexa." She still hadn't quite gotten used to the whole concept of "playground talk". At first she had made an effort to sound more feminine, but had quit when Mustang started laughing at her and told her that her girly voice was almost worse than his own. Truthfully that had given a sting to Felix's pride. If his imitation was worse than Olivier's… "What's your situation?"

"Hi Olga, It's Eva. I just found the most adorable teddy bear." Silence from the other line. Clearly they had no clue as to where he was going with this. "Well, when I say 'saw' I really mean my boyfriend told me about it. Well, actually I heard my boyfriend talk about it over the phone-"

"Right. Tell me about it." She sounded like a goddamned psychiatrist. Well, at least they knew where he was going with this.

"Well, apparently it's this beautiful shade of olive, and has these three silver stars sewn onto the arms, and-"

"I know what you're talking about. I've seen it in the store."

"Well, anyway, he was going to bring it to work, but he's not feeling good, I think. He might have to take a sick day tomorrow."

"Right. Thanks for telling me, Eva. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be fine. Probably'll be able to make it on Thursday. Anyway, I gotta go, Olga. You know how it is."

"Of course. Call me if you need anything."

Good. Heat had put his request in one end, now it was their job to make sure it checked out. If it didn't then Olivier's name was dropped for some reason. Perhaps he was suspicious of her? That would make a lot of sense. If he thought that Olivier was involved in the terrorist plot then that was a good reason for his level of cooperation. He wouldn't want to give her all of his real research, because then she would know how to evade him.

But then, all of his musings were invalid if Heat's call was an actual request; if it showed up on the other side then that's all it was. If it didn't… well that would be good reason to investigate further. Either way, it made things more complicated. Talking in code was one thing, but Heat wasn't sick. If he was requesting a day off, then it was most likely because he thought he was being tailed and wanted a time to do everything when he wasn't being spied on.

* * *

Olivier was, at this point, faced with an interesting problem. In front of her was the sheet of paper that informed her that Heat was going to be absent the following day per sick day, and in the office down the hall sat a man who insisted that Felix ran security at the Military Ball. The problem, of course, was that Heat was clearly wasn't sick. Heat was out maneuvering them, and doing a damn good job of it.

What was he playing at? He clearly didn't trust them, that much was clear. So the question was; why not? The obvious answer was that he was suspicious of them, but Olivier didn't think that was case. The reports he had made before they sucked him up into Coldfire showed the exact same problems. So he was more than likely just suspicious of everyone. That piece fit better into the puzzle.

So he was waiting for the Wednesday Military Ball to take action, most likely because he knew that if anyone was tracking him, then they would have a higher likely hood of not being on his tail on that day. Luckily for him, he was right. The thing that irritated her the most was that, yes, she was trailing him, yes she had created the entire team with the sole purpose manipulating him, but it wasn't because they were the enemy. They all wanted to achieve the same end, but he wouldn't cooperate.

Which, of course, brought her back to her original problem. She didn't have a man to cover Heat with Felix gone. Why did Roy have to be so stubborn?

He had made it clear that Felix did not belong to her on Wednesday, and that no one belonged to her on Wednesday. That included her, of course. In fact, Roy was being ridiculously paranoid about the whole thing. She supposed, when she thought about it, it made sense. If the terrorist cell they were tracking was targeting the Military, then the Ball on Wednesday would be the ideal opportunity for an attack.

So she had to drop Heat for the time being. Right now she didn't have time to find a new tail, much less one that she trusted like she trusted Felix. She had to organize the entire under table security outfit that Mustang was demanding, and she had to do it without using the 'Eye' of ROSE. Really, more than likely, Mustang was doing this all for Hawkeye in the first place; he probably was afraid of him and his assistant showing up to a gunfight with a knife, hypothetically. So they'd be the gun.

Mostly she had the enlisted to work with. That was another problem she had, but mostly she had herself to blame for it. Felix was the head of the Enlisted, and as such she had no clue as to who was good at what. As usual, that meant a lot of forms and profiles she had to read through. She sighed and grabbed a large stack to start to sort through. One by one, she would read through them, and one by one she would assign tasks

* * *

Riza looked through her closet in preparation for the Night's dance. There were three things she needed: a dress, a gun, and a nice bottle of perfume for Roy to enjoy. The dress was probably the least important; It was simply for others to acknowledge that she was Roy's woman, and that they needed to keep their hands off (both her and Roy), and for Roy to run his hands up and down like he liked to do. The perfume, of course was much more important; that's was all for Roy, and was the biggest way for him to appreciate her, and still remain decent in public.

And the gun, of course, was the most important of all, and was most definitely not for Roy. She had pulled her gun on him only once, and fully intended to never do it again. The number one rule for gun handling: never point a gun at something you do not intend to destroy, or someone you do not intend to kill. That one time had affected more than anyone would ever know.

But enough of those thoughts. She would get nowhere if she just dwelled on the past all day. No was the present, and at the present she had to find a dress. The biggest thing she had to keep in mind when looking for something adequate was that it couldn't be revealing enough for her back to show, and it had to be concealing enough for her to be able to holster a pistol without anyone being able to tell where it was being kept. Not that she minded. Despite behavior that wasn't exactly within the protocols of proper office conduct, she was no skank. She preferred to dress on the modest side.

She liked black. While she didn't have an affinity to the darker sides of things, like some thought the color implied, nor was she in the process of grieving as the color did in fact imply, she always thought that the color did a lot to accentuate the curves of her body that Roy insisted she had. If she was completely honest with herself she would have preferred to wear the heavy wool of her formal Military jacket and skirt, but she knew that Roy hated them. She had worn them to a formal dance before, back when Roy still had his eyesight, and it had been and endless night of moaning and bitching, him constantly complaining that he she never let him see enough of her. If he had made one or two comments about it, then that would have been one thing, flattering even, but he hadn't stopped at one or two comments. Or twenty, for that matter.

Though, she hadn't worn her formal Military attire to a dance after that, so she supposed that his rotten attitude had paid off.

The dress she chose was, in fact black, and reached the floor with a long slit going up the side of the leg. That was one of the requirements she had for dresses, and it wasn't for the reason that Roy liked to imagine that it was. The slit allowed for ease of access to the thigh holster that she preferred on account of their position in relation with her hand, and the reasonably subtle aspect of their placement. Men's eyes rarely wandered along her, and when they did, they never stayed in one place for long. Not to mention the white sash that she would keep tied around her waist could be brought down to cover the area where the holster would reside.

Next was the gun she would take. Not one of the large caliber automatics that the Military tended to favor, nor the four pound behemoth revolver the Kellogg had given her a month or so back. To keep something adequately concealed on her person, she would have to go small. Walther was probably the best way to go, though she did have a certain endearment to Fabrique National. The problem with going FN this time was that she didn't have anything small enough that packed a large enough punch. But, she did have that 9mm Black Matt PPK, which would blend in nicely with her dress. So Walther it was.

She took a look of longing at the .44 S&W Magnum that had belonged to Felix. Perhaps she could fit in her purse.

And of course, the perfume. That was the easiest. She would use Roy's favorite, which she kept in her top drawer and only used for formal occasions.

"Hmm. You smell good, darling." Roy came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Are you ready?" She turned around in his arms and gave him a light kiss.

"Do you have your gloves?" He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands up to reveal his whit flint cloth gloves marked with a simple black circle.

"I don't know why you insist on me having these, Riza. I can't use my flame alchemy if I can't see." She adjusted his tie, which had been horribly misaligned, and replied.

"Just humor me. I don't want you to be completely useless if we get separated."

* * *

"And don't you just look stunning." Olivier looked up expectantly, the form of Felix Kellogg filling her eyes. Dick. He had no right to say anything, he was dressed the same as her. "You know, for being supposedly undercover security at a Military function, you sure are subtle. My dear, do you even own a dress?" Perhaps he was right. A simple look around would prove what he was saying to be true. Every female officer was in a fancy long dress, some more revealing than others, and every male officer was dressed in their Formal Military Outfit, a tuxedo, or at least a three piece suit. Everyone who wasn't dressed as such was the official security, save for him and her.

"Hypocrite. Your dressed just as poorly as I am."

"And I smell real pretty, too." Ah. So that's where that stench was coming from. Felix sighed an exaggerated, yet somewhat sincere, sigh. "The truth is that I haven't had a moment's opportunity to do anything relatively hygienic in three days. Which is, of course entirely your fault."

"Speaking of which, did you manage to dig anything up?"

"No, but I did follow Heat to the scene."

"Scene? What scene?" Felix made a dramatic movement to the side with his arm and directed her to their favorite middle-aged Colonel.

"Now, if you excuse me, I have a three piece suit to put on and an assortment of knifes, guns, and other implements of destruction to hide in it." She watched Felix exit stage left and turned to the crowd in front of her. She had been here for a good thirty minutes already, and was starting to get worried about when he was going to show. As security, these crowds were a nightmare. Luckily, however, her boss had yet to show his face, so when he arrived at the scene she would have the maximum number of men on the floor, and more importantly, she would have Felix.

"Olivier, how nice it is to see you." And that would be the man of the hour. Fashionably late, of course, mainly for her to get her men into place.

"Roy, always a pleasure." This formal, gentleman and lady speak disgusted her. She favored being strait forward and two the point, rather than verbally sparring, saying things that everyone knew they didn't mean, and the ins and outs of proper moral code. All of this bureaucratic bullshit. Of course, she would have to abide by it, it was the best way to remain inconspicuous in a situation like she was in. Felix was right; she should have worn a dress.

"I'd be honored if you'd oblige me with a dance, so long as you're up to it." Olivier couldn't tell it he had been talking to her or his pet dog. She had a large amount of respect for Hawkeye, but her life seemed to revolve around Mustang. However, Hawkeye seemed to be perfectly content with her man dancing with Olivier. Perhaps she didn't see her as a threat. Olivier chuckled to herself at that thought. Damn right she wasn't a threat. The prospect of dealing with Roy Mustang as anything but a boss or colleague sent shivers down her spine. However, this dance wasn't meant for pleasure, it was a more than likely a business meeting, and clearly Hawkeye was well informed of it.

Olivier extended her elbow out to Mustang and had to nudge his hand a bit to cue him to take it. She led him out to a corner of the dance floor and took the lead. She didn't, however, know how to lead the conversation, so she took a wild stab at it.

"I, uh, ran into Mrs. Brulexa the other day," she started, uneasily.

"Cut the code, it'll just raise more suspicion. Anyway, if you think I'm the only one with uncover security here, then you haven't been very observant." She had been observant, and she had noticed an abnormally large amount of Corporals, Sergeants, and Warrant Officers here, all which she somehow doubted would be spending their day of leave socializing with the bigwigs.

"I did know, as a matter of fact. Is this the way these social events usually go?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Everyone in Central tends to be Careerist Paranoid pigs, who think they'll have an edge when push comes to shove."

"Not much unlike yourself, General Mustang." He smirked at this. Her words were true, and he knew it. Hell, he reveled in it.

"No, not unlike myself. There is, however, one big difference."

"And what is that?"

"I will have an edge when push comes to shove." Well, he was right. He had sent out to handpick the best, and he had gotten the cream of the crop, so to speak. "Speaking of which, where is Felix?"

"He's in the bathroom freshening up-" Gunshots. Dammit, Mustang had been right to increase his security outfit to what he had. She had doubted him, but he was in charge, thank god for that this time.

She immediately slammed her Commanding Officer to the floor and pulled out her Saber, surveying the scene. About twenty men were entering the room, all dressed in black from head to toe, armed with automatic rifles. The dance was getting a whole lot more interesting by the minute.

* * *

Felix ran his hands through his hair and made sure everything was up to par. His suit still fit as well as it ever had, the tan material stretching over his form comfortably, tight enough to be appropriate for the occasion, yet loose enough when the suit coat was open to allow for fluid active movement. He slid a .45 into his shoulder holster and slid his KA-BAR military knife into the sheath on the other side of his torso. Hopefully he wouldn't need them, but it never hurt to be prepared, sans the physical pain of his knife when it dug into his side.

He straightened his tie, slipped on his suit coat and placed his beret on his head before hearing the tacka-tacka-tacka of automatic gunfire. Instantly, the warrior took over, relinquishing control of his body to instinct.

Without making a sound, Felix dashed out of the Men's Room and looked in the hall for potential threats. Down the hall and turning the corner a man adorned in black, all the way from his combat boots to the balaclava that covered his face, turned the corner. He carried a shortish looking rifle made half out of wood and half out of metal with a curved banana clip. Felix recognized the rifle, but didn't have the time to remember where. The man was being careless, the rifle hanging lazily to his side, and was obviously headed to the bathroom. Felix quickly pivoted back around the corner he had just come from, and withdrew both his pistol and his combat knife. The gun would be as a resort method, but the knife was the preferred choice here. The man was obviously one of many, and if Felix could take him out without alerting his comrades, then all the better.

He could hear the man's hurried footsteps approaching him, and got an easy picture of where he was by listening for the volume of the steps, and by the frequency of them. Felix absently shifted his pistol to his left hand and his knife to his right. Odds were greatly in his favor that he wouldn't need to resort to his pistol, and if he did then he would still be able to easily take him out from the short distance.

The man got to the corer and started to turn it when Felix lashed out. He elegantly yet forcefully spun the terrorist around placed his hand around his face so that any screams for help or surprise would be lost in a search for oxygen. Quickly, he jammed his knife into the man's lower back, feeling it tear greedily through the many layers of assorted fabric and into his spinal column. With a sharp jerk to the side he forced the blade into his kidneys.

Felix released the man from his grasp, letting him slump to the ground effectively removing the knife from his body in the process. Blood spewed from the open injury, soaking Felix's leg in the delightfully warm substance. He took a deep breath and let the emotion of the situation sink in. The heavy smell of the blood was lazily being taken by his nostrils, and Felix's heart started pumping faster. He needed more. He needed to sin his blade into someone again. He looked at his drenched hand and involuntarily licked at the crimson liquid.

All five of his senses were flaring from the blood. The smell of the iron in the air, the taste of the man's life, the sight of the slumped body on the ground surrounded in bright red fluid, the feel shiver the man had given when he had slid his knife in his body and now the warm liquid left on his hands in the aftereffect. Bloodlust. That was definitely what this was. His barriers that he maintained had been toppled down and Felix needed more.

He grabbed the rifle that the man had been using and tossed in the bathroom for later observation. The high that he was running off of wouldn't allow for such an examination, nor would it permit him to use the gun. The pleasure that his knife offered him was too great. He needed it, badly.

He started to slither down the hallway, silent as the grave, when he saw another man in black. He was conveniently facing the other way, giving Felix the perfect opportunity to surprise him for his unchecked six.

Then, out of nowhere, another man turned the corner in front of them both, Felix in full sight of him.

Shit.

The man rose up his rifle and unleashed a hail of molten led, not compensating for the recoil, nor the fact that his comrade stood in his line of fire. The man that Felix had been sneaking up on fell backward from the force of the bullets before Felix himself felt the metal smash into his body. Felix slumped against the wall, looked at the blood that was flowing out of his chest like miniature waterfalls and slumped to the ground, allowing the white light and warm feeling to monopolize his conscious mind.

I'm sure you can see what I meant by "Graphic". This issue I face is that when something is rated M, at least on FF, one pretty much assumes it's because it contains a Lemon, but by the rules, I'm sure this would fall under the M section. If anybody feels strongly about this, please tell me and I'll change it.