A/N: As always, thank you so much dvltgr, blazedancer1997, ssadropout, WildSilence023, LadyAureliana, muguetmuse, and Beebop for the reviews/comments on the last chapter! The heart emoji can't even begin to describe how I feel from reading your comments :).

chapter 13: severing the knot

Hudson Loft, Christmas Eve, 8:48PM

The crushed ice in her drink has completely melted, diluting the Bramble to the brim, but she simply stares at it with indifference. The cocktail is only a diversion after all, serving precisely two purposes for tonight's event: steering away flirtatious coworkers and business partners who want to buy her a drink and steering away flirtatious coworkers and business partners who want to buy her more drinks so they can get her drunk enough to get into her pants.

And of course, Rebecca's choice of drinks reflects her personality very accurately. The Bramble, courtesy of her, is positively exquisite. The whitish cream color is garnished with a touch of pink liqueur, one crisp blackberry, and a slice of lemon on the rim of the old fashioned glass. The British creation looks as vibrant and lively as the flowers blooming at a spring garden party, unfortunately mismatched with Riza's unamused expression. Riza never cares much for sweet cocktails, preferring instead to drown her sorrow with a vodka martini exactly how James Bond takes his, shaken not stirred. Or depending on her mood that day, she may opt for a straight up shot of tequila, because it will get her inebriated faster without much of a hangover the next day.

Riza flicks a glance at her wristwatch, her impatient brain already jogging in place to get ready for that sprint home. She doesn't know how much longer she can take the overly pop-ish 90's Christmas music that blasts obnoxiously loudly in her ears. But she thinks she can afford to give Jean another five minutes to show up and grab his girlfriend's attention away from her before she calls it quits.

The woman to her left nudges her lightly on the ribs, and Riza leans her head closer as her best friend whispers something in her ear. "Riz! How about that guy?" Except it isn't much of a whisper but more of a quiet shout because the damn music is booming in the dimly lit venue.

"Which guy?"

With an elbow propped on the bar counter, the playful woman clicks her tongue at the sea of people on the dance floor. "That guy." And it really isn't that hard to pinpoint the object of Rebecca's mischief. A lanky, blonde man on the overcrowded dance floor sticks out like a sore thumb, the type of peculiarity that would warrant a second glance from passersby. It's not his formal attire nor his unremarkable appearance that grabs Riza's attention, but it's the way he awkwardly integrates himself with the rest of his dancing colleagues, inching his way to the center by raising spastic arms like he's worshiping the devil and comically bobbing his large head like no one's watching.

"He keeps looking at you." Rebecca nods in his direction once again, and it just so happens that the gawky man catches the brunette's stealthy gesture, prompting him to tilt his head toward them and stare at the two women with googly eyes, like the cat from Shrek but much creepier and certainly less cute.

Riza cocks her eyebrows, eyes widening with disbelief. "Barry from Mailroom? Rebecca… Are you serious? He looks like a serial killer!"

Rebecca twists her head towards the stubborn blonde, planting her Cosmopolitan a little too firmly and splashing some of the pink liquid onto the bougie mirror glaze, black countertop. "I'm getting desperate, Riza! You've turned down every guy who approached you so far. And people at work do talk, you know. We all know Barry is totally in love with you!"

Riza shoots her an incredulous look, narrowing her eyes, completely unamused.

But her persistent friend hasn't given up. "He keeps looking this way the whole time! Plus if you squint, he kinda looks like Brad Pitt… with dyed blonde hair… and a really small nose… and uhh beady eyes..."

"Uhh… yeah. I'm not that desperate, but thank you for thinking of me."

"But I feel bad leaving you alone! This is a party, Riza. We're supposed to have fun! You're supposed to have fun!"

There's frustration in the tone of her voice as she attempts to appease her nagging friend. "I am having fun, Becca. I'm just... I'm completely fine with staying around the bar just observing people. Go find Jean and dance with him!"

"You've been sulky lately. Did anything happen?"

She violently swirls the drink in her hand at the entirely innocent question, sloshing the pink liqueur, spilling some onto her white dress shirt and blonde tresses. "Ah shit…" Her hand instinctively searches for napkins from the bar. Finding none, she uses the one the bartender provided as cocktail coaster to wipe the sweet, sticky liquid from her hair, grunting to herself from annoyance. "No, nothing. Just tired. And I'm also helping Winry plan her wedding, so I've been preoccupied..."

Her friend's voice suddenly turns into a quiet mumble, "Oh shit, here comes trouble... Hang on to your drink." And she sneakily snatches her Burberry clutch from the counter, ready to escape from the imminent dull conversation.

Riza steals a glance at her friend's profile as she discerns the abrupt change in behavior. She jerks her head to take a glimpse at the person of interest, meeting his deep, dark eyes and regretting it only a second later.

The 'troublesome' man speaks casually, nodding a polite greeting at his colleague. "Rebecca."

Rebecca nods back with a small, feigned smile, just out of respect to someone of higher management. "Roy."

The retreating woman sneakily inches her way out step by step before locking her attention at the approaching tall, blonde man in the distance. Riza can glaringly tell how grateful she is of the man's impeccable timing from the way her eyes glint. Her friend swiftly undoes her ponytail, fingers skillfully mussing and brushing long locks of wavy hair to impossibly make herself look even more attractive. "Oh heeey, you two have fun! I'm gonna go dance with Jean now…"

No, no, no... The executive assistant can hear her mind cry for help as the handsome yet off limits director closes in on her. And after she has exerted all efforts to treat him with businesslike manner, tonight of all nights he decides to come knocking at her door. The fitted black blazer, his slicked black hair, his onyx eyes full of affection, and that soft smile she is so fond of. Everything about him screams danger, blaring the alarm in her head, constricting her chest, coursing adrenaline through her limbs. She curses him mentally for setting her body on fire, especially after she has been so so good with her resolve.

He takes his hands out of his snug trousers, and Riza can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin cupping her cheek or the way his long, beautiful fingers intertwining her own slender ones. He gives her a genuine smile, speaking with that deep and kind timbre she sorely misses, "Hey."

Bracing the glass in her hand for support, she impulsively grips it tighter until her fingertips turn white. She clears her suddenly itchy throat, croaking unattractively, "Hi..."

"How are you?" He leans against the bar alongside her, keeping a proximity of precisely six inches apart, the length of the shitty cafeteria sandwich Riza sometimes eats during her overtime days. But the gap between their bodies means he's not there to break her resolve, which eases her mind, if only slightly.

"I'm fine... Just people watching."

Her manager crosses his arms over his chest, his legs follow in motion as he crosses one over the other. The world is resolutely going against her as the music takes a drastic turn of melody, playing a soft, jazzy Christmas classic that Riza actually enjoys (and wouldn't mind slow dancing to). "I would ask you to dance, but I already know your answer to that."

Riza tries to conceal the disappointment in her eyes by staring at the polished marble floor, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, "Sorry."

"Are you enjoying the party?"

She itches to stare at him but chooses to gaze at the mellowing dancers instead as she notices King Bradley arrive at the bar, observing and possibly eavesdropping on them from a few feet away. Roy takes note of his presence, too. "Yes, I suppose…"

Sighing quietly to herself, she tries to shake off that unwelcomed tingle in her body. Riza realizes how difficult it is to hold a conversation with Roy without sensing that pain in her heart or struggling to put aside that longing to hold him in her arms or wrestling with the urge to wish him a happy holiday by way of mistletoes hanging overhead. But like Roy, she's an expert at carrying herself in a professional setting, keeping their demeanor deferential yet casual, even among drunken bar patrons left and right who suddenly find a penchant for making every drink order sound like some sexual innuendos, especially under the scrutiny of a certain cunning man.

He mirrors her gesture and directs his sight at the dance floor, watching as couples find their significant others to sway to the slow rhythm. "Notorious."

"Wh-what?"

"The black-and-white film with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant."

Her eyes widen slightly, still looking away from him. "Yes, what about it?" The classic has recently become her favorite movie because they had watched it together during one of their date nights, with his strong arms wrapping around her shoulder. She shudders just thinking about the wonderful sensation.

"Do you recall the discussion we had the other day? Criticizing their way of relaying secret messages and donning fake identities?"

She chuckles lightheartedly, "Yes. That was a very entertaining discussion…" that ended with them coming up with ridiculous ways of relaying secret messages before succumbing to first-base make out sessions.

"So…" He gives her a playful smile. "How good of a secret agent do you think you'll make?"

Her expression turns quizzical. The strange question, coupled with the mischievous smile on his face? She humors him nonetheless. "Hmm I don't know. You should ask my sister. She can probably give you a better answer."

"I think it will be fun. You know, using fake names and all," he states casually, emphasizing that one word with a rising intonation.

Her perceptive eyes shoot him a sidelong glance, seeing a smirk tug in the corner of his mouth. She replies with nonchalance, "Hmm… you think so?"

Her sight rests on the dance floor yet again, pretending to take an interest in the night's activity. But the cogs in her mind proactively turn, awaiting for that clicking sound as it rotates into place. His suggestive statement affirmatively sounds like a proposition to replay their little game, similar to the one from that thoroughly enjoyable movie night. She pieces together the film reference and mention of secret messages and fake names, sharply considering the clues strewn about.

"Anyway, enough about that…" He switches the position of his legs, crossing it over to the other side. "You know how I went to lunch with Ida from Marketing the other day? She told me she's going to take a 6 month maternity leave. Apparently the department went apeshit when they heard the news."

She scoffs reactively, "Oh? I didn't even know 6 months was possible. You know, the U.S. has some amazing family leave policies."

"Oh, do I detect sarcasm there?"

She replies passionately, "Of course."

"How's Mike from Accounting doing? You talk to him every now and then, right?"

The abrupt change of topic is certainly interesting, but it only confirms the conclusion she arrives at regarding the little game they are playing. "Well, aren't you the curious one. He's doing fine if you're referring to the injury he got from the softball league."

"Nothing wrong with being curious. Ian from Security is always asking for the latest gossip."

The corner of her lips tug upward when she hears another name spoken. "Oh does he now? I didn't know that and I've been at the company for what… almost five years."

"Susan and Shan, too. Be careful when you're around them, because they would definitely pay someone just to cook up another slice of that tasty workplace drama."

She chuckles lightly, the cogs finally clicking into place after hearing a wide range of random colleagues' names, some of which she has never even met. "Good to know."

"You know, Uni from Legal said he might consider leaving the company so he can work at a proper law firm."

She turns her torso to face him. "You make friends easily don't you? This is only your what, second month? And everyone's already telling you their deepest, darkest secrets."

"Maybe." Roy shoots her that heart stopping smirk.

He materializes a forced cough into his hand, "Oh and before I forget, I also want to tell you that our overtime is finally paying off. We should see results as early as next year." He looks at her, presenting the most sincere smile that sets her cheeks ablaze.

She smiles back at him as she attempts to calm her palpitating heart, understanding the meaning behind his words. "That's good to know."

Roy eventually removes himself from his leaning position, settling his sight at the exit sign. "Alright, it's getting late. I'm going to head out. Merry Christmas, Riza."

Riza's periphery notices Bradley shift from his position at the bar to a dark corner in the venue, chatting up some private investors and sipping his drink elegantly, no longer stealing glances at a certain manager and subordinate.

As she watches Roy leave, her eager mind pieces each and every hint together, stringing carefully the message he has left for her. When she's finally finished, she can't help but feel a delightful twist in her stomach. She reflexively calls out to him with hitching breath, hoping the music won't drown her voice, "Roy!"

He turns around at the call of his name.

"I uh... You, too, Roy! Merry Christmas to you, too!"

Bradley lingers a suspicious stare at her but quickly immerses himself in his prior conversation as he discerns nothing concerning regarding her shout.

But what Bradley doesn't see is that Riza's mouth involuntarily curves upward into a knowing smile as she meets Roy's gaze, and a moment after, she sees the same smile crosses her manager's lips, enveloping her heart with warmth, thinking that this Christmas may not be so terrible after all.

...You, too, Roy. I miss u, too.

Abandoned Warehouse, Friday Before New Year, 1:14AM

The '69 Impala parked outside of the warehouse shelters three men inside, each possibly as large as the one before him. Cocked guns are definitely in the back of his mind, a constant reminder to be cautious when he proceeds with his practiced dialogue. His keen eyes can already see the metal object nestled underneath the baggy Atlanta Falcon jersey.

"How much shit do you need, puto?"

The white-haired detective has been in this situation countless of times they no longer intimidate him. The burly man in front of him keeps sucking in his large belly, his loud uneven breaths accompany the sound of flickering yellow light and the occasional cricket noises. Judging solely by the size, the man is both a threat and a joke for a drug dealer of this caliber. They normally send someone quick enough to whip out the gun snugly holstered behind thick, leather belt. This guy doesn't even have a belt.

"How much you got?"

The cholo addresses him with a rough accent typical of people south of the border, complete with the Jesus Cristo tattoo on his right arm just like in the photo their team covertly snapped a couple of weeks back. "10 kilos max for you, but I'll add an extra kilo because your whore is hermosa."

Her wavy, long blonde hair falls over one side, covering one ear, and her hourglass figure underneath glittery, red bodycon dress is a sight to behold in the midst of dingy, putrid smelling, ten thousand square feet brick walled ghetto. Her black, four-inch heels complete the look of a dimwitted escort who has no idea what kind of danger she's currently in. She clings onto her partner by the arm, intermittently pecking him on the cheek for her undercover role, hoping it's convincing enough.

"Aw, thank you. You look hermoso yourself," she responds with a high pitched inflection, giggling ever so loudly. She wants to gag everytime she hears the forced modulation, but the gangbanger seems to buy it, so she takes that as a win.

The ugly man smirks to himself before bending down with difficulty to snatch a black briefcase from underneath the surgeon table separating him and the two detectives. His bulging eyes suspiciously flick a glance into the distance, and only a second later Olivier hears a warning echo in her ear, "Incoming, east side. Three guys. Backup is coming in 5."

Well, shit. But at least she has also practiced the part for when their cover is blown. "Babe, my feet are hurting. I need to take off my heels..." She bends down on one knee, tugging her partner's sleeve furtively to let him know of the abrupt change on situation. "Miles, on your right!"

Unstrapping the small handgun from his foot holster in a smooth motion, Miles shoots one man running toward him in the leg, causing the gangster to fall on his face with a piercing shriek.

The disgusting man with a belly as large as a sumo wrestler charges at the blonde, but she smirks at his sluggishness and proceeds to land a powerful front kick to his jaw, knocking the man on his ass with a loud thud.

The next few minutes are full of ringing gunshots and pained yelps, and by the time reinforcement arrives to subdue the rest of the criminal, the two detectives have already started collecting the few kilos of heroin from a metal cabinet.

"They're not the source," one officer comments with disappointment.

Olivier interjects matter-of-factly, "Of course not. They're small time. But I was hoping this fugly asshole right here would talk." She plants one heel on his chubby face, prodding the unconscious man on the floor without stirring him up.

A playful tease comes from behind her, "Armstrong, you need to play your part better. That kiss wasn't even remotely believable."

"Shut the fuck up, Darius."

"You need to clutch Miles a little tighter! And you shouldn't be able to understand Spanish. You're supposed to be stupid, remember?"

Miles interferes when he notices the seams on Olivier's forehead tightens, "Alright gentlemen. That's enough. It's late, let's call it a night, yeah?"

Guiding her by the shoulder, Detective Miles pulls his irritated partner over to a quiet, private corner just outside the warehouse. He inquires with genuine concern, "I know you've been busy and exhausted from planning Winry's wedding and Izumi's baby shower, but something's off tonight… You're usually such a good actor. What's wrong?"

She scoffs as she studies his worried expression, exasperation still lodged in her lilt, "You're one to talk… You're a much better actor than I'll ever be."

He shoots her an incredulous look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're better at pretending that shit's going well when it's really not!" And just like that her resolve to stay calm and collected has gone down the drain. He has absolutely no right to ask her if something is wrong, especially when he's hiding such a significant information.

"Okay, now I know that something is wrong. Olivier, what is it?"

The blonde woman sighs to herself as she tries to slow down her racing heart. The tightness in her chest has been cumbersome since that fateful day at the kid's store, but even more so tonight as she forced herself to clutch onto Miles's arm like a mistress. In spite of it all, the news of her transfer will reach him sooner than later, so she decides that tonight will be the best night to break it to him. "I… will no longer be part of Central precinct as of next year. My transfer to Northeast has already been approved by the chief."

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait... Why have I not heard this before?" His shoulders stiffens, tensing him uncomfortably in the back of his neck.

"It's because I told the chief to keep it quiet."

Annoyance laces his voice, "Were you planning on telling me at all?"

There's an air of vulnerability about displaying emotions, and she's been trying so hard to avoid breaching into this realm. But she can't help herself tonight, not when the unrelenting pain in her chest has been throbbing constantly. "...Were you planning on telling me that your wife is pregnant?"

He stares at her dumbfounded, mouth parting widely, eyebrows cocked high. His heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach as he registers the news. "What… did you say?"

"I said, your wife is fucking pregnant!"

Sourness brews in his intestines as he examines her pained expression. He now understands the root of his partner's anger, but he himself can't contain the shock. "I… I didn't know. She hasn't told me the news..."

She spits out a retort with trembling voice, "Well I'm telling you now... Congratulations, you're going to be a father!"

Olivier swiftly turns around and trudges toward the opposite direction, unwilling to let the man see tears form in the corner of her eyes.

But she hears heavy footfall by her side, and the distressed detective snatches her arm, gripping it desperately. "Wait Olivier… where does this leave us?"

What Miles sees next breaks his heart into a million pieces. Red, swollen eyes have replaced her determined, blue orbs. Fair complexion is now smeared by the black eyeliner she put on for the undercover mission. But her quivering lips is what sends him over the edge, and he reflexively caresses her moist cheek, staring at the strong and courageous woman before him whimper in anguish. "Olivier… please don't cry... We can work this out..."

Olivier's breath hitches for a second as she suppresses the urge to rest her head on his chest, to wrap her arms over his broad torso. She has decided weeks ago that there is no future in their relationship. Everything has been wrong from the minute it started. The circumstances had been wrong, the timing had been wrong, and she was almost certain the admiration they had for each other was rather misinterpreted as love. She comforts herself that she will get over it, just like how she got over other men before him, but a part of her isn't so optimistic of this prospect as she stares into those piercing amber eyes. He is, after all, one of the reasons she's so brilliant at her job. But without a doubt, he is the one and only reason she was able to open herself up to her little sister.

Her black makeup smudges even more, trailing down dark liquid over her cheeks. "Miles, the last thing I want is for this child to grow up without a father…"

He can feel his own tears spill over, tasting the salt on his lips. "...But what about... us?"

"You know this is for the best…" She gingerly blankets his hands with her own, letting herself revel in the feel of his warm, calloused skin for one last time. Her expression shows decisiveness and finality, but it is the wistful smile across her lips that shatters the rest of his being as he perceives her reluctant farewell. "Take care of them both, Miles… And good luck with everything."

Garfiel Auto Mechanic, 3:30PM

If Winry were an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, interlocked by an array of emotions to make a complete picture, then that night at the park was undoubtedly the missing joy piece. When she returned home a little later than promised that night, her two fully awake and irritated sisters were there to greet her with worry lining their faces. Winry had suffered Olivier's incessant scolding, along with Riza's firm agreement to the reprimand, but their reaction reassured her that she was never alone, that she was cared for. And in spite of everything that had happened during the eventful night, she daringly reached for her phone as she tucked herself into bed, attempting to overcome her fear of her assailant by re-reading his text message. She waited for her heartbeat to quicken, sweat to form, but they never came. Instead, she felt steady heartbeat and dry palms as she contemplated on the idea of confronting him. For the first time in a long time, she was truly hopeful about her healing.

Now that she is a little closer to assembling the complete picture, she is burning with determination to be independent once again.

As she enters the auto shop, Winry's ears are ringing from the familiar sound of machinery whirring. Blue metal sheets follow a long stretch of the rectangular work space, a variety of old and new cars being repaired outlining the wall. The prospect of getting her hands dirty again is scary and thrilling all at the same time, and she can already see the wide smile curving on her lips.

She approaches the closest mechanic, gingerly poking a finger at the man wearing a white bandana. As he looks up, she observes an irritated face about him. "What do you want, little girl?"

"Hi, my name is Winry. I found your ad on a local newspaper. You're looking for a mechanic and I want to apply for the job."

His grey hair sticks onto his sweaty forehead, some wildly jutting out of the head cloth. Winry can tell he has been spending a good amount of time working on the car albeit taking a little longer than normal from the way his shirt soaks in a puddle of sweat. The rude man replies without another glance at Winry, and instead focuses on testing the car by turning the engine on and off. "This is no place for someone like you. We need someone a little more experienced."

Winry asks casually, "Transmission issue?"

The man stares at her with curiosity, "How do you know?"

"Ahh… I can tell from the constant burning smell. It won't go away until you replace it with a new one, but it looks like that's what you're doing next."

From a distance, a feminine shout is heard. "Dom! Can you give me a hand, dear?"

"Can't you see I'm busy?! Give me like half hour and I'll help you!"

Before she takes the brunt of 'Dom's' anger, Winry approaches the inquiring man, sticking her head intrusively below the car lift. "Can I help you, sir?"

The curled sideburns and stylish dark hair on the man seem to belong at a fashion show rather than at a repair shop. The flamboyant man expressively gasps when he finds an unexpected face. "Oh my… and who are you, young miss?"

"My name is Winry. I'm here to apply for the mechanic job."

The look he gives her is one of doubt as he eyes her up and down her length, but he points his finger into the core of the car nonetheless. "You see there under the dashboard? There's moisture build up underneath, and I'm having a hard time reaching the small space. Can you take a look for me?"

Winry does what was told, carefully and diligently inspecting the areas. Her curious mind starts to tweak and prod at the metal object surrounding it, feeling adrenaline course through her as her nose was hit with that exciting grease scent and as her hand feels the weight of the cold, aluminum car parts. Ten minutes and one satisfied face later, she rolls her head out of the conclave, oil and dirt on her blonde locks, but she feels entirely wonderful. She gives the mechanic a wide, delightful grin, handing his wrench back. "All done, sir. I also found a small pinhole inside that probably would have caused some interior fogging on the windshield. I removed it and installed the new parts already."

He faces the young woman with a disbelief look. "Oh darling, that's wonderful news! Thank you for the help. And the coolant?"

Winry responds with a small smile, "Already refilled."

"Oh."

The young mechanic interrupts smoothly, "You just need to test for more condensation."

"Right. Thank you…"

"You're welcome." Another small smile.

The astonished man rolls himself from underneath the car lift, rubbing his dirty hands on his shirt, and he rises to a stand to take a good look at the young girl who had just proven to him that one shouldn't judge a mechanic by appearance. "And you're here to apply for the job?"

Winry simply nods.

"You see that poster over there?"

Winry twists her head to look at the famous World War II propaganda poster. Her features are full of confusion as she attempts to understand what a picture of a strong female icon has anything to do with a job interview. "I don't understand…?"

"Honey, the woman in the picture is strong and brave and competent. We need someone like that." He flicks her a teasing smirk, putting his hands on his hips. "You think you can do it, darling?"

If their clients hadn't been around and observing, Winry was 100% sure she would have already squealed in excitement or jumped for joy without a care. But instead she composes herself, slowly curling her lips upward into a wide smile as her heart pounds from the elation. "Yes, I can do it."

Editorial Building on North Highland, 7:01PM

Plastered with popular words from viral internet memes, the orange wall in the background also serves to brighten the otherwise drab cemented wall of the industrial looking building. A TARDIS in the middle of the open meeting room also accentuates the typical wooden planks it sits atop, smartly surrounded by spacecraft looking pods that looks as futuristic as the rest of the decor. Grey, contemporary sofas are decorated with cats and dogs throw pillows. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if she actually hears a bark or a meow come from the next room.

The giant office contains an energetic mix of keyboards clacking, along with a generous sprinkle of social chatters. She tries hard not to stare at them with mouth agape as she observes actual, genuine smiles on many of their faces. Because unlike them, by this time of night she usually longs for that comfortable bed to plop on, questioning her life choices, justifying everything by the shitton of money she makes.

"Have a seat, Riza." The mole under her left eye only accentuates her beauty, along with the pixie haircut she dons and an offbeat fashion sense that yells a down-to-earth personality.

Riza gingerly lowers herself onto the bright red armchair, feeling the plush of the cushion the moment her bottom meets the linen fabric. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me after work hours."

Her interviewer's mouth curls into a vibrant smile. "No problem, Riza. We all have strange work hours here... I just hope that doesn't deter you from continuing with the process."

"No, not at all." She throws her a small smile, feeling beads of nervous sweat form on her palm.

"And consider yourself lucky that there's an opening in the News department. The turnover is usually super low there. And you must be someone special if the Colonel goes out of his way to refer you."

Her brows furrow from the strange nickname. "The Colonel?"

"Didn't Roy ever tell you how obsessed he is with history? That guy is a fucking nerd."

"Ahhh…" She giggles with amusement, tucking the term of endearment in the back of her mind for safekeeping. "Yes, he did tell me that." The nervousness she felt has completely evaporated.

"Anyway, I reviewed the work you submitted, and at this point I'd like to have you meet with the members on our team. Are you okay with that?" Riza nods briefly. "Good. Come with me."

The two men she meets in the next room only further highlights the friendliness of the workplace. The older, silver haired man has to be at least six feet tall, even with the occasional slouch she observes every now and then. The other man is youthful with black, spiky hair. His face is accompanied by round, nerdy glasses that doesn't seem to ever leave the bridge of his nose by the way it indents the skin. Even when they can pass as father and son, their interaction speaks more like two friends who share much of the same interests.

"Riza, this is Vato Falman."

"Nice to meet you, Riza."

"And this is Kain Fuery."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

As Kain pulls a total of five chairs, Maria smiles at Riza, giving the doorway a sideway glance for one missing colleague. "Riza, you probably have noticed by now that we have a pretty unconventional interview process… Right now all we need to do is just talk."

Riza tilts her head slightly. "Talk?"

"Yeah, talk. Tell us how the Colonel is doing. How's his campaign coming along?" An older man with a thick, curved mustache similar to the Monopoly man emerges from the door, a silly toothy grin on his face. His circular old school glasses perches just below the bridge of his nose, showing the century he's from, but his gait is surprisingly upright. If Riza has never seen the definition of eccentric, then she has definitely seen it now as she studies the old man before her.

Riza's mouth quirks into an incredulous smile, "Wait, what campaign?"

There's an embarrassed look on Maria's face, but she interjects ever so smoothly, "Riza, this is George Grumman. He's head of the News department."

At this point, Riza admits that she is somewhat overwhelmed by the weird line of questions. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Grumman… Sorry, can I ask how you all know... Roy?"

"He used to intern and then worked here when the company was at its infancy," Kain chimes in.

Maria adds, "Part of the spectacular News team. I'm actually surprised to see him pursue a career in real estate. I could have sworn he wanted to run for office."

Vato states sagely, "He's leaving trails of achievement for himself for when he actually runs for mayor in a few years."

Completely baffled, Riza turns to face Grumman, confusion on her face. "I'm not trying to be rude, but aren't you going to ask me questions about the article I submitted? Criticize it maybe?"

Grumman shifts his chair closer to Riza, smiling widely like a clown. "We read it and we love it. You have the university qualifications, and the article is very insightful into the volatile housing market. You're obviously smarter than the typical executive assistant."

Without warning, another stranger enters the room. There's an aura of familiarity about his black, spiky hair and his rectangular shaped glasses. But his recognizable face only clicks in Riza's head the moment he speaks with his overly elated, high pitched voice. "Oh heeeey, so you're Riza!"

It's the guy from the bookstore. Roy's friend.

"Um, nice to meet you, Mister...?"

"Hughes. Maes Hughes. You're his assistant. The one we saw at the bookstore?"

Maria gives him a dirty look, but the smile that arises on her face suggests an amicable relationship between the two. "What are you doing here, Maes? You're not part of this department!"

Riza throws the inquiring man an awkward smile. "Um yes, that was me at the bookstore…"

"Ooo do I sense… gossip?" Grumman comments with a chuckle.

Maes places a hand on his chin, examining Riza with a suspicious glint in his eyes. "No wonder Roy said all of those things at the store… I see it now."

The rest of the team eyes Hughes curiously.

The confusion on Riza's face is as clear as day. "What do you mean by that? He said a lot of hurtful things that day..."

"Oh shit, the Colonel said hurtful things to you?" Maria's eyes widen with disbelief.

But Maes's eyes narrow into a slit, and a mischievous smile forms on his lips. "You see... Roy doesn't like it when I ask him about women. He's quite private and thinks I pry too much... But he would never, ever go as far as making fun of them, let alone say hurtful things… unless he likes them. Unless he really likes them."

Riza can feel heat creep up her face as snickers and giggles fill the room. When she stepped foot into the building, she had prepared herself with a series of interview questions, repeatedly answering said questions in her head. But what's laid out in front of her is the furthest definition of an interview, and she surprisingly rather enjoys the friendly banter and lively atmosphere. She supposes she can get used to it if she gets the job. If she gets the job. "I'm sorry, but can I ask if I actually… passed the interview?"

As the men huddle in the background with wide grins, Maria rolls her chair beside her, handing her a thick folder. "You got the job, Riza. We've had this prepared for you since this morning, but the team insisted on meeting Roy's assistant, so I obliged."

Riza interrupts hesitantly, "And I got the job not because of Roy… right?"

Maria smiles sincerely. "No. It's all you and the article you wrote. The only unfortunate thing we can't offer at this point is the match to your current salary. But I think you will make a great addition to our team, so I hope you will accept."

Riza faces her with a small smile, comforted by the fact that her own merit earns her the position.

She sees an eager smile curve on Maria's lips, and the woman leans her head forward to Riza as she inquires with excitement, "So, are you going to accept?"

A/N: I wasn't planning on writing so much Team Mustang stuff (it was supposed to just be, "Yes, Riza, you got the job")… but I can't help myself...