Chapter 54

Vesya stood in the middle of the tent, dressed for snow. She wore a long coat of cream-colored suede trimmed with fur. Her gloves were the same cream color, and her fur-lined boots were dark grey.

Havoc nodded. "Looks like a good fit," he pronounced.

Naisha watched with an anxious frown on her face and made no comment, for once.

"Put up the hood, honey," Miles said.

Vesya pulled the coat's hood up over her head, the fur trim framing her face. "There!" she said. "How do I look?"

Miles smiled. "Adorable."

Naisha, however, stared at her sister for a moment, then let out a sob. She clapped her hands over her mouth and ran out of the tent.

Vesya's shoulders drooped. "Oh, dear," she sighed.

Miles let out his own sigh. He appreciated how close the Kafik siblings were, but he couldn't help getting a little tired of Naisha's emotional displays. Damyan seemed to be taking it a lot better, but he was the more even-tempered then his sister. Well, it was a done deal, and he, for one, was looking forward to reuniting with his Briggs comrades.

"So, how did everything else work out?" Havoc asked. "Is there anything else you think you might need? We guarantee one-hundred-percent satisfaction or your money back."

"Everything was fine," Vesya replied. She looked up at Miles. "Am I forgetting anything?"

"I think you're pretty well prepared," Miles replied. "Besides, if you need anything else, we can always get it in North City."

"Yes, but you won't get the same service with a smile," Havoc remarked.

"I'll take my chances," Miles said with a smirk. "Thanks. I'll wire the payment as soon as I can."

Havoc waved his hand as he left the tent. "That's fine. I know where you live."

Vesya pushed her hood back and took off her gloves. "This is hot!" she breathed. She started unbuttoning her coat. "It's hard to imagine being so cold that I'd need something like this."

"Trust me, you'll need it," Miles told her. He helped her take her coat off. "Winter has already set in up north."

Vesya sat down on a stool and struggled to pull off one of her boots. Miles knelt in front of her and grasped her left boot at the back of its heel and slipped it off her foot. She lifted her right foot to let him slide that one off, then she looked down at her feet, clad in thick wool socks, and wiggled her toes thoughtfully. She glanced over at the new suitcase with its new leather smell. Inside it were a number of new things that Miles had added to the order from Havoc's family store. Aside from the thermal underwear, there were some soft wool sweaters and skirts, a silver brush, comb, and mirror set, and some silky lingerie that Vesya hadn't known even existed.

She wasn't used to having this sort of attention lavished on her, and her cheeks still grew warm at the thought of such extravagance. It put her in mind of stories that her mother used to tell them when they were little, stories from the old days about virtuous but poor young maidens who caught the eyes and captured the hearts of brave, dashing princes and the obstacles they had to overcome to live happily ever after. Even when she was little, she knew that princes were long gone and existed only in stories. She had since come to learn that they didn't necessarily have to wear crowns.

"Thank you for all these things, Miles," she said, probably for the fifth time. "I hope it didn't cost too much."

"Don't worry about how much it cost," Miles replied, peeling off one of her socks. "It was entirely my pleasure to get them for you."

She smiled and tapped him on top of his head as he was occupied in pulling off her other sock. He looked up and she bent down to kiss him.

"You are my prince," she said softly.

Miles gave a quiet laugh. "I wouldn't go quite that far, but I'd be happy to slay a couple of dragons for you."


The northwest-bound train came through Ishval twice a week and didn't often drop off or take on passengers. This morning, a group of travelers was gathered by the station house, awaiting its arrival. Vesya stood a little way apart from the others, gazing down the track to where it curved into the distance and disappeared. Behind her were those who, besides herself, were leaving Ishval: Miles, Brigadier General Mustang, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Madame Christmas, Mr. Karley, and Major General Armstrong. They had been joined on the trip to the station by Mr. Havoc and Andakar. Vesya was glad that no one else had come along. She had already said her good-byes, and Shua had been specifically prohibited from seeing General Armstrong off any further than the mess tent. He refused to believe her when she told him that she would most definitely not miss him.

Vesya was relieved that the hardest part was over, but a lump still rose in her throat when she thought of all the tearful faces that she had just left. Naisha had managed to contain herself as long as she could before breaking down and having to be consoled by Dejan. Damyan, her level-headed big brother who had always looked out for her and who carried her home when she fell and scraped her knees, had given her a tight hug and surprised her by blinking back his own tears.

She felt an arm tighten around her shoulders.

"Are you all right?" Miles asked.

Vesya put her hand over his and leaned closer to him. "I'm fine."

"We're not leaving forever," Miles went on. "We'll come back to visit."

"I know."

"Even if Ishval becomes independent, we'll probably be able to apply for dual citizenship. That'll make travel a lot easier."

"That would be nice," Vesya replied distractedly. The sound of a distant train whistle made her jump. "Oh God!" she whispered.

"Better go say good-bye," Miles said quietly.

Vesya turned to face the station house to see her cousin walking toward her, and she ran into his open arms.

"We only just found you!" Her small, tearful voice was muffled in his shirt.

"You'll see me again," Scar assured her.

Vesya clung to him for a moment, then looked up into his face. "We're going to vote for Ishval to stay and for you to be khorovar!" she blurted out. "We already decided!"

Scar laughed quietly. "I thank you for your confidence, although it may be misplaced." He held her tightly, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. "Ishvala bless and protect you, little Vesya!"

The whistle sounded again, closer this time. Vesya reached up to kiss Scar on both cheeks. "Take care of everyone!" she told him. "And yourself!"

Miles joined them and Vesya moved aside as the two men embraced. "Hold down the fort, red-eyed brother," Miles said.

"Hold down your own fort," Scar replied. "And keep my cousin safe."

"I already pledged that to her before God and everyone else," Miles said with a wry smile. "You're just going to have to trust me that I'll keep my word."

Roy approached and held out his hand. "Keep in touch," he said to Scar. "One way or the other, let me know what happens as soon as it happens."

Scar took his hand firmly. "I will. And congratulations, both of you," he added, including Riza with a nod. "There's an old Ishvalan saying that a man without a wife is like a man with only one hand."

"Seems to me the lieutenant's going to have to make up for a few more deficiencies than that," General Armstrong remarked drily as she approached.

Roy smirked. "I'm the first one to admit that she completes me," he replied smoothly. The train came into view, slowing down, and Roy had to raise his voice as he turned to his former second lieutenant. "Havoc! Stay out of trouble!"

Havoc shook his hand and shrugged. "Aw, you know me!"

"Yeah, that's why I said it."

Madame Christmas gave a tired wave. Sleeping on an inflatable mattress was not conducive to a good night's rest for a woman of her age, and she was desperately looking forward to her own bed. "So long, boys!" she called. "If you can't be good, be careful!"

The train pulled up to the station, still the somewhat worse-for-wear passenger car in front of a line of freight cars. There were no porters, so the travelers loaded their luggage on themselves, with the exception of Madame Christmas, who enlisted Roy and Havoc's help to load on all her cases.

The train gave a long warning whistle, and after one last tight hug from her cousin, Vesya joined her husband and boarded the train. She took a seat by the window on the side facing the station and took her last look at Ishval, unsure of when she would see it again.

Steam billowed out from the engine, and with a spin of the wheels, the train pulled slowly out of the station, gradually gaining speed before it disappeared into the distance. Havoc turned away to head back for the transport truck that they had arrived in. He paused by Scar as the big Ishvalan stood still gazing into the distance with a thoughtful expression.

"Ready?" Havoc asked.

Scar nodded but made no move toward the truck.

Havoc glanced back over his shoulder, then nodded toward the distant tracks. "You kind of look like you wish you were on it."

Scar shook his head. "I've had my fill of trains," he said. "And I have no desire to leave Ishval." He frowned. "I just didn't expect my family to be fragmented so soon after having gathered it back together." He gave a slight shrug and turned away from the side of the tracks. "Well, she's with her husband, which is as it should be."

Havoc nodded and smiled a little to himself. Although he could still be a scary bastard if he wanted to, something Havoc had come to notice about Scar that Scar might not admit to was that the big guy was awfully sentimental. Not in a gooey, fluffy way, not in a Major-Armstrong-bursting-into-tears-and-ripping-his-shirt-off sort of way, but more than just a this is my land or these are my people or, most importantly, this is my family sort of way. Havoc was beginning to realize what it was that drove the man to go on his murderous rampage. If he thought about it that way, he wondered if he might not have done the same thing.


The trip was a long and tedious one. Even the novelty of being on a train for the first time in her life wore off very quickly. It also didn't help much that she felt out of place among the people she was sitting with. Miles was trying his best to keep her involved in the conversation, which was almost entirely centered around Briggs and what had been happening there and what was going to happen in the future. As cheerful as Miles tried to be, Briggs only sounded like a grim, cold, cheerless place.

Mr. Karley, who sat on the seat across from her reminisced briefly with her about events back in Ishval and of working the printing press together, but he soon became more involved with anticipating his return home.

General Armstrong she could not quite understand. Apart from having a somewhat common tie to Miles, they seemed to have absolutely nothing in common, and the general made no particular effort to engage with her. Vesya didn't really expect her to. They barely knew each other, after all. But she was beginning to think that the other woman was uncomfortable around her, something that Vesya couldn't help but feel was mutual. She didn't want to feel that way. They were going to be living in the same place for the foreseeable future, and she wanted to be able to find some sort of connection.

The general seemed much more at ease in discussing her northern fortress, so at one point, Vesya ventured to ask, "How cold does it actually get up in the north?"

Olivier turned to her with a faint glimmer of approval at her interest. "We set a record a couple of years ago when we hit minus fifty-eight degrees," she said proudly.

Karley grinned. "That was quite a day," he agreed. "Sergeant Bailey lost his nose to frostbite."

Vesya's eyes widened. "How awful!" she gasped. "How does he smell?"

"Terrible!" Olivier, Karley, and Miles answered in chorus. They all laughed, but Vesya felt foolish and a little resentful.

Miles hugged her around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, still chuckling. "Sorry, sweetheart. Bailey really only lost the tip of his nose, but it became Briggs' longest running joke."

"It's not an easy life up in the north," Olivier told Vesya. "But those are the toughest men and women in Amestris. That's why we always beat the crap out of Mustang's Eastern forces at the training exercises," she added with grim pleasure.

Vesya almost retorted that she thought General Mustang was nice, but she was already well aware that General Armstrong didn't care much for Mustang, nor did she seem particularly concerned with "nice" as a concept. So Vesya kept quiet. Miles thought the world of this woman. So did Mr. Karley and all the men at Briggs. Vesya hadn't had the chance yet to see exactly why that was, but Miles wouldn't admire someone so much if they didn't deserve it. The last thing she wanted to do was be a disappointment to her husband. She would become a Briggs bear, no matter how impossible it seemed now.


It was the biggest thing Vesya had ever seen. By the time they got to the base of the massive fort, it seemed to fill her entire field of vision. Everywhere she looked, there it was. Vesya dreaded having to step out once again into the unbelievably bitter cold. When they first got off the train, she almost let out a cry of pain, it was so cold. But she kept her lips sealed tightly shut.

Karley, however, let out a whoop, but it was almost one of enjoyment. "Damn!" he cried. "I almost forgot what it was like!"

Vesya clung tightly to Miles' arm as they trudged through the snow. It was only a few yards from the car to the fort, but it seemed like it took forever. The heavy steel doors opened and they stepped inside, and Vesya was dismayed by the fact that it wasn't all that much warmer. A small group of soldiers dressed in long, fur-trimmed coats, snapped to attention.

"Welcome back, General Armstrong!" one of them declared with a broad smile. He turned to Miles. "It's good to see you again, Major!" he said, relief evident in his voice.

"Thanks, Henschel," Miles replied. "It's good to be back."

Henschel's eyes fell on Vesya, and he stepped up to her with a smile and held out his hand. "Welcome to Briggs, Mrs. Miles!"

Vesya smiled back at him and shook his hand. His greeting was the warmest thing she had encountered here so far. She looked beyond him to the other three soldiers. After greeting their commander with broad grins, they turned to her with their grins going silly.

"Get our gear stowed, Henschel," General Armstrong ordered briskly as she strode on.

Miles followed her a couple of paces behind, and Vesya found it almost difficult to keep up with them. They continued on through a series of corridors that Vesya was sure she would have gotten hopelessly lost in on her own. Then they passed through a set of steel double doors into a massive chamber lined with pipes, cables, and conduits and filled with the low thrumming of unseen machinery. The chamber was crowded with men, some women, some in uniform, some in work overalls, some wearing heavy leather gauntlets and welding masks pushed up from their faces. As soon as they saw Miles, they sent up a roaring cheer, which was followed by a rumble of approving murmurs as they caught sight of Vesya at Miles' side.

Walking through the crowd, Vesya was met with either slightly awkward bows or openly appreciative grins from the men as they made their way through the chamber.

"As you were!" General Armstrong called out with gruff good-humor. "You'd think none of you had ever seen a girl before!"

The men chuckled and resumed their work, some of them still calling out, "Welcome back, sir!"

One thing was for certain, Vesya realized with a swell of pride. If General Armstrong was beloved by all these men, so was her second-in-command.


The girl reminded her of Catherine. She had the same sort of big eyes, the same, shy, pretty little sweetheart look. Catherine could probably hold her own in a scrap, though. This little desert flower would probably run screaming if you said "boo" to her. That seemed to be the sort of woman most men made idiots of themselves over. But Miles wasn't like most men. It was kind of disappointing. He never seemed the type to lose his head like that. Granted, he was the sort of man a lot of women would make idiots of themselves over. He was certainly the best looking man to grace the halls of Briggs, Ishvalan or Amestrian.

At least she was quiet. At a small "welcome back" supper in the officers' mess that evening, she was seated across from Miles and didn't say much. They all talked shop, naturally, and it went straight over her head. Occasionally, one of the men took pity on her and asked her something about herself. She was an artist, which Olivier already knew. The tea set Miles had sent her from Ishval was well-crafted, but a talent like that was better suited to her homeland. It would be useless here, unless she could do technical drawings, which Olivier doubted. She was a singer and a dancer, as well, something that also would be of no use in the fort. They didn't have time for amateur theatrics here.

But those subjects got exhausted pretty quickly, and as soon at the talk got back to the business at hand, she clammed up. She would sometimes glance across the table at Miles with a wistful, longing look that Olivier began to lose patience with. This poor girl would soon be in for a rude awakening. She didn't marry some greenhorn soldier boy. This was Briggs' second-in-command. He was ruthless in battle, cold and merciless in interrogations, fearless, brilliant, dependable, one of the best! He was a Briggs man, body and soul, and the sooner this little slip of a girl got used to the fact that she would come second, the better off she'd be.


It was dark. It was dark when he left, and it was dark when he came back.

"I have to go," he whispered to her, brushing the hair from her face and finding her lips for a good-bye kiss.

She tilted her chin up sleepily and reached her arms out to twine around his neck, hoping that he might stay a few minutes longer. But his routine didn't change. They had only been here a week, but she had already come to realize this. At five o'clock every morning, his alarm would go off, he would shower, shave, dress, and tie his hair back in the space of half an hour. He would say good-bye and leave, and she would curl up on his side of the bed to capture the last bit of warmth that was still there and bury her face in his pillow to breathe in the scent that he left.

On the morning after their arrival, Miles had taken her on a tour of parts of the fort. The entire fort was simply too big to take in in one day, and a lot of it simply looked alike. She would have been happy to explore on her own, but Miles stressed more than once that Briggs was not a place to simply wander around in. So she spent most of her day in their room.

It was Miles' room. Being a higher ranking officer, his quarters were fairly spacious compared to the enlisted men, but it still wasn't very big. Vesya didn't have very many possessions, so it didn't really matter. This was their own little world, where she could actually feel like he was hers.

One of the places he made sure she could get to easily was the officers' mess, where she could take her meals. He was seldom available for either breakfast or lunch, but they all generally dined together. After a week, Vesya was beginning to dread this ritual. She felt painfully superfluous, as though she had not actually been invited but was being tolerated. This was Miles' work, so it was important to him to discuss the day's events, and she didn't interrupt or change the subject or, worst of all, complain. She never complained, and she swore she never would.

But perhaps it was beginning to show on her face. At one point during dinner, General Armstrong actually addressed her directly.

"We need to find something for you to do," she announced.

Vesya looked at her, a little surprised, but pleased. "Oh! I'd like that very much!" she replied, grateful for any kindness from the general.

"Everyone has to pull their weight around here," the general continued, which didn't sound quite so kind. "The question is, what can you do?" She turned to Miles with a smirk. "I don't think she'd be much good at scraping icicles."

Vesya was fairly sure she could if given the chance, but she didn't say so. Miles just looked non-committal for a moment, then said, "What about the library?"

General Armstrong looked blankly at him for a moment, then let out a quiet snort. "Oh, that thing?"

"A lot of the men use it," Miles went on, "but nobody really attends to it. I'm not even sure everything has been cataloged."

The idea appealed to Vesya. "I could do that easily!" she said, eager for the opportunity.

General Armstrong looked doubtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose it's a start. Have someone show it to her tomorrow, Miles."

"Yes, ma'am!"

When Miles came back later that night after finishing up his work, Vesya sat up in bed. She always tried to make a point of staying awake until he returned, or she would at least leave the light on for him.

"I really do want to work in the library!" she said. "Wouldn't you be able to take me there yourself, Miles?"

He shook his head. "No, honey, I can't." He sat down on the bed next to her. "I have a lot to catch up on since I left, and I'm just going to be too busy. You know about the news from Drachma."

Vesya nodded. That's all anyone talked about lately. The country just on the other side of the border was engaged in rebuilding their forces after being decimated by Briggs. Everyone in the fort had a let 'em come, we'll be ready for 'em attitude, which was fine for them, but it filled Vesya with dread.

"The R and D guys have been working on a larger caliber gun, and I'm supervising the testing tomorrow. If you hear a lot of noise coming from up top, it's just us." He covered his mouth with the back of his hand while he yawned. "Anyway, I'm beat." He stood up and started taking off his uniform. "I'll be in bed in a couple of minutes."

Vesya nodded and settled back down. More than likely, he would be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but at least they'd be alone together.


The young soldier who had been ordered to escort Vesya to the library wasn't even entirely sure where it was. He had some directions that he had quickly written down that didn't seem to be doing him much good. After a couple of wrong turns, they finally came across a door with a handwritten sign that said "Library".

"Oh," the soldier remarked. "That probably should have been easier." He opened the door and flipped on the light.

It was not a large room, but it was full of books, a lot of them piled haphazardly on tables rather than on the shelves. Vesya was pleased with the prospect of having some actual work to do. She was well aware that the general merely wanted to keep her busy and out of the way. Well, that was all right, too.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Miles?" the soldier asked.

Vesya smiled a little. She would always like the sound of that. "Yes, I'll need a broom and some dust rags."

"Will do."

Figuring the she may as well make a thorough job of it, she also asked for a ladder, and she spent the next several days taking all the books off the shelves and dusting the shelves from the top down. Then she dusted all the books one by one. Then she swept the floor, the tables, and any other surface that had collected dust.

When this had been completed to her satisfaction, she used the tables to sort the books by category. As far as she could figure out, there were three basic categories. A large number of the books were technical manuals. The next largest group was non-fiction, mainly history and science and even some works on alchemy.

Then there was fiction. Vesya frowned at the stacks of these works that she had arranged on the table. There were a few hardbound books of literature, basic classics that she had heard of before and even read when she was in school. The majority, however, were somewhat battered paperbacks with lurid cover art. Out of curiosity, she started flipping through a few of them, but they quickly made her blush.

When she mentioned them to Miles one night after they had gone to bed (she didn't bother bringing it up during dinner—the general wasn't particularly interested), Miles burst out laughing.

"Oh! Those!"

Vesya smirked at him. "Don't tell me you read dirty books, Miles!"

"Uh…" Miles still chuckled. "Not for a while. For one thing, I'm too busy. For another," he said, pulling her into his arms, "I have much better things to do with my spare time."


The first month went by, if not idyllically, then better than Vesya had expected it to. She had accepted the necessity of Miles' schedule. He was, after all, working diligently to safeguard the country from the menace to the north. He told her stories of what life was like in Drachma, and the idea of being conquered and subjugated by such a cruel and despotic power was not worth considering.

She tolerated the daily ritual of dinner in the officers' mess, listening quietly to the conversation that invariably centered on the fort and the events that occurred within its walls. There was seldom any discussion of what was going on in the rest of Amestris, unless the general made some sort of scathing comment regarding either Fuhrer Grumman or Brigadier General Mustang.

She wrote home each week, even though she didn't have that much to say after the first couple of weeks. She kept it to one letter for everyone to read, addressing them to Damyan, but she received several letters in reply, something she dearly looked forward to. As would be expected, Damyan's letters were straightforward and sensible, but laced with humor. Naisha supplied her with local gossip. Dejan's letters were like stories, filled with colorful characters and details.

Andakar's letters were not very long, but she still loved reading them. He wasn't interested in gossip, simply giving a brief description of what he was occupied with. He seemed to think it wasn't very interesting, but Vesya had specifically asked everyone to let her know what they were doing. Andakar was more concerned with how she was doing. He wanted to be sure that she was happy, or at least content. He told her how he prayed for her and Miles every morning and evening. She kept all her letters in a cardboard box at the bottom of the wardrobe in their room, often re-reading them while waiting for Miles to come home.

She didn't discuss her letters at the dinner table. They were too personal to her. In her mind, Ishval had become a faraway paradise, untouched by the bitter cold and the rampant militarism of the north, and she wanted to keep it that way.

The monotony of daily life did have the occasional variation. Miles had one day off a week, which he kept faithfully, not letting work interfere. They would spend it entirely together. A couple of times they drove down into North City, which was just as cold as Briggs but was a rustic, friendlier, more colorful place. There were shops and restaurants and even two movie houses, something Vesya had never experienced before. It was thrilling to sit in the darkened theater and watch the shorts, newsreels, and feature films. On days like these, she actually felt like a normal married woman.

One day when the sun was out and there was no threat of a sudden snowstorm, he took her up onto the roof. It was a glorious sight with the snow-laden landscape stretching out for miles on either side of the citadel. She stood nearly at the same level of the white capped mountain range into which the fort was built. Above them, an eagle soared against the brilliant blue sky. She could easily see how Miles had come to love this place.

But the rest of the time, Miles belonged to his commanding officer, and Vesya felt that she couldn't really begrudge the general for it. He was her loyal shadow, the one man she trusted above all others to help her defend the border and keep the people of Amestris safe. Vesya was deeply proud of her husband for his dedication not just to his general and to his uniform, but to the Ishvalan heritage that he strove to uphold and elevate in the eyes of others by his honor and courage.

As her second month at Briggs began, she had learned to find contentment when and where she could. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she envisioned that at some point, things would get better. The frantic level of activity, the arms race that Briggs was running, would someday come to an end.

One day there seemed to be a stirring within the fort. Something had happened, and even in the quiet of the library, Vesya could sense it. There were low, urgent voices passing by the door, and when she went down to lunch, which she took by herself, there was definitely a heightened tension inside Briggs. It didn't appear to be a threat, rather a threat that had been resolved. After listening to the conversations around her, she gathered that some Drachman spies had been captured. They were described in various scathing terms, as though they weren't even human.

At dinner that evening, the conversation inevitably turned to the subject of the spies, but not for very long. Judgment was being reserved, it appeared. At any rate, Vesya was more concerned about what they would be doing the next day, which was Miles' day off. Or so she thought. Near the end of dinner, Miles looked across the table at her.

"Vesya, I'm sorry, we're going to have to postpone our trip into town."

Vesya looked up from her plate, startled. They didn't discuss their personal time with others, for one thing. But she had understood that Miles' limited free time was sacrosanct. For it to be cancelled was a strange turn of events.

"I'm going to be busy tomorrow," Miles went on. "It's not something that can wait."

"Oh." Vesya looked from him to General Armstrong and back. "Is it about the spies that were caught?"

Miles nodded. "We're starting interrogations in the morning,"he said. "It's going to take several days."

Lieutenant Henschel nodded in agreement. "They're gonna be tough."

Until this point, Vesya hadn't been too concerned, but now she turned to Miles with growing alarm. "Is it going to be dangerous?"

Miles gave her a slight smile. "Only for them, sweetheart."


The next evening, Vesya expected the table to be full of talk about the spies, but the others seemed slightly subdued. She didn't usually press Miles for details about his work, but she was a little more curious this time.

"How did it go today?" she asked. Everyone looked at her, a little surprised. "I mean…with the spies."

"They're highly disciplined," Miles replied after a moment's hesitation. "They'll be tough to crack."

General Armstrong gave a dismissive snort. "If they were that disciplined, they wouldn't have gotten caught."

The others chuckled quietly, and it was then that Vesya noticed Miles rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, clenching it into a fist and flexing his fingers, grimacing slightly.

"Miles, did you hurt your hand?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just a little," he replied. "It'll be fine."

"Are you sure you don't want the doctor to take a look at that?" General Armstrong asked. "You might need to use that again."

"It's fine," Miles said easily. "I'm just a little out of practice, I suppose."

Henschel grinned. "Probably not much call for knuckle dusters in Ishval."

Vesya looked around at them, somewhat at a loss. "Knuckle dusters?"

"Brass knuckles," Lieutenant Hobson replied eagerly. He was a weapons technician and something of a walking encyclopedia on the subject. "Also called knuckle dusters or just knucks, and they're actually made out of steel. They're designed to concentrate a punch's force by directing it toward a harder and smaller contact area which results in increased tissue disruption, including an increased likelihood of fracturing the victim's bones on impact."

"Hobson!" Miles said warningly, but the lieutenant had built up too much momentum.

"The extended and rounded palm grip also spreads the counter-force across the attacker's palm that would otherwise be absorbed primarily by the attacker's fingers, reducing the likelihood of damage to the attacker's hand, although the Major may have lost his grip a little. He was putting a lot of power behind those-Ouch!" Hobson jumped in his chair and glared across at Henschel, reaching down to rub his shin. "What was that for?"

"I don't think Mrs. Miles is really all that interested," Henschel said with a hard, deliberate look.

Vesya was staring at Hobson through his rant, then she turned to Miles. "Were you using those on the Drachmans?" she asked. There was a tone of accusation in her question.

Miles frowned as he concentrated on his wine glass for a moment, twirling the stem in his fingers before raising it to his lips. "Don't worry too much about them, sweetheart. They expect it."

Vesya continued to stare at him. "But…"

"It's their job to keep their secrets to themselves," Miles continued. "It's my job to get them to change their minds. Just saying 'please' has proven ineffective."

"It's no different on their side of the border," General Armstrong added. She let out a short, grim snicker. "I liked the look on the first one's face when you slipped into Ishvalan in the middle of speaking Drachman."

The others at the table laughed, but Vesya didn't find it amusing. Until now she hadn't given much thought to what interrogating spies might actually entail. Despite the way the soldiers talked about them, they were still human. They might even have families. She found this situation and the fact that Miles seemed so indifferent about it very disturbing. "Did you hurt them very badly?" she asked.

A look of annoyance briefly crossed her husband's face. "These men have important information that we need," he told her in a stern tone tempered by patience. "They've trained for years to withstand whatever I throw at them, but every man has a breaking point. I just have to find it, and it may take me a while. This is my work, Vesya. I'm not sentimental about it, and you shouldn't be either. You just need to let me get on with it."

The room had become deathly silent. The others had left Miles to scold his wife without any interference. He had spoken as gently as he could, but Vesya could feel her cheeks burning. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door to the room swung open and one of the other officers strode in. "Sorry I'm late!" he announced cheerfully. "I had to make sure the men left a few bloodstains on the floor for tomorrow. Here ya go, Major!" He stepped up next to Miles' chair and placed two human teeth on the table next to his plate. "For your collection."

Vesya clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God!" she gasped. She shoved her chair back and rushed out of the room.


The young officer stood somewhat dumbfounded. "Uh…what just happened?" he asked.

Miles sat back in his chair with a deep sigh and said nothing.

"Seems our desert flower wasn't entirely sure what she was signing up for," General Armstrong said quietly. She looked over at Miles with a somber frown. "You might want to deal with that, Major."

Miles dropped his napkin onto the table and got up from his chair. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

She had already reached their room by the time he caught up with her, which was what he wanted. He wasn't about to have a domestic dispute out in the hallway. He felt wretched enough about it without having a possible audience. She was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. She looked up with a bleak expression as he approached. Half of him felt miserable for making her feel that way. The other half was angry. That half had to stay put for the time being.

She looked away from him quickly, shame and embarrassment in her features, and it hurt like hell to see her like that. He sat down next to her, and it gave him tremendous relief when she leaned against him, seeking comfort. He held her close.

"Vesya, honey, I'm sorry I had to talk to you like that," he said quietly, kissing her hair. "But you have to understand. I'm a soldier. This is what I do. But no matter what I do when I'm on duty, I will not bring it home."

He felt her nod under his chin. "I know, Miles. I understand. I'm sorry."

The angry half of him dissipated. He tiled her chin up to make her look at him. "Honey, you don't have to apologize. I know we rushed into this. I asked you to come with me and you took me up on it, no questions asked. I should have prepared you a little better."

"I said I'd go wherever you go," Vesya said, looking into his eyes. "I said I didn't care where. I wanted you so badly. I still do."

Miles traced the line of her jaw with his finger. He smiled sadly. "You kind of sound like you're trying to convince yourself as much as me."

He expected her to protest, which he was hoping she would do, but she didn't. "I love you so much, Miles! I'm just scared! I don't want anything to come between us!"

He held her tightly. It was hard not to notice how reticent she had become since she came to Briggs, how brave she was trying to be. She was doing it for his sake, but he had to wonder if she would ever reach a breaking point. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He rocked her gently back and forth.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart. I'm going to make it okay. I promise."

But she felt stiff in his arms.