Designation

"Be strong, be fearless, be beautiful. And believe that anything is possible when you have the right people there to support you."

~Misty Copeland

Their first dinner 'date' had gone better than Hawkeye anticipated. Conversation had been a little awkward at first, both she and her grandfather a bit stiff and too formal with each other. But once they'd actually been seated, the general's friend had come out of the kitchen to greet them and to take their orders personally, and he had been so effusive in his greeting and impromptu reminiscing that Riza couldn't help but be charmed.

Once he'd gone, Grumman struck up a careful conversation that mostly revolved around crafts: projects thus far attempted, favored yarn types, needle gauges, and the preferred sellers thereof. From there they gradually turned to other shops and restaurants and local areas of interest that they each enjoyed, which soon expanded into food related likes and dislikes, many of which they were interested to learn that they shared. ('Watermelon? Can't stand the stuff.' 'It's the texture, isn't it?' 'Yes! Like a sweet, mealy cucumber, which I'm also not particularly fond of. Pickles, now, those I enjoy as long as they're good and cold and crunchy.')

By the time dessert had been served, they were chatting away as naturally as old friends. And General Grumman felt comfortable enough to ask his granddaughter for a favor.

"A cocktail party?" Rebecca asked, interest thoroughly piqued.

"Mm-hm. It will be a select few ranked officers, several well-to-do local businessmen and their assorted wives, daughters, or other female companions," Riza explained. "There's potential to woo some wealthy donors for the Amestrian Military Widows and Orphans Fund, if he plays his cards right. He thinks that bringing his granddaughter as his plus-one will emphasize his role as a family man, which will put them more at ease and also make it seem less like a shakedown. His words, obviously, not mine."

"And never mind the fact that his granddaughter is a career military woman herself?"

"That's the thing giving me pause, actually. He…well, it's not a lie exactly, but…"

"He means to introduce you as a civilian?" Rebecca asked shrewdly, remembering how he had called her by a different name when talking to Mustang.

"Well, yes and no," Riza replied. "Or, well, I suppose it's a lie of omission? He means to leave my job out of it entirely, and let people simply assume I'm a civilian. Which would be a natural assumption to make, if I'm not in uniform. But, he also wants to call me by a pseudonym, to keep my persona as his grandchild entirely separate from my career. And…I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Rebecca, who had considered all of this already, unexpectedly took her boss's side.

"Well, it would protect your privacy. He's said before that he doesn't want people trying to use you to get to him, right?"

"Ye-es," Riza said slowly." But…it feels like lying, which I am not comfortable with."

"I see what you mean," Rebecca said thoughtfully. "But…wouldn't it be better for the rank and file to dismiss you as a civilian woman rather than try to pressure you when he's not around to protect you? Suppose one of them had a grudge or something, and they tried to mess with your career to get back at him?"

"That's how he framed it, actually," Riza frowned and reconsidered her position. "Maybe I'm being unreasonable…"

"What was the proposed alias?" Rebecca wanted to know.

"Elizabeth Grumman."

I KNEW IT, Rebecca though triumphantly. The old fox had probably been planning this for weeks, putting the various pieces into place just in case Riza accepted.

"Ooh, interesting," she said aloud. "That way, if he slipped up and called you Riza, it would seem like a natural diminutive and not blow your cover."

"Yes, that, and also Elizabeth is a more common name than mine, so I wouldn't stand out in anyone's mind or draw unwarranted interest."

"Smart," Rebecca nodded.

"Also, he very much disliked my father," Riza went on, with a wry little smile. "So I am willing to bet that he has an additional, more personal motive in calling me by my mother's maiden name rather than her married one."

"I would not be at all surprised if petty vindictiveness was a factor," Rebecca said, amused in spite of herself. The snarky old bat was growing on her more and more each day. "So…did you say yes?"

Riza sighed.

"I didn't see any reason to refuse outright, which he took as acceptance. He also offered to buy me a new dress if I didn't already have anything suitable to wear to an evening cocktail party, so…"

"So we're going shopping?" Rebecca asked, delighted.

Her friend smiled, then.

"So we're going shopping," she agreed.

"Let us assuage your conscience with some pretty new shoes," Rebecca said, laughing. "Honestly, though, Ri, it really isn't a lie. You ARE his granddaughter. If he chooses to call you a different nickname around a specific group of associates, it's no one's business. He's not proposing you falsify documents or change your legal name or anything. He's not claiming you're someone that you aren't. You're not assuming anyone else's identity and convincing people that you're her," she went on, counting off each point on her fingers.

"True," Riza said, pursing her lips.

"And if they see a woman in a pretty dress, automatically assume 'harmless civilian,' and then chose to dismiss said harmless civilian as unimportant, well, then? That's their fault for underestimating you!"

And also exactly what General Grumman was hoping for, she thought.

Riza laughed a little.

"So you really don't think it's terribly unethical?"

"Why? It's no different than giving a guy a fake number when he's being too insistent and you're not interested," Rebecca reasoned.

"I'm not at all sure those two things are analogous," Riza said, laughing more naturally now. Rebecca beamed at her.

"No, really, though! It's none of their never mind what you do for a living. They'll see a pretty young woman dutifully attending her grandpa at some tedious social function and leave it at that. So - let them!"

"I suppose when you put it that way…in any event, I've already tacitly agreed to it, so I can't exactly claim the moral high ground anyway," she mused.

"That's the spirit! And AMWOF is a good cause. Now, when are we going dress shopping?" Rebecca demanded.

Riza had been worried, at first, that Rebecca would pressure her into something too flashy for her taste (or too low-cut for her tattoo). But she'd forgotten how well Rebecca knew her. Upon entering the boutique, Catalina had ignored all of the gowns exhibiting the plunging backline that was beginning to become fashionable, and bypassed anything with a hem coming higher than mid-calf. She grabbed a series of dresses off the racks in quick succession, and shoved Riza in the direction of the fitting rooms with stern instructions to show her each and every one of them. The saleswoman had been delighted with such a discerning client, and had been eager to offer her opinion as Riza shyly emerged from behind the curtains to show off Rebecca's choices.

They'd finally settled on a pale blue gown, in a slightly old-fashioned style, with simple sheer layers and a hem that floated about her ankles. Catalina and the saleswoman had also managed to persuade her into a more daringly cut dress, in a deep hunter green, with draping at the bust and the waist and a hemline that came just to her knees. Hawkeye had demurred at first, and tried to insist she didn't need a second dress, but she eventually allowed herself to be convinced by the combined flattery of Rebecca and the saleswoman. And it really was a good color on her.

They decided to break for lunch at a small sidewalk café before moving on to shoes.

"So," Catalina asked, once they'd settled all of their packages between them, "how are you planning to style your hair?" She tried not to laugh out loud at the blank expression Riza offered her in return. "Now, don't give me that! You know full well that you can still style short hair, or accessorize with pretty clips and headbands and things!"

"I honestly hadn't thought about it," Riza said, a worried frown creasing her brow.

"You could curl some of these longer bits," Rebecca suggested, reaching across the table to tweak a blonde strand. "I think a softer, more feminine sort of look would fit nicely with the civilian persona you'll be presenting," she suggested.

"I've never tried to curl my hair before," Riza said, still frowning. "I don't even own a curling iron."

"My sister does," Rebecca said, unconcerned. "She didn't inherit the glorious wavy hair from our dad like I did. I can borrow some stuff from her and come help you get ready! The party is on Friday, right?"

"You don't have to do all that; I can just wear it how I normally do," Riza protested weakly.

"Riza. Darling. PLEASE let me come over and play dress up with you," Rebecca begged. "I love doing hair and makeup; you know this. And before you tell me you don't need help with makeup, please remember that I have much better sense than to cake it on with a trowel as if you were some kind of tacky prostitute."

"Should I be concerned that you're emphasizing tacky rather than prostitute?" Riza wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"You shall resemble only the very highest class of painted whore, hand to god!" Rebecca swore, giggling.

And so Riza found herself, several days later, staring at her reflection in Rebecca's vanity as Rebecca fluffed and sprayed the soft curls she had somehow coaxed into Riza's short locks. She was having a hard time recognizing herself, and a little flutter of unease rippled through her.

"There!" Rebecca crowed, triumphant. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Y-yeah," Riza said, attempting to smile.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Rebecca dropped to her knees in front of Riza to peer up at her friend's face. "You don't like it? We can brush it out and forget the whole thing if you hate it, Ri, okay?"

"No, no, I don't hate it," Riza assured her. "It's just…I guess I'm getting cold feet. I don't think I can do this." She started to rub a hand across her face, but stopped at the last moment, recalling the layers of foundation and blush and lipstick and eyeliner that Rebecca had painstakingly applied only moments ago.

"Then we'll call Grumman right now and tell him you can't make it," Rebecca said immediately.

"I couldn't disappoint him like that," Riza sighed. "I already told him I would go; I can't back out at the last minute and leave him hanging, no matter how uncomfortable I might be."

"Riza, omigod, yes, you can!" Rebecca cried. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do! Look, I've only worked for him a short while, so I can't claim to know everything about his character, but I'm completely certain that he'd be really upset if he knew he'd made you uncomfortable in any way. If you called him right now and said you couldn't go through with it after all – I mean, sure, he might be a bit disappointed, but he wouldn't hold it against you!"

"I know," Riza said softly, struggling to articulate what was really bothering her. "It's just…it's so silly. I barely even know the man, but he's all the family I have left. I want him to like me," she admitted in a tiny voice. Rebecca's heart ached for her.

"Oh Ri, baby, he already likes you. Of course he likes you," she insisted. "Believe me, no one who knows you at all can help liking you!"

"But –"

"No buts!" Rebecca interrupted. "You don't have to be useful to someone in order for them to like you, darling, that's not how it works."

"I know. I'm sorry, Becca; I'm being stupid," Riza said, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm just nervous and I don't want to mess this up."

"You're not stupid at all," Rebecca said firmly. "Of course you want to do your best; you have an incredible work ethic. You promised you'd do this favor, and so of course you want to do the absolute best job you can, and now you're worried because you've never done something quite like this before. But you're overthinking it. You don't even have to DO anything special. Just be your own normal self."

"Becca," Riza started to argue.

"No, shut up! You are kind, and sweet, and funny, and charming. All you have to do is make generic, polite conversation with a dozen or so people who know your grandpa professionally. And maybe eat a few hors d'oeuvres and drink a glass of champagne at some point. Easy peasy! There is nothing you could possibly do wrong that would ruin this; I promise you."

"Nothing?" Riza asked, with a tiny half smile. Rebecca grinned.

"Well, okay, maybe don't get sloppy drunk and end the night with a shitfaced striptease on top of the bar or anything, but aside from that…"

"I suppose I can try to avoid that," Riza replied, dryly.

"You'll do an amazing job if you act exactly as you normally do when meeting new people, sweet pea. And if talking to them really is awful and you can't stand another minute of it, just tell the general you don't feel well and call me, and I will come get you out of there. Okay?"

Riza sighed heavily, oddly reassured.

"Thank you, Becca," she said softly.

Rebecca rose from the floor and gently squeezed Riza's shoulders.

"That's what friends are for," she said, fiercely. She rose and moved to stand behind Riza again, and both girls stared at Riza's reflection, watching as she took another deep breath, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"There she is," Rebecca said softly. "Just because you look like a fragile blossom doesn't mean you are one. Those people at the party will only see what they want to see: a pretty girl in a pretty dress, with a pretty smile. The sharp mind and fierce heart underneath the surface? If they don't think to look for those, then they deserve to be deceived."

"When did you get so poetic, Becca?" Riza asked, smiling up at her.

"Since I started dating that extremely hot grad student, obviously," she retorted, tossing her hair. "He's into Neruda and Baudelaire and he has the most gorgeous dimples and you can never meet him because he'd throw me over for you in a heartbeat."

"The more fool him," Riza said lightly. She reached up to place a hand over Rebecca's, which still rested on her shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze.

"You've got this," Rebecca said.

"I've got this," Riza echoed, with renewed determination.

In the end, Rebecca was right. It was a matter of making polite conversation with a handful of people who happened to know the General. Hawkeye felt silly for having been so nervous. As for her reservations about lying to them…well. It felt less like lying about her identity and more like being introduced to a group of strangers by a rarely used nickname. Somewhat to her surprise, she found herself responding quite naturally to 'Miss Grumman' and 'my dear Elizabeth,' and no one even thought to ask her what she did for a living.

She tried not to wonder whether this was what her life would have looked like had she taken her grandfather up on his offer all those years ago. Had it really only been five years, now? It felt like longer.

"You have quite the talent for this sort of work, my dear," General Grumman murmured as he sidled up to her near the end of the evening. She smiled at him and accepted the flute of champagne he was holding out to her.

"What's that, lying to the wealthy?" she asked. He grinned at the gently teasing tone.

"Playacting a necessary part, let's say," Grumman replied. "Which is a vital facet of any social interaction, really, when you come right down to it. I shall have to remember to factor in this hidden talent of yours when assessing future assignments."

"You really think I have a talent?" she said, surprised. "For pretending to be someone I'm not?"

"For someone who was not brought up to this sort of glad-handing, my dear, you manage to make it look remarkably easy," he said, patting her arm. Stunned, Riza could only blink at him.

"I've barely said or done anything at all," she said finally, disbelieving.

"You realize that is half the battle, child?" Grumman chuckled. "Your polite silence gives them the impression that you are truly captivated by their every dull word. And having such an indulgent listener makes them feel important and influential and interesting, which puffs them up a little; makes them feel more benevolently towards mankind in general. And then, being full of said importance and goodwill, they feel more charitably inclined towards the cause we are here to interest them in, and they loosen their tight little fists just that little bit more."

"And here I was worried that I made for a very poor conversationalist," she sighed, shaking her head. "Silly of me, I ought to have realized that they only wanted to hear themselves talk."

"I hope it hasn't been too terribly tedious for you, my dear," Grumman said, with a slight frown creasing his brow.

Ah, so Rebecca was right about that, too.

"Oh no, not really," Riza hastened to assure him. "Some of them have been a little boring to listen to, but I am still enjoying myself overall." Something else that rather surprised her – fancy parties like this were very much outside of her usual milieu.

"Good, good, glad to hear it. At least the canapes are appealing," her grandfather said, eyeing a passing waiter with interest. "Sadly, they aren't always, at these types of functions. Have you tried the little cheese one with the cherry jam on top?"

"No, I was afraid I'd spill the jam down the front of my new dress," Riza admitted.

"And a very fetching frock it is," Grumman returned, gallantly, eyeing her with the air of a man who knew what he was talking about. "The color and cut suit you quite well, my dear. I hope you took me up on my offer of new shoes to go along with it?"

Riza tilted her head with a small, demure smile and struck a modest pose to show off her new heels.

"Ah, very nice! You've excellent taste, my dear; those are lovely."

"Catalina actually picked them out," she confessed. "Pretty new shoes are her greatest weakness."

"Ah, so our intrepid Sergeant Major has a fondness for shoes, does she? Something to keep in mind next time I require a favor," Grumman mused, in a slightly self-deprecating tone.

"Better be careful not to spoil her, sir," Riza warned, laughing. "Or else she'll bankrupt you and end up moving to a larger apartment so she can have a separate room just for her shiny new shoes…"

"As long as I was able to admire the turn of delicate ankles and luscious calves thus enhanced by the fruits of my labor, I should be satisfied," he said with a leer.

Forgetting professionalism for a moment, Riza swatted him lightly on the arm. Instantly appalled at herself, she gasped and stammered out an apology.

"Forgive me, sir, I – " she started to say. But General Grumman was already chortling in delight.

"Ah, you've your mother's fiery spirit!" he beamed at her. "And her staunch, unwavering loyalty. Never apologize for that, child." Shaken, Riza could only swallow hard and nod. "Now. If I promise to behave myself, would you be opposed to accompanying me to more of these sorts of gatherings, in the future?"

Riza took a moment to consider, still marveling at how her grandfather's easy familiarity had so easily brought out her own playfulness. She'd almost felt like she'd been talking to Catalina, these past few minutes.

"No, I wouldn't mind," she said finally. "Even if some of the other conversations I've had tonight were a little lacking in substance, it's certainly no hardship."

Grumman beamed at her, obviously and sincerely pleased.

"I'm delighted to hear that, my dear. I assure you I won't impose too often. I know you find the artifice of it all…distasteful. And I would be happy to continue to provide sartorial incentives," he offered.

"You don't need to do that," Riza frowned a little. "If there's a specific costume required for a function, then I can - that is, so long as I have advance warning - I can find something suitable," she said, discomfited. She didn't like the idea of him feeling as though he had to buy her obedience.

"Ah, but I've cheated myself out of so many years of spoiling my only grandchild. I should like to be allowed to buy you pretty things now, if you'd indulge me sometimes," he said, smiling somewhat wistfully at her.

The sneaky old fox.

"You're making it very difficult to refuse, sir," she said reproachfully.

"Considering it then, eh?" he chuckled. "I'm a stubborn old man, my sweet, and I think that a beautiful woman ought to have beautiful things if she so desires. Now, I shouldn't like for you to feel in any way beholden to me, but if I were to send you gifts on occasion, would you at least promise to consider opening them before consigning them to the flames?"

She couldn't help but laugh.

"I promise I won't burn anything without first trying it on, sir, will that suffice?" she teased.

"A better deal than I could have hoped for," he grinned.

"We ought to get back to Mr. Hightowers and all his scintillating opinions on the price of quality lumber these days," she suggested, turning towards the guests they'd been largely ignoring for the past several minutes.

"I suppose we've avoided the old blowhard long enough," Grumman sighed. He offered her his elbow with a gallant flourish.

"If he begins to rant about the inferiority of eucalyptus grown in this climate and you heartlessly abandon me again, sir, I may require more compensation than a pretty frock and a new pair of shoes," she threatened, allowing him to steer her towards the large, loud gentleman and his painfully timid wife.

"You drive a hard bargain, child," he snickered. He watched with amusement as his only grandchild subtly straightened her shoulders and smoothed her features into a serene mask. Was she even aware she was doing it?

He felt honored that she'd let the mask slip while talking to him. And also wondered fleetingly what Madame Christmas would be able to make of such raw talent, if ever she got those lovely crimson tipped claws on the girl.

"Well. Once more unto the breach, my dear?" he said, with a wink.

"Once more," she agreed. I've got this.

A.N. I've been staring at this chapter for over a year, now, and I decided it was long past time to just pull the trigger already (pun only sort of intended). Enjoy!