A/N: Sorry for the delay. I had to cut out a lot from this chapter because it was insanely long. I probably should have upped the chapter-count but instead I decided that not everything had to be shown, and hopefully I left enough to give you all a good idea of how this AU would get to the point that I've taken it to. If you have any questions about the blanks that you'd like filled, let me know!

Again, this was a Secret Santa project for Liberty_Flight. So happy Christmas Liberty Flight! And Happy New Year, and Lunar New Year, and an early Happy Valentine's too, for good measure! Sorry it took so long to get here but I hope you enjoy!

She let a laugh slip past her teeth—a tinkling, musical sound that vibrated like the wet rim of a crystal glass. Chin on her hand, leaning forward just so, she watched his eyes travel to the dip of her collar.

She'd always considered herself above the trappings of power, but there was just something about the glaze of a handsome man's eyes as she choreographed her every move; it made her chest purr with satisfaction.

But for all the fun she was having, basking in the full attentions of a man who seemed genuinely kind and unquestionably attractive, there was something fundamental missing from the flirty back-and-forth. She took a deep breath to dampen her frustrations, smirking internally at how the movement mesmerized her enraptured audience.

"So what's your specialty, soldier?" she asked, voice low with an affected husk.

He blinked, returning his attention to her face with a cocksure grin.

"I don't like to brag, but I know my way around a gun."

"Oh really? Think you could teach me a few tricks?" She reached toward his glass, elegantly swiping a bead of condensation with her finger. In truth, she already had a pistol in her purse and more than enough knowledge of how to use it. But she was not above stroking an ego or two. "A girl's gotta know how to protect herself."

"I could protect you," he said eagerly, eyes wide and excited at the prospect. She felt warmed through, flattered. He really did seem like a sweet guy.

"Elizabeth…"

The interruption wasn't exactly welcome, but the voice certainly was.

Roy sat on a barstool right beside her new acquaintance. He propped his elbows on the bar and shot her an amused smirk.

"You don't need to worry about this one. Havoc's one of mine."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, you've got the right men behind you," she responded, before affecting a pout. "I was giving him all my best moves and I got nothing out of him."

"That's impressive. I doubt even I could stand against your interrogations." His voice billowed in a low, seductive tone to rival her own. Which wasn't particularly surprising, given that they had the same teacher.

Havoc's eyes darted between the two of them, a crease on his forehead. "What's happening?"

Roy patted his back. "Jean, why don't you put those muscles to good use and help Vanessa change out a keg?" He pointed to Vanessa, who tossed her hair behind her shoulder and smiled when she caught Havoc's eye.

"Uh, sure. I mean, yes sir." Havoc rose and walked toward the brunette. He looked back at them once more, confusion etched on his face. She shot him a playful wink, silently delighting in how his expression melted into a serene grin.

Roy tapped on the bar twice, recapturing her attention.

"Is your boss in?"

"She'll be back in a few hours," Riza says nonchalantly. "She left me in charge though. Is there anything I can help you with, Roy?" Her voice drips with feigned innocence.

"Mmm. Maybe a drink, for starters."

Riza poured him one of the cheaper whiskeys—he was never pressured to pay, but that didn't mean she was going to waste the good stuff on him—and leaned against the bar, thankful that the crowd was small tonight.

Roy reached out a hand to roll a lock of hair between his fingers. "Long hair suits you."

Riza tilted her head back to release her chestnut brown hair from his grasp. It had grown quite long, longer than she's ever worn it. She didn't mind the maintenance much, except for when her roots would show and she would have to endure the smell of chemicals for a night as she dyed it.

"So how long are you in town for?" she asked.

"You probably already know. You have a knack for knowing everything, Elizabeth."

She smiled. "Humor me."

Roy took a sip of his drink and leaned forwards, so close their noses were almost touching. "Just a couple of nights. Can't leave my superior alone for too long."

"And how is your superior these days?"

"Oh, you know. Still not the same since his granddaughter ran away." He smiled sadly and she schooled her expression to look closer to pity than melancholy.

It was mutually agreed, of course. In order to do the work she did, she could not be associated with a general. Still, the only thing that made it easier was knowing that he had Roy looking out for him. It was strange, really, how they had essentially switched parents. The Madame looked after her like one of her own, and she hadn't left without a promise from her grandfather that he would do the same for Roy.

The bar was quiet but not empty, so Riza changed the subject before she was at risk of letting something slip.

"So what kind of suite does the military shell out for when the famed Flame Alchemist goes away on business?"

Roy's playful grin returned, eyes twinkling as if he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Actually, I was thinking of staying in my old place. I grew up around here, didn't you know? It'd be nice to see what my old room looks like."

Riza did know, of course. And she also knew exactly what his old room looked like, because she slept in it every single night.

A wave of a hand at the other end of the bar grabbed her attention, and she straightened up, shooting him one last secretive smile. "Well, welcome back, Roy. Don't work too hard." She walked away with an extra swing to her hips, and he watched her without a hint of embarrassment. Perk of the job, she supposed.

She was used to forcing a smile, but not around him. Even though her job, her name, her very existence since she was eighteen years old revolved around deceit and subterfuge, she never more like a liar than when she laughed airily at his half-hearted attempt at a joke.

The rings around his eyes spoke for themselves, but even if they didn't, his limp, grey complexion and his general disheveled appearance would take up the mantle. She had met Hughes a few times, heard about him plenty and seen enough pictures of his wife and daughter that it felt like they were practically family. Roy had lost a brother; there was no other way to put it. Still, even if his happiness was important to her, his goal came first, and his safety was a close second. Her job now was to make sure he didn't do something stupid to put either in jeopardy. If he did, her job was to do what she had been too weak to do when he returned from Ishval.

She'd learned as much as possible about the events surrounding Hughes' death. A lot of information didn't make any sense, but she was certain that his second lieutenant's intuition was correct and the person charged was innocent. She almost wished the soldier had done it, to give Roy some closure. Maybe then he wouldn't have dived headfirst into a battle with a near-immortal monster. Maybe his team wouldn't have been scattered throughout the country. Maybe his bodyguard wouldn't have lost the use of his legs.

"She tried to shake off the thoughts and focus her attention on him, but she realized that her introspection had gone unnoticed. His eyes were glazed over, no doubt lost in his own trail of what-ifs. When he noticed her watching him, he cleared his throat and gave her a watery smile.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. It seems I'm a bit too tired to be good company."

She reached for his hand and ran her thumb gently across the scabbed transmutation circle on the back of his hand. Matching tattoos, she thought for one macabre moment. How romantic.

"Why don't you walk me home, then? You could come in for a drink or two."

"Can't drink. Doctor's orders. But maybe I could trouble you for some tea?"

He walked with an arm around her waist, but it wasn't the gentle, casual touch between lovers. His fist squeezed her side, like if he were to let go, she would float away, or he would sink.

When they got to the kitchen, he boiled some water and flitted through the cupboards while she took off her heels.

"Where have you hidden the honey?"

She pointed to the shelf and he sat down beside her a moment later with two cups. He scraped his chair closer to her and pulled her into his one-armed embrace, rubbing her shoulder. She could feel the shake in his hand.

"Riza…"

She hasn't felt like "Riza" in years. Most people didn't know her as anything other than Elizabeth, and those that did knew not to use her old name. Roy didn't slip very often, but when he did, she would feel her treacherous heart squeeze, both devastated and delighted that someone could know her, completely and unquestionably, like he did.

"Roy," she breathed, both a warning and a response, one soul calling out to another.

He rested his head on her shoulder, face buried in her neck.

"It's going to be much harder from here on out."

She touched her forehead to his temple. "We always knew it would be."

"Even harder than we thought."

"We'll have to work smart then."

He laughed, a hollow sound, and shifted back in his chair until he was looking at her again. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to give this up? Go somewhere safe and live a normal life? Maybe get a job where you don't have to sell your body for—"

She interrupted him with a press of her palm against his stomach. He flinched hard, hissing in pain at his still-fresh injury.

"Who's selling their body?" she countered, teasing.

He scowled. "Riza, you don't understand what kind of danger we're in."

"Then tell me."

"I can't." He grabbed her elbows desperately, leaning towards her again, hiding his face in her shoulder. "You're all I have left in the world to lose."

She found herself leaning into his shoulder as well, wrapping her hands around his forearms. Her nose was pressed against the pulse of his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other, supporting the other's weight. If she were to move away now, he would fall, and vice-versa. But she didn't plan on moving away yet, not until he had the energy to stay upright himself.

After a long time, he whispered. "You're all I have, and I wish I didn't have you. I wish you were never dragged into all this. I wish you never met me."

The words cut through her. He may only have wanted her to be safe, but she couldn't imagine a life without him. His presence was sewn into the fabric of every aspect of her life since she'd met him. "Do you remember when we were kids?" she asked, the words slightly muffled against his shoulder. "You hated school, remember? You complained that you had to learn about things like the afterlife."

"I thought it was so stupid at the time," he responded lowly. "I guess I should have paid more attention. If there is a God, I doubt I'll be shown any mercy. The things I've done…"

She squeezed his arm as a warning, before pulling herself back up to face him. He slumped back, not meeting her eye.

"You said that we should focus on this world. Remember? You said there was no point dwelling on possible worlds. In this world, you have me." She stroked his cheek, and he looked at her. He still looked sad, broken. But the life in his eyes wasn't gone yet, and she clung to that.

"And if there is a life after death, whatever kind—heaven, reincarnation, Truth—if there are infinite different worlds in infinite different universes, I swear I'll find you in every single one." She could see a word caught in his throat as his eyes shone, just like when she first met him and he looked at her like he'd wished her into existence. "I'll follow you into hell if you ask me to."

He didn't respond. Not with words, at least. He just took her hand firmly in his and stood, pulling her along with him as he headed for her bedroom, leaving the tea to cool on the table, untouched.

He left before dawn, affecting a stagger and a lisp so passersby would think he'd spent the night drinking. She heard the faint notes of his off-key singing from her room as he walked down the street. She rolled her eyes fondly; Roy was a good actor but he was always lacking in discretion.

She heard the bustle as the girls came upstairs from their shift. She was opening in less than five hours, but she wasn't yet tired, so she walked downstairs in the hopes that a cup of tea might settle her.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she heard the sound of the chimes above the front door, placed precisely to ensure that the staff can hear when a customer arrived. She frowned. None of the girls would be stupid enough not to lock up before leaving. Not here, where the veil between service and subterfuge sat thick in the air like cigar smoke. Every single one of these girls—herself included—could be executed as an enemy of the state if they weren't careful. Leaving a door unlocked allowed for far bigger threats than a simple robbery.

Riza searched the cabinets as quietly as possible until she found one of the many small pistols the Madame had dotted around the bar as standard procedure. The weight of it assured her it was loaded. She took a deep breath before slinking toward the bar.

She almost dropped the gun.

A young boy with black hair stood a few feet from the counter. His eyes locked onto her as soon as she came into his periphery. His face was blank, no look of curiosity or confusion. He didn't look lost, despite his surroundings.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off, before her mind started doing what it did best, piecing together the strange, puzzling child in front of her.

She'd seen him before, but she hadn't met him. How, then? Maybe pictures shown by drunk fathers as they explain their marriage problems. Pictures…Yes she'd seen pictures of him before. Pictures printed with ink that rubs off onto your fingers. Newspaper photos. Headlined, with his father standing proud beside him. His father, the führer. Selim Bradley. The most famous child in the country, with the possible exception of the child-alchemist Roy had recruited.

Her eyes darted to the front door, still slightly ajar. The inside looked fine but the handle for the outside lay on the floor, encased in splintered wood. There was no protocol for this, no flirty trick to handle the führer's young son seemingly breaking in with nothing but inhuman strength. She hid the gun behind her nightdress and decided that the safest option was to play dumb. She pitched her voice high and breezy.

"Are you okay, little boy? Where are your parents?"

"So you're the missing piece," the boy said, though he sounded off, like he was surrounded by tiled walls that bounced his voice again and again into a dozen different utterances at once. The sound made Riza's lungs feel like they were encased in ice. Still, she smiled a clueless smile.

"Do you know your home phone number? Your mother must be worried sick."

Her smile faltered as the shadows around him shifted in the dim light. Suddenly, they seemed to take on an extra dimension, as if they themselves were made of matter. They stretched and thinned into tendrils, creeping along the floor until she could feel them, climbing across her arms, tightening around her wrist until her palm opened and the gun dropped onto the floor with a loud thud.

"That won't work on me, Riza Hawkeye," he said her name slowly, a self-satisfied grin stretching across his face. It looked unnatural on a child.

Riza opened her mouth to speak—though she hadn't anything in particular to say—but instead released a choked gasp as the tendrils wrapped around her throat. She felt the warm, wet trickle of blood slowly drip down her jaw, before her mind caught up and registered the sharp sting across her cheek.

She was frozen in place, from fear or from some otherworldly incapacitation she couldn't tell, but her rational mind broke through. In her line of work, this wasn't the first time she had been choked, and staying calm was rule number one, so the air left in her lungs wasn't wasted.

"So, your grandfather's not quite the fool he makes himself out to be," the boy pondered, tilting his head. Riza swore she saw eyes blinking within the shadowy limbs. Her limbs started to tingle; she was losing circulation.

The child-monster continued. "I don't know the hows and whys of your arrangement with the Flame Alchemist, but he's been here a lot, wouldn't you agree? And it seems you're the common denominator. He must hold a lot of affection for you." He spat the word out, a disgusted look on his face, before smiling again, sinister and pleased. "Much easier to control a dog when you know what makes him sit."

She put all her energy into not reacting, not even when the grasp on her neck loosened. She took a steady breath, fighting the urge to choke and gasp. She pitched her voice low and steady. "Are you trying to humor me with your empty threats? It's just wasteful to kill your leverage."

It laughed, impressed. "My my. How perceptive you are."

The air around her began to warm up as the root-like limbs retracted from her body. The lights in the room flickered.

"Just remember: no matter where you are, I will be watching you, from the shadows." Another flicker of the lights and the creature was gone.

The air felt stagnant for a moment as Riza looked around, body coiled and anticipating. But then that heavy atmosphere dissipated completely.

She bent to retrieve the pistol, before her body crumpled, spent. She knelt with her hands on her knees, doubled over and taking uneven, shaking gulps of air.

The Madame was the first to find her, and though her words were white noise in Riza's ears, she felt herself being helped up, and led to bedroom. The other girls flocked to her shortly after.

They asked questions, fussed over the cut on her face and helped her into bed, and Riza registered none of it. When she woke up again, she was alone, and it was dark outside. She powered through her muddled thoughts enough to get dressed and go downstairs, but it took far longer than usual.

Someone else had opened, but she stood behind the quiet bar anyway. Nobody told her to go back to bed; she would have refused if she did.

Hours passed in a blur as she spaced out, tried to tie her thoughts together in a way that made some sort of sense. Clarity only seemed to break through when she saw a familiar mop of messy black hair come through the doors, mostly obscured by a comical amount of flowers.

He dumped the various bouquets on the bar with a wide smile. "I know it's excessive, but I'm a little drunk," he said, so confidently that she would have believed him if she didn't know for a fact that he was explicitly told not to drink by his doctor.

Riza stared at the flowers, at the shadows of the stems, as if she were convinced that they were going to move.

"What's wrong?"

She inhaled sharply, looking back up at him. His smile was gone, the gravity of his tone felt heavy, like a weight on her shoulders. When his eyes scanned her face, they widened. He reached out, gently, to touch her cheek. She felt a dull pain at his touch, suddenly remembering the cut.

"You don't understand what kind of danger we're in."

It wasn't safe for him to be here, wasn't safe for him to touch her so gently, in public where everyone could see. How foolish they'd been, playing at being lovers, showing so plainly how much deeper their affections were.

She tried to smile. "The girls have missed you, you know. You should give some of these to Vanessa, or Wendy."

"Who did this to you?" he almost whispered, his voice even. But his eyes burned, a silent rage filling him to the brim.

"No matter where you are, I will be watching you."

She opened her mouth to change the subject again, but his eyes stopped her in her tracks. He wasn't going to let it go. She sighed internally. She wouldn't let it go either, if the positions were reversed. But she couldn't just come out and say it; no matter how concerned he was, she wasn't about to paint a target on his back. Not now, when they were walking a razor-wire tightrope, so close to success and so likely to die before reaching it.

Instead, she found a glass and poured a whiskey. He looked like he was about to object, but she met his eye and tried her best to channel a message into her stare. Trust me.

Tap. Tap.

She placed in front of him, watching his eyes light up in recognition. She found her voice again, steady and breezy just like she learned.

"It's such a silly story, Roy. I'm so embarrassed," she giggled.

He took a sip of the drink, or pretended to at least, before placing it back on the bar.

Tap. Tap.

"I love silly stories, Elizabeth. I'm listening."

"Well, I was with Sara and Ellen upstairs, and we were talking about the letter we got from Lisa…"

She sat cross-legged on the floor, refusing to look away from the man across from her, mirroring her pose. She has been flirted with and threatened by men twice his height, with muscles and machismo to rival the Armstrong son, and she has never flinched. But there was something about this man's calculating gaze that made her feel like he knew all the answers to the questions he was inevitably going to ask.

"So what's your surname?" he said eventually.

"Mooney."

"And where did you grow up?"

"Around here."

"Where did you go to school?"

"The girl's school on Windsor street. It's closed down now."

He narrowed his eyes. "Convenient."

She shrugged. "Not for the students, I suppose."

"Mustang grew up around here too. Were you buddies at school?"

"I already said, I went to a girl's school."

"So you didn't know him at all?"

"No."

"That's strange."

"It's a big city."

He stayed silent again for a while, planning his next move no doubt. She was struck with the overwhelming urge to lord her own knowledge in his face. I know all about you, Heymans Breda. But she felt like that would be playing right into his hands.

She felt something wet touch her hand, and turned to see the adorable black dog nuzzling against her. She stroked its fur.

"He seems to like you," the boy-soldier said nervously. She smiled kindly at him. He was clearly uncomfortable that she was undergoing such scrutiny under his colleague, but in truth she was enjoying the interrogation. Roy had some very capable men behind him.

Breda spoke again. "I feel like I've seen you before. Have you been in the newspaper? Maybe on a poster or two?"

"One magazine shoot, last year. Maybe that's what you're thinking of."

"That your natural hair color?"

"Wanna check?"

"What made you decide to work in the Madame's bar?"

"Money."

He snorted. "And what brings you here? Mustang would have to be shelling out a lot for you to risk your life like this."

"Maybe he is."

"That stingy bastard? Doubtful. Why didn't—"

She was spared from further interrogation when the door swung open. Breda and Fuery snapped to attention immediately, leaving Riza to sit stroking the puppy that had made its way onto her lap.

His face faltered when he looked down at her. "Riza?"

She ignored Breda's muttered "I knew it" and gently placed the dog beside her, before standing up to approach him.

He continued to stare at her incredulously. "I had it on excellent authority that you were on a beach somewhere in Aerugo."

She smiled and opened her jacket, letting him catch a peek of the pistol sheathed in her shoulder holster. "I thought I'd try out a new career. I've been thinking that maybe I'm getting a little too old for the job."

He studied her all over, a warm smile blooming on his face. "Too old? Nonsense, Elizabeth. You're still a knockout."

She resisted the urge to grab him, to pull him in for a kiss right in front of his subordinates. A kiss would feel too much like a precaution, like there would be a chance of it being their last kiss. And neither of them could afford to think like that right now.

Breda cleared his throat behind her.

"Your orders, Sir."

She spotted his hat on the coat-rack in the foyer. She didn't know he had a meeting today, but then again she wasn't being kept in the loop. Her grandfather was quite adamant about her prescribed bed rest.

She plucked the hat from the hook and put it on. It was a little too big, tilting immediately to one side.

"Suits you."

She turned around, seeing him leaning against the door to Grumman's office, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. It was nice to see the black of his eyes again, instead of the milky grey that had replaced it for weeks.

She approached him slowly, her legs were still a little shaky if she was out of bed for too long, but the pain and the exhaustion were just further proof to her that she was alive, that she lived like he ordered her to and she kept him alive too. It felt good to be on the other side of the battle.

His mouth opened in surprise as she approached, looking just above her forehead.

"The blonde looks good," he said, reaching out and combing the short ends with his fingers. It had been cut short when she was in the hospital, to make the wound easier to clean. And in truth she was happy to go back to her natural color as well.

She got the strangest sense of deja-vu as he moved his palm to cup the back of her head, his thumb tracing ever-so-gently across the scar on her neck.

"So why were you meeting with the führer? Is he planning a parade to celebrate you for rescuing his poor helpless granddaughter?" she asked with a smirk.

"Everyone would see right through that. They'd take one look at you and know that you rescued yourself," he retorted playfully. "The meeting wasn't too important. Just an excuse to check out the new digs, maybe see if I could have a set of eyes on the inside," his free hand reached to hold her waist, to draw her in a little closer.

"You want me to betray my own grandfather?"

"Not at all. I just want you to make sure he doesn't redecorate. I want this place to look just like it does now, when I move in."

Even with his twinkling eyes and cheeky grin, the casual way in which he spoke made her feel like she was glowing inside. The work wasn't over, by any stretch, but after all the underground tactics, fighting and secrecy, the main thing they had to do right now was simply wait. They were one step from complete victory, from the fulfillment of a goal that seemed almost impossible a few years ago.

Still, even though she was proud and excited and had complete faith in the man in front of her, she couldn't help but tease him a little more.

"First you blow up my workplace, and now you're already planning how to kick me out of my new home?"

He laughed—the first real laugh she's heard from him in a long time, carefree and almost loud, from his chest. He pulled her closer against his him and wrapped his arms around her back. He kissed a smile into the crown of her hair.

"You're not going anywhere."

A/N: So obviously I know the big question you're all asking: "What exactly happened to Black Hayate?

Fuery snuck him into the military dorms, and got away with it. He is not very well disciplined but he's happy and healthy.