Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Deliberations are over, sir."

He glanced at the clock on his desk rather than his pocketwatch; it was easier and didn't require him to drop the pen. It wouldn't do to get ink drops on the internal copy of Avram Blane's execution order, even if it would never be seen by any but his top general and the Speaker. Once the verdict was in - and there was no doubt what it would be, at least in this case - they'd have a ceremonial signing by the entire panel, and it would be that copy that would be kept as the official historical document.

Even so, this one had great significance, and he wasn't going to smudge it. It was his first death order, after all. Or at least the first one that had actually required his signature.

Only half past three. Parliament had been deliberating a little over an hour.

The panel had already completed their discussions, but Parliament's vote was to count as one additional panel member, with the same voting power as the Speaker, the generals, or the Prime Minister. Even if they had voted in favor of Blane, they would have been overruled. His involvement - and guilt - was indisputable.

And so was Franklin Sorn's.

"Thank you, colonel."

She stayed in front of the desk, patiently waiting for him to cap the pen and give the ink a few seconds to sink into the paper. It didn't take long to soak in, gradually losing its luster, and Roy Mustang leaned back, actually looking at her for the first time since she'd entered the room.

Cool, crisp, business-like. As she always did. "I assume everything else is in order?"

She gave him a nod. "All logistics have been taken care of, sir. Brooks and Goodman remain assigned to you exclusively, and have a four-man team permanently serving at their discretion."

Quick deliberation - and quick sentences - meant the trials would be wrapping up even sooner than expected. And once Blane's body was roasting in an incinerator there was no reason to retain his private security staff.

"I assume the general was receptive to stepping up his time-table?"

A glint that wasn't amusement. That was what was missing from her now. Or maybe it really had been since Irving's letter. So much had happened he honestly didn't remember, and he found himself wearing a small, bitter smile quite without meaning to.

"Yessir." Whatever she thought of the expression, she didn't let it show. Her blonde hair had been cut, she must have done it last night - not short, but perhaps only shoulder-length. Back to the longest a sniper could wear it while still easily cramming it into a helmet.

She needed to be a good example. She would be setting the standards.

"Your official transfer will occur Thursday after five pm." He picked up the notice, waving it lazily back and forth a few times to speed the drying process. "I assume the rest of your team is aware?"

"Yessir."

Since he'd already let it slip, he let his smile expand, just a little. "Watch Breda. I don't think he can put it away like usual."

"Sir?"

"You are planning on going out with them Thursday night, aren't you?" He ran a white-gloved thumb over the words, and the digit came back clean.

"If by 'going out' you mean accompanying them while they move all the pertinent files and organize the new offices, then yes sir. Friday is not a holiday."

He looked back up at her, grinning broadly at the tone. God, how many times had she used that voice with him. "I could declare it one if you wanted."

Her eyes were a very dark brown, and they narrowed slightly as she considered falling back into their usual banter. As if nothing had happened. "I would prefer to get the office settled before Monday's official opening, Minister."

Roy let the smile slowly fade, seeing nothing else in her eyes. No disapproval. No anger. Not even resignation; there was nothing there at all. He might as well have been an enlisted for all it mattered to her. "Let them go early on Friday night."

Her right eyebrow twitched. "And why should I do that, sir?"

"So you can honor me with your presence at dinner. It would be tacky if you went to celebrate while the rest of them were slaving away."

"As tacky as asking me to said dinner?"

Roy fought the urge to laugh outright. He was definitely still on her list, then. "I don't know what you mean, colonel," he responded mildly, and waited for the expected quip regarding celebration.

Absolutely nothing changed, not her eyes, not her position of parade rest. "I'm not your type, sir."

He sighed silently, fighting the urge to stand. Somehow having the desk between them wasn't the way he'd imagined this conversation going, or how he wanted it to go, but like so many other things, moving now would just be misconstrued. "You think so?"

"It's rather hard to miss, sir. Even the leaders of foreign countries have noticed."

Tolya and his troupe of brunettes. That was true. "Ah, you mean you're not the type of woman I usually like to date."

Finally, the slightest bit of confusion in those cold, gun-leather eyes. "I wouldn't want my promotion to interfere with your normal social activities, Minister."

Truth be known, he'd spent the majority of his nights dining with Parliament, with dignitaries from other countries, with business heads and the press and a multitude of other very important people that didn't immediately spring to mind. The point was that she knew that.

This was quite flatly a rejection.

"I've actually blocked the time in the hopes you'd say yes. Of course, as of Thursday evening you are no longer under my command," save the very vague link he had to the military through Parliament, if they granted it, "so please feel no obligation. If you had made other arrangements, we'll simply schedule it for another time."

Hawkeye blinked at him. "Sir, if you're hoping a little charm will cause me to overlook the fact that you repeated the same mistake you made with Kain and Heymans-"

"When was the last time you responded to my charm?" There was no purpose in letting her reiterate her original point. "To be honest, I don't believe it's happened once."

"Hardly, sir." Her chin came up slightly. "I allowed you to weasel your way out of all manner of paperwork."

"I didn't think that was because of my charm." More than likely, it had been because of certain deadlines that had absolutely, positively needed to be met. "Riza-"

The slightest frown crossed her lips. "Don't." It was quiet and quite different from her normal warning, even when she was serious enough to pull a firearm. "You made your decision, and I've made mine."

"I made a decision to remove you from my chain of command-"

A very unladylike snort. "You made a decision to protect all of us from ourselves! As if we were children, incapable of discerning obligation from loyalty!" She lowered her voice with the same effortless chill. "I don't need to be 'followed up with' like some dithering official."

"That's not what I mean to do," he said carefully, then gave in to the urge and took his feet, pacing around the desk. She didn't give ground but she seemed quite a bit unhappier about the sudden drop in formality, and he faced her squarely . . . which probably was just as formal. His hand found its way into his hair by itself, and he sighed.

Talk about screwing up.

"Riza, you -" He stopped. That would sound too accusing. "When I was suspended after Bradley's death, doing physical rehabilitation . . . what you did for me, that was more than loyalty or obligation." Oddly, the comment made her eyes steel, so he hurried on. "Only I wasn't . . . I didn't have anything worthwhile to give you in return."

No softening, only disappointment. "You still think that? After all this time?"

"It was true, at the time." He pried the hand off his head and put it firmly in his pocket. "I was a wreck. I was and still am a coward. Always have been." Somehow he couldn't dredge up a smile, not even a bitter one. "It was better that way. Can you honestly say you would have been happy if I had been discharged?" It was assuming a lot, and he carefully moderated his voice to ensure it wasn't anything but an honest question. Neither of them would have dared jeopardize it all by toeing the fraternization rule or the code of conduct, but pointing that out, going that route, was probably a bad idea too.

Hawkeye finally dropped parade rest to cross her arms. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"I'd like to."

For a long moment she was silent, studying him intently. "Do you think you deserve it?" Particularly after last week was the unspoken fragment.

The answer was no, but she'd use that as proof that he wasn't any better than he'd been seven years ago. "I think not entertaining the idea would be a mistake."

Obviously not the right answer. "You've been in this office too long."

Point. "Riza, I'd like to start seeing you."

Her eyes were unwillingly softened by a smile, the same half-amused, half-incredulous one she sometimes wore when Breda or Havoc would put their foot into their mouth spectacularly. "You haven't seen me for years, Roy Mustang. What makes you think there's anything left of interest to me?"

Roy smirked in spite of himself. She just wasn't going to let him get away with skirting this issue. And honestly, he really wasn't sure, wasn't sure it could work at this point, wasn't sure it should - "I still haven't signed that uniform change into effect."

One perfectly arched eyebrow. "I see. Blackmail. You should have tried charm." She leaned around him, brushing his right arm as she plucked up the execution notice, long dried and forgotten on the desk beside him, and without another word proceeded across the thick carpeting towards the door. He didn't stop her, staring through the spot she'd been moments ago as if still in thought, but his mind was fairly blank. It wasn't going to be easy; he'd expected that, she was still hurt and angry and he'd expected that too. He didn't deserve it, and hadn't earned it, and it was only fair that she'd be the one stringing him along now-

The door was pulled open crisply. "Seven o'clock. The gown will be ivory, I think." With a click, it closed behind her.

- x -

The Speaker didn't even need to gesture for order, he merely looked directly at the general. Hakuro responded immediately, taking the podium, and much like before, his papers were in order and his manner was efficient and brisk.

The session was going to be short and unpleasant, and dragging it out was a waste of resources.

"Speaker, Prime Minister, House, honored judges." He inclined his head to each group as he greeted them. "The decision of all voting parties has been tallied and the verdicts found. Major General Lee Tash will share them now."

On the balcony above them, there was a brief flash. The press was still being forced to remain outside, though obviously the verdicts and sentences would be released as soon as session was closed. However, they all felt it was prudent that a staff photographer be included for historical purposes, and also to make the Amestrian people feel as if they had not been excluded, and that all proper procedure had been followed according to law. While the transcripts would reflect it, pictures were far more accessible to the average citizen, and in one case, these would be the last photographs ever taken.

The major general wasted no time in trading places with the general. "Avram Blane, stand and be judged."

Because of the presence of the photographer, they were unable to gag Blane, and it was a damn shame. He immediately began screaming his innocence and the witchhunt that was the trial, and only the microphone allowed Tash to be easily heard over him.

"On the charge of high treason, Avram Blane is found guilty. On the charge of misprision of treason, Avram Blane is found guilty. On the charge of sedition, Avram Blane is found guilty." He made no pause, no attempt to soften the news. Espionage, kidnapping, assault, aggravated sexual assault, bioterrorism, four counts of attempted murder, and intent to commit murder, all ended with the same word. If it hadn't been necessary to cover up the original transmutation of the tiny Philosopher's Stone that Sorn had used to bring Fletcher back, they could have gotten him for that too, but it was essentially moot. High treason trumped all the other charges.

"By State law, those guilty of the crime of high treason are sentenced to death by firing squad. By State law, those guilty of the crimes of misprision of treason, sedition, espionage, and bioterrorism are sentenced to death by firing squad. Due to the number of such grave and heinous crimes against the State and her citizens, the appeal process has been denied. The sentence shall be carried out without delay."

No surprise, though Blane's shouts had become nearly incomprehensible. It sounded as if he was attempting to issue a threat, and Tash's complete disinterest seemed to be egging him on. "Per State law, any execution of persons guilty of high treason must be attended by the Prime Minister, the Speaker of the House, the General of the State Military, and five witnesses to be drawn at random from Parliament. Additionally, a transcriptionist and State photographer shall be required to document the event, and those documents must be kept permanently by the Office of Records."

He gave the general a significant look, and Hakuro held up the execution order, quite a bit larger and more ornamented than the working copy. He signed it quickly, passing it across the panel for signatures as Tash continued.

"The body shall be burned and the ashes buried in an unmarked grave, and all record of its whereabouts shall be purged by the Office of Records. Lieutenant Maves, escort the prisoner to the holding area while the parade grounds are prepared."

It took four men to force Blane from the accused box across the floor, dragging him as he literally refused to walk, and while they hurried him out, it wasn't fast enough. He had been well-secured and would be shot that way; though some might call it cowardly, she was not going to allow him even the slightest chance to take anyone with him when he went.

In fact, she didn't want him out of her sight, but the verdicts were only half over.

Once Blane had been forced out the door, the opposite end opened, revealing the next set of soldiers with their equally bound charge, and Tash recognized him. "Franklin Sorn, stand and be judged."

This was an almost silent affair. As he had entered the chambers for days, he walked woodenly and with restricted stride to the accused box, which was merely a square with railings on three sides, and he looked at the major general with no expression at all. The weight he was losing was becoming strikingly apparent, and she wondered if some of that dazed look he permanently had about him was because he was barely getting enough calories intravenously to keep him functioning.

"On the charge of assault, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of assault on a superior officer, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty. On the charge of attempted murder, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty. On the charge of desertion, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of failure to carry out a direct order, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of forgery, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of attempted human transmutation, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty."

It was the desertion charge that was going to get him into trouble. If done during wartime, the consequences were the same as treason. Luckily, he had failed to report in before the Cretians attacked, so at worst he was looking at jail time. Quite a bit of it.

There was another flash from the balcony, and Sorn did not respond.

"State law mandates punishment for each of these crimes shall be metered by the justice. Franklin Sorn is thereby sentenced to time already served with an additional three year probation period, in which he will report weekly to an officer of his command's choosing. Failure to appear for these weekly meetings will result in a three month incarceration, doubling for every indiscretion. Franklin Sorn is also ordered to pay five hundred thousand cenz in fines to the State military for resources lost. His accounts and estates have been seized for payment of these debts, and any shortfall after the sale of those estates will be prorated and directly retracted from his salaries during his probation."

There was a brief murmuring as the sentence was given. Almost no jail time but that fine would bankrupt the boy, essentially cutting off his research fund and also tying him to the military for three years with almost no profit to speak of. It would certainly keep him out of trouble for the next three years.

"Further internal military punishment shall be determined by protocol and Franklin Sorn's command. The guilty party, being underaged, is hereby released to the custody of his guardians, Dolph and Madelyne Price. His presence is required in the office of the Prime Minister seven days from today at eight o'clock."

Sorn's guards stepped forward, removing his shackles while one of the pages hurriedly left the chambers. The boy, still expressionless, was led to the same doors as Blane, but in the time it had taken to untangle him from the bindings and march before the panel, the page had been successful, and she caught a glimpse of both the Prices before the doors were closed again.

"The third and final accused, the deceased Timothy Patterson, is found guilty on the following counts: high treason, misprision of treason, sedition, espionage, and two counts of attempted murder. Due to the condition of the accused at this time, State law mandates that the body shall be burned and the ashes buried in an unmarked grave, and all record of its whereabouts shall be purged by the Office of Records."

Tash looked up from his records. "This completes the findings and sentencings, Speaker."

"Thank you, Major General." The Speaker looked over the panel, catching every eye, then out at Parliament. "This session is adjourned."

This time there was no need for the formal march of the panel out the door - there were no prisoners to threaten them, though none of Parliament was going to hurry. She gave the general a nod as he passed, and the major general as well, and took her place - possibly for the last time - at his flank as the Prime Minister made his way down the hall toward his wing.

They ascended the stairs before he felt secure enough to speak without being overheard. "When are the Elrics' court martials scheduled?"

"Edward Elric's date of the thirtieth of the month has not changed. Alphonse's has been scheduled for the same day." The thirtieth being in six days. Whether Ed would actually be in any condition to attend his was in question, but he hadn't requested an extension despite Sheska apparently going in person to get his signature for one. "There's been no word from the hospital yet regarding Rockbell's surgery."

Mustang didn't say anything one way or the other, and they passed the empty pedestal where a jade dragon had once been.

"Assign Lieutenant Ross to the Prices, plainclothed."

She made the note, wondering if that was just to protect Franklin against any military backlash, or because Mustang was afraid Fuery hadn't dug out all the Cretian informants yet. Or just to keep an eye on him in case he tried to run.

"Anything else, sir?" All in all he had to be pretty happy with that verdict, when it could have been so much worse. Franklin would get two things he desperately needed from the Prices - nourishment and comfort. Between a little food and the wisdom of age, perhaps he could finally talk to someone like he had spoken to her.

"Remind Alphonse Elric to stay away from him until the court martial."

"Yessir."

She almost expected him to make some crack about the way she'd left him earlier, but he gave her absolutely no indication if he was pleased that she had accepted his overture, didn't mention it at all as they entered his outer offices. Challiel was there to give him his messages, and then Mustang disappeared into his office without a backwards glance.

She was tempted to remind him it was the end of the day and she already knew for a fact that he didn't need to sign anything else, but Challiel shook her head.

"He has a meeting."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the other woman's calendar. It showed nothing. None of them had expected to be out of session so early. "With whom?"

The other woman winced. "I've been ordered not to say."

"I'm a colonel," she reminded the other woman, using the tactic for a second time in almost as many weeks, and Challiel gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's true, but he's my boss."

- x -

Author's Notes: Yes, short chapter, because everything that happens after this is six days later and it seemed silly not to move all that to a chapter of its own. So no mistrial, Sorn's pretty much out of the woods and Roy did a pretty good job of being truthful with Riza, so I let him off the hook. I can't promise that everything will be wrapped up next chapter because there's still a little too much to do, but I should say three and no more. Two court martials and the results of Pinako's surgery . . . not a whole lot left, but I think one more good twist most of you probably see coming. ; )

As always, posted without a beta. For those who don't know, I've just posted a prequel drabble (and will post another) under the Perfect After All: Odds Without Ends title. The first one is called Sand and Shade, dealing with Havoc and Mustang's first encounter in Ishbal, and the second that will be posted is also Havoc-centric, explaining why he had those cool special op clothes but never seemed to do anything special-oppy in the anime. ; ) The first has already been referenced in PAA, ages ago, and the second one will be in the next chapter of this fic.

Which pretty much spoils that Havoc and Ed are going to have a conversation that Ed might actually remember next chapter. ; )