I wasn't able to sleep that night, instead returning home to deposit the materials salvaged from the lab and having just enough time to shower and change into my uniform before heading to the hospital. I was intercepted at the door and given a ride (back) to the lab by a Sergeant who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else than escorting an alchemist around. At the very least he wasn't rude about it. I'd found I got quite a bit more respect for being a soldier before I became a state alchemist, the state military culture was not nearly so kind to those who joined only as alchemists [I wanted to hope they weren't like that with Edward, but…he's like, 12 with an attitude and a higher rank].

My lab was inspected first, as I was the first to arrive at the building. It took a bit of willpower to keep a blandly professional smile on my face as the door opened for the inspection team, revealing Basque Grand. I tamped down what I knew about him [so I didn't punch him in his stupid fucking mustache-], and saluted instead [though my American heart cried at saluting inside, outside of ceremony, Uncle Joel was rolling in his grave I knew it-].

"Brigadier General."

"Major Arcaro. The Remedy-Sewing Alchemist. I haven't heard much about you since you got your certification. Are you still working on pneumonia?"

"No sir, I've moved past both pneumonia and medications for bacterial infections and on to bronchitis."

He started wandering his way around the lab, knowing better than to touch anything once I mentioned I was actively working on something potentially infectious.

"And what possible use could that be to the military, Major?"

I managed to ignore his tone through sheer willpower, "The work currently going into bronchitis has more applications to the military than just against infection itself, though that should be helpful to soldiers who contract it in the field and face risks of complications. The method I'm going about my research with means that once I find something that can treat it then the same treatment can be used to combat asthma. Eight percent of all recruits are discharged each year when it's found during initial training that they have asthma." He looked up sharply, finally interested, and I continued. "That's a large number of recruits the military can retain if there's a treatment. Not to mention the implications it could have for later treating smoke inhalation-"

Grand laughed, deep and from the stomach, a genuine thing that caught me completely off guard. "The Flame Alchemists mentee finding a workable treatment for smoke inhalation?"

Oh, right [I prefer to ignore anything Roy's done in combat thanks-]. "That isn't the purpose of this research, though it is a possible outcome."

He shook his head, smiling now. "Fine, fine, I get it, your research is valuable. What's with the flowers? Adding a feminine touch?"

I stamped down every insult I wanted to shove down his throat at his tone, "No sir, those are Petunias, part of the Solanaceae family-" Before I could continue one of the white coats he'd brought with him interrupted from across the room, "What is this array?" When Grand motioned for me to answer I crossed the room to see what he was pointing at. "What do you think it does?"

"..."

Grand pipped up from behind the man, glancing at him in distaste,

"There are elements in common with Mustangs array."

"There are indeed." [And I did not like the look on Grand's face when he realized I knew anything at all about Roy's alchemy.]

After another long moment of silence I sighed as discreetly as possible when I was the center of attention, carrying the piece of metal the array was contained on over to the Petunias, activating it with a touch. The light from the array faded from blue to warm orange, staying past activation. "It's a heat lamp. So the flowers get more sunlight than the actual sun can provide." I half expected that to get the respect it deserves, because it means that actual food could be grown inside Briggs and cut down on supply line issues, not to mention growing things out of season, or heating Briggs, but they just shrugged and moved on with wandering my lab. I couldn't fucking wait for Roy to be in charge of this bitch, I was going to get so much fucking done- The inspection wrapped up with a 'Keep doing what you're doing, we'll be keeping an eye on your progress', and all I wanted to do was call Roy and bitch about the entire thing. So I did. I was probably going to have to wean myself off going to Roy for everything imaginable, he was probably getting tired of my shit.

I sat down at the desk in the corner, splaying open several journals and holding a pen so that it looked like I was working if the inspection team came back, then I dialed the familiar number, checking to make sure the permanent bug was still in place and hadn't been touched.

Riza answered, "Lt. Hawkeye speaking, the Lt. Colonel is occupied elsewhere, may I take a message?"

A strange way for her to answer but the tone brooked no argument so I sighed internally, "It's just Arcaro, could you let him know the inspection is finished and seems to have gone alright? I can fill him in some other time when he isn't busy."

"Oh! No, he was waiting on your report, I've just been fielding calls from supply for him."

I perked up at that, grinning when Roy spoke next, "How was it, who did they have leading it?"

"It was irritating. They had Grand come through."

"Grand? As in Brigadier General Grand?"

"Indeed."

"...what was he going to do about medical alchemy?"

"Question the validity of it, apparently. I threw him off with the asthma angle. They found the heat lamp array, though."

He sighed, "What are they doing about it, then?"

"You were right, they don't give a fuck about it."

"I told you, if it doesn't shoot people or help in shooting people they aren't going to care."

"But the possibilities-"

"I know, believe me, I know. You aren't going to be able to do anything that solely benefits quality of life under this regime."

"Remind me why assassination is off the table, again?"

"Because we're doing this the right way."

"Ugh!" I let my head thunk down on one of the journals, "Why can't you just let me descend into my morally grey villain arc already?"

"What, are the piracy plans not enough?"
"Again with the pira-"

Before I could finish I heard interference from his side, and Riza chimed in, "Sorry Stephanie, but he does have work to finish if that's all the important bits?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

The line went dead and I thunked my head back to the desk. Roy was right, she really had an extra sense about killing the fun conversations.

That night our conversation was able to continue, as he'd finally added a perma-bug to the phone at his apartment.

"And they weren't even the slightest bit interested in the possible greenhouse applications! I could grow a vineyard under Briggs! Briggs!" I huffed, chopping a carrot more viciously than was strictly necessary.

I could practically hear Roy smirking, "Do you actually know how to run a vineyard?"

"Of course I do, my grandmother had a vineyard." I forced myself not to freeze at giving away that information to him so easily, scrapping the carrot pieces into the boiling pot on my stove.

"What? How am I just now hearing of this? Never mind the vineyard, though we'll go back to that. That was it for the inspection?" I relaxed slightly, shrugging even though he couldn't see it.

"Yeah, barely ten minutes."

"Interesting. Sounds less like an actual inspection and more like a day-ruiner. Though it could have just been targeted as someone else and you really did draw the short straw."

I snorted, "I'll accept day-ruiner as a reason, seems their MO. And it had to be on a goddamn Monday."

"What exactly is your issue with Mondays? You work most weekends, Monday means nothing to you."

Celery went in the pot next, much more gently than its carrot brethren had. "Can't just let me make a Garfield reference in peace, huh?"

"Who is Garfield?"

"More of a what? Maybe technically a who. Garfield was a fat orange cat on a newspaper comic strip back home. Hated Mondays, fuckin' loved lasagna."

"And lasagna is…?" [I am violently shoving aside the fact that he doesn't know what lasagna is-]

"...I guess you can say it's like a cake made out of pasta."

"That sounds…horrifying."

"Shut up, I'm not explaining it right."

"If you say so."

"Whatever, next time you're in town I'll make one for you and you'll see." [Did I really just offer to cook for this man?]

"I'll reserve judgment. But why was a cat eating pasta?"
I waved around the wooden spoon I was using to taste the soup, scowling at nothing, "Look, I didn't make the comic, I didn't feed the cat pasta. Supposedly the cat was born in the back of the restaurant that served lasagna and it's linked to happy early memories for him. Although there was a theory out there that the entire story is a starvation-induced hallucination by said cat."

There was an explosive sigh from the other end of the line as I tipped bits of potato into the pot on the stove, trying not to smirk at the emotional pain I was causing Roy.
"Stephanie, I think I was happier just thinking the cat ate pasta."

"Aren't we all happier thinking about pasta?" I snickered a little before continuing, "Though there is always the option of the cat being an eldritch horror from beyond what humanity can comprehend. That theory was thrown around a lot."

"...Steph, your people scare me."

The conversation devolved into nonsensical one-liners until the timer for my soup went off. The sound was usually Roys signal to say his goodnights, leaving me with the unreasonable urge to invent a silent timer that lit up a notification instead so he wouldn't go. After taking the soup off the stove and adding the last few bits I set it aside, leaning heavily against the counter and struggling to breathe. Why was my dumb ass trying to lure this man in with food? Because that had to be what I was doing, right? What other reason could I have to offer [no it was more of a demand], demand that I make great grandma Marie's lasagna for him?

Fuck this I needed a drink.

My feet led me to Madame Christmas' out of habit, the crowd of men meaning I had to squeeze into a seat at the bar rather than find an isolated table for myself. I was three drinks in when Madame Christmas appeared in front of me,

"I wasn't aware we had a meeting scheduled."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement and a request for knowledge all at once.

"We don't, I'm here for liquor."

A delicate eyebrow raised, "Drinking our sorrows tonight?"

"Something like that."

"What did Roy-boy do this time?"

"Nothing." At the Madame's skeptical expression I rolled my eyes, "Not everything I do is motivated by that man."

"Just most of it."

"Not really." I absently swirled the glass in my hand, thinking it through. "Most of what I do is motivated by ghosts and making up for past mistakes. That red in my ledger may never go away but an attempt can be made." I borrowed half the line from the Black Widow absently, smiling to myself for a second at making an Avengers reference. Well, thinking about the Captain definitely wasn't going to help my mood tonight. I downed the rest of the glass before continuing, "Did you know your name is the same as a holiday in a country I've been to before?"

I wasn't about to say it came from home, the lies about my 'home country' were adding up too quickly for comfort.

The Madame took the subject change in stride, no doubt content with whatever information I felt like giving away for free. Or she was bored.

"Oh?" She poured more whiskey, the second time I had ever seen her pour a drink in two different realities. Both to me. I wasn't sure what to do with the information so I tucked it away, nodding.

"Yes, based on the birth of a demi-god who didn't stay dead. Not that anyone even thinks it was the actual day of birth people celebrate on, the records are over 2,000 years old so they're going to be pretty wrong if they're ever right about anything. Then the traditions combine with a few pagan traditions and suddenly your socks are on fire, there's a tree in your house, deer can fly, and there's a man breaking and entering with gifts for the children."

I picked up my drink, pausing before taking a sip, "I'm not drunk, the traditions just really don't make sense outside of cultural context." I took the sip, eyeing the carefully blank expression on the Madame's face that betrayed very slight amusement, "The food was great though. Had a special liquor and everything."

"Something I might have heard of?"

"No, doesn't exist here. I might be able to make it using alchemy, I usually can when it comes to liquor."

Now the amusement was plain to see on her face, "Do you have a still set up in the military barracks?"

I shot her a smirk, "That would be telling. But I'm not in the barracks, I've got an apartment in base housing instead, there aren't enough unmarried women in the military to bother building us separate barracks."

Her smile turned sly, "You could always get married, move off post. Get paid that housing allowance."

I made a sour face, "I think I'd rather be force-fed my own toes than entertain marriage at the moment."

Madame Christmas threw her head back in a laugh, drawing the split-second attention of most of the girls working. They were back to their jobs before the Madame was even facing me again, "And yet you follow Roy-boy and his pretty face around?"

"Not because I want to marry him." I was bemused now, wondering if this was a social disconnect between cultures. That all male-female friendships had only one end goal. "I kind of assumed he and Riza had a thing." The Madame raised an eyebrow but I flapped a hand at her, taking another sip of whiskey, "Not that I care, it's none of my business, and I meant what I said. I 'follow him around' for more than his pretty face, as I've told you before."

The Madame just hummed, waiting until I was taking the last sip of whiskey before she smirked at me, "That ass doesn't hurt though."
I choked, all of my willpower being taken up by not spitting out the last mouthful of liquor. I coughed for a few seconds as she cackled, trying in vain to keep my face from turning red. As I recovered she spoke again, slightly more serious.

"You know Roy-Boy doesn't have any religious beliefs."

"I'm aware."

"That doesn't bother you? With all that talk of your demi-god?"

"I met God in a back alley and he stole my shoes, we're not on speaking terms." I was mainly thinking of how I wasn't wearing my favorite boots when I traded dimensions the first time and now they're lost to me, then my second favorite boots at that second dimension. Much better than thinking of how it was now two families he'd taken from me. Three if you count the potential the Howling Commandos had held [it wasn't as long but I missed them damnit-].

"Okay, I'm cutting you off."

I pushed the glass away, pulling out my wallet,

"You're probably right."

The Madame eyed me for a second, expression searching. "Did you find what you needed in the bottom of that bottle?"

"I hardly think I finished the bottle." I laid out the bills and coins necessary to cover the tab, plus several more. "But I think I found peace with some recently made decisions."

"Anything I might need to worry about?"

"No, nothing like that. Just me being a dumbass in interpersonal interactions, as usual. I wasn't socialized as a child, raised by wolves and teenagers, you know?" I smiled sunnily, waving, "It's been grand, but I have plans to piss off at least three Generals tomorrow."
She just waved back, once again looking bemused.

The walk home was quiet, the cold night air helping with the heat still in my cheeks. The trip really had helped. Not the liquor, but talking to Madame Christmas usually lent some sort of clarity. I didn't follow Roy for his pretty face, though it was a bonus. I followed Roy because he was this country's best bet for improvement. I needed to do better at keeping that in mind.

.

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Apologies for the long wait (again), I'm not dead (yet). Please leave reviews so I know how I'm doing here. [also maybe hit me up on tumblr, same name, I made it for this series then forgot I had it until recently so there are no followers and only nonsense posts right now lol. I'll probably start posting fanfiction content there fairly soon, though. Feel free to send me requests, complaints, or headcannons there, whatever floats your boat]

~TimeLordOfPie