The day Angela got back from the hospital, the 504th JFW threw a party. It was a big affair: all of the ground crew, every Romagnan witch that wasn't attached to a joint fight wing, and even the Noble Witches in Gallia were invited, and most of them cleared their schedule to attend.

Angela, meanwhile, was doing her best to avoid conversation by hiding in a corner. She hated pointlessly large gatherings.

"You could at least fake a smile, you know," a voice joked, sliding up to her. "It is your party, after all."

It was Patti, the (indirect) reason for the get-together; it had started with her jokingly suggesting it, but Martina had latched onto the idea, and it spiraled out of control from there.

Angela didn't blame her, though. She wasn't sure that she could blame her.

"I can't stand this kind of thing. You know that," she responded stiffly. She was still a little weak from her injuries, and there was a dull, thumping pain behind her right eye.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Patti asked, grabbing Angela's hand and leading her away from the excitement. With a quick yank, they were both outside on a balcony overlooking the Romangan landscape. The coolness and silence of the night instantly helped Angela's pounding head.

Patti inhaled deeply and stretched her arms out wide, leaning against the balcony railing as she finished. She turned to Angela, who was still standing at the doorway, and smiled.

"It's nice out," Angela muttered, not sure what to say. She stepped closer to the railing as Patti motioned for her.

"Nicer than inside?" Patti joked, bumping her shoulder against Angela's. "Sorry about the party thing. I didn't think the others would take it seriously."

Angela made a noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat, her voice constricted from the warmth of Patti's arm next to hers. "It's, uh, the thought that counts, right?" she asked.

"You don't have to try so hard, you know," Patti said laughing.

"I'm not! I'm just surprised that you'd go through all this trouble for me," Angela blurted out, glad that the darkness hid her red face.

Patti hummed a little happily before saying, "I want to see you smile, Angie." She reached out and poked Angela on the cheek. "Have you ever even worked these muscles?" she laughed.

The easy-going amusement slipped off her face when Angela grabbed her hand and leaned forward, and Angela was just about to speak when she lurched forward and pressed their lips together. In a second, Angela pulled away spluttering.

"Didn't work, huh? You didn't even crack a grin," Patti sighed, her one hand still trapped in Angela's grip.

"That's, uh, that's," Angela stuttered. With every word, her face grew warmer, but before she could actually form a sentence, someone from inside called for her.

"Go on; it's your party," Patti urged, nudging Angela towards the balcony doorway. "But don't you worry. I'll get you to smile for me one day."

Angela, unsure of what to say, hesitated before leaning in again and brushing her lips against Patti's a second time. Spinning on her heel, she marched back to the party, wondering if the slight upturn of her lips counted as a smile.

A/N: Well, this is late. Sorry about that, folks.

My original plan was to post something I'd already written and buy myself some time for a request, but after rereading the story, I decided it wasn't satisfactory and it should be rewritten. Sorry again for taking so long putting this up, and hopefully I can get the next chapter in on time.

(I know Spain wasn't particularly involved in WWII, but we really need more Hispanian witches. As much as I love Angela, one witch is not enough.)