A/N: Part 2 of chapter 5. Thank you to Nuzha and dvltgr for the reviews on the last chapter.

Rev. 12/18/20 [chapter title changed; content changed slightly]

chapter 6: bare part 2

Armstrong Residence, 10:45PM

Riza paces around the room, her fingers pinching the skin on her forehead. Then she stares at Becca, who is staring at Riza in anticipation, her bottom at the edge of the sofa.

Then Riza hangs up the phone.

"Is Winry okay?" the brunette asks, concerned.

"Yeah, Becca. She's fine. She'll be spending the night with Ed and Al." Riza blows a gust out of her mouth, ruffling her bangs. Then she throws herself onto the couch and confronts her friend. "What the heck is she thinking not telling me where she went? What if someone kidnapped her? Ugh!" she growls.

Rebecca pats her back, back and forth, soothing her. "Shh. It's fine, Riza. She's in good hands now."

Her empty apartment was telling enough. It didn't help that three hours later her younger sister never returned. It is eleven o'clock, and getting lost on a weeknight in the middle of Los Angeles is never a good idea even if people are still out and about. Good thing Edward went out and found her.

In frustration, Riza rubs the ball of her palm on her eyes and shakes her head. "Can't believe she would do something so stupid like that. I shouldn't have left her alone."

"You can't keep her confined, Ri. She's a big girl," Rebecca says, her hand still on her back.

And she shakes her head again, unrelenting. "God, I'm such a terrible sister," she moans.

"No, you're not. Stop blaming yourself for what happened," Becca chastises. For the first time tonight, her friend glares at her, strict gaze and irritable mouth. Usually, Riza is the one doing that. "Besides, we know she is fine, so we can, you know, relax a bit."

Riza drops her hands to her lap and looks at her friend. Ants are still crawling up her legs as she attempts to regain her breath. Guilt has not quite left the room. It hovers over her like a black cloud, even if she knows Becca is right.

"You're right, Becca. I'm sorry," Riza says, squeezing her hand. "And I'm sorry for making you drive all the way here. If you want to leave, you can. If not, Olivier left some beer in the fridge."

"That's alright. Saving the alcohol for the weekend," her friend mumbles, rocking her body to and fro.

It confuses Riza.

"For real? You? Not drinking?"

But Becca starts to smile—the kind that says she has something exciting to share and will burst at any second if she doesn't. It intrigues Riza, prompting her to tilt her head in curiosity.

"What is that smile, Becca?"

"So," Becca starts, grinning, then pauses for the theatrics. Her hands reach for a throw pillow and her violet eyes glimmer under the pendant light. And then she screams, "Jean and I are going on a date this Saturday!"

Riza's eyes widen, surprised, and she places a solid grip on her friend's forearm, laughing. "Oh my God. Finally?"

Playfully, Becca slaps her arm. Her voice has taken a higher note, squeaking like a mouse. "I know right!"

Scooting closer to her friend, Riza grins and repeatedly pokes the throw pillow Becca places across her chest, proving her point. Proving that she has been right that they both like each other. Pride had come in between and stayed a little too long, preventing them from confessing. If anything, Riza is now more curious as to how it happened in the first place.

But she doesn't even need to ask.

Becca hugs the pillow close to her chest, her smile eager, her hands restless as she narrates her story. "So, Jean said that the rumor mill makes it known someone might be making a move on me. It's that guy from Accounting. Shawn? Se-an? However he spells his name. Apparently he's had a crush on me since he started working there."

Her brows rise in surprise. "Oh. He's not a bad looking guy, too."

"Right?" Becca laughs. "Anyway, so Jean said he needed to snatch me up before anyone else does. Before Se-an does."

"Aww, that's sweet, Becca."

Her eyes glimmer still, knowing, hinting something at her. "And you know what else, Ri?"

Now, Riza is even more curious. She thought that had been the end of the story. "What?"

"The rumor mill also says that our big boss," Rebecca emphasizes, winking, "has gotten over five lunch invites from the Barbie bitches in Marketing, so you better make your move."

Riza scoffs, her brows furrowing in disbelief, "Where did you even get that? Why do I need to make a move?"

"He accepted them, too," she adds.

"Becca! I'm serious! What made you say that?" Riza pleads. "I don't like him!" If her friend thinks she fancies her boss then it must have come from somewhere.

Her friend's expression turns serious. Just a little. Then she quickly brings her legs up onto the sofa, folding them beneath her. Seeking comfort, she wiggles into the cushion and snatches the knitted blanket from behind her, burying herself in it.

It is as if she's ready for a sleepover, talking gossip all night long in their loungewear and bunny slippers.

"Well, you see, there are two things," she begins, shrouding herself in mystery. "First, I have to tell you that Mustang is actually not as much of an asshole as we make him out to be."

"And… what makes you say that?" Riza asks.

"So yes, most of his lunches are with pretty girls who just want his-" Becca twirls her finger at the general area of her crotch, making Riza laugh and slap her arm in return, "you-know-what. But one of them actually invited him out because she used to work under him at the previous company. Heather. Yeah, that's her name. Heather says Roy Mustang is an amazing boss. She emphasized amazing, by the way, in case you didn't get that."

Still, Riza is skeptical. The day at the bookstore calls to mind. Not only did Roy Mustang call her boring, but he has also given her more work than any of her previous bosses had done. Plus, he cares little for her personal time, it seems, asking once if there was anyone at home waiting for her.

She had said no.

What a terrible mistake that was.

"Okay. I'll believe it when I see it," Riza nods. "What's the second one? Something to do with me liking him? It's not true, by the way, in case you didn't get that," she teases, echoing her friend word for word.

"Apparently," Becca pauses. Again. As if Riza doesn't have enough on her mind to worry about. Now, her reputation at work is apparently at stake. "One of the after hours IT guys found a book on his desk. Wait, scratch that. One of the after hours IT guys found Fifty Shades of Grey on his desk."

Riza gasps, but she can hardly bury her grin from rising.

Who knew Roy Mustang is such a colorful individual?

"That's hilarious, but also doesn't explain why it has anything to do with me. I don't read that book, you know this, Becs. And BDSM isn't my thing!" she charges.

Becca clears her throat and leans in, as if whispering a secret. "You don't understand, Riza. The book is not the problem-" She tips her head up towards the ceiling, pondering. "Well, I guess it could be the problem." Then she looks at Riza again, smirking. "The thing is, on top of that book is a white envelope… and on that white envelope is your name... To Riza Armstrong. Clear as day."

Now, Riza is truly terrified. Her heartbeat gallops ten miles an hour, her cheeks flushing rosy red. Roy Mustang is a handsome man (albeit a jerk), but she would never ever sleep with her boss. It's unsightly.

And illegal.

Unless that is his way of telling her she needs to pick up a new hobby or two...

And Riza's eyes grow larger than a couple beach balls then. "Why?!"

Las Vegas, 10:45PM

Olivier tosses the blanket over, uncovering her naked body. The temperature in the hotel room is unbearably warm. Besides, shame is the last thing she feels when concern for Winry rises to the forefront of her mind. Next to her, Miles reaches for a pack of cigarettes atop his nightstand, pilfering a roll. His snowy hair hangs down to his shoulder, a tangled mess.

"Put that away, Miles. You know I can't stand the smell."

Obeying, he puts it away. "Yes, ma'am."

When Riza texted her about their little sister, missing and then found three hours later, Olivier can't help but worry. Her throat was parched then, and the legs that have chased trigger-happy drug dealers and heroin addicts crumbled beneath her. It doesn't help that she has just slept with her partner, who she's vowed is the last person she will ever get involved with.

What would his wife think about this?

What have they done?

It is suddenly cold in the room. The soft hairs on her arms stand up. Naturally, she pulls the blanket to her chest, burrowing herself in it again.

Miles extends a gentle hand and rubs along the gooseflesh that have risen on her skin. "What are you thinking about?"

"Do you really want to know?" Olivier asks, curious for once.

"Yeah, I do. I want to know everything about you," he replies, smiling.

She fixates on his face, her heart thundering beneath her ribcage. "Are we making a mistake?"

His amber eyes search hers. "What do you mean? Lilian and I are separated. We have been for a while."

"Yes, but you're still married. And you're still my partner," she insists. Then she looks up, her throat working to voice what she's been dreading all night. "It's not... because of me, is it?"

Without remorse Miles nods his head. "Yes." He is certain. There is no doubt about it.

"Then this is a mistake," she says with a finality.

Now, uncertainty crosses his features. He rubs the back of his head. "I mean, there's no way we can go back to the past. Everything has changed now." Then he confronts her with a deep frown. "There's no way I can treat you the same as before after what happened."

Sighing, she reaches for his hand, hesitant, but grabs it nonetheless. "I've never been in this situation. I just didn't foresee any of this happening when we left LA."

He shrugs. "I didn't either."

Olivier runs anxious fingers through her hair. "But it did. Now it's one extra thing on my mind."

Miles turns to her. His gaze thins to a slit, and he asks, "One extra thing? What's the other one?"

And he is persistent this time. He draws down on her, so close Olivier can see the motley shades of red in his irises, and pulls her into a kiss. It is soft and gentle, supplicating. Not at all like the kind that happened in the patrol car or between the rumpled sheets.

"Yes, I am married. Yes, I will be getting a divorce. Please don't feel bad about this," Miles pleads. "And I am also here and listening. If you're worried about something, anything at all, you can tell me. Especially if talking would help."

Her brows pleat together, considering. When he looks at her again, so tenderly, so fondly, Olivier finally relents.

"My sister, Winry… I don't know how to talk to her," she confesses. And already, Olivier feels an ounce lighter, the weight of the world reduced from her shoulders. It surprises herself. "We've always been on different grounds. When I say something, she doesn't listen. And when she says something… I suppose I don't listen either."

"Sounds like sisters to me," Miles remarks. Then he becomes silent and gestures for her to continue.

Her fingers pinch the pleats on her blanket, toying with it. She pulls her lips between her teeth. It's a little strange to speak so freely and truthfully about her life to someone other than Riza.

"I don't think I ever told you, but my parents ran a mechanic shop back in our hometown. Four years ago they passed away. Car accident. Winry took over the business and insisted it's the only thing she wanted to do."

Miles eyes her, seemingly absorbing all that she's told. When he finally speaks, he chooses his words carefully. "I suppose I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Well, I do," Olivier disagrees, flicking her thumb back at herself.

But composure returns when she imagines what Winry has gone through during their years of separation. It angers her that her sister has not shared one word about what happened. But it also scares her.

What if something terrible—truly terrible—happened to her?

Her hands begin to shake, and heat pierces the back of her skull. "Something happened to her Miles. She won't tell me what it is, and that's my fault. I don't know-" she inhales deeply, before releasing a shudder. "I don't know what I can do to help her…"

Miles doesn't say anything. He simply watches, his cool hand stroking a sinuous course across her back, reassuring her.

Olivier likes the quiet, thrives in it. But Miles' wordlessness tonight feels like condemnation, spiteful and judging.

The fire in the back of her head travels forth and stings her eyes. Mists pool in her blue eyes, until finally... all Olivier can do is lift her trembling hands to her face and cover her shame.

Downtown Los Angeles, Lunch Time

Riza flips to another page. Pride and Prejudice may not be her favorite book, but it certainly is a pioneer in ushering a new kind of strong minded, if slightly belligerent, female protagonist that Riza attempts to write. Besides, a novel—happily ever after or not—in between work hours has a way in easing her tight shoulders and full mind.

And then she hears it.

"Riza?"

His voice is familiar, husky and deep.

She looks up.

"Hi… Roy."

He throws her a smile, warm and genuine. He acts as though the bookstore incident never happened. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same about you," she mutters under her breath and tugs herself upright. Can't slouch when the boss is here, she grumbles inwardly.

He cups a hand over his ear and leans forward. "What did you say?"

"No. Nothing. I'm just… spending my lunch time reading."

He smiles again, his hands in his pockets. On the balls of his foot, he rocks himself forward and back, awkward. "What are you reading there?"

His presence is making her sneer. She puts her book upside down on the patio table, her heart mischievous, her smile conniving. She smiles and stares into his dark eyes.

"Are you too proud, Mr. Mustang?"

At this, he looks around. When he's sure that she is talking to him, his brows furrow in confusion. "What?"

Eyeing him, Riza tips her head sideways and gazes through narrow slits. They are way past manager and employee after what happened at the bookstore. If he wants to get rid of her, then so be it. Her meager wage and overtime aren't worth the trouble.

"Would you consider pride a fault or a virtue, Mr. Mustang?" she asks again, deadpanning. "Because I'm doing my best to find fault in you."

Suddenly, his black eyes brighten. He smirks and seats himself on the wrought iron chair beside her, uninvited, prompting her tight mouth.

"Maybe... I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others... or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."

Her jaw drops, and Riza gapes at him in surprise. "Jesus Christ, what are you? Are you a walking Jane Austen encyclopedia or something?"

Still smiling, he shakes his head. "No. I just have a pretty good memory and one too many sisters in love with Mr. Darcy."

"Ah." She nods and smiles, sarcastically, as if everything makes complete sense now. "Of course someone could have said no when asked by said sisters to watch OG happily ever after. I'm sure this isn't the kind of book you prefer to read."

Incredulity widens his eyes. And then he whistles, stunned by her unexpected display. "You are so feisty today, Riza. I don't think I've ever seen this side before," he remarks, chuckling. "Don't tell me you're still mad about that thing that happened?"

"What thing that happened?" she snaps, full of attitude, twining her arms together below her chest.

She knows what he was talking about. But how dare he make light of the situation.

"Uh, the bookstore thing," he elucidates, evading her glare.

"And?"

He swallows thickly and faces her again, all diffident gaze and rueful smile. "And I don't think I ever had the chance to apologize for what I said that day… I'm sorry, Riza. I didn't mean it, truly."

Her iceberg melts, little by little, astounded by his sincerity. No bosses ever apologize to their employees unless it's a conversation about disappointing merit increase and declined promotions.

But then there is still that book.

"It's fine," she murmurs. Reluctantly, she tips her chin up and glances at him. Roy is sitting there, arms crossed like hers, seeing her looking at him. Her cheeks flush. "Do you read a lot, Roy?"

"I do."

Perspiration dots her hairline. And she asks, feeling her face burn hotter than it already is. "Any… particular genre?"

He is nonchalant, answering her questions easily as if they are friends again. "Politics. History. Anything that catches my fancy, I suppose."

Her heart gallops, the palpitations muffling her hearing. "Does this fancy include a, uh... certain book by a certain author that involves some... positions?"

Roy chuckles at this, but his eyes are confused, curious. "What are you talking about?"

There is nothing more difficult than asking someone who pays your salary about the kinks they have between the sheets. By now, her heart beats so fast she can hardly think of anything else. Her mouth opens, and Riza works her throat so she can voice what she needs to say. "I heard you have Fifty Shades on your workdesk," she blurts, then quickly adds, "with an envelope addressed to me…"

His gaze tips upward, wandering, as if recalling a faraway memory. Then he hums to himself and faces the ground, tapping a finger onto his armrest. "You saw that huh?"

"No, not me. I heard from someone," she confesses.

"I didn't know if you'll ever talk to me again outside of, you know, work. So I prepared a letter of apology, just in case," he explains.

But her mouth is still clamped shut, disbelieving, and she glowers at him, vexed by his evasion of the book in question.

"Oh." He jerks back in his seat. His lids flutter in understanding. "No, no, no. Oh, dear God. That book isn't for you," he says, his hands frantically waving off her misconception. "That's for my sister. I was at the bookstore looking for a birthday gift for her. That's when I saw you. I ended up leaving it at work; I was so busy that I forgot. The letter and the book are two separate things." His fingers rake through his slicked-back hair, crumpling it in embarrassment.

Finally, Riza sighs in relief. She huffs audibly. "Maybe you should know better than to leave something like that at work. Gossip travels fast around here. Plus, you're new-" and good looking, she thinks, "so people are bound to talk about you."

Stress lines on his forehead are aging his young face by a few years. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. I didn't realize. I only left it for one night."

Laughter simmers in her throat, and Riza attempts to rein it in for fear of embarrassing him further. "Now you know. And just in case your sister is looking for more books of… similar nature… Rebecca might be the person you want to talk to."

He laughs. "Yeah, and how do you think that conversation is gonna go?"

"Amazing," she comments amiably.

He leans back in his chair and stares at her, fascination in his features. "You know… you're fun to talk to."

"So I'm not boring then?" Riza teases, grinning.

"I only said that to get my friend to stop pestering me about you. I never thought you were boring. Not even once," he admits. Then he hunches forward and places his elbows on the furniture. His eyes are so intense they make Riza want to crawl under the table. "If you like reading, there's this exhibition in Little Tokyo happening this weekend," he says.

"On what?"

"Classics. Not just Austen's unfinished works—I take it you're a fan—but also ones by Mark Twain and Franz Kafka, among others."

It does pique her interest.

She leans forward, meeting him halfway. "It sounds fun."

"I figured you'd say that." He smiles. "I can take you on Saturday if you're free."

"I'm free," she replies without missing a beat, nodding. And she realizes she might have answered a little too quickly. Her body jolts back, creating space between them. "But, er… I mean, is it appropriate for us to… you know... hang out together?"

Roy shrugs, as if he's done this all before. "It's just hanging out. I don't see the harm in that. Not like I'm taking you out on a date."

Propriety is telling her to refuse, but Riza is excited and curious. Her heart pounds just thinking about it. Besides, Olivier and Winry don't appreciate literature as she does. In fact, they don't read at all.

Eventually, she nods, agreeing. "Okay."

It's just hanging out, she tells herself.

Even if it does feel like a date.

A/N: Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated