A/N: As always, thank you so much dvltgr, blazedancer1997, ssadropout, WildSilence023, LadyAureliana, muguetmuse, and Beebop for the reviews/comments on the last chapter! The heart emoji can't even begin to describe how I feel from reading your comments :).

Rev. 12/30/20 [content changed slightly]

chapter 13: severing the knot

Hudson Loft, 8:48PM

Hanging out by the bar with a diluted Bramble is not Riza's idea of celebrating Christmas Eve. But when half of her coworkers are stealing into dark corners, making out with each other, this seems to be the safest space. Besides, Jean has been trying to get her to groove to the 90's Christmas jam. Pretending to talk to whoever comes her way seems preferable.

From the dance floor, Rebecca waves at her, telling her to join the drunk and the stumbling. Riza shakes her head, lifting the drink to her mouth again, pretending to enjoy herself. Soon enough, Rebecca comes by and leans in close to yell over the loudspeakers.

"Ri, that guy's been wanting to dance with you!" Becca says, pointing at the sweaty mass on the dance floor.

"What guy?"

She points again, and a blond man Riza has never seen before waves in their direction. "That guy, Ri."

"I don't know him," Riza says flatly.

"I think he's new. He keeps looking at you. Plus, he's kind of cute," Becca giggles. "Reminds me of Brad Pitt if he was thirty years younger. You just need to squint a bit."

Riza supposes he's got Brad Pitt's chiseled jaw and sexy mouth, perhaps even his good hair, and she doesn't even need to squint. But he isn't Roy. And the last thing she wants is for him to see her dancing with another man. How else would her boss know she's still head over heels for him if she's out there enjoying herself?

Riza shrugs. "Not my type, Becca."

At this, Rebecca clings onto her arm and pleads, "Riza, come on! This is like the third guy you rejected. If you don't like models, then what is your type? I'm getting desperate here!"

Unamused, Riza confronts her and narrows her eyes. Then she gulps her drink, tasting water rather than gin and lemon. If she leaves now, she can get home in fifteen minutes… but not before she gets a glimpse of Roy. She wonders if he's as miserable as she is. Or maybe he's doing absolutely fine.

"Riza, please!" Becca begs, pulling at her hand like a child asking for a toy.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate at all," Riza says, "but thanks for thinking of me."

"But I feel bad leaving you alone! This is a party! We're supposed to have fun!"

"I am having fun, Becca. The bar is great. Go find Jean and dance with him!"

"Why are you so sulky?" Now, Becca is stomping her feet on the ground, throwing tantrums. Riza can smell the alcohol in her breath. "Did something happen that you haven't told me about?!"

Inhaling deeply, Riza turns to her, willing patience and composure, "I've been helping Winry with her wedding planning. We've stayed up late every night, and I'm tired. I just want to go home and get some sleep. Nothing I haven't told you about."

Right as she finishes talking, Rebecca eyes the dance floor again, making Riza lift her head and follow in her direction. Roy is making his way to the bar, looking exceptionally handsome in his two-piece navy suit. He glances at her, and Riza swears her heart has leapt out of her chest.

"Shit, here comes trouble," Rebecca mumbles, quickly facing the bartender and tapping the counter for a drink. "If he talks to you, pretend I'm not here, Ri."

Oh, the things Rebecca would say if she ever finds out that Riza dated him… The thought makes her laugh and groan at the same time.

Trouble stands beside Riza at the bar, nodding to Rebecca in greeting, which she returns with a reluctant smile. Once Becca receives her drink, she promptly makes her way back to the dance floor. She doesn't even bother saying goodbye to Riza. And in this instance, Riza wishes her friend hadn't left. After all, Riza wants to see him, not talk to him. Not when Bradley is somewhere in the room.

"Hi," Roy says, delightfully.

He seems more fine than she is. And it's only been three weeks!

"Hi..."

His back leans against the bar counter, creating just enough gap between them, but he keeps his eyes forward. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Fine," Roy replies. "Danced a bit, drank some, ate a lot. The party's quite enjoyable."

Disappointment sinks in at once, and Riza keeps her eyes on the polished marble floor underfoot. "That's good to hear," she murmurs.

He laughs. "There's no reason not to enjoy ourselves. It's Christmas Eve."

"Right…"

"By the way, Maria called me the other day and shared with me what you told her," he says, bringing his arms together, folding them across his chest. He chuckles, "I still intend on keeping you accountable, even after what happened. Have you finished your manuscript?"

"I did, but I was hoping Maria can offer me a job instead..."

"Why?"

"I mean, either way will be good for me, but I thought a job might be better."

"I don't think they'll pay you as well as they do here. Didn't you say you were afraid of what your sister would say? "

"No. Liv can say whatever she wants," she says with certainty. Her getaway was planned the moment Bradley threatened to dismiss them, and it will take more than an angry Olivier to change her mind.

Roy faces her then, his mouth smiling. "Really?"

Riza nods, wanting to say how she truly feels about her sister, about him—how she hasn't been able to sleep or eat much since, how she hangs onto the hope of seeing and talking to him each day she steps into work only to fear Bradley and the repercussions of their prolonged conversation. And she swallows it all back down, frightened, frustrated. Perhaps if she quits, they will be able to resume what they had.

Though she wonders then, does Roy still feel the same way about her as he did before?

And the possibility that he doesn't sickens her stomach, dizzying her already pounding head.

"Look, Roy. I'm glad you're having a good time, but I think I'm gonna go home," she says decidedly. Picking up her purse, she tucks it under her arm and glances at the exit. "Have a goodnight."

"Hmm. Me too, actually," Roy bobs his head in agreement. "I'm itching to go home and read chapter 23. Don't you?"

Confused, Riza swivels to him and scours his expression. "I do?"

"I know you're a big fan of Mr. Darcy, but I think I rather like Captain Wentworth," he shrugs, smiling at her. "I'm going to talk to Bradley before I leave. Merry Christmas, Riza."

Her fifteen-minute walk home only takes her ten, even in her two-inch heels. Once Riza has opened the door to her apartment, she tosses her purse onto the sofa and sprints to the bookshelf in the living room. She read the book once, a long time ago, but she's forgotten much about it. Her fingers are numb from the cold, but carefully, she filters through the collected spines. She finds Persuasion in her Classics section, flips to chapter 23, and begins down the page.

And what Riza comes across pools joy and pleasure and sunshine in her chest. Her hand goes over her heart, and mists begin to gather in her eyes. Captain Wentworth's message is loud and clear, and as far as she is concerned, so is Roy's.

Abandoned Warehouse, Friday Before New Year, 1:14AM

A '69 Impala pulls up and parks thirty feet from where he and Olivier stand. The heroin must be in the trunk. The voice in Miles' earpiece mentions there are three gangbangers inside the vehicle, and apparently these men have muscles bigger than their rifles. But Miles remains collected, keeping his eyes on the thug in front of him, glancing at the metal object nestled underneath his Atlanta Falcon jersey.

"How much shit do you need, puto?"

"How much you got?" Miles asks, playing the part of an interested buyer.

"10 kilos max for you, but I'll add some extra because your whore is hermosa. How 'bout you letting me have some fun tonight with her, eh?"

Miles turns to his partner. Olivier's blonde hair curls down her back. Her mini lavender dress cinches tight at the waist, and the v-neck droops so low her cleavage spills out. In the role of a trophy housewife, Liv clings onto his arm, her four-inch heels making her taller than he is.

Liv simpers, her flirty hand stroking the man's shoulder, attempting to sell it with her appalling Valleyspeak, "Aw, thank you. You look hermoso yourself."

The ugly man smirks, and he signals to the men inside the car, flicking his finger. A bulky man with tattoos across his forearms alights the vehicle, carrying a black briefcase. Everything seems fine, but the voice in his ear speaks again, "Cover's blown. They're sending men in. We're going in five."

And Miles knows Olivier heard it, too.

"Babe, my feet are hurting so bad," she whines as she rubs at her sole, tugging at his sleeve to give him a heads-up of what she's about to do. Then she takes off her heel and chugs it at the thug in the jersey, hitting him squarely in the face. She shouts, "Miles, three o'clock!"

Miles barely has time to take a breather before reaching for the small handgun from his ankle. Aiming at the man's leg, he takes the shot. The man drops to his knee and screams in pain, muttering his curses. Next to him, Olivier lands a punch into a fat man's gut, making him gag and shield his stomach. Then she kicks him upside the chin, knocking him down to the ground.

The remaining men in the car drive off instead of backing them up, the rest cowering into a corner. They don't even carry a knife with them, surprising him, making him wonder if they really are the same notorious dealer they've been after.

Soon enough the siren of police cars pierces the air, coloring the sky red and blue. One of the officers, Darius, steps out and jogs towards Miles.

"They're not it," Darius says, shaking his head in disappointment. "Their backup drove off when they saw us."

"Maybe this fat ass will talk," Liv suggests, slapping the bulky man across the cheek, waking him up.

But instead of heeding her, Darius snaps at the two officers behind him to carry the perpetrator away. He laughs then, teasing her, "Armstrong, you need to play your part better."

In response, Olivier glares back. "Shut up, Darius."

"You shouldn't even be speaking Spanish. You're supposed to be dumb," Darius sighs, dimissing Liv, who begins to take a step forward into the man's space, her hands gripping her elbows.

"Why do I have to play the dumb blonde?" she hisses.

"Why not? You're the only woman around."

The moment Miles sees her narrow her eyes, hostile and vicious, he interferes, chiming in before a fight breaks out. "Alright, that's enough. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

"Tell that to your partner," Darius scoffs, eyeing her top to bottom, sizing her up. "She started it."

Miles lifts his hand up, telling the officer to back off, and he proceeds to guide her by the shoulder. He can feel her body seething, her arm flexing and ready to throw another punch. He pulls her into a quiet corner just outside the warehouse, bending to her height so he can look her in the eyes.

"I know you've been busy planning Winry's wedding and Izumi's baby shower, but something else is up."

She snarls, pointing at Darius who is walking into his patrol car. "You heard what he said. I can't stand that guy!"

Miles sighs, pinching the skin on his forehead. "You never let him get you this worked up."

But she simply scoffs, tangling her arms together and scowling. "Going undercover isn't my thing. You know this. And we both know you're the better actor, so don't even start," she growls, her tone accusing.

He pauses and considers her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're better at pretending that shit is going well when it's really not!"

Her reaction stuns him, and Miles reaches a hand out only for her to swat it away. "Okay, now I know something is wrong. What is it, Liv?"

"I…" Her voice cracks as she averts her gaze.

His heartbeat starts to drum beneath his skin, and now he fears the worst. Did he do something wrong? Is there something she hasn't shared with him?

"I will no longer be a part of Central precinct next year. My transfer to Northeast has been approved by the chief," Olivier announces in one breath.

At this, his shoulders stiffen, and he can hear his own voice rising. "Whoa, wait, wait. Why haven't I heard this before?"

"Because I told the chief to keep it quiet."

Irritation seeps in, his face heating up, and Miles confronts her, stepping in front of her when she begins to walk away. "Were you planning on telling me at all?"

And Olivier returns with a sharp glare that steals the air from his lungs. "Were you planning on telling me that your wife is pregnant?"

The news hits him like a moving train and sends his mind flying across the street. He hasn't heard. Lilian didn't tell him anything. His heart plummets into the bottom of his stomach as he registers what this means to Olivier, to their relationship.

"Did you say my wife is pregnant?" he asks again, needing confirmation. Perhaps he wasn't hearing right.

"Yes. How many times do I need to say it? She's pregnant. Your wife, Lilian, is pregnant!"

In Liv's face is rage and misery and pain, and she closes her eyes, as if blocking the world, as if blocking him away. But the shock of her announcement can hardly compete with the guilt that starts to take over, trailing after him like a shadow.

"I… didn't know, Liv. Lilian never said anything."

"Well, congratulations, Miles. You're going to be a father," she says, her voice low, her gaze lost on the black asphalt. Then she stumbles around and marches towards their car, her brisk steps clacking in the night.

And Miles calls out, chasing after her, "Wait!" He catches up and clasps her by the arm, firmly, desperately, turning her to him. "Where does this leave us?"

What he sees shatters his heart into a million pieces. Red eyes and puffy cheeks swell her pretty face, and her pale skin is smeared black when a tear rolls down to her plump lips. Miles doesn't know what to do, and for a second he feels hollow beneath his chest. He's useless, clueless, though he takes her gently by the hand and begs in earnest.

"Olivier, please don't cry... We can work this out..."

"There's no future in this relationship," she whimpers, clinging onto his arms. "The last thing I want is for this child to grow up without a father…"

"But… what about us?"

She smiles then, feebly, sadly, and blankets his hand with hers. "Goodbye, Miles."

Auto Mechanic in East LA, 3:30PM

It is the smell Winry misses—oil and grease and a bit of gasoline. Then there is the purring of motors and clanging of metals. Her hands are still clammy, her heart racing. After all, the prospect of sitting in an interview is something she has never experienced before. But the thought that she would make her own money again, being able to do what she has always enjoyed doing, spurs a kind of excitement she hasn't felt in a long time.

She approaches the first mechanic she sees, poking the hunching man in the shoulder. He lifts his face shield and attention from what looks like a case of failed transmission, turning to her.

"What do you want, little girl?"

And she swallows the lump in her throat. "Hi. My name is Winry. I found your job posting for a mechanic in a local newspaper. I'm here to apply."

The man swipes at his sweaty forehead, then eyes her up and down, measuring her worth. "This isn't a place for someone like you. We need someone with experience."

Casually, she points at the car he's been working on. "Transmission problem?"

He stares at her, a single brow raised. "How do you know?"

"I can tell from the constant burning smell. It won't go away until you replace it with a new one, but it looks like that's what you're doing next."

From behind her, Winry hears a high-pitched voice call out.

"Dom, give me a hand, dear!"

Dom, the man she's been speaking with, shouts back, "I'm busy! Give me like a half hour!"

Winry takes this opportunity to speak to the man who inquired for help. His curled sideburns and polished black hair seem out of place, his tight purple shirt and suspenders on his heavy build reminds her of someone out of Queer Eye. But who is she to judge? If a skinny, blonde girl can work in a mechanic shop, so can he.

"Can I help you, sir?" Winry asks politely.

The man gasps then awws, and he immediately puts his palms on his cheeks. For one second, Winry's afraid he might just reach out and pinch her cheeks. "Oh, you are such a cute lil' miss. And you are here for...?"

She extends her hand out. "My name is Winry. I'm here to apply for the mechanic job."

He eyes her with doubt, but then he gestures to the heater core beneath the cabin and says, "You see under the dashboard there? There's moisture build up. Can you take a look for me? My hands are too big for it."

And she does as asked, tweaking and prodding at the parts surrounding it. Adrenaline rushes through her limbs as she wrenches her way into the concave, bathing her blonde locks in dirt and oil. The wrench in her hand feels weighty and familiar, and she turns and turns and turns, until everything locks into place.

With a delightful grin, Winry hands the man back his wrench. "All done. I also found a small pinhole inside that would've caused some interior fogging on the windshield. I removed it and installed a new one."

Happy yet incredulous, he clasps her hands and shakes them. Excitedly. "Darling, that is wonderful news! And the coolant?"

Winry smiles. "Already refilled."

"Oh, very nice."

"You just need to test for more condensation," Winry suggests.

"Right. Thank you. My name is Garfiel."

"You're welcome. And nice to meet you, Mr. Garfiel."

Garfiel snatches a towel from a nearby rack and wipes his soiled hands. Then he motions towards her, standing beside her and pointing at Rosie the Riveter, the World War II propaganda poster hanging in the back wall of his office. "You see that poster there?"

"Yes."

"We need someone like that. Do you think you can do it, darling?"

With a big smile, Winry nods. Her heart leaps out of her chest, and she turns to face Garfiel, shaking his hand. "Yes, sir, I can."

Editorial Building on North Highland, 7:01PM

Maria Ross works in paradise. At least, Riza thinks so.

The lobby wall is full of internet memes, and while Riza isn't one to keep up with awkward seals and confession bears, she laughs. Only because they're cute. Everything else inside the office is splashed with rainbows and unicorn magic, so different from where Riza works in the last four years.

"She will be here shortly. Please have a seat," the receptionist tells her, smiling and gesticulating to the sofa behind her.

Maria arrives no more than five minutes later. Her pixie cut highlights her sharp chin, and the beauty mark below her grey eyes reminds Riza of Elizabeth Taylor. She really is quite pretty, despite her tired face.

Extending her hand, Maria says, "Nice to meet you, Riza. If you'll come with me."

Riza smiles. "Nice to meet you too, Maria. Thanks for agreeing to meet after hours."

"No problem. We have flexible hours here. As long as you finish your work, no one cares what time you show up," Maria chuckles. "Or what time you leave."

Two men join them in the conference room. One is a lanky man who, despite his silver hair, looks no older than forty. The other looks like he barely graduated from college, with round spectacles and a wide smile that tells Riza he's been sheltered most of his life. Though whether or not that is true, it is out of the question.

"Riza, this is Vato Falman," Maria introduces her to the older of the two. Then she turns to the younger one. "And this is Kain Fuery."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Riza says, shaking their hands and promptly seating herself into the chair in front of them.

Kain laughs as he moves to the sofa. "We'll talk on the sofa. Maria hates the chair. It feels too much like an interview."

Confused, Riza asks, "Isn't this an interview?"

"Right, but we've seen what you've written and we love it. Your article on the volatile housing market is great and insightful," Maria chimes in. She is already lounging on the sofa, her back against the cushioned angle between armrest and back, smiling at her. "So right now all we need to do is just talk. Get to know each other."

"Besides, you're a friend of Roy's. Any friend of his is a-okay in my book," Kain adds, which receives a prompt nod from the man named Vato.

Silently, she folds herself into the sofa, studying the people who seem more like friends than coworkers. "How do all of you know Roy?" Riza asks.

"He used to intern here. But when offered a full time, he declined and pursued his own thing," Maria says.

Kain chuckles, though there's no ill-intent in his tone, "Right. Mr. Tailored Bespoke thinks he's too good for this job."

"I believe he wants to get the housing experience so he can run for office one day," Vato interrupts. This is the first time the tall man has spoken, and Riza is surprised at how serious he sounds. His teammates seem to be at ease, chill and friendly, like Rebecca and Jean.

"Yup. He does," Maria nods. Then she turns to Riza. "Roy used to be a part of the world politics team. That was years ago. We're still here, but I suppose he's moved on to bigger things. All of us from way back still keep in touch with him."

Without warning, the door opens and slams. Another man dressed in an untucked buttoned shirt and khaki pants walks in, his face recognizable. When he finds Riza, his eyes light up behind his glasses and his smile brightens. "Oh hey, it's Riza!"

It's the guy from the bookstore. Roy's "nosy" friend.

"Oh, you're Roy's friend who's getting married," Riza says, shocked to see him here.

"The name's Maes Hughes. You can call me Maes."

But Maria shoots him a dirty look, though she is smiling and laughing as she tugs on his sleeve to get him to sit down. "What are you doing here, Maes? You're not part of this department!"

Maes places his thumb and finger on his chin, rubbing it, examining Riza with a big, toothy grin. "No wonder Roy said all of those things at the store… I get it now."

Maria and the rest of her interviewers swivel to Maes, curious and intrigued. Riza, however, can feel perspiration seeping from her pores, heating up her chest and back and limbs.

"You see," Maes begins, smiling at Riza. "Roy hates it when I ask him about women. He's private and thinks I pry too much. But he would never go as far as saying hurtful things about them… unless he likes them. Unless he really likes them. Which has only happened once by the way, when we were in high school."

Warmth climbs up her face, and Riza chuckles nervously, her fingers fiddling together. "That's nice…. But um, does this mean I got the job because of Roy?"

Maes looks at her as if she has said something crazy, but Maria consoles her with a pat on her shoulder. She smiles and hands her a thick booklet she's kept on the side table, the company name and logo on the front cover. "You got it because you nailed that article. Plus, we can tell how hard you worked on it. The job is yours if you want it."

Elation pumps her heart, while disbelief muffles her hearing. The anticipation of doing something new, something different, something that she's been wanting to do all her life scares and excites her at the same time. A job as an assistant editor may not seem like much, but it is a step towards her childhood dream.

Riza glances at Vato, who smiles at her, and Maes is still there, winking and grinning at her. Kain leans forward and offers his hand, waiting for her to accept.

"So, are you going to take it?"

A/N: "I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you." Frederick Wentworth, Persuasion, Chapter 23