He was used to smiling and shaking hands and being the most charming person in the room, but his cheeks were growing stiff from the effort of looking genuinely pleased to see every person who spoke to him. He needed to speak to each one, Charlie had insisted. The pockets of the people in this room were deeper than even Mustang, with his State Alchemist's grants and General's salary, could imagine, and each pocket could be emptied into the campaign fund.

The idea was not foreign to him. He understood the importance of remembering a name here and a personal interest there. He had built his career on connections to the powerful, but while he had once used his knowledge to push powerful people out of his path, he needed them to build the road for him.

Yet the whole affair seemed trivial in the face of other issues. He had been putting in requests for updates on Alphonse Elric, but the Ministry of State had told him the information was above his clearance level, which was just as insulting as it was worrying. He had sent Breda to investigate the destruction of the distribution center in Resembool two weeks earlier, and no evidence beyond Fullmetal's scrap of paper had surfaced. His campaign team continued to hound him about his marital status, and the reporter had dodged offers for interviews, citing the third broken engagement of Nadine Feld, a canning heiress from the West, as more diverting. He had at least been asked to comment, given his alleged affair with Nadine three years before, but he gave the same statement he had back then: the rumours were unfounded, and nothing had ever happened.

When he announced his candidacy that afternoon, his life would be more newsworthy than that of someone who stood to inherit millions of canned mushrooms.

Hawkeye appeared at his side in a brief moment of respite, between trays of canapés and sparkling Cretan wine. She had been right. He had needed a larger home for entertaining supporters and hosting private parties. Men and women stood around his parlor and dining room and hall, making small talk and dropping pieces of gossip.

"Neumann and Charlie really outdid themselves," he said to her. His scheduler and campaign manager had pulled together an event with dozens of industry tycoons. Lumber, steel, oil, glass and several smaller industries. They had considered his image of a man of the masses, recalling the old adage "alchemist be thou for the people," and had invited mostly those who had been outspoken about fair wages. A few in attendance had even formed coalitions to promote better conditions for factory workers.

"I haven't spoken to Rebecca and Leo yet," he said as he spotted the couple in the corner. Rebecca was making a group laugh while her husband stood straight and firm. He was a quiet man, but he exuded a certain confidence and was never overshadowed by his more vivacious wife.

"They wanted to wait until you had time to catch your breath," she said. She looked lovely with her hair pulled back in waves like that and in her brown velvet dress. It was her day off and she was in attendance as a friend, and he was glad of it.

"That's good of them." He grabbed two flutes off a passing tray and handed one to her. Charlie had said there would be many such events, all opulent and bordering on garish, and even more smaller coffees and town halls for smaller donors. He had to please the wealthy and maintain his image as a common person. It was a delicate line, but one Charlie assured him he could walk and was necessary. It was the money. Everything was about money and image at the beginning, his manager had told him. Policy could wait for the debate stage.

Falman squeezed between Mustang and Hawkeye. "Diedrich Sommer," he said, nodding to a robust gentleman headed their way. "You met him last year at the Führer's birthday gala. Works in lumber in the North and gave all his workers a ten percent raise this year. His daughter, Mathilde, is starting university next month." Falman was returning to the North in a few weeks, and unlike Hawkeye, he did not work directly under Mustang and was free to volunteer for the campaign until distance made the work impossible. Mustang had found the man's memory invaluable.

He stuck out his hand as the lumber baron approached. "Diedrich. Good to see you."

"General Mustang," said Sommer with a wide grin under a bushy moustache. "Quite the event, eh? I have to say I admire your taste."

"And I admire your approach to employee wages," Mustang replied.

"All selfishness, I assure you," Sommer said with a loud laugh. "Happy workers are productive workers, and that means more profit for me."

"If only all businessmen were so far-sighted."

Sommer slapped him hard on the back. "There's a good many more of us pushing for worker's rights, and we'd like to see some movement at the, ah, federal level." He took a sip from a tumbler of whisky. "We've all heard you might be throwing your cap into the fight."

Mustang smiled. It was an open secret, made more obvious by the luncheon, and he would confirm the rumours in a few minutes. "How's Mathilde?"

Sommer guffawed. "Anxious to get out of the house. Harriet is making it worse by playing the overbearing mother—"

"Sir," Hawkeye said as she tapped his arm and darted her eyes toward the front door.

Corporal Nagel pushed through the crowd toward him, and Mustang made his excuses to Sommer and moved through the sea of guests to meet her. Hawkeye followed close behind, as she always did.

"Sir," she said when they met near the foot of the stairs where the crowd was thinner, "we just received word that an aeroplane has landed in the training yard north of town."

His mind reeled as he wondered who would be stupid enough to land an aeroplane in an active training area. The pilot must have known there was a risk of the Amestrian military firing and still they had landed an aeroplane unannounced. He fought the urge to drag both women upstairs, which, while professional in truth, would start tongues wagging for all the wrong reasons. "What?"

The young corporal looked at Hawkeye and back at him. "An…an aeroplane, Sir."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through the nose. The very idea that we would need to ask for further information, that the corporal had taken his question literally and had not expounded on her earlier statement—He felt Hawkeye's hand on his arm.

"Whose aeroplane?" Her voice was soft and firm and calming to him. She knew. She always knew what he needed.

"It's Alphonse Elric, Ma'am. The guards have taken him into custody."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hawkeye tightened her grip on his arm, reminding him to breathe and not swear too loudly in front of the guests who might be beginning to wonder what was happening at the foot of the stairs. "Of course they did."

"Colonel Klein awaits your orders, Sir."

He opened his eyes and looked at Hawkeye. She released his arm before anyone could notice and looked back at him. "Central should have told us about this." It was a blatant disregard for his authority in his jurisdiction. Basic courtesy was too much to expect. Then he thought of dozens of letters he had sent and hours he had spent on the telephone requesting information on the younger Elric. His position and interest deserved notice. "Did they send any word of his arrival?" If anyone knew for certain, she would.

She shook her head. "Our office never received anything, Sir."

How typical. "Corporal, tell the Colonel to take Elric to Headquarters. I'm sending Major Hawkeye ahead of me, and she will be acting with my full authority. Whatever she says goes." He turned his full attention to Hawkeye as the corporal pushed back through the crowd. He took a deep breath. Whether the absurd turn of events was the fault of a bureaucratic Ministry or the usual brand of Elric-manufactured disaster, it was too much. He hissed, "The last thing I need today—"

"Sir," she said as she held a hand up.

"—Is the ambassador I recommended showing up unannounced—"

"Sir."

"—And getting himself arrested—"

"Sir, you need to calm down!" She placed their flutes on an accent table, grabbed his elbow again, and pulled him through the crowd and out the front door.

"And I have to answer press questions after this," he said as they stopped at the top of the stoop. It was a good spot for a discreet conversation, public but well outside the earshot of luncheon guests. "What are the chances they already know?"

"I don't know, Sir, but you can't lose your temper here."

He snorted. "Did Charlie brief you before this?"

"Believe me, Sir," she said with narrowed eyes, "I don't need Charlie to brief me on your flaws."

"My flaws?"

"If you lose your temper," she said, pointing at the door and the luncheon behind it, "and they'll say you're unstable."

He looked toward the road and watched an automobile speed past and a small family with a large dog walk by. She was right. He looked back at her, and she was watching the same simple neighbourhood scene with a curious expression. He said, "Stay for the announcement, then head to the office." They both had the day off, but she would agree that this matter took priority over personal time. "You should arrive around the same—"

The door flew open, and Charlie said, "What the hell are you doing out here? It's now!"

Mustang checked his pocket watch. Thirteen-hundred hours. "Damn it." He looked at Charlie. "I'll be right there."

Charlie threw his hands in the air and said to Hawkeye, "We work for him. You'd never know." Then he disappeared back into the townhouse.

Mustang turned back to Hawkeye and wished he had eaten something before the speech. "How do I look?"

She considered him with pursed lips and tapped her chest just below the hollow of her throat. "You need to fix your tie."

He tugged at it until he thought it was centered, but she sighed and reached out. "Let me," she said as she undid the knot and adjusted the blade and tail. He was not great at tying ties. Two swords through his hands nine years before had left him with less dexterity than he had once had, but her touch was always steady. Riza laughed a little. "You can never get the dimple centered."

That laugh. What he wouldn't give to lean in and taste that laugh. He watched her make quick work of the tie, and when she looked up, her held her gaze for far longer than was necessary. She really did look lovely. She swallowed and tightened the loop, and he stepped back and her hands fell to her sides.

"Right," he said, and his voice creaked, so he cleared his throat. "Better?"

"Yes, Sir," she said. "You have your cards?"

He tapped his breast pocket where he had tucked away the short speech. He would not need to look, as he had memorized it, but she had insisted that he keep the cards with him just in case.

She nodded and opened the front door.

Mustang walked ahead, knowing she would follow him inside but would choose to stay near the exit so she could slip away. He grabbed one of the flutes from the table and walked toward the fireplace in the parlour where Charlie was busy introducing him. He made a joke and the crowd tittered. Then Charlie gestured to Mustang and stepped aside.

Mustang nodded to the smattering of applause, and he saw Hawkeye smile at him from across the room. He smiled back. Then he turned his attention to the room and widened his grin. In a few seconds, he would be a candidate.

"I wanted to thank you all for coming."

Her heels thudded against the hard wood of the hallway. Colonel Klein had met her at the at the main gate and had told her that Alphonse and his wife—both of them!—were waiting in the General's office. The Colonel had left them in the care of Captain Havoc, who had been unfortunate enough to be assigned the weekend shift.

Other personnel pressed themselves against the wall as she passed, sometimes giving her a hasty salute that she did not acknowledge. Riza knew the General would race to the office as soon as he was free from press questions, and she would not have long to speak with Alphonse alone.

When she walked into the main office, Havoc did not look up from his desk but jerked his thumb toward the General's door. She threw it open, and there he was, talking in a low voice with the Chang princess.

He was taller than his brother, but he had the same light hair, though he kept his short, and unusual golden eyes. Alphonse smiled at her, and she felt weeks of tension evaporate.

"Alphonse," she breathed.

"Hey, Riza," he said, and she ran forward and thew her arms around the boy's neck. He hugged her in return.

He was so solid and real, but his defined shoulder blades gave her pause, and she pulled back to look at him. His cheekbones were sharper than she remembered, his skin paler than she would have liked. "Don't they feed you in that palace?"

He ran his hand through his hair and laughed a little. "Yeah. Well, you know." He shrugged.

She did not know. "Have you called your brother?" When Alphonse shook his head, she said, "He's been asking about you."

He swallowed and stepped back from her. "I thought he might be."

She sighed. Even if Alphonse had not contacted the General or Central, she thought he would have at least telephoned Edward. "Alphonse, you need to call him." She looked at the girl next to him, so much shorter and darker featured. "Hello, Mei."

Mei smiled. "Hello, Miss Riza."

Their hug was shorter and less affectionate. Riza thought the girl very sweet and brave, and she owed her a debt. Mei had once saved Riza's life before they had known each other's names. Yet their entire relationship still hinged on their knowing Alphonse.

"You look nice," said Alphonse.

There was a question in the observation for which she did not have the time. "Sit down," she said, gesturing to one of the green sofas in the General's office. There were two of them, situated on either side of a low table, and she sat opposite the young couple so she could watch them both. A tightening in her shoulders and stomach smothered her temporary relief. "What were you thinking?" she began, and Alphonse had the grace to look remorseful. "Everyone has been worried about you. The General has been putting in requests for information for weeks. You haven't contacted your family—"

"I know!" he said. "And I'm sorry. Things in Xing have been…" He took Mei's hand as he thought. "Dicey."

The desert situation affected everything. "I'm aware. But all that aside, landing an aeroplane in an active training yard?" She clenched her fists, because he was supposed to be the responsible brother. He was supposed to think things through. "What if they had shot you down?"

Alphonse shrugged with a half grin. "It can take a few sniper bullets."

"And what about a tank shell?" she snapped, and his face fell again. "We have those too." She took a deep breath. She was not angry, not really, and Alphonse needed to know that she was on his side before the General arrived. "You didn't send anything ahead to say you'd be coming," she said, taking her time to make her tone measured. "What if they hadn't recognized you? You'd be sitting in a cell right now instead of in here." She leaned forward. "The whole world in on edge right now, Alphonse. You have to tell somebody when you mean to enter the country like this—"

"I wanted to, but—" He looked at Mei and back at Riza. "Beyond getting word to the Ministry, we've been worried about sending any messages."

Mei nodded. "We didn't know who would be listening."

An ache formed in Riza's temples. "You were worried about someone's overhearing that you were alive, but not about someone's overhearing government information?"

"There was more to it than that!" he cried. "No one cares about Amestris right now. It's all about Drachma and Hinyanda and Menimras and…" He breathed in. "And, well, Xing."

Between the politics and wondering what had Alphonse worried, she remembered what mattered. "Are you alright? Are you both alright?"

Alphonse and Mei shared a look in an unspoken conversation, and Riza's throat tightened. They nodded.

"Tell me what happened," she said as she glanced toward the door. He needed to tell her his story quickly, because when the General arrived, he would not want to listen.

Alphonse cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. "Well, remember how Ling said he was going to unite all the clans?" Edward and Alphonse never called the Emperor of Xing by his title if they could help it. "I've literally fed him biscuits from my own pocket," Edward would say, and Alphonse would agree. "Why would we call him anything other than his name?"

"The thing is," Alphonse continued, "you can't end six-thousand years of tradition in less than a decade. Grudges and feuds and infighting are still around."

"He's been trying," Mei said. "He's been trying to diversify Imperial positions. Picking people from smaller clans and things like that." She shrugged. "He's trying."

He nodded. "But, as you know, nothing fixes itself overnight." He held up a finger, like he sometimes did when explaining an alchemical theorem. "The last Emperor was Wei, and the Wei clan is not happy that a Yao is on the throne now. Neither are the Guos, the Liaos, the Lius, and the Chengs."

Riza shook her head and looked at Mei. "Aren't you Chang?"

Mei pressed a hand to her chest. "I am Chang, but the Chengs aren't happy."

Riza furrowed her brow.

"I know," Alphonse said. "They sound similar. Chang, Cheng." He waved a hand. "It's easier to hear when you study—"

"Alphonse," Riza said, because Xingese pronunciation was the least important part of the discussion.

"Right." He took a deep breath. "Well, the Changs aren't too thrilled right now either, come to think of it."

It seemed she would be getting that lesson whether she wanted it or not. "That's your family," she said to Mei.

The princess nodded and smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Yes."

Riza had thought, given Mei's position in the palace and her proximity to the Emperor, that the Changs would be more satisfied than most. "Tell me what happened."

"You see," Alphonse began, "there are fifty recognized clans, and—"

"Alphonse," Riza said with more force. Her headache was worsening and she needed him to get to the point. "I know how it works." She did not need a history lesson. She needed to know why he was there.

"It's relevant," he assured her. "You know the Emperor takes one wife from each clan. But there's always been one Empress. Or the Empress has fifty husbands and there's one Emperor. You get it," he rushed to finish when she clenched her jaw.

"When my brother first became the Emperor, some of his like-minded advisors thought that was the way to go," Mei explained. "Having fifty wives keeps the clans happy and doesn't rip apart our entire culture, and not picking an Empress keeps everyone more or less equal. And he's been bringing smaller clans into the Imperial palace, but—"

"You can't end six-thousand years of tradition in less than a decade," Alphonse repeated as he laced his fingers through Mei's. "Everyone thought that whoever had the first child would be the Empress, and that child would be the next Emperor and that clan would be in power." He chuckled. "Those were a strange few years."

"But there are no children," Mei said before Riza could ask about why the years had been strange. It did not matter, and she could guess. "So now they're actually fighting for control and trying to push political agendas. And now some of them have banded together and there's a small…" She trailed off and bit her lip.

"There's a minor revolt happening," Alphonse finished.

Riza rested her elbows on her knees and her chin against her folded hands. "You're avoiding a revolution." That explanation would at least alleviate the General's anger.

"Not exactly," Alphonse said, and she wondered how long his explanation would take. The General would be in the office and shouting before she had a clear idea of what had happened. "Ling has a Chang wife. Yi Xuan." He looked at Mei. "She's your fourth…."

"Fifth cousin," Mei said. "We've never known each other well, and things have been…" She squeezed Alphonse's hand and swallowed. "He has forty-eight wives now, you see. And a government to run, and now this business with Drachma and Hinyanda and Menimras. He doesn't even talk with all of his wives every week."

"There's no Yao wife yet," Alphonse explained. "And in light of that, the Changs thought that Yi Xuan had the highest chance of becoming the Empress."

"Ling and I have gotten pretty close," Mei said.

Alphonse beamed. "Mei is actually the—She was the Minister of Alkahestry and Research."

Riza nodded. When she had learned of the appointment, she had thought Mei had been young to hold the position. She was the same age Riza had been when she had first gone into war and had made history in Ishval. An accomplished sniper, her superiors had called her, as if the denotation were one of respect.

"But when a couple of years passed and Yi Xuan didn't become the Empress," Alphonse said, "the Changs…" He looked at Mei, who ducked her head, and back at Riza. "There have been some pretty vile rumours, and now—"

"I've been ostracized," Mei said, and she straightened her back and hardened her expression. "From my clan."

Riza knew too well the feeling of being cut off from and neglected by family, and she wanted to reach for the girl and embrace her, but she did not know Mei well enough to do so. "For not putting your cousin on the throne."

Mei nodded and Alphonse put his arm around her shoulders.

A revolt and being ostracized would be enough to drive any normal person away, but Riza knew those two were braver than most. There was still more. "Alphonse, what happened?"

He cleared his throat. "So Ling kept Mei on as a Minister, which made people angry because now she's clanless. And then…" He puffed out his cheeks before rushing, "People have been saying he's not choosing an Empress from the wives because he plans to get rid of all of them. People have proposed a lot of…" He looked at Mei and back up. "There are lots of rumours about why there are no kids. But the most popular one is that he just doesn't like any of them. The wives. So somehow the logic goes…No wives?"

"And then he'll just have one," Mei said. "And she'll be the Empress. And of course that's not equality or in keeping with tradition, so people are furious."

"But that's not happening," Riza clarified.

"No!" Alphonse said. "Not at all. But that's what everyone has decided is happening, and they that idea was apparently put into Ling's head by—"

"Me," Mei finished. "I'm supposed to have convinced him of that. To get back at my clan, and also because I'm supposed to have been…" She reddened and laughed. "I mean, it's so ridiculous. I'm next in line, technically. He put me there, and if I wanted to seize power I'd just kill him in his sleep, I wouldn't have to... But the clans say I'm—"

"She's married to an Amestrian," Alphonse finished.

Mei nodded. "That's—I am."

Riza bit her lip. She was not naïve. She had suspected they were hiding something. Alphonse was still trying to protect his wife, but Riza knew how disgusting rumours could be.

"Ling's strengthening the alliance with Amestris, and the clans are worried because polygamy is outlawed here," Alphonse said. "Some are concerned he'll make cultural concessions to a foreign power, and all of that means we're not exactly loved by the general population right now, so—"

A commotion sounded in the main office. He had arrived.

"Alphonse," Riza urged.

"We've been exiled," he said.

She gasped. There was no time, no time at all. "You've been what?"

"He had to do it!" he said. "He's not actually against us, but he has to protect his country and his position and—"

The door flew open and thudded against a file cabinet. The General, still in the suit he had worn to the party, marched through the doorway, fury etched into his brow and the set of his jaw. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" he shouted.

Riza jumped to her feet. She needed two more minutes, just two more minutes to speak with Alphonse and Mei and prepare them for the General's rage. "Sir—"

"You send no word for months," the General said and he marched toward his desk and jabbed a finger at Alphonse. "You have everyone scared out of their—"

"We've already had the parenting lecture," Alphonse said.

The General pointed toward the ceiling. "What about the 'shot out of the fucking sky' lecture?"

"Not in those exact words," Alphonse said. Then he bowed his head under the General's glare. "Yes."

"Great." The General stalked to the other side of his desk and gripped the back of his chair before demanding, "What the hell is going on?"

"Sir," she tried again, but he held up a hand to silence her.

Alphonse cracked his knuckles. "Well, you see, the Emperor has fifty wives—"

The General shook his head. "I don't have time. Ten words or less."

Alphonse looked at Riza and then at the General before saying, "We've been exiled."

Riza tensed. It seemed the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, burned up by the simmering rage that pulsed in the General's chest. She saw the General's shoulders tightened, his head incline. She heard him say in a low, quiet voice, "What?"

Alphonse stepped forward and held up his hands. "It's extremely complicated and messed up, and it's not actually going to impact the alliance."

Mei murmured, "Well, it might." Alphonse shushed her with his hand, and she added, "But it won't be his fault."

"There's a lot going on," Alphonse said. "And—"

"You have ten seconds," the General said in the same even tone, "to get out of my office. Ten seconds before I cremate you where you stand." Riza ran toward him and grabbed his elbow. She did not think the General would kill Alphonse, and there was no use in making him listen to Alphonse, but his anger was boiling, and he needed to stop and think. He repeated, "Ten."

Alphonse bounced on his heels and said with all deference, "General, I think if you just let me—"

"Nine!" the General's voice thundered.

Alphonse grabbed Mei and bolted for the door. Riza left the General where he stood, knuckles white as he gripped the back of his chair, and followed the couple.

She stopped in the doorway as Alphonse turned to look back at her, and she pointed to the telephone on her desk. "Call your brother," she said. Then she stepped back into the General's office and closed the door behind her. She leaned back with her hands still on the knob and watched him. He was so still and so tense, his entire body a bowstring ready to snap. "Sir."

"Exiled?" he said. He continued, his voice rising, "Is he serious? How the hell—"

"Calm down, Sir." How many times that day would she say that to him?

"I recommended him!" he shouted as he threw his arm toward the door.

"I know." She marched to him and pointed a finger at his chest. "Calm down, and breathe. This solves nothing."

He glared at her and chewed the inside of his cheek before grunting and yanking at his tie. He wrenched his arms from his suit jacket and tossed it onto his desk and threw himself into his chair. "I recommended him as interim ambassador," he repeated. "And he has the gall to get himself exiled?" He unclasped his cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Does he realize how this looks? Today of all days?"

She understood what he meant, but it seemed to her that Alphonse's return, either before or after the announcement, would not have boded well for the campaign. "I don't think the exact date matters, Sir."

He winced and grabbed his right hand with his left. "That's not comforting." He started massaging his right hand. The nerves had never healed right—Doctor Marcoh had told them in that triage tent that even with a Philosopher's Stone a complete restoration of damaged nerves was impossible—and sometimes his joints locked. It happened most often when he was tense. "In fact that makes it worse," he said. "You know that makes it worse, right?"

She walked around the desk and leaned back against the drawers and took his hand. She kneaded the muscles in his palm, working from the scar to the tips of his fingers until, one by one, they relaxed.

"What the hell happened?" the General asked as he watched her work. "What did he tell you?"

She sighed. "It was very disjointed. But he said it was internal politics."

"I thought he and the Emperor were friends," he said. "I thought…" He turned his head to look out the window. "I thought a lot of things before today. I thought Alphonse was the responsible one. I thought Alphonse didn't make enemies. I thought Alphonse could never be my least favourite Elric."

She smiled and curved his fingers into his palm before releasing his hand and gripping the edge of the table she leaned against. He would never admit who his favourite Elric was, but she knew.

"It doesn't matter," he said, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't cover this up. Half the city probably knows by now."

She waited while he thought of how to spin the turn of events. He would figure it out. He always did.

Minutes passed before he raked his hands through his hair and sighed. "Alright. Get him in here." He gave her a tight smile. "I'm not going to kill him."

She smiled back and pushed herself off the desk. "I never thought you would, Sir."

Alphonse was at her desk when she walked into the main office. He had the receiver of her telephone pressed to his ear and he said, "Listen, Ed. You were a better alchemist than I am, and you couldn't take Mustang in a fight."

From his desk, Havoc jammed his finger toward Alphonse and mouthed, "What is happening?" She shook her head at him.

"I think it counts," Alphonse said. He noticed Riza and she waved him over. He said in one breath, "I gotta go see you soon here's Mei." He shoved the receiver into Mei's hand and hurried to Riza.

"Hi, Edward." Mei said. "Oh, I don't know."

"Is he really mad?" Alphonse asked.

"The General has a lot going on," Riza told him.

"I know they impounded the aeroplane, but do you think we could at least get Xiao Mei back today?" He scratched his cheek. "That's the little panda? They took her too."

Riza sighed. "Get inside."

As the door closed, she heard Mei say, "Maybe sometime tonight? We'll probably have to get a train."

The General was standing again, palms pressed against the top of his desk, and he pointed to a spot just before him. "Stand there."

Alphonse did as he was told and rocked back on his heels, looking like a university student taken before the dean.

"Do not say a word," the General said. Anger still laced his voice, but he kept his tone even. Riza walked to stand next to him and watch Alphonse on the other side of the desk. "First of all, you shouldn't be here. You should have gone to Resembool first. Or, if you wanted to check in, you should have gone to Central. To your boss. Haugen?" His voice rose. "Haugen? Minister of State? Remember him?" When Alphonse did not respond, the General said, "Do you?"

Alphonse looked at the General and Riza, caught between the order to stay silent and the demand that he speak.

The General slammed his hands on the desk. "Answer me!"

Alphonse jumped and said, "Yes, Sir."

"Do not talk!" the General said as he pointed a finger at Alphonse.

Riza cleared her throat. He was being overdramatic. He scoffed and gestured to Alphonse. She pursed her lips. He had told Alphonse to not speak. There was no reason to be mercurial. He threw his hands in the air in defeat, took a deep breath, and let it out.

"But you're here," the General said with a forced calm as they both turned back to the wide-eyed boy, "and there's nothing we can do to change that." He held up a finger. "So here's what happened. We pulled you."

Alphonse looked at Riza and she nodded. The General had a plan. He always had a plan.

"The desert conflict meant our diplomats were unsafe, and the Ministry opted to pull you out for your own protection." He tapped the telephone on his desk. "I'm going to call the Führer and the Minister and get them on board, because at least this looks bad for their offices too." He pointed to his door. "Now get out."

"Alright," Alphonse said, "but would—"

"Get out!"

Alphonse rushed for the door, and the General followed him.

"And go home!" the General called. Still standing in the open doorway, he turned to look at Riza. "Go with them. Take my automobile back to the training yard, get them on that aeroplane, and make sure they leave this city without destroying anything else." He added when she nodded, "Meet me at the house. I'll take a cab."

She reached into the pocket of his suit jacket on the desk.

The General sighed and leaned against the door to keep it open. "I am never going to have sons."

"Girls cause just as much trouble as boys do," Riza said as she fished out his keys and as Havoc said at the same time, "You know you don't really have control over that, Sir?"

The General snorted. "Really?" He turned to her and pointed at her nose when she tried to pass him and go into the main office. "If there's ever a kid, and if it's male, he's—" He stalked into his office. "I'm putting him on the curb. In a box." As the door closed, he called, "In a goddamn cardboard box!"

Havoc leaned back in his chair and rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "I'm confused," he said to her. "Are you having the baby? Or was he just telling you to take a note?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know, Havoc." She did know, though. She also knew he would delight in any black-haired boy and would take more photographs of that boy than the child's namesake took of his own daughter. At least, she assumed Maes would be the boy's namesake. It was not a topic she and the General had ever discussed, because that black-haired boy did not exist, and he probably never would. Alphonse Elric did exist, and she hurried from the office to catch him before he left the building.

The party had vanished into thin air as a result of Mrs. Bauer's magic. He had offered her the afternoon, and she had refused, saying he would skip dinner if she did. Then he had offered her the next morning, and she had refused again. Then she had disappeared into the kitchen to roast something that would prove her point. One day he would convince his housekeeper to take a vacation.

He looked at the clock on the mantle and poured two more fingers of brandy into the tumbler he had just drained. His hands had relaxed, and perhaps one more drink would remove all of his tension.

Hawkeye was late.

The sky was growing dark, and she should have arrived an hour earlier. Had something happened? Had Alphonse made it out alright?

The cover story he gave Alphonse, one he did not expect the boy to tell his brother, was only part of the problem. There was nothing to stop information from entering the borders and the media. He could imagine the headlines. "General Mustang Incompetent at Filling Federal Positions." It could ruin him.

A knock sounded at the door, and he called to Mrs. Bauer that he would answer it. Hawkeye stood on the stoop, but instead of taking the automobile keys from her outstretched hand, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the parlour where he filled a second glass from the decanter.

"Here," he said as he held out the glass. "Have a drink."

She shook her head and dropped the keys onto the sideboard. "I don't need one, Sir."

He had finished two, but he said, "Well, I do." He placed the tumbler back on the sideboard. "It's there if you want it." Then he walked toward the unlit fireplace, knowing she did want it and she would take it in the end. She was still in the dress and heels she had worn earlier, and she seemed exhausted. He supposed she had never needed a drink more.

When he reached the mantle, he turned back and saw that she had picked the tumbler off the table and was raising it to her lips. "A toast," he said. "To the end before it begins."

"It's not as bad as all that," she said.

"Isn't it?" he asked. He took a long drink, no longer tasting the brandy, and said, "You took a cab to Headquarters earlier. Thirty-five hundred?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "It was for work. I'm going to worry about it."

Riza smiled and looked down. "I'll fill out a reimbursement form tomorrow, then."

He shook his head and took another drink. She would not, and she would not remind him that she needed to.

"What did the Führer say?" she asked.

"He agreed to the cover story," he said as he met her gaze. "And Haugen has too. But we can't stop everything."

She nodded. "You'll figure it out." She took a sip and looked out the window that overlooked the street.

He drained his glass and set it on the mantle. The heat of the alcohol rose in him and pushed words he had never said before out of his mouth. "You should call him." She looked at him again, a warning in her brown eyes, but the next sentences were falling off his tongue. "He always asks about you. You're the only family he has left, and he just—"

"Stop," she hissed.

"Riza," he began.

"You don't understand."

He understood far more than she gave him credit for, though, and her words angered him. "I understand that he's getting older and that he's getting worried about his health. I understand—"

"You're drunk," she said, and he knew she offered him a way to walk back the conversation. He could blame everything on the liquor and not admit that these were his own thoughts coming uninhibited.

He took the chance. "Oh, I'm extremely drunk."

She set her tumbler on the low table in front of the sofa, and he lowered himself into the cushions next to her.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he did understand. He had the unfortunate experience of being caught in the middle, but he understood her. He remembered the day she had told him by her father's graveside that she had no family left, that her father had estranged the two of them from her mother's parents, that she was alone in the world except for Roy. He could not imagine what it was like to discover as an adult that her mother's father existed and knew who she was and where she had been her whole childhood. There was a pain there about which she had never told him. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't bring it up again."

She reached to the side without looking and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, then she pulled away again.

He searched for something to say that could ease the tension he had caused. "Your birthday is coming soon," he said. It was true. September was on its way. "What do you want?"

"I don't need anything," she said.

"How about a vase?"

She looked at him.

"You've been using the same excuse for years," he explained. "This way you can't turn down my drunk flowers anymore."

She laughed, a real laugh that made the corners of her eyes crinkle, and he forgot himself.

He breathed, "Why don't you stay tonight?"

Her smile vanished, and he realized too late what he had said. He was drunk, far more drunk than he had realized. "There's something for dinner," he said as he waved toward the dining room. "And it's late. I have a spare room."

"I know," she said. "I picked out the furniture." She rose and smoothed her skirt. "I should go home. It's not that late."

He followed her to the door, having to concentrate on his footing more than he would have liked. "Are you sure you're alright going home alone? Mrs. Bauer's son picks her up every night, and I'm sure he'd give you a ride."

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "The trams are still running. I'll be fine." Then she smiled at him. "Good night."

That gentle smile was his undoing.

He brushed her hair to the side and leaned in to press his lips against her forehead. In that kiss, he tried to say everything he felt. How sorry he was that he had hurt her. How much he needed her. How much he wanted her. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes and her lips parted. He knew that if he tried to kiss her, to properly kiss her, she would let him. But he would not be satisfied with it, and he would not be able to stop himself from pulling her into his bedroom and laying her down and at last being with her. He would not be able to take that back, and he would not be able to reconstruct their wall. He was selfish, and he had already taken too many liberties that night. So he stepped back and said, "See you tomorrow."

When she had gone, he went to the kitchen and told Mrs. Bauer that he was not hungry. He was feeling rather ill, and he thought he would go to bed early, and no, thank you, he did not need any tea. He climbed the stairs and shuffled into his bedroom and fell onto his bed.

He would regret not undressing in the morning, and he would regret drinking so much. In that moment, though, he did not care.

Riza had been right. She had picked out the furniture in the house, and she belonged in that house. She belonged next to him. She always had, and she always would.

He did not remember falling asleep, but when he awoke, the morning was streaming through the windows, and she was still gone.