AN: Hola :) This is another story idea I've been working on, and it kinda refused to leave me alone. I initially started writing it for Royai Roulette, but it's going to be much longer than expected and I thought it might be best to post it as a standalone series. The story will be divided into its smaller sections, so the chapters will be a little shorter than usual.

Random note: Modern AU without alchemy

I hope you enjoy the first chapter :)

The Truce – November 17th – New York City

At six o'clock on a crisp winter morning, Riza Hawkeye strolled the seven blocks from the 119th Avenue subway station to the imposing Raven Building. Snow fell gently around her, the sidewalk was dusted white, and a chilled breeze swirled the flakes around her feet in dizzying patterns. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her black woolen trench coat, she meandered through the other early risers, making for Cafe Versen on the corner of 125th and Sable. It was a narrow, standing room only establishment, with a counter running the length of one wall and a menu hanging behind it, meant to provide a quick caffeine fix for busy professionals rather than a place for student study groups.

The cafe had become a fairly frequent stop on her commute over the past two months, its appeal centered around the early hours and extensive loose-leaf tea selection. Riza found she enjoyed a morning walk and cup of tea, the simple routine easing her into her work day in a way she'd never before experienced. Her previous career had necessitated a lack of predictability, forcing her to eschew forming comfortable little habits, which made her visits to Versen a wonderful change of pace. Granted, the cafe's security was positively abysmal and its cameras poorly functioning, both of which helped assuage her cautious paranoia.

The door was slightly fogged when she pushed it open, warm air blasting over her head, her cheeks and ears burning with the change in temperature. There was only one patron at the counter and she took her place behind him, tugging off her gloves and scanning the list of teas with interest. She perused the case of strudel and cinnamon rolls as well, though she never bought one, and shot a glance at the passerby on the street. With a little smile at the woman just opening the door, she returned her attention to the menu, thinking that the orange blossom oolong or the jasmine green tea sounded particularly tempting.

Hardly a few seconds later, a voice to her right said, "Hey, we need to talk this place into selling bacon. Cause this strudel bullshit just isn't cutting it for me."

"Good morning to you too, Maria," she said with a chuckle.

"It's never a good morning at six." The other woman shook snow from her brown hair, eyeing the many coffee blends. "By the way, my mother's on the war path."

"Hence the bacon craving," she concluded, stepping up to the counter and adding to the barista, "A medium jasmine green tea, please."

"Exactly." Maria was briefly silent, and then said, "I'll take a large red-eye with your Medianoche blend."

"What did Bradley do this time?" She turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter. "I guess he never called after their magical night in Atlantic City."

"Dear god don't say that." Her friend shuddered. "He's so creepy."

You don't know the half of it, was what Riza thought, but instead she handed the cashier a few bills and said, "I'm only kidding. Just making sure you're awake for our early meeting." Accepting her tea along with the change, she asked, "Do you know what it's about?"

Maria shook her head, slipping the rest of her cash in a pocket as they headed for the door. "I haven't heard, but I did hear that Mustang's coming back today."

Her brow crinkled as she removed the lid to take a careful sip of green tea, steam twisting lazily upward. "Who?"

"Roy Mustang...resident hottie and annoyingly perfect guy. I keep forgetting you haven't met him."

They paused at the edge of the crosswalk and she wrapped both hands around the cup to keep them warm. "Ah...annoyingly perfect?"

"Yes," she began as they started across the street. "He's got that hair, and the suits, and all the charm. And he's a genuinely nice person. It's a little unfair."

"I hate when good-looking guys are also nice. Really kills the vibe," Riza responded.

"Shut it." The other woman chuckled, dodging a strip of ice on the pavement. "It's kinda sad actually. His wife's been sick for a couple years. He takes care of her and his stepson, and he goes on leave every so often to spend time with them."

She took another drink, eyebrows rising. "That's..."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm told they were talking divorce before she got sick."

"And he stayed," she quietly concluded, skepticism rising from the cynical parts of her mind. No one was that kind.

"Yeah." They reached the curb, meandering down the sidewalk, and Maria finally tasted her coffee with a grimace. "But that's all the gossip you get for now. How was your weekend?"

"Not bad." Pulling open the door to the Raven Executive Building, Riza continued with a couple white lies, "Had lunch with my cousin, did some shopping...it was nice. You?"

"Dinner with Mom and her new boyfriend." She shrugged a shoulder. "Which was...something."

"Torture, maybe?"

"Just about." The brunette sighed. "The new guy's not as skeevy as the last one, which is nice. He might last a few weeks."

She smirked, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the eighteenth floor. "Then you might actually have to learn his name."

Maria let out a snort. "Seriously, why do I even hang out with you?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you."

"Well," another voice interjected, followed by Heymans Breda stopping on the threshold of the car and leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. One of the firm's several paralegals, he had a round, friendly face, reddish-brown hair, and a stocky build. "That would be because gorgeous people like to flock together. It's a fascinating phenomenon." He gave them a smile and added, "Morning, ladies."

Maria eyed his rumpled clothing with amusement. "That's a great suit, Heymans."

"And it looks almost as nice as it did yesterday," Riza observed.

"Thank you for noticing," he replied pleasantly, the doors trying to close but jerking back when they hit his leg. "My date last night went extremely well. She's definitely in the running for that coveted title of Breda's girlfriend."

"She's also the only competitor," the blonde said, once more smirking into her tea. "For the last three months, from what I hear."

"Which makes her the lucky front runner," he responded, the doors attempting to close on him yet again. "And I love it when you tease me, Hawkeye."

"Yeah, you and your girlfriend are adorable, Riza's hilarious, and life's great," Maria dryly interrupted. "Would you get in the damn elevator?"

Breda chuckled, stepping inside and narrowing his eyes at the brunette as they started to ascend. "Better drink that coffee. Your inner bitch is showing."

"Just for that, I'm gonna find a reason to make you work with me all day." The other woman took a satisfied sip of coffee, a soft beep sounding as they passed another floor. "Even though your work husband's back."

"First of all, we prefer work boyfriend...keeps it casual. And second, you're kind of a dick." Abruptly changing the subject, he pointed at Riza and said, "Can I get into your office? I hid an extra suit in that handy closet of yours."

"I noticed." She checked her phone, glancing above the door to see which floor they'd reached. "Dark blue, pinstripes, hand-stitched...that's one classy suit, Breda."

"Thanks." He removed his already loosened tie, neatly rolling it to avoid creases. "By the way, that cocktail dress you have in there? Excellent."

Riza simply smiled her gratitude and strode into the hall as soon as the doors slid open, drinking her tea and passing one glass door after another. Her office was smaller than most, with a row of windows along one wall, a utilitarian desk, and a few reference texts stacked on a bookshelf. Her so-called unique touches had been to hang a fake paralegal certificate from Duke beside a forged UCLA bachelor's degree, and to bring in a random 'I love New York' coaster, because the condensation rings on the glass desktop had driven her mad. Otherwise, the only personal items in that room were the aforementioned dress, the spare shoes she kept with it, and the belongings she brought with her every day.

Once she unlocked the door, she went about unwinding the scarf from her neck and hanging her coat over the back of the chair, while Breda moved directly to the closet. "Thanks again, Hawkeye," he said, brandishing the procured suit and strolling away to change.

"You're welcome," she replied, pulling files from her bag and glancing around the office to be certain nothing had been disturbed.

Taking a seat, Riza transferred the tea to a travel mug and secured her wallet in a lockable drawer, her eyes moving to the line of windows along one wall. The sky was dark, snow still fluttered downward, and lit offices dotted the skyscrapers nearby in random patterns. A few pinpricks of light blinked in the distance, perhaps a plane circling the airport, and she felt a momentary itch to leave, to disappear to one of those forgotten beaches Becca would always talk about. That, however, was not an option. Not yet.

With an exhalation she rose to her feet and tucked a folder under her arm, leaving in the direction of Christiana Ross' corner office and making a mental list of that day's responsibilities. Much like the rest of the suite, the hallway was obnoxiously beige, and she'd often wondered how such dreary colors were supposed to promote productivity. In her opinion, the firm's obsession with earth tones was more likely to induce boredom than efficiency and, to be honest, she'd never been more appreciative of windows in her life.

She caught Maria's eye through the doorway up ahead and stood to her left against the wall, holding out the file. "The Barringer appeal. I've already submitted a few discovery documents to the courts, and these are the memorandums we discussed. Pertaining to Barringer himself, his partner, and their accomplices."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" the brunette asked, flipping through the pages.

She smiled, a corner of her mouth quirked as she placed the quote. "Been listening to Van Morrison?"

"I'm so glad you didn't say Rod Stewart." Maria shook her head in disapproval. "I was never a fan of that guy."

"Neither was I." Riza took another drink and watched coworkers file into the room. "All that feathered hair."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"And here I thought it was my award-winning personality."

"Hey," the other woman said, raising a coffee mug toward her like a toast. "Happy two-month anniversary, by the way."

"Thanks." She quietly drummed her fingers on the cup in her hand, spotting Breda in the corridor and taking note of the man beside him, her mind easily slipping into a well-practiced analysis. He was taller and slimmer than his redheaded companion, with an athletic build, round face, and thick black hair. His stride was confident, relaxed, and when he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt she saw the expensive watch on his wrist, one generally valued at five grand. The suit he wore was not only luxurious but skillfully tailored, his tie in a perfect double windsor, and when he grinned in response to one of Heymans' jokes there was a genuine crinkling around his eyes.

The meeting itself began shortly after the men joined the waiting collection of employees, and it was more or less what she'd expected. Christiana Ross made a few announcements and asked for updates on specific cases, Halden Bradley added his two-cents to maintain his self-importance, and Gene Raven never bothered to make an appearance. Business as usual. It was not until she heard an exchange between Mustang and Bradley that her eyes narrowed a fraction, one of her many mental alarms sounding.

From his bearing it was clear that Mustang possessed a calm self-assurance which, in her experience, was rare. The man was completely comfortable in his own skin. During a conversation most people made tiny, seemingly inconsequential movements without even realizing. It might be the tap of a foot, the smoothing of a tie, the shifting of a watch, or any number of absent-minded gestures that hint at some underlying emotion. However, the gentleman in question lacked even the most minute of tics, and it was clearly intentional. It meant everything he did had a purpose, and that fact caught her attention.

Once the brief meeting ended Riza headed back toward her office, ruminating on her observations and chatting with Maria until they went their separate ways. She'd just rounded the corner of her desk when she heard a soft knock, turning to find Mustang himself standing in the doorway. His gaze was subtly analytical, and she weathered the scrutiny with little concern, thinking it was only fair that he return the favor. Stepping forward, he held out a hand and said, "Hi, we haven't met. I'm Roy Mustang."

"Riza Hawkeye." They shook, and she felt a strangely linear scar on the heel of his hand. "Please, have a seat."

"Thanks." He exhaled quietly as he took one of the guest chairs, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Breda says you're quite good, and coming from him that's high praise."

"I know." She set her tea aside, the scent of jasmine filling the room, and sat with her desk between them.

"I've been asked to handle the Curtis divorce," he began, still eyeing her somewhat carefully. "And if you're interested, I'd like you to help me." It was evident they both had something to hide, and she recognized this was his way of acknowledging her presence.

She let a little smirk form. "I take it your work boyfriend's busy."

"No, actually." He shook his head, a corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. "Izumi Curtis hates him, threatened to tear out his eyes and feed them to her goldfish."

"Goldfish?" She took a thoughtful drink. "I would've guessed piranhas were more her style."

"So would I, come to think of it," Mustang commented with a light chuckle. "I've heard she's spoken to you a few times without resorting to violence. That's impressive."

"We bonded over a mutual disdain for Patrick Dempsey." His head tilted ever-so-slightly, and she added, "It's the hair, it defies the laws of physics."

"That it does," he replied, and she knew he was awaiting a response to his real question, the real reason for this little introduction. Namely, he wanted to know if her intentions were malicious, to determine whether or not they could coexist.

"Anyway, not important." She purposefully met his gaze and continued, "I'd be happy to help. Just let me know what you need." In other words, you keep your secrets and I'll keep mine.

He gave another nod. "I appreciate it." Mustang rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he did. "Pleasure meeting you, Miss Hawkeye."

"And you as well, Mr. Mustang."

Riza finished her tea and watched him leave, well aware that conversation could have deteriorated easily. She thought back to the background she'd compiled on him, not recalling any details of note, and marveled at the fact that he was just as well-hidden as herself. A solid identity required both money and resources, and few people possessed enough of either to truly disappear into a new life. In any case, his secrets were of little concern to her. She had plenty of her own.

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the chapter, and have a great day!