He stood there listening to the dial tone droning in his ear for a few minutes longer before slowly replacing the receiver. It was almost exactly the same as that night, he thought, only this time he was not holding an armful of flowers as passerby gawked and giggled. He probably shouldn't have called, as they were both being watched. But it had been an emotionally draining week, and he had needed to hear her voice; make sure she was okay.

It was probably a stupid question to ask-of course she wasn't all right. She was virtually being held hostage, separated from most of her colleagues and stuck in an office with a man who could easily kill her on a whim, no matter how many guns she carried. She had sounded extremely tense on the phone, but as usual had revealed nothing.

"Yes, sir, I'm fine. No, sir, everything really is fine. Thank you for calling, sir. Good night, sir."

He wondered, not for the first time, whether her personal phone line was bugged. He also wished he was able to send Sgt. Fuery to check on it for her. Spotting his shadow standing across the street, he grabbed the receiver again and quickly dialed another number, mind racing several steps ahead: He would ditch his "babysitter" tonight and check on his former subordinate in person.

A few hours later, Colonel Mustang left Madame Christmas's bar, well known to be his favorite haunt. He was stumbling drunk, in a cheerful and obnoxious way, and had an arm wrapped around the slender waist of one of the two girls supporting him. They giggled madly while hailing a cab, and then carefully deposited him in the back. Both squealed when he pulled one girl in after him, but neither she nor her companion made any move to stop him. The one left behind on the sidewalk didn't seem much put out by his choice, and called out something along the lines of 'don't do anything I wouldn't do' before she ran laughing back inside the bar.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and the man assigned as Mustang's tail huffed impatiently. Why bother with following him? All he would do now was stumble up the stairs to his apartment with this barfly, and the two would be in for the night. He might as well save himself the trouble and just go home now...but he had orders. And he supposed…well, who knew? What if Mustang did try to give him the slip and sneak out of his apartment in the middle of the night? He was pretty devious like that. So he followed the cab, like the loyal foot soldier he was, and he did not notice a dark shape slip out of the alley alongside the bar and stroll off causally in the opposite direction.

There was a dim light still burning in a back window; that much Mustang could see from across the street. So she hadn't gone to sleep yet, even at this ungodly hour. Good. She would be reading, probably with Hayate sprawled across her legs, and her bedroom window would be open a crack. He remembered that habit from the old days-even if it was cold outside, and unless it were actually raining or snowing, her window was always open at least a little sliver to let in fresh air. He was lucky she lived in a ground level apartment; simply knocking on the front door was out of the question. If her neighbors heard anything…

He pressed close against the hedge that ran along the wall, right outside that back bedroom with the light in the window. Leaning towards the widow, which was indeed open a few inches, Mustang whispered, "Elizabeth, it's me. Please let me in."

Riza started violently when she heard a voice at her window, but knew who it was at the first word. Who else called her Elizabeth? She debated for a moment whether she should just hiss back at him to get gone, as he was putting them both at risk just by talking to her. But in spite of the softness of his whisper, the command in Mustang's voice was implicit. If she didn't let him in, he might very well break down the door to get to her. And she couldn't deny that she'd wanted to see him. She'd been half expecting him to show up like this anyway after that phone call; she'd had a rough day and knew that he had heard the strain in her voice. She never could hide from Mustang, in spite of how very easily others were fooled.

Pulling a robe on over her pajamas (not like he hadn't seen her in them before, but still), Riza padded down the hall in stocking feet and unlocked the front door. Strange. Mustang was not in uniform, but dressed in civilian clothes. And he had no coat on. Idiot, he was probably freezing out there.

Crap, now she felt guilty. Now she had to let him in. He'd probably counted on it, that manipulative bastard. He slipped past her without waiting to be invited, and bent down to ruffle Hayate's fur as she closed and locked the door behind him. Hayate had had the sense not to make a fuss, and she was fairly certain that no one had seen Roy come into her building at this late hour.

"You shouldn't be here, Colonel," she said softly. He rose and fastened his eyes on hers, expression serious. She looked more fragile than he had seen her in years, standing there in her pale pink pajamas and a threadbare robe, her long blond hair caught up in a loose braid that rested on one shoulder.

"I'm sure I wasn't followed, so please save the lecture on the risk I am running, Lieutenant. I just...I wanted to see you.

"That doesn't make it any less dangerous," she retorted. Mustang sighed.

"I didn't mean to…I'm sorry, Riza. Shall I go?" His eyes burned into hers.

Hawkeye was suddenly absurdly happy to see him. Even though he was not supposed to be here at all, even though he was risking both his life and career, and even though he had walked all the way here without so much as a coat, she was glad that he had come.

"Come on, I'll make us some tea," she gestured towards her sparse living area. Roy dutifully followed her unspoken instructions, and made himself comfortable on the couch while she went into the kitchen. He was careful to avoid the window, she noticed, and left the lamp off. The only light now spilled in from the kitchen. After a few moments of companionable silence punctuated by small homey sounds (teacups clinking, water running, and the whoosh of a gas burner) Riza padded down the short hallway to her bedroom, and returned with a light blanket over her arm.

"Here," she tossed it over him, and curled herself into the opposite corner of the couch. While he tucked the blanket gratefully around himself, Riza studied him in the dim light. He looked as tired as she felt. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale and drawn. He probably hadn't been sleeping well. "So...what are you doing wandering around Central at this hour without your coat?"

"Well, I figured they would expect me to check up on you periodically, and if I didn't it would look suspicious," he grinned mischievously. She laughed, as he'd intended. If he was making jokes, then his mood was not quite as black as she had feared. Then the kettle whistled, and she rose to pour their tea. It would be chamomile, he knew. He accepted the steaming cup, though he would have preferred coffee, and warmed his icy hands on it.

As they drank, he told her how he'd used a trio of Chris's girls as decoys, allowing him to ditch the man who'd been assigned to tail him. In the darkness, with a slender brunette wearing his military coat and flanked by two other girls, the man hadn't suspected a thing. Even now, he'd be camped outside of Roy's apartment, never dreaming that Roy was not inside. Once he'd brought Riza up to speed, they sat quietly for a moment, both deep in thought.

"You're awfully quiet, Lieutenant," he looked at her sideways as he spoke.

"I'm simply impressed you managed such an op all on your own. After all, the Flame Alchemist isn't exactly known for his subtlety," she teased.

"Hey!" he laughed. "Well, I can't deny that it would have been nice to have the team backing me up..." his face darkened. "But that's not possible at the moment, is it?" Riza nodded. He was trying not to let it get to him, but the loss of his subordinates still stung, and with nothing else to occupy his mind, naturally he was dwelling on it again.

"I've been worried about you," Riza said softly. Roy set his empty cup down and shifted closer to her space on the couch. He moved slowly, raising one hand to touch her face. She didn't resist.

"That's supposed to be my line," he murmured. He rubbed his thumb gently across her check, where Pride had scratched her face. The cut was long since healed by now, and had not been serious enough to leave a scar, but he still knew the exact place it had been. Riza hadn't even told him about Pride's threats, but he had put two and two together when he had decoded her message, and had a pretty good idea as to what had happened that night.

Riza shuddered slightly at his touch, remembering how Pride's shadows had snaked across her body, wrapping around her legs, squeezing her torso until she couldn't breathe. Roy remembered the horrible way his stomach had knotted once he'd figured it out. He'd been reminded again that he could not protect her from this threat, not now, not until after the Promised Day when all of theirs plans would hopefully come to fruition. His hand lingered just a moment longer on her face, and then dropped back into his lap. He settled back against the couch again, much closer to her than he had been before.

"You've seen the reports, I assume?" Hawkeye asked, closing the gap between them and stealing half of the blanket for herself.

So she had seen them too. Mustang really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, she was working in the Fuhrer's office now. No wonder she had sounded so tense, then. Falman seemed to be doing all right at Brigg's, and although Breda had been seeing some action, they had not heard anything serious befalling the troops in the West. But today, they had learned that Fuery's unit had been right in the thick of the battle, and his commanding officer there had been killed in action.

For several hours, they had feared that young Fuery had been killed too, until he reported in at last.

"I can't check up on any of them. I can't protect any of them, and it's making me crazy," Roy growled. He clenched his fists, hating the overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

Riza didn't respond, but rested her head against his shoulder. She felt the same way about him, and he knew it. His arms wrapped around her, anchoring her to him. They didn't speak for a long time, simply sat curled together, his lips pressed against her hair, and her cheek resting against his chest.

"I should probably go now," Roy finally whispered.

"Yes, you should," Riza agreed.

Neither made a move to get up.

"Do you really think we can do this, Riza?" he asked a few moments later.

"I believe in you, Roy," she murmured dreamily.

Nothing else needed to be said between them. They both knew how much they missed each other; missed the old team. He knew she was happy he'd come; and she knew that just seeing her face had made him feel at least a little bit better. He would leave before dawn, and he wouldn't visit her at home like this again. They would act like nothing had happened, and everyone else would be fooled. She probably wouldn't see him until it was time to put their counter offensive plan into place, unless it were in passing. But they would draw strength from this small stolen moment. And it would be enough.