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The announcement of Bradley's presence at the annual Solstice Eve Gala was made, met by polite high-society applause from hundreds of pairs of hands as he stepped forward to the top of the staircase. The cameras of society page reporters clicked and flashed as he smiled and waved, his wife doing the same with her free hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Riza hung back off to one side, staying out of the camera view; being noticed, being visible, was the antithesis of a sniper's purpose. She excelled at blending into the background, going unnoticed… and it was exceedingly difficult in proximity to him.
The cameras faded out along with the applause, and Mrs. Bradley glanced back over her shoulder, smiling warmly. "Still with us, Lieutenant?"
Her return smile was reflexive, but Riza quickly forced warmth into it. Whatever problems she had with Bradley himself, she was careful not to let them show to his wife. "Yes, ma'am. I'm right behind you."
Bradley didn't spare her a glance before starting down the stairs to the ballroom floor; why should he, when he expected every order – straightforward or implied – to be followed without question? If he went ahead and Riza didn't keep up, it was her own fault, not his. She followed them down the staircase, keeping her eyes forward and resisting the urge to look at the veritable sea of faces. She couldn't afford to lose track of her footing in the black heels of her dress uniform, and go somersaulting down the rest of the stairs.
The short descent came with another flash of sudden vulnerability, the awareness that she was highly visible and the reflex that she shouldn't be. She wanted nothing more than to tuck herself into the first alcove she could find and let people forget she existed… but, as the assistant to the most powerful man in the room, this was no longer an option.
And besides, at least a few of the pairs of eyes on her were bound to be friendly. This was a military event: somewhere in this room was Armstrong, and she knew Grumman had received an invitation. From the faint prickling sensation at the back of her neck, it was clear that Roy was watching her from wherever he might be in the room.
The bright, cheerful colours of the holiday decorations that appeared no matter where she turned couldn't distract her from the hard knot of resigned sadness that resided in her stomach. She didn't kid herself that she might see Roy at any closer distance than a stone's throw. With more enemies in the room than friends, they were sure to be under near-constant surveillance, and any face-to-face discussion would be met with suspicion if not outright rebuke. Much as she missed him, tonight was not likely to be her chance to talk to him.
At the foot of the stairs, the Bradleys paused as the nearest members of their public closed in, chatting, shaking hands, and laughing. Riza waited on the last step, her hands folded neatly behind her back, looking on and also about. No familiar faces were directly in sight, not that she expected there to be.
As she watched, the welcoming crowd began to disperse, leaving a handful of high-level officers gathered around Bradley, and their respective wives beginning to shepherd Mrs. Bradley off toward one of the tables around the room's perimeter. The older woman was smiling, laughing at the antics of her acquaintances, and glanced back just long enough to give her husband a farewell wave.
Bradley watched after her for a moment, smiling with what Riza could almost believe was genuine fondness, before looking back at her. His expression cooled noticeably, before he said, quietly, "With me, please, Lieutenant."
"…Yes, sir."
Dread sank into the bottom of her stomach, remaining there like an ice cube, slowly chilling her from the inside out. As tedious as an evening of standing by while the First Lady and her girlfriends gossiped and chatted, it was at least preferable to the male side of things. Her evening had just gone from at least lively and somewhat amusing to drab and dull with a distinct overshadowing of thinly-veiled misogyny.
She followed only a pace or two behind as Bradley began a slow circuit of the room, shaking hands and trading greetings and comments with any number of people. Most were in uniform, as was to be expected, though several wore high-end civilian clothes. Through it all, Riza kept her hands folded behind her back, her eyes averted from those he stopped to speak to, and her expression neutral. It was an old tactic, but one that had served her well: if she made no move to be noticeable, most people's eyes slid right over her, and she was spared answering tiresome questions or, worse, small talk.
Riza studied the decorations, the way the red, green, and gold blended and twisted together, complimenting each other. A pair of massive, intricate frameworks in the shapes of deer stood either side of the grand staircase, so covered in tiny lights that they seemed to glitter. Evergreen garlands twined around banisters, railings, and columns, filling the air with a subtle, spicy scent. She would be perfectly content to roam the hall, ignored and left to her own devices, entertaining herself by guessing at how the decor was made… but she resigned herself to the current arrangement.
The tactic of fading into the background worked for approximately fifteen minutes. They had progressed perhaps a quarter of the way around the room – such was the amount of talking and handshaking Bradley stopped to do – when they came to a knot of people that consisted mainly of High Command members. Immediately, the group opened, creating a space for Bradley in the ring they had formed.
"Nice of you to join us, Your Excellency; how does it feel to slum it with the rest of us for an evening?"
"How have you been here this long and no one's offered you a drink?"
"Managed to escape the wife for the time being, sir?"
Riza kept herself at a distance of a few paces, hands still folded at her back, alternating between keeping her eyes low or glancing around at the other gala attendees. Still no familiar faces, or at least none she was on friendly terms with, but she supposed anyone like that was liable to give Bradley a wide berth.
A body stopped beside her, light glinting off of silver and glass as a tray held by a server was presented to her. "Something to drink, miss?"
She smiled politely, but shook her head. "No, thank you."
"Nonsense!" Detaching himself from the ring of conversing men, General Edison beamed at her. "This is a party, Lieutenant; even you deserve to relax a little!" Before she could object, he plucked a pair of champagne flutes from the server's tray, keeping one for himself while holding the other out to her.
Something like low-grade panic bloomed in her chest, and her eyes cut almost nervously toward Bradley as she saw his head turn. She supposed she could accept the glass out of politeness and leave it untouched until she could dispose of it unnoticed, but if Edison insisted she down the contents here and now?
Bradley glanced her way, giving a minute nod, and she forced a small smile as she allowed the old man to press the flute into her fingers. "Thank you, sir," she said, not meaning the phrase in the slightest.
"Think nothing of it." Much to her dismay, even as Bradley turned back to his previous conversation, Edison took a step closer to her. "You have a very important role, young lady. You must keep quite busy, making sure our President's office runs smoothly. You deserve a break."
For a moment, for the length of his brief smile that crinkled his eyes charmingly at the corners, he was a grandfatherly man a full three inches shorter than her. The wire-rimmed glasses and bushy white beard certainly didn't help to dispel that image. For a split-second, Riza felt her personal walls start to come down, before ruthlessly shoving the metaphorical bricks back into place.
He was there when Raven sold Roy out, she reminded herself. He's no friend, no ally. He'll let the Promised Day happen for a shot at immortality, no matter what happens to anyone else.
Dislike or no, she smiled, maintaining the perfectly polite façade. "Thank you for the compliment to my work, sir." And nothing else. "I recall you had a meeting with him earlier this week; I trust it went well."
Edison shrugged. "As well as all departmental budget meetings do, I suppose." He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then continued. "You know, it's an aspect of the Administration system you might find interesting. I'm given to understand that your previous office operated perfectly within its' allotted budgeting; moving up to a larger scale would be an easy task for you. What we deal with mainly is –"
He continued on, talking matter-of-factly about wage allotments, housing and utility subsidies, equipment and supply amounts… but Riza was no longer listening. She kept her eyes on Edison, nodding as though following along, but she couldn't hear him past the roaring rush in her ears that had started after the words 'previous office.'
Of course she had run the Administration side of Roy's office like a fine-tuned engine. It had been necessary. She had learned every trick and tool in the Administration arsenal, had mastered every aspect she could and asked for help from clerical staff on those she couldn't. If things didn't operate at standard or above, the higher-ups would start watching their team in a way they didn't need. If they blended into the framework, if they were competent, no one would look too closely except in cases of promotion.
She and Roy had built their office and his team from the ground up, starting with the two of them… and now he was there alone.
Something inside her ached at that thought. When she had passed him the message about Selim, he had been taking a working lunch, saying it was to get through everything…. It must have been Bradley's intention that, in addition to stripping away any potential co-conspirators, he would literally bury the younger man in work. If he was too busy to lift his head for more than a few minutes, then he was too busy to lay plans against him. How smoothly was that office running now that he was shouldering it alone?
Her attention snapped back to Edison as he leaned close, her body stiffening reflexively at the proximity. "Now, where I could use some advice is, I'd hoped to give myself a bit of a raise this year. Still within pay band parameters, nothing egregious, but I'm told that the funding for it just isn't in my departmental budget." Blue eyes blinked up at her, professionally curious… and more than a little conspiratorial. "I wonder if you have any suggestions for how I could streamline my budgeting to facilitate the raise?"
Anger flared instantly, though she took care to keep it from her expression. Heat flooded her stomach and rose up the back of her neck, prickling along her scalp from front to back. Faint pressure ghosted across her forehead as she clamped down on the emotion, turning the ire into a rueful smile. Why should I help you deprive your division of possible necessaries for the sake of you padding your bank account? she thought acidly, consciously unclenching her fingers from the delicate stem of the champagne flute.
"I'm afraid that's a bit outside my area of experience, sir. Budgeting like that was always handled for my team by the Payroll department, not by me," she said aloud. "My only interaction with budgeting was making sure we stayed within our allotments for supplies, equipment, and labour."
Edison smiled, another conspiratorial gesture, his elbow moving to nudge hers gently. "Come now, Lieutenant, a bright girl like you ought to have at least some suggestions! You've heard the phrase 'trimming the fat' when it comes to budget concerns, haven't you? This is just the same, only the extraneous funds get used elsewhere."
He rested an encouraging hand on the back of her shoulder, and Riza immediately shifted, deftly stepping away and turning to face him fully. His fingers left a phantom slimy feeling on her, one she knew wouldn't leave until she could get home and shower the stink of military politics from herself. "I understood what you meant, General," she assured him politely, ignoring the faint annoyance in his face at having been physically rebuffed. "Unfortunately, from the experience of an everyday soldier, there's not much to trim from a budget such as yours. Everything you've mentioned yours contains would, I believe, be considered necessary." She gave a small shrug. "You might be farther ahead to plead your case to the Finance or Payroll departments for that raise."
He was irritated by her lack of willingness to play his game; that much was clear by the sour look that came to his eyes. Probably not used to being disagreed with, Riza thought, a thread of defiance beginning to glow warmly in her chest. Not by junior officers, and almost certainly not by a woman.
"I see. I appreciate your counsel, Lieutenant." The words didn't exactly come from between clenched teeth, but there was a certain stiffness to them that belied his feelings. "Thank you for your thoughts."
"Of course, sir."
He turned away, bored with trying to draw her into his self-serving plans, and Riza nearly gave in to a sigh of relief. She supposed it made sense that they had climbed as far as they had, with their personal agendas and scheming, with their apparent inability to care about those beneath them. At least with Roy, his personal agendas and scheming were directed upward, rather than down….
"May I take that for you, Lieutenant?"
The voice came from behind her and to her left, and for a pair of seconds, she felt dread that someone else was speaking to her, that someone else wanted something of her… and then the feeling faded as she recognized the speaker. Turning, she smiled, holding the glass out. "Yes; thank you, Major."
Alex Louis Armstrong smiled, his eyes crinkling above his moustache, accepting the drink. "I don't seem to recall you being much for drinks at events like this," he murmured, his bass voice a low rumble. "And I noticed you hadn't touched yours since it was given to you, so I thought you must not have a particular interest in it."
"A polite one but not much more than that, sir." She watched as he turned slightly, depositing her full glass and his own empty one on the tray of a passing server. "Is your sister attending tonight as well, Major?"
"She is." Blue eyes scanned the crowd briefly from the vantage pointed afforded him by his height before Alex nodded to the opposite wall. "The Major-General prefers to observe during things like this, rather than taking part directly. Have you seen much of her since her return to Central?"
"Some, yes; usually whenever she has cause to visit the President's office, or if we happen to run into each other around Headquarters." She gave a rueful smile. "She mentioned the fight you two had; it sounds like quite a knock-down drag-out affair. I don't have experience on the subject, but it certainly sounds beyond the usual level of sibling rivalry."
"It was at that." His own smile echoed hers. "Luckily, though the main house is barred to me, I never stayed there much; I have a space for myself in the carriage house near the property entrance. It's a proper house, really, adjacent to what used to be stables. It's quiet, and I find I quite enjoy the solitude. It's… relaxing."
"It's one of the reasons I've never looked for anything more than a one-bedroom apartment," Riza agreed. "I enjoy my own company well enough. Yours sounds like a very nice place, Major; I hope you enjoy your time there."
"Thank you." Bowing politely, Armstrong took a step back. "I should continue my social rounds. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Lieutenant, and a happy Solstice."
"The same to you, sir; thank you."
She watched him go for a moment, before deliberately looking away, resuming her idle scan of faces, fancy clothes, and decorations. Though she kept her expression bland and polite, she replayed the few minutes of conversation in her mind. It had been as subtle a check-in as was possible when out in the open: an assurance that he was who he seemed to be and not that tricky shapeshifting Homonculus, a check on her part that he and his sister were well, him in particular with his ousting from the family mansion.
I don't seem to recall you being much for drinks at events like this. That had confirmed for her that she had been met with the real Alex Louis Armstrong; he had been present at several military gatherings in the past where she and Roy were in attendance. Riza never drank during functions, at least not anything alcoholic. Her tolerance had always been best described as 'lightweight,' and a tipsy bodyguard was an ineffective one at best, or totally useless at worst.
She asked after the Major-General partly out of politeness, and partly to confirm the older woman was as well as her brother seemed to be. Their conversations when they had occasion to cross paths had been brief and relegated strictly to business, not to mention that her naturally frosty demeanour made getting a true read on her difficult, even for someone with Riza's long experience. Major-General Armstrong was likely to be a strong ally on the Promised Day – another reason why Bradley likely wanted her kept in sight – and so maintaining her well-being was just as important as Riza's own.
A fanfare of music flared over the crowd, turning heads and drawing cheers and raised glasses, before dropping into a smooth descending scale that morphed seamlessly into the opening bars of a popular holiday song. Riza saw Bradley's head turn first toward the musicians, then to the corner where his wife had been drawn off to; when she looked herself, she spotted Mrs. Bradley getting to her feet with two other women, the First Lady smiling across at her husband as space opened up in the middle of the room.
"If you wouldn't mind waiting here, Lieutenant?" He spoke over his shoulder, not even looking back at her; he expected her to be within earshot, like the obedient shadow she was ordered to be. To actually check that she was where he wanted her to be would have been beneath him, and her own fault if she wasn't.
"Yes, sir."
She watched him stride out into the open space of the cleared dance floor, his smile broad and charming. Mrs. Bradley met him halfway, and the two of them instantly swept smoothly into perfect dance steps. It surprised Riza, slightly; she hadn't ever given consideration to whether he might have any skill or interest in being able to dance. It made sense that he could, certainly, being a public figure, but something about it sent uncomfortable tendrils through her body. It humanized him, made him appear so much more like a completely normal person who just happened to hold high office, and nothing more.
That appearance, when she knew the truth, chilled her to her bones.
Easing backward, she moved a handful of steps away from the dance floor, just in case some other officer got it into their head to ask her to dance. With Raven and his perpetual lechery toward anything breathing and female having disappeared up north, the chance was lower, but not zero. And with all the effort she was going to in order to stay out of sight this evening, being twirled across the floor was extremely counterproductive.
The music was nice, at least: upbeat and festive, a mix of stringed instruments and percussion with jingling bells added into the rhythm. Played by a set of musicians in black-tie formalwear, it was a decidedly upscale version of the holiday music she had heard growing up; that had been local folks in warm coats and hats playing in the town square for the annual winter festival. Asked to choose, she would still pick her hometown version, but she couldn't deny that the band tonight was talented or that she enjoyed the sound.
"Pardon me, miss; this is for you."
Glancing to her left, Riza spotted the server who had spoken – a different one than before – waiting with a single drink on his tray. She hesitated, eyes going to the glass – a squat tumbler filled with some kind of bubbly red liquid with a sugared rim and a lemon wedge – before rising back to his face. "…I'm sorry, but I didn't order anything. I'm not drinking tonight, since I'm technically on duty."
"Yes, ma'am. This was ordered for you by a gentleman at the bar; he had it prepared as non-alcoholic." The server held the tray out to her, his friendly smile taking the edge off of what would have been a persistent gesture. "Cranberry juice and seltzer, that's all."
Puzzle pieces clicked together in her mind, and Riza smiled slightly as she lifted the glass from the tray. "I see. Please give him my thanks, then, and tell him I appreciate the gesture."
The server murmured an acknowledgement before melting back into the crowd… and leaving her alone, watching the dancers with a faint smile and gently swirling the drink in her glass. Riza glanced down, watching the way the ice cubes within continued to rotate even after the motion stopped, before taking a small, measured sip. Any other occasion, and there might have been a shot of vodka in the mix, but this time, the tartness of the carbonated juice was only mingled with the sweetness from the sugared rim. Looking up again, she allowed her eyes to drift slowly over the room as though examining the spectators to the dancing, until she could see the bar.
When her eyes found him, Roy was already watching her.
For a long moment, they only regarded each other, his eyes doing a slow, evaluating sweep of her even as she gave him the same once-over look. He stood with his back to the bar, leaning against it, one hand tucked into a pocket while the other held his own drink. He was in dress uniform, the same as her, his hair combed back for the occasion in the way she knew he saw as a necessary annoyance. Roy usually didn't bother to style it much, preferring to project the laid-back get-out-of-tasks-whenever-he-could laziness that caused potential enemies to underestimate him… but with it combed back and that sharp, dark-eyed gaze fully visible, it showcased his shrewd side.
That was the side of him that studied her now, looking for any sign of injury, of unhappiness, of any ill thing that may have been visited upon her while she was out of his sight. When he found nothing – aside from her evident discomfort at being here under these circumstances – his eyes met hers once again.
It was a tiny motion and a smaller expression, but Riza lifted her glass with a smile in silent thanks. A nod confirmed it as a good choice. Roy's own small smile – a combination of acknowledgement and pleasure at having chosen well – tugged at the corner of his mouth. He lifted his own drink slightly in her direction in as subtle a toast as he could manage, before taking a sip.
She did the same, her eyes following the glass in his hand. Even at this distance she could see there was still liquid in it, but where she may have expected the warm, clear brown tone of whatever whiskey was on the drink list, she was surprised to note his drink was colourless. When he lowered the glass and met her gaze again, she lifted an eyebrow, glancing toward the glass.
Roy grimaced slightly. His eyes darted sideways to check for any observers before he mouthed the word 'water.' His free hand emerged from his pocket to tap his left side… and she understood. Still healing from the wound he had sustained fighting Lust meant going easy on alcohol, or abstaining entirely for the time being. She had only nicked his stomach in the attack, but it was enough that it warranted being careful.
Nodding once, Riza let her expression shift to one of sympathy, just for a second. In answer, his shoulders raised a half-inch before dropping in an it-can't-be-helped shrug. A second later, his eyes darted quickly over her again before coming back to her face with a raised brow, questioning after her.
She returned the shrug, with a rueful smile. Taking a few seconds to make her point, she looked back to where Bradley was still in the midst of a waltz, his wife giggling happily, before giving Roy a pointed look and rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. His return sympathetic look echoed hers.
They fell into a pause in their silent communication; Riza couldn't think of anything else to say, and it seemed he was at the same loss. There were things she wanted to say to him – to tell him she missed him, ask how he was handling things by himself, tell him about the dog she had sculpted from snow last week for Hayate and how he had barked at it, thinking it was real – but she couldn't communicate that across this distance.
A faint sense of heartache settled in her chest at the thought that, twenty metres apart with a clear line of sight between each other, and able to send signals back and forth… he had never felt farther apart from her. There was no easy comfort in this like they had had before; they were both on alert, both aware that they could be watched at any time, both of them knowing they couldn't close the gap. What she wouldn't give to get him alone, to hold him as tightly as she wanted to, to speak freely and openly….
Not yet, she reminded herself. The day would come when she could do all of that and more… she just had to bide her time.
She sipped her drink through the next two songs, watching the accompanying dances. Any time she glanced his way, Roy was watching too, dark eyes following the patterns and movements with only the barest level of interest. He could dance, she knew; he had learned the steps out of social propriety and had at least a basic understanding of what movements were timed to which songs. That he rarely felt a particular inclination to dance spoke more to his usual mode of operation: standing back and observing, and not drawing unnecessary attention to himself unless it was in his favour, the same as she did.
The last few bars of the song played out, ending in applause from the dancers and crowd, before a new song began. Immediately, any dancers still on the floor began arranging themselves into two lines that faced each other – men on one side, women on the other… and a wave of uncharacteristic recklessness washed through her. Setting her empty glass on the tray of a passing server, Riza stepped forward onto the open floor, joining the women's line. Across from her was a man she didn't know, dressed in civilian clothes, looking alert and excited to be joining in.
The steps began, and from somewhere to her left along the line, she heard Mrs, Bradley's happy laugh mingling with chatter and giggling from other dancers. She focussed on following the steps, counting the time in her head. She stepped forward to meet the civilian-clothed man, her right hand meeting his for the length of time it took to turn a full 360 degrees around each other before stepping back into lines again. When she took a turning step to her left, the skirt of her uniform didn't flare prettily like a civilian dress, but the movement felt smooth and fluid… and then the sequence of steps began again.
There came rapid footfalls behind her and across from her as those who had reached the ends of their line ran to the opposite end to start again. A different man was in front of her now, mirroring her movements as he gave her a congenial smile. She returned it, politely, but didn't pay him much more mind. Another brief join of hands, another brief spin, another turning step, and then another stranger in front of her.
Two switches later, there he was.
Riza's eyes found his as she came out of the turn, those dark irises watching her closely. Roy glanced briefly at the floor – likely making sure he wasn't too close or too far away, but when their eyes met again, she felt the synchronicity lock.
There was an intent behind that look, a hidden message that read Dangerous game you're playing. He was right, too; if Bradley or anyone else in his circle decided they didn't like the two of them being withing speaking distance, one or both of them was liable to get questioned about it, to make sure they weren't plotting as they had before.
Riza merely smiled slightly, in a silent message of her own: And yet you're still willing to play.
He stepped forward to meet her as she did the same, their hands touching palm-to-palm through the measured steps of the turn. Neither of them broke eye contact through the handful of seconds, neither of them spoke, but Riza used the time to rememorize the feel of his hand in hers, and the sense of him right next to her. The look in his eyes had changed, now all affection and reassurance, and no small part of longing, all of it only visible up close. Her index finger tapped twice against his, their usual signal to the other to pay attention, this time used to let him know she had noticed.
It was over far too soon. The steps of the dance that had brought them together took them apart again, and the man in front of her was replaced with another man she didn't know. Far from feeling discouraged, though, there was something in her chest that felt lighter, more buoyant than it had in months. Her hand tingled faintly where it had been pressed to his, a content warmth flooding her from the inside out.
She paid no attention to the next few partner changes, until the person across from her was replaced by Bradley.
Riza was careful to keep the new lightness she felt from showing on her face, especially in front of him. She had known he might notice she had joined the dance floor, and if he saw her, he would automatically look for Roy. That single eye didn't miss anything; those fifteen seconds or so of rebellious closeness had almost certainly been noted.
"I'm glad to see you joining in the social aspects of this evening, Lieutenant." His voice was pleasant enough, surrounded by others like this. Had they been out of earshot of others, Riza strongly suspected he wouldn't be quite so genial. "It's good for you to relax a little."
"Thank you, sir."
A few steps, and then palm-to-palm for the turn. As Riza had thought he likely would, Bradley took advantage of the moment murmur, "I'd choose future dance partners more carefully, if I were you. Don't give me a reason to adjust our arrangement."
She made sure to meet his gaze as they stepped back into their respective lines, even though doing so sent a chill of fear through the pit of her stomach. Riza kept everything – gaze, expression, tone – studiously neutral, answering only with a nod as the lines shifted, drawing him away from her. She was lucky to escape with a warning, she knew, though there was still a chance he would question her about it another time. Bradley would want to make sure no messages had been passed, no secret plans laid, communicated, or confirmed in those handful of seconds.
We didn't speak and this uniform doesn't have pockets for me to hide notes; nothing said and nothing passed except a glance and a dance, she told herself in mental reply to the anticipated questions. He's bound to have had others watching at the same time; they'll corroborate they saw nothing exchanged, if they don't feel the urge to lie.
When the progress of dance steps brought her to the end of her line, she stepped out and back to the edge of the crowd instead of circling to continue. Across the dance floor, she saw Roy do the same, his eyes following her as he did so. He glanced quickly in Bradley's direction, then back to her, lifting an eyebrow. Riza smiled slightly, giving a tiny shake of her head to assure him neither of them were in trouble over their few seconds of interaction… at least not seriously so.
They both studiously turned their attention away from each other, Riza joining in with the polite applause as the music wound upward and the song finished with a flourish. She watched as Bradley pressed a gentlemanly kiss to his wife's hand before sending her off back to her girlfriends and heading back to the conversations he had been having earlier. Stepping out from the edge of the crowd, Riza circled the edge of the dance floor to come to a stop just behind and beside him as he resumed talking to whatever General or other he had been chatting with.
Once again, he didn't bother to check if she was there or not.
Riza counted the time in her head, reaching 300 before she started a slow scan of the people around her that eventually ended up back on Roy. He hadn't moved, watching the current dance floor occupants with the same bland interest as before. Seconds after her eyes landed on him, his slid sideways toward her.
The movement was subtle, an innocuous, gentle massaging of his right hand, but Riza suppressed a smile anyway. The hand that had pressed to hers for those few, invaluable seconds. Riza turned her gaze away, as though curiously following the progress of some pretend person through the crowd, or looking for something. She turned slightly as she did, bringing the hands folded neatly behind her back into Roy's view… and brushing the thumb of one hand across the palm of the other.
She turned back a moment later, briefly watching Bradley converse with a Lieutenant-General she didn't recognize, before glancing back to Roy. His expression had shifted slightly, showing a mildly apologetic look as he tilted his head toward the ballroom's main doors.
He has to leave already? Why – oh. Right – Solstice Eve meant he was likely headed to the Madame's. It was his first holiday back living in the same city as his family after several years spent out East; he should be with them. Ignoring the light pang of jealousy that zinged through her chest, she gave a tiny nod and a smile before looking away as he melted back into the other partygoers around him.
As if this whole situation wasn't already unfair enough…. That he got to spend the holiday with the woman who had raised him, and her girls that adored him like a brother, while Riza was relegated to her own apartment and her own, solitary devices with only a memory of fifteen seconds of closeness…. She supposed it was the life that she could expect, when their relationship was so concealed and they were forced apart by others, but it didn't make the jealous pang sting any less.
I suppose I have Hayate, so I'm not totally alone, she told herself by way of consolation. It'll be his first Solstice, so I'll make sure to spoil him just a little. Maybe –
Her train of thought stopped as her gaze drifted around the room again, and spotted Roy one last time by the doors. He was watching her once again, smiling faintly. She didn't think he had been expecting her to see him; it seemed to her that this was a 'one last look' before he left, judging from the way he went very still as her eyes landed on him. The smile grew slightly, his eyes taking on that same fond look from their few seconds as dance partners… and then he slipped out of sight through the doors.
Riza held still, looking away from the doors and resuming her slow scan of the shifting mass of people, and waited for the heartache to start. She felt it almost physically, most of the time, a faint pain of indeterminate location somewhere in her chest. It seemed to move, sometimes, from shoulder to collarbone to heart. It was never more than a whisper, but it was a persistent one.
To her surprise, it didn't appear as soon as Roy was out of sight. It didn't appear when, five minutes later, Bradley moved on from his current conversation, slipping through the crowd toward the next one with her following behind. Not even when two members of High Command gave her their stiff, insincere, sour little smiles did it show up. The tiny pain she had been carrying with her since she read the transfer orders stayed dormant, fended off by the warm glow that hovered in her chest like a live coal.
She brushed her fingers over her palm again, clamping down on the smile that wanted to appear on her lips. An unorthodox Solstice gift… but maybe one in keeping with the spirit of the season….
He had given her hope again. Hope that this situation would end soon, that she would get her shot to fight back… and that she would be back with him again. The entire transfer/hostage situation had begun to feel interminable, to feel like something uncomfortably close to despair… but it wasn't. It was all just a matter of time; all she had to do was wait, be patient, and strike when her chance came.
And for Riza Hawkeye, coup conspirator and master-level sniper, waiting patiently for a chance to strike was what she did best.