A/N: Modern, Earth-based AU. The sister of a dear friend of mine inspired this. Cover art by the amazing That-Hoopy-Frood :)

chapter 1: welcome home

Inglewood, Los Angeles, 6:20AM

The sound of birds chirping is long gone and is now replaced by the sound of gravel crunching as another car rolls by. In mere minutes, rush hour will start to pick up and traffic will soon be bumper to bumper. The smell of smog looms in and hits her nose, and it's something she can never get used to. The sun is finally peaking from behind the mountains, but the temperature outside already feels hot as warm breeze cross her face. No doubt it will be another scorching day as the touch of the sun's ray on her face prickles her skin. Sweat is rolling down her temple and her breathing is becoming ragged. The olive-green uniform and black vest she dons are weighing her down, and the heavy rifle she holds is numbing her hands. She loves being out in the field, but the anticipation is making her anxious. She inhales deeply before exhaling at the count of five, and she repeats a couple more times. One... two... three... four... five... Her heart is still racing, but her facial expression is calm and collected. She has a reputation to maintain after all.

A white and beige apartment in the middle of Crenshaw Boulevard has been monitored for at least the last hour. White trash bags and mangled furniture are lying around the patio, and it reminds her of the halfway house from back home. The paint on one side of the building is peeling, and there's blue graffiti next to the windowpane, giving off the impression of a rundown neighborhood. Rusted, metal bars are installed on all windows and the curtains are drawn, making it difficult to tell the situation inside. She's hoping that the inhabitants are still fast asleep as it will make their operation much easier to complete. She looks to the ground underneath her black boots, eyeing the dead patch on the grass where the apartment dwellers may have dumped their chemical waste, and she scoffs with disgust.

"Alpha team's in position. Copy."

"Bravo team's in position. Copy."

The ten hand-picked men and woman of teams Alpha and Bravo are wearing the same tactical gear as her, complete with round black protective gear on their heads. She looks at the DEA officer in charge, helmet tucked under his arm and brown sunglasses on his face. He sticks out with his bald head, shining under the sun, sweat dripping down his forehead as he slaps a hand onto it to wipe off the moisture. She glances at his fat ass, heavy breathing visible underneath his getup, and she can't help but feel a little scornful inside. She knows he's only there to command, his rank and title make sure he stays out of enemy line. Nevertheless she waits for his hand signal, letting everyone know that they can proceed with the raid.

Olivier glaces at her men. Everyone is in position, and she can feel adrenaline course through her, electrifying her body from head to toe. She brings her rifle closer to her face, index finger on the trigger, the buttstock of the rifle pushed against her shoulder. She treads lightly, making as little noise as possible, crouching her way to the apartment building until she arrives at the front door. She calms her breathing once more.

The DEA officer nods at her and at the man on the other side of the building, shouting to his walkie talkie, "Go, go!"

She kicks the front door in one swift motion and points her rifle towards a large, empty living room. No one's here. She promptly flicks her fingers and signals the uniformed men behind her to proceed inside. As they rush in Olivier recognizes the smell of disinfectant along with a heavy chemical odor linger in the room. Even after leading many similar operations in the past year, she still can't get used to the sickening scent. The stench is similar to one of rotting flesh, filling the nostrils and pricking at the back of her head like a thousand needles. She knows she will never get used to it.

The rest of her Bravo team quickly swarms into the building. The sound of feet stomping the floor fills the room. Officers spreading between the first and second floor are making loud, creaky noises on the floorboards. Olivier hears commotions coming from the second floor, someone shouting in a foreign language followed by the sound of glass breaking. She can hear the pounding of her heartbeat, excitement is building up, and she proceeds outside. This is her favorite part of the job.

"Suspect's on foot. I'm on it," she calls in.

"Roger that."

Exiting through the back door, she notices light footsteps nearby and goes around the corner of the building. She leans her back against the exterior wall, breath held in suspense. She closes her eyes momentarily, opening them as she exhales through her mouth. She glimpses at her target hiding behind the building across: a thin, young man with tattooed arms. Her target's constantly peaking his head out to analyze the situation, a black metal object in his hand, and she informs her team over the radio:

"Suspect is about five-three, mid-twenties, spider web tattoos on both arms, heading towards alley on 81st."

"Copy that."

Olivier swaps her rifle with a smaller gun for a quicker chase, an action she so often performs it feels almost automatic, before dropping her helmet to the ground. The man fires a couple of rounds at her, but she ducks just in time to avoid it, wincing her eyes as the sound of bullet pierces a hole in the wall. Shit, that was close. She narrows her eyes at the firearm and recognizes it as the standard 1911 gun that holds seven rounds, and she breathes a quick sigh of relief. There are only a handful of times she was thankful that she took her studies seriously, and this is one of those instances. The target fires a few more rounds, and Olivier's counting the number of bullets fired over her head. One, two, three, four, five. He's got two more rounds left. She hears the last two shots fired, one of them hitting the pipe on the side of the building, making a loud clanging noise as the bullet ricochets, and she knows that it's time to make her chase.

Her target tries firing another round, but the empty chamber only emits a clicking noise. Olivier hears a grunt as the man chucks the gun roughly to the ground, a loud thud as the object hits the dry soil, and he makes a run for the next building. She promptly runs after him, heavy boots stomping on the ground. The suspect's eyes widen when he realizes that she is merely a few feet away, closing the distance between them quicker than he anticipates. As she sprints toward him, she notices that he's trying to lose her by climbing up to the second story of a nearby apartment building, making the jump onto the balcony railing. He swings his hand, launching himself off the ground as he catches the bottom of the rails, feet dangling in the air. Olivier grunts as she catches up and jumps after him, her hands struggling to hold onto his torso. The man is swinging kicks at her, attempting to release her strong grip on his lower half, but her weight is slowly pulling him down as his hands are getting wet from the exhaustion. Olivier curls her hand into a fist, growling and roaring as she lands several punches to his side.

Her target screams in pain, the sound echoing in the empty alley, and his body falls to the ground in a loud thud, bringing her down with him. He scrambles to stand, but Olivier quickly sidesteps him, a sparring move she has perfected against her best friend, causing him to fall on his face with a muffled oomph. She gets up and straddles his lower back, pinning him to the ground. She takes out the handcuff out of her back pocket and quickly apprehends him before reading his Miranda rights, huffing and puffing from the chase,

"You have-the right to remain-silent. Anything you say can-and will be used against you-in a court of law. You have-the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford-an attorney, one will-be provided-for you. Do you understand-the rights I have just-read to you?"

"Fuck you!" he yells.

Olivier smirks as she hoists her suspect off the ground, gripping the handcuff on his hands tightly, causing him to squeal with fear. She calms her erratic breathing, relieved that she has finally ceased her chase, and she looks to the small stature of a man. His gaze is down toward the ground, not daring to look up at the blue-eyed officer who has just apprehended him. She can see that he was barely her height, back slouching as he squirms out of her grip. She hears brisk footsteps approaching from the alley behind her and she turns her head to see her partner and a couple of other officers in tow.

"We rounded the others up. This guy's the last one but looks like you got everything under control."

Olivier faces her partner, her body now cool and composed, and she replies smugly, "What do you take me for?"

"I knew you'd be fine. You're never one to rely on others." The man in the white ponytail smiles.

LAPD Headquarters, 1:48PM

"Great work today, Armstrong, Miles. That's the second successful bust this month. The DEA is very impressed and they're looking forward to working with us for the next operation."

"Thank you, sir," the two officers reply.

"Take the rest of the day off. You both deserve the break. Dismissed."

The two officers nod and leave the decorated office.

The moment Olivier and Miles step outside of the Chief's office, cheers erupt. It's so loud that Olivier has to muffle her ears with her hands. The twenty or so men standing in the large room are clapping in unison, the sound of fingers drumming on their desks are loud and rowdy. Olivier scans her eyes across the room. The lack of women in that room gives off a peculiar but prideful feeling, as if she's obligated to prove time and time again that she is just as capable as the men in the room.

"Good job, guys! You make us look good!" An officer whose name Olivier can't remember enthusiastically pats her shoulder. His yellow teeth are exposed on his face as he grins, automatically turning Olivier's expression into one of disgust. She hopes he doesn't see it.

"Drinks on me tonight?" another officer asks, a cocky smile on his face. He flexes his arm as Olivier looks at him with a serious expression. She scoffs and walks away from the man. How typical, she thinks, unfazed by his flirtatious advance. She supposes it's common in a male-dominated field, but it's definitely something she never seeks to understand.

The same officer gives Miles a look and Miles nods at the officer, eyes narrowing as the corners of his mouth curve upward, "Sure. I'll try to get the queen to join us, but no promises."

He sees Olivier give him a puzzled look, disbelief cross her face as she realizes what her partner has said, "Why are you helping him?"

Miles smiles before replying, "You know I'm only saying that to get him off your back. Don't worry, I won't throw you into the pack of wolves."

She rolls her eyes, smiling in understanding, and Miles gently puts his hand on the small of Olivier's back and guides her out of the boisterous room.

The cold corridor of the LAPD headquarter is lined with framed portraits of their fellow officers, uniform worn proudly, toothy smiles on their faces. "To protect and to serve" is displayed underneath the photos. Olivier often reads the slogan whenever she passes through the hallway, reminding herself that in order to upheld justice one must be ready to make a sacrifice. In her case, she has to suffer discrimination in order to defend the city and protect its citizens. Sometimes she wonders how she inherited such a strong sense of justice, but she quickly realizes that she knows the reason: it is so that no one has to ever suffer again like Riza had.

Her partner walks beside her, his duffle bag with previously worn uniforms in hand. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his contact lens had been removed briefly before leaving the locker room. His amber eyes are even more noticeable with the spectacles on his face and it's something Olivier never fails to overlook. Sometimes she thinks she might get lost in it. He looks at her questioningly, piercing eyes darting left and right as if asking if she is okay without a single word slipping from his mouth. She nods, lingering a reassuring gaze on him. He glances at her as he proceeds to state her previous engagement correctly, "Let me guess, you're not coming with us to celebrate tonight."

He guesses correctly, and she supposes he will only get better at it the longer they work together.

"No. Riza's cooking for me tonight," she replies.

"That's too bad, but I understand. Just like every year on this date," he states matter-of-factly.

The dark-skinned man places a calloused hand on Olivier's back and it lingers there; the touch is sending shivers through her body. She looks up at him and sees a small, raised scar from an old bullet wound on the side of his face. Not many people know, but he once told her that he got it from a sting gone wrong several years back. She has never told anyone the story, of course, but she has also never told him how the scar enhances his features, making him look more attractive in her eyes.

The man also rarely smiles, which gives off the impression that he's cold and reserved, but Olivier knows better. She had four years to figure that out. Miles had been assigned as her partner when she transferred. With impressive aptitude in the field and one of the highest arrest records, the Chief of Police had requested that he mold Olivier into the same outstanding officer. Olivier knew, though, that the assignment was born out of convenience. A vacancy had to be filled when Miles's old partner quit the precinct for an unknown reason. The then twenty-five year-old Olivier had been wary of her partner, considering her experience working with a sheer number of policemen who thought women were incapable of becoming competent police officers. However, she was pleasantly surprised to learn that Miles was not the ordinary officer she normally encounters. From day one, he has shown her respect and treated her as his equal, something she had not fully anticipated. He even fulfilled the Chief's request by helping shape her into a commendable officer, and in many ways she was grateful and pleased for his presence in her life.

She looks at her partner curiously as he dips his hand in his jacket pocket, taking out a small purple velvet box. He gently takes Olivier's hand and places the item on her palm.

"Happy early birthday. I know you're off tomorrow, but I want to give this to you," he smiles softly.

Olivier glances at the purple box, heart beating loudly as she contemplates the meaning of the gift. The feel of the velvet is smooth on her skin, and she slowly opens the box, gulping with hope and anxiety. Inside she sees a necklace with a heart locket carved with her first initial in the center, and it looks as though he has had the item specially ordered just for her. As she stares at it, she wonders if he can see her complexion turn a darker hue as heat creeps up her face. She notices small studded diamonds line one side of the heart, and she caresses the white gold pendant, liking how the glitter accentuates the beautiful necklace under the fluorescent lighting. And again, she ponders over the meaning of his gesture.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, but please take it. I bought it for you," her partner replies, pleading tone in his voice.

Olivier's eyes crease, and her cheekbones are slightly raised, the corner of her mouth tugging upward into a weak smile. Her rosy lips form a small 'o' and she stares at the item speechless as she interprets his words. Her stomach ties in a knot, and her heartbeat is pounding loudly in her ears, muffling other sounds around her.

"An-And Lilian?" she croaks.

Miles doesn't answer. He looks at her before putting both of his hands on her palm, closing her fingers around the box. A shiny silver band on his ring finger glitters and Olivier stares at it unabashedly. Her mind tells her to return the necklace, it would be the right thing to do, but her heart is telling her to keep it. Before she's able to form a sentence her partner walks away, leaving a tongue-tied Olivier in place, velvet box still in her hand. She looks at his back, admiring how broad his shoulders look, and glances at the treasured item on her palm. She smiles to herself, putting the box in her pocket before catching up to him in a jog.

Variety Building, Downtown Los Angeles, 9:00AM

Phones are ringing, copy machine noises are heard from the storage room, mumbled chatters inside meeting rooms travel through the open office space. The blonde-haired woman with bangs covering her left eye sighs. Another Monday at the office, she thinks. She casually walks to the break station a few steps away, swiping the coffee mug on her desk. Her hair is in a neat ponytail, ironed white dress shirt on, and black pencil skirt drops just slightly above her knees. Her back is straight, chin is up, and her strides are with purpose. The two-inch heels she wears only accentuate her slim figure.

"Good morning, Jean. Becca." The blonde looks at her colleagues with a smile. She grabs the coffee maker and lines the brew basket with filter before pouring ground coffee inside. She grabs a couple of mugs from inside of the cabinet and hands one over to the brunette and the other to the spiky-haired blonde. Her movements are fluid and practiced. Almost robotic.

"Hey, Riza. How are you so cheery this morning… it's freakin' Monday," Rebecca replies, eyes narrowed at the carafe, watching the dark liquid slowly drop. The brunette takes the cup from Riza's hand before grabbing a couple of creamer from the countertop. Her dark, tired eyes expertly covered with makeup, pink blush gracing her cheekbones.

"Seriously. My weekend feels so short. All I did was Netflix and chill," Jean says, puffiness under his bright blue eyes. He has stubble all around his jaw, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Jean, do you even know what Netflix and chill mean?" Rebecca retorts.

"Yeah, it means you sit on your ass and watch TV all day."

"No idiot, it means you call someone to come over and have sex with you."

"Oh, no shit?"

Riza chuckles at the banter between her two friends. Riza met Rebecca at the company orientation four years ago when the two were just fresh college graduates. They were hired on the same day and have been friends ever since. Rebecca's infectious laugh and penchant for gossip had caught Riza off guard, and she was pleasantly surprised to learn that Rebecca could engage her in a conversation that lasted more than five minutes. A trait that Riza always wishes she had.

"Becca, why don't you show Jean what Netflix and chill is?" Riza laughs.

"You think I find this thing attractive?" Jean scoffs.

"Hey, shut your mouth."

Jean, who had been working at the company only two months longer than the two, is a nice addition to the group, acting like an older brother to Riza and a dickhead to Rebecca. Vulgar jokes and inappropriate comments are commonplace between the two, and Riza always resorts to playing the mediator. But Riza knows he only does that because he's interested in Rebecca, not that he would admit it. Throughout the years, the three of them have become each other's support system in the heartless, domineering corporate world. They complain together, insult their bosses together, and they drink their hearts away together. It makes one wonder if it's even remotely possible to find joy from working the nine to five hours.

Riza leans against the countertop, casually chiming in on the conversation between the two about their weekend and dinner plans. The smoky aroma of the dark liquid hits her nose and she hears the coffee maker beep only seconds after. Riza takes the pot in her hand, pouring coffee to the three empty mugs sitting in front of her. She sips on her coffee, enjoying how it tastes on her lips on a Monday morning. The much needed caffeine will slowly kick in and keep her awake for at least the next four hours of her day. She had stayed up several hours past her bedtime the night before to finish another page of her manuscript and she knows she still has much more to write before it's complete. Riza hears footsteps approaching and she turns her head in that direction.

A tall, muscularly built man passes the three at the break station and stops in his track. A small, black eyepatch covers his right eye. Rumors about how he damaged his eye often circulate within the company. He got it while going hunting, one says. No, he got it in a car accident when he was a kid, another would say. No one is certain how it came about, but everyone agrees that the eyepatch only serves to intimidate those around him, giving off the aura of an authoritarian leader. And true to his representation is the man. As the head of a very successful real estate development firm, King Bradley expects his team to perform with utmost proficiency.

"Riza, the new director's in my office. Join me when you're done here," Bradley interrupts.

Rebecca and Jean become quiet, and Riza ducks her head toward her friends, mouthing a quick apology, before trailing behind Bradley in step.

The walk to Bradley's office is quiet and long, but Riza's mind wanders to her dinner plans with Olivier. Her sister's birthday is tomorrow, but they will celebrate tonight, just like every single year since four years ago. As they approach the largest office on the floor, she can see the silhouette of a man sitting on the sofa on the half-frosted window. She straightens her skirt as they enter.

"Riza, this is Roy Mustang. He's going to be your new boss."

Riza extends her hand to shake the man's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mustang. I'm Riza Ha—Armstrong. Riza Armstrong."

The man opposite of her shakes her hand firmly, friendly expression on his face, "Nice to meet you, Riza. Call me Roy, please. And I'm looking forward to working with you."

Riza notices how his slicked black hair is slightly ruffled, as if it refuses to stay in place. She looks at his face and reckons that he can't be that much older than her, but as she attentively listens to the conversation between Bradley and him, Riza realizes that he's got a good number of years of experience under his belt. He speaks eloquently, displaying a respectful manner, and he would casually throw in how grateful he is to be working at such a great company. The firm handshake and his persuasiveness show an ambitious and intelligent man, and Riza couldn't help but wonder what kind of a boss he would make.

"Riza, can you show Roy his office?" Bradley commands.

"Of course, sir. Roy, if you would please follow me."

Riza bows slightly, palm up towards the door, gesturing for him to exit the office first.

"So, you're the executive assistant they mentioned in the interview," he casually comments.

"Yes, that would be me."

"Bradley told me you handled the whole thing with Raven pretty well. How did it feel like to be working under a criminal?"

Riza chuckles, amused at the question, "Well, I'm just glad he's going to jail. He deserves it after pulling that stunt with the company stock."

"And he wouldn't be in jail without you. You're doing for the company a great service," a genuine tone accompanies the smile on his face.

"Oh, thank you. My sister always tells me to do the right thing, so I did."

They approach Raven's old office, which has now become Roy's new office. She adds, "I'm just two cubicles to the right. Please let me know if you need anything."

He nods at her before giving her another smile. Riza thinks she feels her heart skip a beat, but she passes it off as the morning coffee being a tad too strong. She closes the door to his office and walks back to her cubicle, thinking that her new boss may not be so bad after all.

"So, how's the new boss? He looks pretty cute, right? Right?" Rebecca snickers, strutting her way to Riza's cube. Riza can feel her face turn a shade of pink but chooses to ignore her friend's comment.

"He seems pretty nice. Not a hard ass like Raven was," Riza replies nonchalantly.

"He looks young, too… I wonder what he used to do to get this high of a position…"

"No idea…" But the question has crossed her mind.

Not a moment passes by before Roy shows up in Riza's cube, a pile of folders and papers under his arm.

"Riza, these need to be stamped, signed, and sent certified mail before the end of the day. Priority. Stay overtime if you need to," Mustang calmly drops the pile of work on her desk.

Riza's mouth gapes, unbelievable expression her face, "To-tonight?"

"Yes, tonight," he confirms.

"Wait, I have dinner plans tonight. It's my sister's birthday and I have to cook—"

"Just get it done, alright?" he cuts her off before walking away from her cubicle, hands in his trouser pockets, leaving a shocked Riza in place.

"I think you spoke too soon," Rebecca murmurs.

Riza looks at the pile of work, both hands on her forehead, and she mutters quietly, "Bastard."

Armstrong Residence, Pegasus Apartments, 10:17PM

Her steps up to her apartment feel heavy. The dim, romantic lighting seems to exaggerate the distance from one end of the hallway to the other. She drags her feet lazily and climbs up the last set of steps, carrying the Chinese take out in her hand and hoping that Olivier wouldn't chastise her for the depressing birthday meal. The grocery store's no longer open by the time she leaves work, and nicer restaurants around the block have stopped serving food. Riza has to resort to the Chinese take out from China Wok, the most generic name a takeout place can have. She just hopes the food doesn't taste as bland as the name.

She unlocks the door to her apartment to find an empty living room. She sets the food down on the kitchen countertop and grabs dinnerware from the bottom cabinet.

Their apartment is moderately sized, boasting two bedrooms, one bath, and an L-shaped kitchen in the center, but rent is exorbitant like many things about downtown living. The dark laminated wood floor against the beige colored walls complement each other. The silver specked granite countertop is uncharacteristic of Riza's taste, but Olivier doesn't seem to mind. Her sister has always been one for finer tastes in life after all. Amenities include a rooftop swimming pool and a gym one story below it, and while Riza thinks this is excessive, both of their salaries combine can comfortably afford luxuries like these. Besides, with only one car to share between the sisters, they need to compromise on the distance to and from work. Driving is almost a necessity in Los Angeles, unlike their old hometown a state over.

She hears the microwave beep and takes out the plate of chow mein and egg rolls before setting it down on the countertop by the bar stool. She hovers her hand over the food and feels the steam on her palm before walking over to Olivier's room. She gingerly knocks and mumbles against the door, "Olivier, are you in there?"

She hears the creaking of mattress coming from the inside and she returns to the kitchen to plate the rest of the dishes. Olivier walks out in her pajamas, her blonde hair a slight mess and she rubs her eyes sluggishly while yawning.

"Sorry for coming back so late. I hope you at least got a nice nap?" Riza asks, strewing about the kitchen grabbing utensils and the like.

"It's okay. I had a much needed nap. I was at the headquarter by 3am this morning."

Riza puts the plate out in front of Olivier, "Happy early birthday. Hope you don't mind some take out food. They're the only place open when I left work."

Olivier takes the plate and rolls the thick noodle coated in brown sauce with her fork, still looking groggy from her nap. "Thanks," she replies. "That new boss of yours is such an asshole."

Riza scoffs, "That wouldn't even begin to describe him. He asks me to do Starbucks run three times today. THREE TIMES! He won't drink the shitty coffee at work."

Olivier retorts, "If he drinks Starbucks, that means he doesn't have the best palate."

Riza laughs inelegantly, a piece of egg roll stuck in her throat. Her fist softly pounds in between her collarbones, choking her slightly in the process. Olivier has always been frank with her thoughts, unlike Riza who's a little bit more reserved and cautious with the things she says. She determines that Olivier definitely takes after their mom, just like their little sister…

Riza takes a big gulp before speaking the next thought from her mind, she can feel her face becoming hot, "Hey, so our plan for tomorrow… I'm thinking about calling and asking her to meet us there… I know she's in the area—"

"No," Olivier interjects.

"But she should be there," Riza adds, less hesitant this time.

"No. And you should know to never bring this up."

"Why? It's been long enough."

"You know why."

"But she's our sister!" Riza raises her voice, unexpected angry tone coming from her mouth.

Olivier glares at her, pushing her plate away, "It's her fault and you know it." There's finality in her tone.

Riza quiets, poking at the uneaten food on her plate. Her appetite's squelched in an instant. Awkward silence permeates the air and Riza thinks it's best that she apologizes, "Sorry." She feels tears well up in her eyes, ready to spill over. She misses her. She misses her a lot. But she knows Olivier is not one to budge and that what she says is absolute. It's always been like that. Ever since their parents' death four years ago.

Riza stands up from the bar stool and walks to her room, her breath hitching. If she cries now she will make Olivier feel bad and she doesn't like that. She feels she owes Olivier a debt of gratitude for unwillingly assuming the role of caretaker for her and her sister. She remembers how difficult it all had been, financially and emotionally. Riza is grateful for the sacrifice and she tries to show it as often as possible, but she wishes Olivier isn't so black and white in her thinking.

Riza drags her feet to the small white desk in her bedroom. She opens her laptop and stares at the unedited draft. The white background of Microsoft Word is hurting her eyes and she rapidly blinks her eyes in response. She scrolls her mouse up and down before sighing, fingers creasing her forehead. She doesn't think she can get anything done tonight, especially with so much emotion engulfing her now….

Buzz!

Riza's jolted from her chair.

"Riza! Can you get that?" she hears Olivier shout to her from the other bedroom.

Her expression's turning into a questioning look. She hasn't been expecting anyone and she wonders if it's the nice security guard dropping off their mail again. But looking at the time makes her wonder if that's even the case.

She leaves her room and the cold floor makes her tiptoe on her feet as she walks to the foyer, still wondering who this uninvited guest is. As she closes one eye and stares into the peephole, her heart skips a beat. Her hot breath bounces off the door and hits her face. It can't be. Surprised expression on her face, she quickly unhooks the chain and unlocks the latch, opening the door widely, "Wi-Winry?!"

A large briefcase and luggage are placed next to the young woman's feet. Her long legs are revealed underneath the yellow, sunflower dress. Blonde hair is tied up high in a ponytail, leaving long locks of hair on either side of her face. She stands opposite of Riza on the other side of the door, tilting her head sideways smiling, "Hey sis, I'm home."

A/N: Please let me know what you think :). Comments/feedback/reviews are much appreciated!