A/N: . . . That was considerably more than a week from my last update. Whoops. O_O Sorry, you guys, this took me so much longer to write than I anticipated. Here's hoping that the quality of the chapter is enough to make up for the wait!

I do not own FMA.

You're gone, gone, gone away,
I watched you disappear.
All that's left is a ghost of you.

He sat staring at the door, long after she'd left, long after he'd pulled the ingeniously hidden phone number from its place in the base of the white king. Roy turned the rolled paper in his fingers, his chin propped in his free hand, wondering when he'd see her again. Not soon enough, to be sure.

With a sigh, he pocketed the slip of paper, and began to return the chess pieces to their places within the case. His fingers paused on the white queen, before he lifted it to eye level.

Should have just kept my big mouth shut, he thought to himself. You'd never tell me so out loud, but I'm sure you were thinking it. I've let you down. His thumb brushed across the smooth, painted surface. But, I swear I'll make it up to you. Somehow.

He moved to put the piece into the case . . . and paused. Certainly, it would seem odd if anyone noticed a piece missing, but then again, who would be entering his office in the foreseeable future that would open the case, let alone care? No one.

Roy tucked the white queen into the pocket that housed his pocketwatch; the irony of the two symbols together did not escape him as he set to work. After all, he had to keep this office running, to give his people a place to come back to, whether they were a pawn, bishop, knight, rook . . . or a queen.

A half-dozen partially thought-out plans to get his people back kept dancing at the edges of his mind, no matter how he tried to block them out with the work in front of him. He knew he had to play the obedient dog for now, that the time would come when everything could be as it was once again. This just wasn't that time.

Still, it would be easy for Riza to simply walk into Bradley's inner office one day and shoot him at his desk — no. If Bradley fell, one of the other Homonculi would only make good on the Führer's threat. He couldn't lose her; to lose her would be to lose himself.

His pen paused on the line of a payroll form, his mouth turning down at the corners as he pondered the information that needed to be entered. There had been a set of codes for this, but he'd never been the one to input them. He knew how, but doing so had always been Riza's job.

Roy made a soft 'tsch' noise. "I guess she really was my babysitter," he muttered, sitting back in his chair. "Can't even get through work without having her here to help me." Getting to his feet, he crossed to what had once been her desk — what still was her desk, he reminded himself — and began going through the drawers. She had those codes memorized by now, perhaps she'd left the written copies in case —

"Yes," he whispered in victory, taking a file from the second drawer from the top on the right-hand side. The words "Payroll Codes" were written on the front in Riza's neat penmanship. He flipped through it briefly, making sure it was the one he wanted, before setting it aside and returning to the drawers. If she had left that behind, what else was hidden in here?

Nothing of any real interest, it would seem. A few more files, some unused notebooks, a pen that he remembered had run dry three weeks ago, and a paper listing the personal contact information for their entire little group.

Settling into Riza's chair, Roy glanced about just to make sure he was unobserved, that no one had snuck in while his attention was otherwise occupied. Reaching under the desk top, into the leg space, he triggered the hidden switch that only he and Riza knew about, listening to the telltale click that followed.

Riza's desk had been altered through alchemy to include a hidden drawer. Sensitive documents, personal items, even extra clips for her guns were kept in here by both her and Roy. He hadn't opened the drawer in months, but now . . . if there were any place she might leave something, it was here.

And sure enough, alone in the desk were her favourite handgun, fully loaded (of course: a 'just in case' leave-behind, if he ever needed it), and a photograph.

Roy couldn't help but smile as he pulled the photo out from under the weapon. It was at least six or seven years old, taken by Hughes in Ishval, very stealthily if the content was any indication. The three of them, their backs to a huge sandstone rock, late in the day. Hughes wore his trademark wide smile, Roy a slightly smaller one as he looked down at Riza, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

Sitting back, he studied the photo. He remembered this: Riza had come off perimeter guard just an hour earlier — sixteen hours of lying perfectly still against the sand, watching for any approaching intruders — and had been snagged by Hughes to spend time with himself and Roy. All it ever consisted of was the three of them talking and finding comfort from the horrors of war in the presence of friends. Dog-tired as she was, she had lasted approximately forty-five minutes before beginning to drift off, not even noticing when her head dropped to Roy's shoulder.

Dangerous though it might be, Roy folded the photo and tucked it into the breast pocket of the shirt he wore underneath his jacket. If he were caught with this, he had no doubt that whoever discovered it would request an investigation into the dynamic between himself and his Lieutenant, but it was worth the risk, just to keep this whisper of her presence close.

Regretfully, he pushed himself out of the chair, gathered up the file of codes, and returned to his desk. Enough stalling, enough feeling sorry for himself. The sooner he finished his work here, the sooner he could go home and continue work on his plans to counter whatever Bradley and his 'Father' had in mind.

Now we're torn torn torn apart
There's nothing we can do
Just let me go, we'll meet again soon

Had anyone else called him at half past midnight, waking him from a sound sleep, he would have growled something appropriately snarky into the phone and hung up. However, long experience had taught him that it was not wise to give such a response to Madame Christmas, no matter what time of day or night she called. Thus, when she suggested heavily that an immediate visit to her place might be worth the trip, he obeyed without question.

"You realize what time it is?" he mumbled, once he realized who was on the other end of the line.

"I'm well aware of it," was the unconcerned answer. "I'm also aware that you need to get down here. Now."

With an almost resigned sigh, Roy forced himself to sit up, rubbing wearily at his eyes. "Am I at least allowed to ask why?" he said, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Nope. Don't worry about dressing nice; just get here. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hanging up, he tossed back the blanket and got to his feet, managing to stagger only slightly as he headed for the dresser across the room. Vaguely, he wondered what his aunt might have up her sleeve . . . and then promptly decided not to try and guess. With as much cunning as Chris possessed, it was better that he give up while he was ahead. He would never be able to figure it out.

He made it to the bar in record time, leaving his car parked out front. Sure, it was blatant advertising of his location, but no one knew of his connection to Madame Christmas — he'd gone to great lengths to be sure of that — and Bradley would likely assume he was simply here to drown his sorrows.

Pushing open the door to the empty and darkened barroom, he paused just inside the threshold. Dark eyes darted from shadow to shadow, suspicious of the lack of light, sound, and people. Perhaps Bradley had had a change of heart, had decided that Roy was no longer worth keeping alive — no. No one knew of his connection to the Madame, he reminded himself.

"Hello?"

"About time you showed up!" Appearing in the doorway leading from the back room, Chris wiped dust from her hands with a damp towel. "You certainly took your time. What happened; forget the route here?"

Crossing the floor, Roy slid into a seat on a barstool, smiling vaguely. "I wanted to make sure I was awake enough to drive. Four months, and I'm still not used to all this work. My hours are getting longer by the day, and it's running me ragged."

Shaking her head, reaching under the bar, Chris pulled out a glass tumbler, followed by a bottle. "Yet you still manage to look smart. That takes some doing." Pouring the whisky two fingers deep into the glass, she slid it across to her nephew. "Here; that'll give you a pick-me-up."

Roy snorted quietly. "Thanks. It'll be a miracle if I sleep tonight." Taking the glass, he sipped rather than toss it back all at once, letting it burn slowly down his throat. It turned his voice husky as he asked "So what's so important that you had to drag me down here in the middle of the night?"

Leaning on the bartop, Chris flicked a finger at the stairs leading to the upper levels. "I've got an information exchange set up for you upstairs." She smirked. "I've been keeping an eye on you, Roy-boy; you need some good news, and this exchange has it. Room 307."

One eyebrow lifted in good-humoured skepticism, Roy downed the rest of his drink before getting to his feet. "I go to the office and work, I try to sleep and you give me more work . . . . Where's Elizabeth when I need her, huh?" Turning away, he missed the widening of his aunt's smile.

"One more thing," she added, when he was halfway to the stairs. "Leave your keys; you can stay here tonight, but I'll move your car so it's not so noticeable. Don't want your reputation being sullied any further than it has been already."

"Sure." Taking the keys from his pocket, he tossed them as he started up the polished wooden steps. "Don't wait up."

The climb to the third floor was a familiar one; he'd done it countless times growing up here. He still remembered which stairs to avoid so that the creaking wouldn't wake the the girls, remembered which stair was slightly higher than the others to avoid tripping on it, and not to push on the decorative moulding at the top of the third-floor railing, lest it fall off.

Three-oh-seven was the room he'd had to himself as a child and teenager, and was still the way he'd left it years ago. Chris wasn't sentimental about it, not by a long shot, but kept it aside for him just in case he ever needed someplace to rest his head for the night, whether he was just too tired or too tipsy to drive home.

Or whether he was to meet with some as yet unknown source. Taking a deep breath, forcing his mind into a businesslike set, he turned the knob and swung the wooden panel open.

Across the room, a figure turned from in front of a postboard, from studying the scribbled-upon pages and photographs tacked there. Roy's breath caught in his throat, his lungs forgetting their purpose, let alone how to perform their usual action. Heart hammering against the walls of his ribcage, he forced himself to step inside the room, closing the door behind himself. He swallowed hard. "When the Madame said she had good news for me, I didn't think it would be this," he said softly.

Riza smiled faintly, her hands folded in front of her. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she murmured.

"He** no." Moving across the floor in three strides, he gathered her to himself, burying his face in her loose blonde hair. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

"The feeling is very, very mutual," she replied, her hands against his shoulder blades, holding him close in return. Roy's hands tightened on the anonymous off-white jacket she wore, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "You weren't followed, were you? I'm sorry, but you realize I have to ask —"

"Shh, it's okay. I know." Leaning back, he flashed a smile. "You know, I was just telling the Madame that I needed to see Elizabeth. Didn't think I'd be getting the opportunity so soon."

In the gloom, he caught the barest glint of light from the window on even white teeth as Riza smiled fully. "Hmm. It's too bad that you're probably too busy to plan a fishing trip. She'd enjoy going with you."

"Hmm. Too busy, and too tired." Brushing his nose against her forehead, Roy drank in the smell of her, re-memorizing it after four months apart. "I take it the Madame dragged you out of bed and down here as well?"

"I'm afraid so." Nuzzling close against his chest, she tucked the top of her head underneath his chin. "The phone started ringing, and that meant Hayate started barking. I couldn't have ignored it if I wanted to." Her hand rubbed gently across his back. "When I got here, she said that she was helping to get me relaxed a little; she knows how high-stress a situation this is. It was . . . 'heavily implied' that I would be spending the remainder of the night here. With you, it would seem."

Roy jerked a thumb toward the corner. "Bed's over there. Even if Selim finds us, it's not like fraternization charges will matter much at this point." He hesitated. "Unless you care —"

Her finger touched his lips, quieting his worry. Riza smiled drowsily up at him. "You know I don't," she said quietly, before nudging him toward the mattress. "Come on; I want at least another four to five hours sleep before I have to report to the office tomorrow."

Now wait, wait, wait for me
Please hang around
I'll see you when I fall asleep