A/N: Well, this is a surprise.

To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was coming back to this story. I always had conceived of it as a few one shots, and the bit of plot I did have in my head was always pretty vague. However, with the advent of season 2 of Attack on Titan and a slew of new information about Annie in recent manga chapters and extra content, a new spark of information was lit and here I am again. With the ideas that occurred, this will probably end up veering into manga territory; not overtly, but could be spoilery. Can't promise consistent updates since I have another, larger fan fiction project in progress, but hopefully the new ideas will persist to full completion. For now, enjoy :)

"So you're telling me there's nothing on her?" Mustang demanded.

"Not a thing," Lieutenant Breda replied grimly, gnawing on a toothpick with frustration. "Checked census records, immigration, school registries, even prison records. So far as we know, no one by the name of Annie Leonhardt exists in Amestris."

"Could be an illegal immigrant," Jean Havoc commented, leaning back in his chair with feet kicked up on the desk.

Mustang's eyes narrowed. "That seems too coincidental." He turned to Havoc. "Anything from our new friend?"

Havoc shrugged. "Checked in with Falman and asked Barry some questions about her. Said he'd never seen her before. Although," and Havoc's face twisted in disgust, "He did say she sounded like a prime candidat for chopping."

The colonel's fist collided with the desktop. "There must be some connection!" he bit out, trying not to think on the possibility that this really was a massive coincidence, and that he was chasing ghosts. He wouldn't give up this lead yet; he owed it to Hughes. Besides, the absence of any information on Annie Leonhardt could be equally as telling. He just needed a point with which he could link the mysterious girl to the larger picture. His eyes scanned the room. His trusted team, minus Falman, were scattered about, eyes fixed on him and waiting for his instructions.

"She hasn't moved anywhere?" He directed the question to Hawkeye.

"No, sir. As of yesterday, she's still in the city. Working as a dishwasher in a restaurant from what I've gathered, and staying at a boarding house in the southern quarter."

"I want her followed," Mustang barked. "Even if she leaves Central, I don't want to lose track of her. Fuery, Breda, this will be your detail."

"Yes, sir!"

He rose from his seat. "This is the only lead we have, people. Let's not lose it."

Automail was heavy on a normal day. Today, Ed felt as if he could barely manage to drag his body up the stairs of the apartment building. Al wasn't much better.

Dead. Hughes was dead. Obnoxious, ridiculous, warm and welcoming Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was dead. If that numbing fact hadn't been sitting in Ed's stomach like a block of ice, he might have been furious with Mustang for lying to them. As it was, anger had no room amidst the storm of grief, shock, and guilt warring inside him. Not yet at least.

Shockingly, Ed made it to the top step without collapsing or even tripping, but the weight of his steps seemed to increase the closer he got to the Hughes' door. Nevertheless, he forced himself to knock. It was their mission to find the Philosopher's Stone that had dragged Hughes in and gotten him killed. The least they owed his bereaved family was the truth.

The brothers waited for an agonizing minute before the door swung open. Ms. Gracia, eyes red-rimmed but mustering a tremulous smile for them, stepped aside. "Winry's already here," she said. A small chuckle, muffled by grief, escaped her. "Surprisingly busy today." They followed her wordlessly into the living room. Their friend and mechanic was sat in a chair, curled around little Elicia and trembling. When she looked up, her blue eyes were brimming with tears.

"Winry," Ed murmured. He was on the verge of taking a step forward when movement in his peripherals, coming from the direction of the kitchen, caught his attention. He turned his head and met with quite a surprise.

"Annie?" he asked, utterly bewildered. He heard Al give a little gasp behind him.

The girl from East City, almost unrecognizable completely dry and sans dirty sweatshirt, instead in a simple white button-up and fitted pants, stopped in the kitchen doorway, toting a tray of steaming teacups. Her eyes widened a mere fraction. "Edward Elric, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Ed gave a slight shake of his head. "What are you doing here?"

"You know her, Ed?" Winry asked. As strange as the situation was, he was glad that it provided a bit of distraction from grief.

"She saved us back in East City," Al said, inching forward a bit. He hadn't had the chance to really talk to Annie before, and Ed could sense his curiosity.

"What?!" Winry exclaimed.

"I wouldn't go that far." Annie set the tray down on the dining table. No longer waterlogged and wearing form-fitting clothes, she really did seem tiny; she was shorter than Winry. Hard to believe she had faced off against Scar with hardly a flinch, even if it was only for a few moments. "I provided a distraction for a minute, that's all."

Winry stood, gently placing Elicia on the floor, before crossing to the other girl and grasping one of her hands in both of hers. "Well, whatever you did, thank you. These blockheads are always getting themselves into trouble." Ed stifled an indignant yelp of "Hey!" Not the time for that.

Annie's gaze flickered between her clasped hand and Winry's earnest face. Ed doubted she could have looked more uncomfortable if Major Armstrong had burst into the room shirtless and flexing. As it was, the shorter blonde extricated her hand as delicately from Winry's grasp as if she were handling a set mouse trap. "Really, it was nothing."

"This really is a surprise," exclaimed Ms. Gracia, who had watched the exchange with quiet curiosity. "Maes mentioned the incident, but I never would have thought it was you." Her smile became warm as she gazed at Annie. "Now I'm even more glad that you stopped by. Let's sit down everyone. Annie's been kind enough to make tea, and I have some things for us to snack on. Please." She ushered them to sit, before hurrying to the kitchen, a determination to remain busy apparent in every move.

"So," Ed ventured after a few seconds of silence. Ice blue eyes fixed on him and he cleared his throat. "What did bring you here? You knew Colonel—er, General Hughes?"

Annie sat unmoving, hands folded in her lap and her back rigidly straight. She took a long pause before replying. Her eyes slid just to the left of Edward as she spoke. "I only met him the once, after the incident with the scarred man. He was generous enough to pay for a room for me that night, told me to stop by if I was ever in Central City. When I heard he had died I came by to pay my respects. He seemed like a good person."

"He was," Al whispered, helmet bowing.

Ms. Gracia came bustling back in, bearing little bits of this and that to snack on. Ed shifted in his seat. With Annie here, he couldn't say what he'd meant to to Mrs. Hughes.

They shared tea for, at least it seemed to Ed, an interminable amount of time. Most of the talk came from Winry and Ms. Gracia, with Al occasionally chiming in. Annie stayed quiet. Ed didn't speak either. His right leg jigged up and down with nerves and impatience, fingers drumming on his knees. The longer he sat here with the guilt of Hughes' murder hanging over his head, he expected more and more that he would explode from the pressure.

His opportunity came when Ms. Gracia made to stand. "I had a few other things in the oven. I should probably see to those."

Annie rose smoothly from her chair and was already on her way out of the room by the time she said, "No need. I'll handle it. I'll start another kettle while I'm there." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Ed blew out a breath of relief. It would be more rushed than he would like, but he couldn't wait for another time. This had to be said, or it would only get worse.

"Ms. Gracia," he began, head bowed and voice low. "There's something I need to tell you."

"I've lost sight of her again!" Fuery hissed to himself. His grip tightened on the rifle in his hands, trying to keep it from slipping in his sweaty palms. Why couldn't it have been Hawkeye here? Fuery was certainly a serviceable marksman, but nowhere near the First Lieutenant's level, and the fact that he was pointing the rifle towards the apartment of a dead friend's widow certainly wasn't helping. But there was nothing for it. This was his and Breda's assignment, and they had made the call. If Annie Leonhardt was somehow connected to this whole conspiracy, she couldn't be allowed to harm the Hughes family, if that was her intent.

So far though, nothing. If he was being honest, Fuery had expected trouble when their mark had made her way here, and the desperate scramble to set up a defense had only convinced him more. But there had been no trouble. All he had managed to glimpse through the windows was talking over afternoon tea. Nevertheless, he didn't budge, just as he knew Breda wouldn't be budging from his position outside the apartment, waiting to either disband or bust in at Fuery's signal. They weren't taking any chances.

After what felt like tension-wracked hours, the mark moved back into his sightline. He felt another twinge of guilt. The person he had in his crosshairs was only a teenage girl. Or so she seemed to be. He hoped that was all she was, at least for her sake.

Whatever the case turned out to be, Mustang was going to take today's report very seriously. If this girl was suspect, it was only a matter of time before the Colonel knew it, and dealt with it.

"I think I should be going," Annie said when she finally emerged from the kitchen , placing down the tray of oven-warm biscuits. Everyone looked up in surprise. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, are you sure, Annie?" Ms. Gracia asked. Al had to admire the woman. In spite of what Ed had told her about what her husband had been involved in, in hushed and hurried words uttered with shame, and her reply to the two of them, making them promise to keep moving forward regardless, she acted as if nothing of note had been said in Annie's absence. "It's really no trouble. In fact, Elicia and I have really appreciated the company." This was addressed to the whole room.

"It's a bit of a walk to my place. I would prefer to be back before dark."

Ms. Gracia nodded in acceptance. "I see. Thank you so much for coming by. It's been good to see the kinds of lives my husband has touched."

Annie dipped her head, then made for the door. Al felt the curiosity that had been nagging at him swell. He hadn't gotten a chance to really talk to her. "Excuse me," he said politely, wishing his big metal body wouldn't clank and creak so loudly when he stood.

He caught up to Annie in the hall outside. Strangely, she was just standing in the hallway, peering toward the stairwell with narrowed eyes. "Wait!" Al called. When she turned to face him, he paused, feeling suddenly awkward. It might seem a little weird, chasing after her. He rubbed the back of his helmet. "Um…well, I…I just wanted to thank you. Again. I never really got the chance in East City."

She sighed. "Like I said, I really don't think all the thanks are necessary, but I guess there's no stopping them." She slipped her hands into her pockets, tilting her head to look up at him. "And you are?"

"Uh, Alphonse."

"Alphonse." She squinted. "You sound young."

"I'm fourteen."

She let out a faint huff. "And your brother's not much older. I guess that's no surprise. I just thought there would be more like you."

Al didn't know what to make of that statement. "Huh?"

Annie ignored him, turning to stare back down the hallway again. Alphonse felt a sense of unease come over him. He could read a thread of tension in the girl's frame, like she was tensed for the possibility of a fight. "What's wrong?" he asked, half-consciously shifting into stance himself.

One hooded blue eye locked onto him.

"A lot of things, from what I can tell. You would know that, wouldn't you?"

Alphonse stifled a gasp. His face couldn't give away any hint, thankfully. But did she mean…? How could she?

"Don't you, Alphonse? I can't say I understand the circumstances, but I know how to sense danger, and it's thicker than fog around the two of you. It seems to have caught up with Mr. Hughes."

Alphonse didn't know what to say. Silence seemed damning, but he couldn't think up some kind of excuse. She was being so vague that trying to deny anything might give something away instead. The Fuhrer had expressly forbidden them from speaking about the murky conspiracy surrounding the Fifth Laboratory and the Philosopher's Stone, and on top of that, Annie didn't seem quite so normal all of a sudden.

She stared him down, the silence stretching, before she shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't really concern me anyway. I should go." Then she set off for the stairs, hands still in pockets. Al remained frozen. What had just happened? What did his mean, and what did she really know?

Before he could even process, she paused before the stairwell again, just long enough to throw her parting words over her shoulder. "I'd watch my back if I were you, Alphonse. I think it's a fair guess to say you're surrounded by enemies. Don't let your guard down." Then she was gone, her lightly tapping footsteps fading away.

Alphonse remained standing in the hall for a while afterward, thoroughly thrown off-balance. And how was he going to explain this to Ed?

Annie stepped out into late afternoon foot traffic, eyes on the ground but every other sense tuned to her surroundings. She wondered where her tail might be hiding. She knew he was still watching. Unfortunately for him, whoever he was would have nothing interesting to glean from her. Probably not.

Annie couldn't deny the nagging of curiosity. Her aimless wandering, her purposeless existence needed to be broken up with some distraction, although this was all partially unintentional. She'd only wanted to know how exactly Maes Hughes had died; it had only taken a little poking in the right places.

Apparently just a little was enough. Something larger was going on. The manner of Hughes's death—focused on research in the preceding days, strange behavior right before it happened, found shot dead—spoke of his being silenced. Her stomach gave a nauseous wrench at the thought. Silenced. Knew too much. She walked faster, and shoved that thought away, focusing instead on how her curious prodding had earned her a follower.

As much as she wanted answers, she determined it was probably best to leave it all be. It didn't really matter anyway, and why go to the trouble when she could enjoy uninterrupted solitude and uneventfulness?

Yes, it was best. She would leave it alone. After all, this world was nothing more than a vivid dream. Better to not become too invested in a fantasy, because one day she would have to wake up again, and face the hell that was reality once again.