A/N: I am so, sorry for making you wait a whole week longer than I intended. Seriously, I've been keeping a two-week schedule, and now it's been three weeks since my last update, and I feel a bit guilty for not updating until now. It was a combination of writer's block and chronic laziness, and a certain incident otn Monday where I kinda lost my laptop. Obviously I got it back, but not until the next day...

Anyway, thanks to the 14 people who faved and the 27 people who followed! In response to the lovely reviews from last chapter...

Shiloh Moon: Once again, sorry for all the angst. And I'm still glad that you're reading this and take the time to leave a review!

LinaIX: I'm glad you think so! And yeah, I know, poor Ed. I'm putting him through so much... but alas, it is for the sake of the story.

Tarem: Lol I tried to be subtle about it, but not so subtle that it wasn't impossible to figure out on your own, so long as you looked closely enough. And yeah, you pretty much hit the nail on the head there.

Btw you guys are going to get to see more of everyone's favorite psychopath in this chapter. I think I got him right; I double checked the FMA wiki just to make sure.

Disclaimer: Moo, I'm a cow. Just kidding, no I'm not. I kinda wish I was, though, seeing as cows are the ones who own all the cool shit, like, let's say... the Fullmetal Alchemist series.

"You've got to be kidding me," Roy stated dully.

Hawkeye shook her head. "I wish I was, Colonel. But I'm not. In fact, I saw him myself just a few minutes ago on my way here."

Roy tensed upon hearing that. "He didn't say anything to you, did he?" he demanded. He hated the mere thought of it, of the woman who always had his back associating with that… that—

"No, he didn't," she reassured him. "And even if he did, you don't have to worry about me, you know. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself, after all." She briefly touched one of the pistols hanging at her hip, a gesture that was, no doubt, meant to remind him just how true that statement was.

"Of course," he sighed. "It's just… I can't believe they actually did this. No, wait—scratch that. I can definitely believe they did something like this." The military was corrupt, after all, something he'd been aware of for a very long time—and something he'd been planning on changing once he'd become Fuhrer. Of course, he hadn't realized just how bad it was until he'd learned that not only was the current Fuhrer himself part of it, but he was also one of the monsters who were planning nefarious things that no doubt threatened the country of Amestris as a whole. After finding that out, he supposed he really had no reason at all to be surprised at the fact that they'd released a monster, a cruel and sadistic psychopath from prison, and even went so far as to give him back his rank in the military and title of State Alchemist.

But that didn't stop them from being horrified, knowing that was what had happened.

"You know why they released him, Colonel," Riza told him. "They're getting desperate. After all, it's been over six months." She didn't have to clarify what she meant at this point. Roy knew what she was referring to. Everyone in the damned country knew.

"I don't care how desperate they are. That monster should've stayed locked up in prison. Hell, they should've given him the death sentence. It would've been exactly what he deserved, what with all the shit he's done." Roy stood, this time making sure to lean most of his weight on his good ankle. He grabbed his crutches—hopefully he wouldn't have to put up with the damned things for much longer—and began to head towards the door at a painfully slow pace, wanting to forget the news that Hawkeye had just delivered to him.

"Where are you going, sir?" Riza asked him. Roy simply turned and glared at her almost tiredly.

"Home," he answered her. "I'm going home, Hawkeye, because it's been a long week, and I'm tired, and anyway if you didn't already notice, I've finished all my paperwork, and early, if I might add." Even Roy himself would admit that he was really, really good at procrastination, which was not at all a good thing. That, combined with the fact that there always seemed to be a never-ending supply of paperwork, resulted in his finishing earlier than he normally did being nothing short of a miracle of a God he didn't believe in (though considering he had a trained sniper threatening him every time he slacked off, it probably wasn't really all that crazy—Roy had been willing to do just about anything right then and there, just so long as it meant avoiding Hawkeye's wrath). It surprised him, and at the same time it made him feel relieved—after all, it meant she had no excuse to nag him about it anymore. He was now free to spend his time trying to relax, to clear his mind before considering the results of this frightening new development—and with what he had going on tonight, he felt confident that clearing his mind wouldn't be all that difficult. "And anyway, I have to get ready for tonight. I'm meeting someone at a restaurant not too far away from here. I am a very busy man, after all."

By the way he spoke about it, it was obvious that the someone Roy was referring to was of the female persuasion—something Riza was not at all surprised about. Riza knew, perhaps better than anyone else, that Roy Mustang was a player, a womanizer, and it honestly bothered her to know that he spent all his free time seducing women and ultimately having his way with them.

Not that she said anything to him about it—after all, it wasn't like his constant fooling around with other women affected her in any sort of personal way.

Roy left the office with a curt "See you next week" for Hawkeye, as usual. He had been tempted to add a "Be careful" as well, but he knew he didn't have anything to worry about—this was Hawkeye, after all.

He felt more than ready to put aside his worries, even if for just a few hours. He briefly wondered what he'd say to his date about his sprained ankle, but then realized that he could possibly use it to his advantage. He'd tell her exactly what happened, perhaps embellish it a little—after all, ladies did like a man with heroic tendencies. The woman would no doubt feel sympathetic towards him, and would possibly offer to care for him on account of his injury. Then, if he was particularly lucky and he played his cards right, perhaps he could even get the woman to take care of him in other ways…

Roy would've been content to continue on like that, heading to his car and considering how he was going to charm the pants off of his newest date, but then a cold voice spoke from somewhere behind him, shocking him out of his thoughts like a bucket of ice water.

"Well, if it isn't for the so-called Hero of Ishbal."

Roy turned around slowly, and then saw the very last person he'd wanted to see at that very moment.

Solf J. Kimblee stood there watching him, dark eyes cold and cruel as they'd always been, a sneer plastered onto his sharply angled face, looking for all the world like he hadn't just spent the last several years of his life in prison. He had foregone the typical military uniform—State Alchemists were only required to wear uniform on special occasions (which was precisely why Fullmetal had been able to get away with it)—and instead wore his trademark snow-white suit, perfectly spotless despite all the blood the man had spilled while wearing it.

"What the hell do you want, Kimblee?" Roy sighed, seriously hating the situation he now found himself in. All he wanted was to go home and get ready to spend time in the company of yet another beautiful woman, but now he found himself being confronted by a psychopath.

The Crimson Lotus Alchemist grinned wickedly at him. "Oh, nothing," he replied, his icy tone clearly mocking. "Just wanted to say hi to an old wartime friend of mine."

Roy scoffed at Kimblee's use of the word "friend." Well, if that's all you wanted to say to me, then hi. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

But of course he wasn't going to get away that easily.

"Just one question," Kimblee said before Roy could even finish his sentence, let alone get the hell out of there. He tilted his head to the side, his piercing, hellish dark gaze almost inquisitive, but still more deadly than a sword through the heart, as he continued, "The boy that everyone's looking for… the Fullmetal Alchemist… he's supposed to be your underling, is he not?"

"Of course he is," Roy said carefully, trying to guess Kimblee's motives for asking such a question. Aww hell, he thought, what exactly does this man want with me, anyway?

"And yet you haven't been able to find him yet, after all this time." Kimblee's tone was so calm, so matter-of-fact, it was as if he were doing nothing more than pointing out an observation of his—but it was the words themselves that made the other man bristle.

"To be fair, no one has been able to find him after all this time. And it sure as hell isn't because of a lack of trying. We've devoted just about all the resources we have available to finding him."

"Ah, but I actually doubt that's true. After all, if you really had been trying, then surely you would've found him by now. You especially—considering the fact that you're his commanding officer, then you should have a better understanding than the others of just what makes that boy tick, and then therefore be able to come up with the perfect plan for capturing him."

"What, do you think you have a better plan?" Roy demanded. If so, then he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

"As a matter of fact, I don't just think I have a better plan, I know I have a better plan. You see, I've always found it extremely useful to learn everything I can about my prey before hunting them down. So I made sure to be well-informed about the boy. I know just about everything there is available to know about him—where he grew up, how old he is, what he looks like, his time as a military dog, his accomplishments, his trademarks, his automail… and especially his younger brother." Roy couldn't have missed the emphasis on the last statement even if he'd tried.

He stiffened. "Alphonse is just as clueless about his brother's whereabouts as the rest of us," he replied monotonously. "You're not going to find any success with that."

"Even so," Kimblee countered, "there isn't anything wrong with keeping tabs on him. After all, from what I've learned, the Fullmetal Alchemist simply isn't the type to leave his brother all high and dry like that, am I right?" His grin was now utterly psychotic, telling Roy that he didn't have to answer that. He already knew what the answer was going to be.

Of course. Of course Kimblee already knew Ed's biggest weakness. Of course he knew how to completely shatter the boy's resolve. And of course he was more than willing to harm an innocent young teenager to do so.

As horrifying as the thought was, it really wasn't surprising in the slightest, considering the man he was dealing with.

In fact, Roy was starting to feel like nothing could surprise him anymore.

"For your information, that has already been taken care of. I have been personally keeping tabs on Alphonse Elric while in the process of searching for his older brother. And he hasn't seen Fullmetal once since his disappearance almost six and a half months ago.

"Well of course you haven't found him yet, if that's how you're going to be like," Kimblee accused. "I have no idea what your problem is with this. The kid has a weakness, and the best way to capture him is to exploit that weakness, simple as that. The fact that all of you seem to have a problem with doing so is something I fail to understand."

"Are you really insinuating that I should harm and possibly even kill an innocent civilian for the sake of following orders when there are other, better ways to go about it? Because if you are, then you really are as bat-shit insane as they say you are."

Kimblee snorted. "Oh, please. You're such a hypocrite, Mustang. You have absolutely no right to act so high and mighty, not when your soul is as black as mine." A moment passed, and that psychopath's smile was back on his face, accompanied by an almost sly look in his eyes. "Or have you forgotten what happened in Ishbal?"

For once, Roy actually failed to come up with a good, strong reply. As Kimblee's words bounced around the inside of his skull, he was assaulted by a barrage of memories already forever etched into his brain—memories of the bloodcurdling screams emitted by the people he roasted alive, the fear and hatred in the crimson eyes of his victims as they looked at him, no doubt wondering why they had to die, and that unmistakable stench of human flesh after it had been mercilessly devoured by the tongues of his own flames…

If only he were so lucky as to forget what happened in Ishbal… but he knew that he never would, not so long as he still existed.

"Well," Kimblee said, finally speaking after several long moments, looking as if he'd gotten bored of waiting for Roy to say something, "this has certainly been an interesting conversation, but regrettably I have important business to attend to. I suppose I'll see you around, Flame." With that, he left, and Roy breathed a heavy sigh of relief, glad that the man had decided to leave, and that he no longer had to put up with Kimblee's mind games. After several more moments, he started heading ever so slowly towards his car again. The conversation with the Crimson Lotus Alchemist had him especially looking forward to spending time in female company tonight—because he needed a distraction more than ever now.

Al wasn't sure where he was at that moment, but even so, there wasn't an ounce of fear in him as he took in his surroundings.

He certainly didn't remember being here before, but then again, he and his brother had been so many places on their journey to have their bodies restored that he could've simply forgotten. It certainly didn't look like a particularly memorable place—from what he saw, it seemed like he wasn't in a bustling big city like Central, nor was he in a rural tiny town like Resembool—but rather, the place he now found himself in seemed somewhere in between. The amount of small buildings lining the cobblestone street was the only thing that told Al of this, though—it certainly wasn't the amount of people, as it was early morning, and the only people out at that moment were a homeless drunk person muttering loudly to himself and a figure, a man, striding purposefully down the street, seeming to be in quite a hurry.

Perhaps any other person would've been intrigued, seeing the figure. Perhaps they would've wondered why he was in such a hurry, or what they could possibly be doing up so early. Perhaps they might've even gone so far as to question the man's slightly limping gait, wondering what had happened that could've caused it.

But even though Alphonse did, in fact, wonder about those things, it had nothing to do with his interest in the person. No, it was the overwhelming gut feeling he had, the feeling that came over him so suddenly that it truly didn't occur to him at all to question it, that really got his attention.

He really couldn't explain to himself how he knew. There wasn't any hardcore proof that he was right, after all. But he did know, in the same way that birds knew how to fly south for the winter, or which way was south in the first place. He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, despite the fact that the hair color was clearly and obviously all wrong, and the face was impossible to see from where Al was standing, and there was no other defining feature to confirm it—

That the figure his focus was on now was, in fact, the older brother that he'd been searching for all this time.

"Brother!" Al cried, following after him. Ed didn't turn around, though, and Al decided that his brother must've not heard him. Ed did tend to get so deep in thought every now and then that it was as if he were in another world, and it usually took a few tries to bring him back to reality.

He tried again. "Brother!"

This time Ed paused, but when he turned around and look, he had an oddly confused expression on his face. It was as if he didn't even realize that his little brother was right there, which frustrated Al, and made him that much more determined to get his brother to notice him. Unfortunately, though, his attempts still continued to fall flat, and when his brother's eyes swept over the spot where he was standing as if he weren't there at all, a feeling of dread began to percolate in the pit of his stomach.

How does Brother not see me? He wondered. After all, Al was right in front of him, and it wasn't like he was invisible or anything—because that just wasn't possible, right?

But knowing that did nothing to soothe his panic.

Al tried one last time, silently pleading for his older brother to acknowledge him. "Brother!"

Just as he was ready to give up, Ed's eyes seemed to lock onto him for a split second—and even as he looked away, an expression of what appeared to be understanding as well as some other, unidentifiable emotion dawned on the elder Elric's face.

"Al," he muttered. "Al, you're—" He shook his head frantically. "No. No, it can't be. This doesn't make any sense. It—" He broke off with a gasp, then seemed to consider something for a few moments. When he looked back up, he seemed to be able to see his brother once again, if only for that single, brief moment.

"I'm sorry, Al," Ed whispered, not quite low enough that Al couldn't hear him. "I'm sorry."

Why was his brother apologizing to him? Al simply didn't get it. There wasn't anything he needed to apologize for—but then again, Ed was always blaming himself even for things that were beyond his control.

But before Alphonse could even begin to voice his question, the world began to fade, and he had that terrible sensation of being pulled away from his older brother, even though he didn't seem to be moving an inch.

Regardless, Al tried his best to fight against it.

"Brother!" he yelled. "Brother!"

But soon he found himself yelling at nothing but a world of endless black.

His eyes popped open, and he sat up in bed, confused for several moments before realizing where he was. He sat there for a few moments, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while he considered the dream he just had.

The whole thing had felt rather real to him, but then again, didn't some dreams just feel inexplicably real, anyway? And it wasn't like feeling that a dream actually happened made it any less of a dream, right? Even so, Al just couldn't shake the sense that what he'd just seen wasn't a simple conjuration of his desperate, unconscious mind, despite the fact that there really was no other logical explanation for it.

After all, if it had been reality, then why was his brother unable to see him, even though he was obviously right there?

He lay back down, still feeling exhausted enough to easily fall back asleep. He drifted in an out of consciousness, and dreamed about other, odd things that faded from his memory mere seconds after waking—but none of them included his brother, and none of them felt like they were anything more than a simple dream.

This continued on until he heard a little girl's voice call, "Big Brother, Big Brother, wake up!"

Little Elicia Hughes, who had just turned four very recently, climbed onto Al's bed and began tugging at his hand, an impatient look in her bright green eyes.

"Come on! Mommy's making pancakes for breakfast!" she told him.

"Elicia, I didn't tell you to wake him up," another voice chided her. He looked and saw Gracia Hughes standing there, looking a touch exasperated at the actions of her daughter.

Al smiled at her. "It's okay, Mrs. Hughes, really. I'm actually very hungry, anyway." His stomach rumbled loudly in response, confirming what he'd just said, and Gracia laughed gently.

"Well, I certainly hope so, because I just so happened to make quite a bit," she said, smiling back.

If possible, her words made him even more hungry. Since getting his body back, Al had continued to marvel at being able to taste things once more. And with food as delicious as Gracia's home-cooked meals, he couldn't imagine the sheer wonder of that particular sense ever disappearing.

He stood up, stretching his limbs briefly before saying, "Oh, by the way, thank you, as always, for letting me stay here." Honestly, Al felt as if he couldn't thank her enough.

"Alphonse, you should know by now that you don't have to thank me for this. I enjoy having you stay here with us, especially since you're always so helpful. And I'm pretty sure Elicia enjoys having you to play with. And anyway, it's... it's what Maes would've wanted."

Al didn't say anything right away, choosing to simply stare at the woman for a few moments. Suddenly, he threw himself at Gracia, hugging her tightly, not sure where the impulse came from but not particularly concerned about it, either. She hugged him back, and something about the whole situation tickled his memory, something that was somehow deeply familiar to him, but he couldn't figure out what it was at first.

It took him several moments to realize that Gracia's motherly embrace was, in fact, quite similar to the embraces of his own mother, which still stuck out vividly in his memory despite all the years he'd gone without them.

As he pulled away and headed towards the kitchen table, Al ended up thinking about it. A part of him still missed his mother's arms, and perhaps always would, even though the rest of him had long since accepted the harsh reality that she wasn't coming back. But that wasn't all he missed—there was another thing he missed, something that he'd hoped to feel the moment he got his body back, but didn't. Something that, unlike his mother's warmth, still existed, that he still had an opportunity to experience, of that he was sure.

And that was the warmth that emanated from his older brother.

As always, please review! I want to know if you thought the extra wait for this chapter was actually worth it or not.