March 15th, 1941

Sara wiped her forehead on her dusty sleeve as she stepped up next to the men who were shoveling dirt. "I've got it, guys," she said and they stopped, stepping back and seeming glad to take a break.

"Could've saved us the trouble earlier!" A Private 1st Class laughed.

"Ah, she was too busy," another one chuckled. "At least we're done now."

Sara smiled tiredly, clapped her gloved hands together, and brought them to the ground. She knew it was a gesture and little else; but she couldn't imagine doing alchemy without it now. Before her, the barricade the men had been working to build out of dirt and wood rose up. Concentrating hard, she visualized what it needed to be and, when she opened her eyes again several seconds later, there it was; Simple, fairly crude, but effective, and pretty much how it would have looked if the soldiers had put it together themselves. It wasn't fancy, but it would work!

"Well done," Armstrong's deep voice came from behind her and his hand rested on her shoulder. "With the reinforcements arriving today, I think this will finally turn to our advantage."

"Thank you, Sir," Sara smiled up at him. It felt good to be really useful and ever since her part in the battle no one treated her like she was just a kid who'd run away and joined the army, even if that was, in technicality, what she had done! At least they respected what she could do with alchemy. There had been attacks since, but nothing nearly as pitched, and all a little further out in the desert. Still, they wanted the Base reinforced. Nothing could get through here; they couldn't afford that kind of a loss.

Sara was glad, though she would have been embarrassed to admit it, that she hadn't been part of the battle again since. Not from nearly so close! It had been a hair-raising, exhilarating, and absolutely horrifying experience. She'd had nightmares for the next week about the dead she had seen, and she hadn't seen that many, and not up close. She was gladder than ever of Lina's guidance too. The more experienced soldier had saved her from having to 'politely' take drinks from several other soldiers showing gratitude, without making Sara look like a kid again. She had also been up with her the one night Sara had awoken from a particularly horrible nightmare, sobbing softly. Only Lina knew about that incident, but she'd never told anyone else.

"Get some rest," Armstrong smiled back at her. "The new men will be arriving soon, and we could use your help making sure everyone gets settled."

"Yes Sir!" Sara brightened. Something positive to do that didn't involve fixing things. "Thank you, Sir!"

March 18th, 1941

"What do you mean the Emperor of Xing is dead?" Roy Mustang asked the man on the phone who was calling, he knew, from Base Command. He was apparently a local who hadn't left the area. Now it seemed, that was a good thing.

"Just what I said, Sir," the man sounded utterly exhausted and very flustered. "One of my sons is a merchant, and he went over there a couple of months ago. He managed to get a radio message through open channels. That's why I came running, Sir. It just happened yesterday."

"And an heir?" Mustang glowered at the phone, imagining the face on the other end of the line. "Did the Emperor name an heir to his throne?"

"Not that he mentioned, Sir," the man replied sounding slightly befuddled and helpless.

"All right, thank you for your assistance. Please put the General back on." He waited until he heard Breda pick up again. "Breda. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Absolutely, Sir," Breda's voice sounded fuller, with some renewed vigor. "I'll be sending in the troops while they're still absorbing the news, Sir."

Surely, surely, this would shake the Xing army out there up enough to distract them long enough to send in a rescue team.

"You're what?" Sara looked at the men who were planning in the command center around her. "You're going in tonight? Let me go, please!" If they were going in to get her father, this was her chance to do what she came here for in the first place!

"No, Private," Breda accented the word. "This isn't defense. This is a very tricky assignment for specialized, trained soldiers." He accented soldiers; something that Sara really could not claim to be with any effectiveness. She could fight, she could do alchemy, but this was likely to involve real killing, something even she knew she wasn't ready to do. Hopefully, she thought, she never would be. "All right," she sighed. "But please, please get them out!"

Armstrong nodded. "That's the plan."

It was just past dark when the Xing base was hit, but they never realized it until it was too late. Armstrong led the remaining alchemists into the ruins while the Xing were trying to figure out what to do next. They were milling around, talking animatedly and clearly paying little attention to what was going on. It was easy to slip past them. The rescue party included any of the alchemists who had been returned from here who were in remotely good enough shape to come back and show them the way, now knowing the place better than anyone else.

Upstairs Lin Yao was in turmoil. The Emperor was dead! There was no need to worry about taking him out now; a self-placed duty that no longer weighed on him. But now it posed another problem. Even knowing how to make a Philosopher's Stone, he was no closer to the throne. The Emperor had, so it had been reported and sent to 'them' on their own radio channels, named an heir on his death bed; a young man from one of the lesser families. Or at least, Lin thought of them as lesser. They were an enemy of Yao. But it was accepted in the Capitol, and that made it law.

If Lin tried to take the Empire now, would he be doing Xing a favor, or pulling his land into more warfare?

He was so torn about this that he went down into the dungeons, and sought out the only person who might know.

Ed knew he was still hallucinating when he saw Lin Yao walk into the room. Whatever Scary Woman enjoyed pumping into his veins, it took a long time to leave, and Ed's head was swimming. Five minutes before, he'd been sure he'd been in bed with Winry, and before that, swimming in the ocean with a green octopus. Really! Everyone knew octopuses were purple!

"What do you want?" he asked the shape that resembled Lin Yao. "I've told you everything I know. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Because," Wow, it sounded like Lin too! How novel. "I don't know what to do. The Emperor is dead, and he's named an heir."

"Good for him," Ed squinted, trying to decide why Lin was wearing an entire peacock for a hat. Not that it mattered of course; he could wear whatever he damn well pleased. "Why are you bothering me with this?"

"I want your advice," the hallucination spoke. Yeah, no way this was real! Still, it was entertaining. More so than the vomiting that occurred later usually when the drug wore off. "What should I do?"

Heh, nice. "You really want to know?" The words sounded fine in Ed's head, but they came out thick, slurred, and it was strange. Still, he kept speaking. "Go home, Lin. Stand by the new Emperor and help to end war in your land with peace, not by trying to overpower the people you disagree with."

Lin seemed to consider this, and then the colored blob morphed into a birdlike thing and swayed towards the door. "Thank you, Edward Elric. I appreciate your candor."

Too bad the real Lin would never hear those words Ed thought as he closed his eyes again.

Lin had just reached his rooms when he heard an explosion below that rocked the foundations of the very building he stood in. For a moment, he thought about running and yelling for help. It didn't take him more than another moment to realize exactly who was knocking at his doors. Cleverly, Lin decided that it was time to do what he should have done when Amestris first said 'no.' He headed for the back exit and abandoned ship, so to speak. He found a truck, and gave the order to evacuate, retreat and follow to his military advisors. Then he headed for Xing as fast as he could manage it.

The alchemists met with no resistance whatsoever when they reached the cell block just under ground. Armstrong could hardly believe it. Were their enemies so cowardly as to run, or merely so over confident that they felt no need to secure their prisoners more closely?

"Just be grateful," Marcus commented with a smirk as he led them, limping slightly, down the hall to the right door. "Fullmetal and Colonel Havoc are in this one. I'm sure of it."

"Then stand back!" Armstrong said and with a single punch he demolished the lock on the door, and the door swung open.

Inside was a pathetic, gut wrenching sight: two men, barely recognizable really, chained to the wall. All right, so Edward was clearly recognizable, given he had two limbs missing, but beyond that, and the rough pair of simple Xing military pants on him, his body was a mass of scars and half healed wounds, mottled and mangled on skin that stretched starkly over his ribs. Armstrong's insides clenched. He had no stomach for torture, for needless death; it had been all he could do to come through the Ishbal Massacre. How he had hoped, all those years ago, that Edward would never have to experience this side of conflict. This though, was much worse.

Havoc looked mildly better; at least he still had his military undershirt, ragged as it was, and was actually conscious. His body did not seem to have nearly the scarring or other damage either. He looked up at them and a weak but very real smirk came to his lips. "Hey, Alex….took you long enough."

The alchemists poured into the cell then, making quick work – no keys needed of course – of their chains. When they unchained Edward, he sagged to the ground, unmoving. Concerned, Armstrong knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse. It was there. He was breathing, but it was shallow and he was sweating. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, looking at Havoc, who was rubbing his wrists now that they were free, and draining a canteen of water Lyssandra Fines, one of the female alchemists, offered him.

Havoc sighed. "I don't know what it is, but they kept sticking him full of something nasty. He was hallucinating pretty badly, and it takes a while to wear off. I haven't heard much lucid out of him in a few days. I mean, he talks, and sometimes he sounds completely normal but, they've had him pumped full of crap on top of everything else and…."

"What?" Armstrong urged him, his large voice coming out soft, gentle; something that happened only on rare occasions.

"You'll see eventually," Havoc sighed. "Damn," he sighed, leaning backwards against the wall for a moment. "Does anybody have a cigarette?"

"Sorry," Marcus shrugged and smirked. "We could probably light it for you if we had one, but no one here smokes."

Havoc groaned as Lyssandra helped him to his feet. "Alchemists; none of you are normal!"

"It took you this long to figure it out?" Marcus chuckled as he went over to Havoc and ducked up under his other arm. "Hang on there, Colonel. We've got stretchers waiting just outside, and a truck that's supposed to meet up with us a little outside of this place."

"What's going on topside?" Havoc asked, looking suddenly nervous.

"That's the interesting thing," Armstrong commented as he very carefully scooped Edward up in his arms all by himself. "The Xing seem to be evacuating and leaving as fast as they can. Their Emperor died yesterday morning, and a new heir was named. Apparently that was enough to change what happened here."

Havoc smirked. "Funny…that's what Lin said."

"Who?" Armstrong gave him a questioning frown as they headed out of the cell.

"I'll explain later."

"Where are Edward's limbs?" Armstrong asked.

"Don't know," Havoc sighed. "They took them away first thing, before we even got here. Saw his watch around on that crazy lady alchemist; there were two that were in charge of torture and social events," he smirked. "Not sure if she ever took it off though."

"I'll look for it," Kyle Byrnes commented. "I'd kind of like to get mine back too. It'd be a real souvenir now!" And he vanished around a corner.

As luck would have it, by the time they reached the top of the stairs and the four others waiting with stretchers, Kyle found where the Xing had stashed –and promptly forgot about as they were already doing their best to leave – a very nice pile of silver watches. There were only fourteen. Edward's wasn't among them.

"Seems wrong to leave it," Marcus sighed. "But I think Ed will forgive us."

"Indeed," Armstrong nodded. "There are much more important things. Let's get back to Base."

March 19th, 1941

It was very early morning, barely dawn when Sara spotted the convoy coming back out of the desert. She hadn't slept all night; too nervous and excited, too filled with hopes and fears and an underlying current of dread to get any sleep. So she had gotten a hold of a hot thermos of coffee – that she had crammed full of milk and sugar to take the worst of the taste off – and actually climbed up on top of the command center, keeping watch all night long, as if it would bring them back any faster. She sat there on the edge of the flat roof. And, while her father didn't believe – or so he claimed – in a higher power, Sara prayed all night long that, if there was one, he or she would hear her words, and bring her father home alive. It couldn't hurt!

As soon as the trucks appeared, she leaped from the roof, startling a half-sleeping door guard as she darted around the building and inside where Breda, looking similarly sleepless, looked up from a steaming cup of coffee. "They're coming back! I mean, the convoy is returning, Sir," Sara blurted out before falling back to procedure.

Breda chuckled and hauled himself out of his chair. "Let's go see what the cats dragged in, Private." Then his face sobered. "You sure you want to meet them? This probably won't be pretty."

Sara nodded. "Marcus and the others said Dad was alive when they saw him. But I have to see him myself, I have to know… whatever happened after they were let free."

Breda clapped a hand on her shoulder then, and smiled. "Let's go welcome our friends home then, in whatever form they've returned to us."

Sara nodded, and followed Breda out of the building where they waited for the trucks to draw closer. Then they went to the medical tent. That was where, much as Sara hated to think about it, their recovered soldiers would be taken. That was how things worked.

Armstrong got out of the front of the first truck, and Sara recognized Marcus Kane in the driver's seat. She resisted the urge to wave, standing resolutely next to Breda as Armstrong stopped in front of them, and saluted.

Breda saluted back; then dropped the formalities. "Did you find them, Armstrong? Tell me, man! What's going on out there?"

"When we arrived, the Xing army was in full retreat," Armstrong reported first, like any good officer. "It is my belief that we won't be seeing them again. Colonel Havoc seems to believe the same."

Sara saw a light come into Breda's eyes. "Havoc does, does he?" the man grinned. "Well then I guess it must be so." He walked around toward the back of the truck.

"You bet it is!" From the back of the truck came a familiar, if not as robust, voice. Sara followed Breda around, and couldn't help but grin when a very beaten, but clearly living, Colonel Jean Havoc gave them a jaunty salute. He blinked then, and looked down at Sara. "Hell, Armstrong was right, kid. I feel like I'm having flashbacks."

Sara blushed, but stood firm her ground. She looked up into the truck. "Where is he?" she asked simply.

The silence that fell was frightening. There were several averted pairs of eyes before Havoc actually spoke up first. "He's in the other truck," he said quietly, and motioned to the one that was now parked right behind them.

From the tone of his voice, Sara almost broke down into tears right there. Her father couldn't be dead. He couldn't! There was nothing in this world, or any other, that could take down Edward Elric! But she didn't cry. Instead she turned and walked, then gave up and ran, to the back of the other truck and looked up. There was a stretcher of some kind laid out in the middle, and two of the other alchemists were in the back with it. Without a word, Sara scrambled up inside, determined to see for herself, no matter how much it might hurt.

The sight that met her eyes was more horrible than even the dead she had seen, though all she could see was her father's face, beaten almost beyond recognition, save that she knew every line of it by heart. A sheet covered the rest of him. When no one stopped her, she pulled it down some. His chest and remaining arm looked no better; Layer upon layer of half healed bruises, cuts, welts, and burns. He was breathing, but it was hard to tell just by looking at him that he was still alive. Tears welled in her eyes. "How could they do this?" she asked, the words almost squeaking as they came out.

"Desperation," Armstrong spoke quietly from behind. "War makes people do cruel things, Sara. It brings out the worst in many, and the best in only a very few. Be reassured though, that Edward is very much alive."

Sara nodded. She could see that first aid had already been applied to the worst of the injuries, but there was a long way to go before her father was well and whole again. "I'll take care of him," she said, her voice no steadier, but her words resolute.

To her surprise no one argued, not even the doctor and nurses on staff at the base. Her father was carried inside and laid out on one of the cots, despite the fact he was still fairly filthy and in need of a lot of treatment. "We'll start with a very gentle bath," one of the nurses said, after Sara had watched the doctor give her father a very thorough examination, through all of which he made almost no sounds, groaning once when one of the nurses helped turn him sideways to get a look at the mostly healed whip lash marks, scabs, and burns on his back. He was so thin, and so frail looking, Sara had to hold herself firmly under control to keep from telling them not to break him!

"All right." Sara nodded and, with the nurse supervising, she ever so gently bathed her father's body; at least the top half. She winced as she watched dirt and sand and grime fall away, taking layers of scabbing with it; and sometimes causing fresh bleeding. But the nurse assured her that was fine, that all of his injuries would be treated as soon as they were clean. They needed to deal with the infections that were just beginning to fester, and for that, wounds needed to be cleaned! She even commented that they were surprisingly clean wounds as it was. The nurse had expected much further stages of infection. Sara grimaced and continued.

Sara even took the time to wash her father's hair. It took some doing, given how dirty and matted it had become after months without proper care, but she took the time to comb out the entire length, just to save him and her mother the pain of having to cut it off. After everything he had been through, it just seemed wrong to cut off what Sara had always thought of as one of her father's defining characteristics; his sign of independence and individuality; his dominant spirit. When she was finished, she trimmed off only the dead ends then braided it neatly.

There was nothing to be done for his missing limbs; though she did make sure the arm socket was clean so that there wouldn't be problems with attaching a new limb later.

It seemed so strange, touching her father while he was unconscious; but this was a war, and right now he was a patient. His skin felt hot in places, and she could tell he was feverish. She fought back tears when she heard the doctor clarifying for the alchemists just what chemicals had been dumped into her father's body after looking at a blood sample. Thanks to her training, she knew what they were and what they could do to a person. At that moment, she wished she didn't.

"We'll take it from here," the doctor said finally, placing a hand on the blanket so Sara couldn't lift it off.

"What about the leg socket and the rest of him?" Sara countered, scowling.

Breda looked a little grey. "There are some things no man should ever have to go through. I don't think Ed would forgive us for letting you see, kiddo. And you're his daughter."

So she was kiddo again. Not even 'kid' or 'Private.' She knew she should be offended, but the earlier words hit first, and she couldn't keep from gasping as she realized what Breda meant. "They wouldn't have…. there too?" She had seen the marks on the rest of her father's body. Had she really expected them to spare anything more sensitive?

The looks on their faces made it clear that Sara's guess was correct. The idea revolted her, and her stomach lurched. "I umm…excuse me. I need some air." With that, she ducked out of the tent, and promptly threw up in the dusty grass nearby; the very images such an idea conjured up were just that horrible. It was only worse to consider that it was her father's body those things had been done to.

To their credit, no one came after her. Sara waited until her stomach was done heaving, wiped her mouth on a handkerchief and straightened herself up again. When she came back inside no one said anything; and again, she was grateful.

"I've already got a message off to Central," Breda was saying when she returned, "With the news that we've recovered Jean and Edward, and that Xing appears to be in full retreat. Of course," he added, "We'll keep a presence around here awhile longer until we know for sure this isn't an elaborate feint of some kind." Sara could tell from his tone that Breda didn't think it all that likely. He was all-business, but she knew he was relieved. The general air of everyone around her was that this was finally over except for the unpleasant business of cleaning up, licking wounds, and moving on.

Sara sat down at her father's side. She wanted to take his hand, but she feared hurting him. The doctor and nurses had seen to his wounds but, to cover all of them, large portions of his body had simply been covered in massive white bandages; much easier than trying to do so many individual ones. At least now he was clean, and taken care of. Eventually, he would wake, and she had every intention of being there.

March 20th, 1941

The world came back all at once; though it wasn't that he hadn't felt anything for all that time. To the contrary, Edward had been in constant pain for as long as he could feasibly remember. It was the smell of antiseptic, bleach, and the feel of cool, soft clean sheets that caught him first. If this was a hallucination, it was a really good one!

His eyes cracked open, blurry and unfocused, as he tried to determine his whereabouts, and he found himself looking up at…. himself? Golden hair atop a black and red blur. He opened his mouth to ask how that had happened, but all that came out what a soft moaning sound.

"Dad!" That voice… he knew that voice, but for several agonizing moments, he couldn't put a name to it. "Daddy? Can you hear me?"

"Sara?" It took all of his effort to push that word past his lips. He closed his eyes again.

"Yes!" The voice was eager, responding. "Daddy it's me. Come here, quickly," she called to someone. "He's waking up!"

Really, all Ed wanted was to go back to sleep. He hurt. His head throbbed, and everything else ached as well.

"Get up, Chief," said a much more recently familiar tone. "You owe me a lot of drinks for this one."

"Havoc?" Ed pried his eyes open again, blinking in the dim light of…a hospital tent? As the world came into focus, he realized that he really wasn't hallucinating. There was gray-green canvas above his head, and a real bed beneath him. Not a really cushy one, but much more comfortable and forgiving than stone floors. Everything smelled clean, except for the light scent of desert that he guessed was coming from outside.

More importantly his mind, tired as he was, wasn't fogged up and producing strange images he couldn't explain. The octopuses were gone.

He couldn't see Jean Havoc but he was, without a doubt, looking up into the face of his daughter. What was she doing here? Where were Winry and the boys? How had he gotten out of that cell? A million questions exploded into his head. "Where am I?" was all that came out.

"Heaven," Havoc retorted snidely from just off to the side and Sara scowled before looking back down at Ed.

"You're at Base Command," she explained softly. "General Armstrong led a reconnaissance mission to bring you both back. The Xing army is retreating; something about a new Emperor being named."

"So…I didn't dream that." Had Lin really come into his cell then? Ed wasn't even entirely sure when he had been hallucinating or not for …he had no idea how long it had been either. Time had stopped having meaning long ago.

"Nope," Havoc replied. Apparently, he was in the next bed over. "I was there for that one too, and I know they weren't sticking me with needles."

It was so unreal, especially with Sara sitting there, in his coat, with his hair, explaining to him what was going on as if she sat on a battlefield and talked tactics every day. "That's just weird."

"What is?" Sara asked, frowning.

At her expression, Ed felt the smallest of smiles creep to his lips. "Looking at myself." He hoped what he meant was clear; he was having trouble expressing himself fully. Havoc had been right; the cavalry 'had' arrived, even if they had taken their sweet time about it. Well, it didn't matter. It was over.

Sara blinked and then laughed. "You know, I almost forgot," she smiled. "Oh! Mom will be here in a few days. I don't think she's happy with either of us right now."

"Probably not," Ed agreed. Somewhere, even if Winry made it up, there was probably now a clause in their marriage vows about being accidentally held captive as a prisoner of war, and how that was completely not approved! He found himself looking forward to her wrath.

"Good to see you conscious," Breda chuckled, coming into view. Ed wanted to sit up and look at people, but while he could feel his own remaining limbs, they twitched, not entirely cooperating. At that point, Ed stopped trying. Fortunately Breda stopped where he could see him. The other man looked tired, stressed, and a hair leaner than the last time Ed had seen him.

"Nice to be…anywhere but there," Ed countered, having to stop to breathe more than he liked. "Thanks…for not leaving us."

"Thank me when you're tucked up at home with that honey of a blonde who's on her way out here to yell at all of us," Breda chuckled, though Ed could hear the relief of tension as he did so. They had all been worried about him. Frankly, Ed had been worried about himself! At the end there he had been pretty sure he was done for.

"If I survive….her wrath," Ed managed the joke, then closed his eyes again. "Hell, I'm beat."

"After what you went through," Breda snorted. "You look like someone 'ransacked' hell, Ed. Get some sleep. No one's going anywhere for a while."

"Good." Ed felt a small, soft hand on his shoulder as he found himself drifting again. He tensed briefly on instinct then relaxed. It was just Sara. Nothing to be afraid of. However he had gotten that lucky, once more he had dodged death, and that feeling of a gentle hand, not one reaching out to torment him, followed him into his first real sleep in months.

March 25th, 1941

By the time Winry arrived on the Eastern Front, Ed had been more or less properly conscious for a couple of days. His system was clear of all the junk he'd been stuck with near the end after some nasty withdrawal systems as the last of the drugs completely wore off and his body got used to functioning without them again. It was a miserable experience, but not nearly as bad as the drugs themselves had been in Ed's opinion! They had messed with his head, and he hated that more than anything else. While he was still sleeping most of the time, he was improving.

The first thing to come back, perhaps not surprisingly, was his appetite! When he'd woken up the second time there had been hot stew waiting, and the first bite had brought his long staunched hunger boiling to the surface. He'd growled when the doctor made him wait a while after the first bowl, to make sure his stomach could handle it after being so long deprived of a properly sized meal.

After two days of trying to monitor Ed's food intake however the doctor almost gave up, and Ed got as much as he could stuff down and 'keep' down. He had never been so ravenous in his life! And that was saying something. After months of meager and lousy Xing rations, even Amestrian Mess cooking tasted like the finest gourmet restaurants in Central! The only limit on food then was the fact that out here, everything was rationed out.

Not that he could even eat on his own at first; embarrassing as that was. But Sara was there, and when she wasn't helping fix things while he was asleep, she was at Ed's side when he was awake, talking with him, helping him eat, and making sure he was as comfortable as he could be reasonably made.

Ed was glad when the doctor didn't suggest any kind of painkillers. He was nervous about the idea of anything with a needle coming near him; and jumpier than ever before about something that might make him hallucinate again. Most of the really strong painkillers they had were still likely to cause hallucinations, and could be addictive. Neither idea was appealing. Besides, now that there weren't fresh injuries being inflicted daily, he found he could handle the pain and discomfort.

"Boy, I'll be glad to get my arm and leg back," he sighed as Sara sat next to him while he ate that afternoon. He was tired of being almost entirely bed ridden and unable to move around on his own.

"Mom's bringing new ones," Sara assured him. "Or well, I haven't talked to her myself, but they told her yours were gone."

Ed chuckled weakly. Winry always had another model she was working on, so he was probably getting an upgrade anyway! "Yeah, you're right. That means she'll have them. Though I hope she doesn't freak out when she sees the monster," he joked, referring to himself. Sara had shown him his reflection in a small mirror that morning, and even Ed had to admit he looked like a roadmap of burns and scars and gashes that were pretty horrendous. His face wasn't too bad aside from all the bruising that was, fortunately, turning quickly to the mottled browns and yellows of healing skin. At least he still had his hair!

It was what lay under the blankets that Ed didn't want to think about too much. He remembered far too well the knives and the needles; the hot metal and the scalding hot salt water that had caused him to writhe in agony. It was still too immediate to feel like a bad dream; yet too surreal to fit the rest of the world; an odd disjointing that bothered him. Really though, Ed just didn't want to dwell too much on what remained of his eviscerated pride until it had healed up some. He'd already taken an objective look during one of the brief periods where someone would help him up to relieve himself. That still hurt a lot, and it wasn't pretty.

Well, a lot of things weren't pretty. As long as it still functioned he'd count himself lucky! The damage seemed to be just external, so he'd live with it. The skin would heal with time. When he was fully conscious Ed was lucid and, aside from the pain, he felt in a surprisingly good mood most of the time. Having Sara there helped of course. It was when he tried to sleep that Ed had problems. More than once, he was plagued by nightmares: vivid ones, taking him right back into his captivity. Sometimes they were of the tent being stormed and his being recaptured. He often woke sweating, and twice he'd taken a violent swing at someone who tried to wake him – his lack of limbs the only thing that kept him from having the leverage to get up and connect.

He felt ashamed the second time, when he opened his eyes and it was Sara, looking at him, startled but unafraid; she had blocked his swing easily. She asked if he wanted to talk about it, but he declined.

"What can we do about this?" Ed had asked the field doctor when he was looking him over – again – just that morning. "I feel like an idiot, falling apart over bad dreams but when I come up swinging at my own daughter…"

"I expected them," the doctor replied calmly. "They're perfectly normal reactions; your mind trying to deal with everything you've experienced. Naturally, the things you fear most will come out prominently and, right now, those are some pretty nasty and powerful experiences. You need time to heal, to cope with them; that's the best cure."

"Time," Ed snorted. "I don't have much, doc, unless you intend to leave me limbless till I 'get over it.'" If he came up swinging at someone when he could really move, he wasn't sure he wouldn't hurt someone before he became conscious that he wasn't dreaming. His head was really messed up, and it was driving him up the wall!

He didn't tell the doctor how badly his heart pounded every time the man came near him; or anyone walked by with a syringe and needle to give some other patient. They had given him an antibiotic when he had first gotten here, but he only knew that because they had told him when he regained consciousness for the second time.

"I could give you a sedative," the doctor suggested, but his face told Ed how unlikely he thought Ed was to agree to such a thing. "It might suppress the dreams enough to help you get more peaceful rest."

More needles, Ed grimaced. No, he didn't like the idea at all. "I'll think about it."

Still, even that event couldn't darken Ed's mood too much. Winry was arriving today, and he wanted to see her so badly it hurt! "Is there any more," he asked Sara, who was putting down the now empty plate off of which he'd been eating. Ed had managed to feed himself a little today, which was one step past invalid that he was glad to take!

"Not for now," Sara shook her head, and laughed. "That was thirds, Dad! And the Mess has to start working on dinner too you know."

His stomach said it was full, but his body screamed for sustenance anyway; it was a bizarre dichotomy. The doctor had assured him that was normal too after a period of near starvation. It would a while for his body to settle into a more normal mode. Ed sighed though, and relaxed into the pillows that propped him up, just glad that he actually had real food again! "Fine," he chuckled. "Just make sure you get enough next time okay?" he teased Sara. It was hard to think of her as his 'little' girl now, as he had watched her the last few days, taking care of him, and hearing stories from a variety of sources about the work she had been doing – and her use of alchemy in defense of the Base. He knew the intent look on her face now, the accepting of knowledge of an element of the world that in the past had been stories. Except for the color of her eyes, he really did feel a lot like he was looking back in time at himself!

Sara laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. "You don't want to get sick do you?" she chided. "I'll see if I can get the cooks to let me find you something else in a little while."

"No fair, General," Havoc teased from the next bed. "Hogging the prettiest girl in the place and getting special treatment." While Havoc had been up and about a little more than Ed had, he knew his friend was still in pretty lousy condition too. No matter when the army was actually pulled back, Ed and Havoc would be transported home like living cargo as soon as they were well enough to make the trip.

"Get your own, Havoc," Ed retorted, grinning. Sara looked a little embarrassed by Havoc's comment, but she hid it well from the rest of the room. Other soldiers were chuckling.

"I've been trying!" Havoc lamented. "But do you know how hard it is to pick up a girl in this place? And they still won't let me have a cigarette."

"Not in a hospital tent," one of the nurses sniffed as she walked by.

"Girls don't like kissing men who stink, Colonel," Sara startled Ed by commenting matter-of-factly as she gathered up Ed's plates and stood to take them away. It reminded him a little of something Riza might have said; that same matter-of-fact patience with a hint of annoyance. His daughter had done a lot of growing up recently.

"And what would you know about kissing?" Havoc retorted, sounding more amused than anything.

Sara jumped slightly, eyes wide, her back still to Havoc. Ed watched the tips of her ears turn pink and almost smirked himself. She recovered quickly though, turning slowly and giving Havoc a withering look. "It's not polite to ask a girl those kinds of questions either," she replied before walking out, head high.

Ed managed not to laugh at Havoc's bemused expression. "Ouch! Are you sure that's your daughter, Ed?" the other man asked.

Ed nodded, smiling. "Absolutely."

Winry arrived a couple of hours later. Ed was dozing, digesting the 'snack' Sara had brought back from the kitchens. Apparently she really was a favorite around here, and had taken advantage of that fact. Though Ed couldn't help but wonder whose rations were being skimmed off of specifically. His eyes came open the minute he heard the whispers of a familiar voice at the door, then footsteps coming down to his bed, which was in the middle of the tent, several beds down from the entrance.

The moment Winry came into view, he couldn't stop himself from involuntarily trying to sit up and reach for her. He grimaced, falling back against the pillows after only a couple of inches. Hell. He hated being stuck in bed like this! Still, his eyes never left Winry's, which were wide and looking mildly horrified.

Ed flashed his teeth in his best smile, aware of how odd that had to look given his rag-tag appearance. "Hello, beautiful."

That was enough. Winry dropped the auto-mail case on her shoulder, tears erupting as she came forward, hugging him close- though with surprising gentleness given her state, still it was an awkward angle. She sobbed into his shoulder.

Ed blushed a little. Well, that was awkward in public! Not that he really cared. The scent of Winry's hair filled his nostrils, and her warm, soft presence was like a breath of air after being held underwater too long. In truth, his own eyes were damp too; with the joy and relief that they were together. Still, he felt guilt at the pain he had obviously caused her.

In a couple of minutes, Winry's crying eased and she sat up, wiped her eyes, and sighed. "You're such an idiot," she said softly. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Ed smiled; his own reply just as soft. "Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea."

"Mom!" Sara hurried into the tent and she and Winry embraced in a tight hug.

"Sara," Winry squeezed her; then she sat back and her expression changed from one of relief to anger. "You are in so much trouble young lady! When we get home you are so grounded!"

Sara glared back. "Mom! You've got to be kidding me!"

And they were off; arguing vigorously back and forth about the whole situation.

Ed closed his eyes, still drowsy. As he drifted off, the sounds of the voices of the two girls he cared about most was music to his ears.