A/N: this week on 'it looked better as an outline', 'are these chapters getting longer', and 'is this a character study or a story?' here is 13k of me trying and failing to hide my love for fma, hahaha... stay tuned for more gate theory and shenanigans!

Part 3: Berlin, Autumn 1924

"I'm not trained in bomb disposal, Fullmetal."

"I know."

"If this goes sideways, I can't sign an expense report for mild property damage on the military's dime. I hope your apartment's insured. And the city. Maybe the country."

"I know, you great bastard, so just get on with it already! Geez, it's like talking to a brick wall."

In alchemy, the process of transmutation could be summarized neatly in three steps: comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction.

Yet despite having spent most of the night and the entirety of the morning poring over the papers, Roy felt they were still lacking in the comprehension department.

Not that it was any indicator of their own combined intelligence, it was just that the notes seemed to be incomplete. Which was to be expected, due in part to the evident complexity of the construction of the bomb and limited knowledge of the element itself. It was, to this world, alien technology, and the researchers of this world had made thankfully little headway. But between the three of them—two being Elrics, which was essentially synonymous with genius—they'd been able to extrapolate the remainder of the yet unknown parts of the schematics.

In the texts that Roy had borrowed from the Elrics, this parallel world provided an interesting technological counterpoint to Amestris' level of modernity. In Amestris, most scientific advancements were tied closely to the goals of the state. And given that Amestris was a military state in a constant state of war with at least three of its border countries, it would be easy to draw the conclusion that most inventions were funded with defense in mind. State Alchemists given to the life of research formed their proposals and yearly assessments catering to the whims of the state.

Though, given the original intention of the State Alchemist program, Roy wouldn't have been surprised if the homunculi had also invested themselves in alchemy knowing it was the only reason why the country was still standing after 400 years of relentless and unnecessary bloodshed.

Earth, it seemed, had a thriving international academic community that leaned strongly towards academic enlightenment, with domestic applications. While not yet commonplace, domestic inventions such as the refrigerator and television were concepts far ahead of Amestris' priorities. And science, here, was universally well-understood by all. Alchemy, conversely, was largely a secret native to Amestris. And if the reports were correct, to Creta as well. But Aerugo and Drachma made no use of it, perhaps even spurned it. Xing had its analogue, but Roy knew very little of alkahestry himself.

Regardless, while the bomb was a tool of war, it wasn't a product of alchemy. Roy had no idea how well the two would mix, and that was precisely the area they were lacking comprehension in.

"Look, we can do it one of two ways. Think like Scar and stop at deconstruction, or transmute it into something different," Ed said, index finger coming down hard on the schematic diagram lying on the coffee table. Roy wished the bomb didn't look like such a morbid table ornament next to their empty mugs of coffee.

"Nobody's tried to transmute a radioactive element into an inert substance before, you know that as well as I do," Roy snapped, because they were hitting the ten-hour mark. But he knew that of all the options, providing it was successful, it was the safest way of ensuring the bomb never traded hands again. "It's still a metal, I know, but the Law of Natural Providence says nothing about the transmutation of unstable elements to stable elements. And I don't fancy suffering a rebound."

Edward positively beamed at him, and, oh, there was that desire to punch him in the face again. "I know. Isn't it exciting? We're trailblazers now."

Alchemists had long since completed their periodic table, thanks to alchemy. It was largely analogous to Earth's hypothesized table, some with slightly different names. Alchemists were easily able to transmute within groups, provided with an initial sample.

"Besides, I think you're thinking about the process path all wrong," Ed said, and there was that infuriating tilt to his grin that Roy was irritatingly coming to be familiar with. Ed was withholding information from him again, a particular trait of this Edward that Roy had seen glimpses of in his younger counterpart. It seemed to have amplified as he'd grown older.

Never mind executing Ed. He was going to eviscerate himself first out of frustration.

"Fullmetal, if you know something, tell me now before I do something we'll both regret."

"This is my field, so watch and learn," Ed said, with no small amount of arrogance. He leaned forward across the coffee table, chin in his hands. "Supposedly, alchemy may not be favorable to transmutation of say, uranium to gold. I still think it would be an interesting experiment to try, but we don't have to do that. Nature's on our side, and what is possible in nature has always been possible through alchemy. Uranium-235 naturally decays to a stable isotope of lead-207. With this model, I'd say that the transmutation of uranium to gold is theoretically possible. And obviously so with lead as an intermediate, but whatever lets you sleep at night."

Roy stared at Ed for a long moment. Then he filched a sheet of paper from under Ed's elbow and wrote down the entire decay series.

"You can be a genius," Roy said, and clapped his hands. He pressed them to the surface of the bomb, and with a flash of light, the transmutation ended and he wasn't suffering from a rebound. "But can you be less of an insufferable one?"

"Careful, Mustang," Ed said, picking up the bomb, now genuinely just an ominous decoration. He tossed it carelessly between his hands. "I might take that as a compliment."

Al listened to the sound of his brother's triumphant laughter echo from his place in the kitchen and let out a relieved sigh. They'd figured out the bomb? Finally. After almost ten hours of puzzling out the schematics and notes, a year of digging up the bomb's location, and ten refilled cups of coffee later they'd finally achieved their goal.

He'd excused himself to the kitchen to make breakfast and with the intention of escaping their bickering. He regretted little about his decision.

They deserved each other, Al thought, deftly flipping another pancake and revealing its golden-brown texture. They complimented each other well. His brother was unquestionably a genius, a prodigy in every right. His first love was alchemy, but he took to almost every subject with enviable ease. If he so chose to apply himself, there was probably little he couldn't do. Mustang had the edge of experience on Ed, and while it was more common to see him apply his intellect in tactics and strategy, politics and society, he was no slouch in the sciences. But they were both headstrong, and Al knew how difficult it was sometimes to work with his brother. Growing up with Ed had a lot to do with Al's own endless patience.

Put those two in a room and you had a perfect storm. And a headache.

"Breakfast's ready," Al called out, knowing that Ed would blow in before he finished his sentence. Mustang followed in shortly, looking faintly disgruntled.

"Thanks Al," Ed said with no preamble and began shoveling pancakes onto his plate. Mustang thanked him as well and followed suit at a more dignified pace. "We should get a cake or something. We do good work."

"If you hadn't provoked him, we wouldn't have had to do this in the first place," Al pointed out. Ed's face soured, but it didn't douse his overall cheery demeanor. He looked remarkably fresh for pulling an all-nighter, likely because he did so on a regular basis with his work for the university. The same couldn't have been said for Mustang, who looked like he wanted to drop face-first into his breakfast and was seriously considering the possibility. Yet another study in contrasts.

"Yeah, well, no one's perfect," Ed said flippantly, and snagged one of Mustang's pancakes while he was occupied trying not to fall asleep at the table. When Mustang failed to notice the theft, Ed grunted and got up to refill his mug of coffee. He promptly shoved it into Mustang's hands. "Hey, bastard, look alive."

"Forgive me if some people aren't used to all-night cram sessions, we actually like to take care of ourselves," Mustang said, staring at the mug he was handed with suspicion. Eventually, he threw caution to the wind and drank from it. "Thanks."

"Uh huh," Ed said, and pulled over the remainder of Mustang's pancakes for himself. Mustang didn't seem to mind, nursing his coffee.

"I suppose we'll all be taking the day off to recuperate?" Al queried, though Ed still seemed pretty wired from their success. Knowing him, wasn't likely to be sleeping any time soon. There was a flash of something across Mustang's expression.

"I was thinking that we could spend our ill-gotten gains on groceries," Mustang proposed, and Al watched Ed throw him a questioning glance. A shopping trip? It was true that neither of them had taken the time out to shop recently, and their pantry was indeed quite low. But Al didn't want Mustang to feel like he was indebted to them for offering him a place to stay, never mind the fact that it would be temporary until they figured where they'd be moving to. But it was a good idea to stock up, and Al found himself agreeing with the Colonel.

"It's true, we could stand to stock up," Al said, already making a mental list of things to buy. People nowadays tended to buy in large batches as they watched inflation push the prices of goods higher each day. Indeed, prices even seemed to rise by the second. "I don't suppose you traded for marks?"

Mustang laughed. "This is the worst case of hyperinflation I've ever seen. No, I traded for US dollars."

"How did you manage that?" Ed gaped. "The government itself can't even afford to pay off its debts in gold anymore, it's hard to believe anyone else can afford the price of gold. And in a foreign currency, too!"

"There's a reason why gold is considered a standard," Mustang explained, smirking at Ed's disbelief. It was likely he was deriving some payback for Ed's showboating earlier. "There are always people looking to invest in it due to its stability, especially in a time like this. I admit I played up the 'inflation's making me sell my family heirlooms' angle. Though it was difficult bartering with a language barrier."

"Well, I'm not going to turn down free food," Ed cheered, backing up out of his chair. "I'll lend you my German textbooks when we get back. Komm, laß uns gehen!"

Ed was in a very good mood, due in no small part to this morning's triumph.

It was a tremendous weight off his back. Three years of anxiety, reading newspapers for news of nuclear deployment, and reconnaissance at the university had finally paid off. It was a good feeling when you actually did something to contribute to the world. The very same sense of achievement he'd gotten from helping the people in Xenotime, Youswell, and embarrassing as the memory was, Aquroya. That his efforts had lead to improving others' lives. Not like in Liore, the backhanded compliment that it turned out to be. Sometimes good intentions just weren't enough. But Ed let his thoughts stray no further, as today was not a day for regrets.

Mustang was an astonishingly competent research partner, Ed mused. He watched Roy fight to wrestle his arm into the sleeve of his overcoat, still looking faintly dazed from lack of sleep. He'd known, at least abstractly, that he had to have been at least intelligent to pass the State Alchemy exam. But it was another thing to see him work, much less in more technical matters, easily keeping pace with him and his brother—not only in subject matter, but with their dynamic. It was all too easy to forget that before him, the Colonel had been the youngest to become a State Alchemist. If the Colonel and the General were similar enough in this respect, Ed was curious why he hadn't openly displayed his intelligence. He figured that Roy would have gotten more respect as an officer if he had. Instead, it seemed more common to see him washing windows and hiding paperwork.

Ed wondered, for the first time, how much of that lazy persona was a façade.

And if so, why?

"You in there, Fullmetal?" Roy waved a hand in his face, yawning. "Food doesn't shop for itself, you know."

"Can it, bastard," Ed fired off automatically, natural in their relationship. "Hope you can put your money where your mouth is, I'm going to eat you out of house and home."

"Considering that we live together now, perhaps it would be a small mercy," Roy muttered, and the three of them filed out the door. Al paused to lock the door behind them, ever responsible, and they made their way down the stairs. He knew that they'd resolved to minimize their appearances in public, and hoped that they'd go unnoticed on this trip.

Nothing could ruin his day. They'd just saved the world from certain destruction.

Then as they stepped off the first floor landing and onto the streets—

"Noah?"

—day ruined.

She looked just as shocked to see him, her brown eyes widening in surprise. Ed saw her look to Roy, almost in deference, and then back down at her feet. Upon seeing her, Roy immediately shed his exhausted air and his entire composure seemed to shift. Bastard looked like a new man, an engaging smile plastered across his face.

"Noah, it's good to see you again this morning," Roy said, all charm and good grace. Ed's mood took a nosedive; the bastard was planning something, and Ed hated being manipulated like no one else. Roy turned to him, and kudos to him, didn't even blink at Ed's scowl. "Ed, I believe you're familiar with this lovely young lady? I ran into her yesterday while I was shopping and she was kind enough to show me around. I thought she'd be a great help today, as well."

"Oh, is that so," Ed said in neutral tones. "It's good to see you, Noah."

Al sighed beside him, but he gave her a polite smile. "Good morning, Noah. Are you going out shopping today, too?"

"Ah, yes," Noah said, nodding quickly. Ed didn't quite buy Mustang's cover story solely by virtue of him being a lying bastard, but the story seemed plausible enough, given that they'd both left around the same time and Noah lived with Gracia near the shopping district. "The prices seem to be lower today than they have been in a few weeks, so I thought it was a good idea…"

Roy hummed, hands in his pockets. And then they were moving together as a group to the marketplace. Roy and Al outpaced him, chatting animatedly about Al's research at the university.

On the brink of autumn, the weather had taken a turn for the cold. Like themselves, citizens had swapped their lighter jackets with thicker outerwear. Central had never been this cold in the autumn, and not nearly as desolate. Germany appeared to be at the peak of hyperinflation, now and he caught a few people pushing around barrows of banknotes. If they could find any place to accept them, that was. Ed wished them luck. Otherwise, bartering with goods had made a comeback, and it wasn't uncommon to see people trading cheese for sausages.

But really, he was just avoiding the problem.

Ed finally let his gaze fall on the girl walking alongside them. He wasn't angry at her, per se. He didn't think he had it in him to ever be angry at her. And it was always difficult to categorize emotions. It was no science, and very little could be neatly compartmentalized away into subjects and areas of discipline. There was the betrayal, yes, of course he was frustrated about that. Because he'd taken her in and then she'd violated the privacy of his mind, only to use his own alchemic knowledge against him so she could leave this world for Amestris.

It was… it was such a selfish action. Not just the wanting to leave, because he could understand feeling ostracized, but she'd known what the Thule society wanted, and didn't care about the destruction of potentially both worlds in favor of escape. Ed was a firm believer of making the best of your circumstances—that she'd even wanted to run, despite saying that she was proud of her heritage, reminded him so strongly of Rosé that he'd almost repeated himself.

You'll have to decide for yourself. Walk on your own. Move forward. You've got a strong pair of legs, Rosé. You should get up and use them.

But then she'd followed them to Berlin. And for some reason, she kept on coming back, arms full of flowers and what little goods she could afford in these difficult economic times. Ed wasn't so inept at emotions that he knew she was seeking forgiveness, but Ed was inept enough to not know how to give it. Because he wasn't angry.

It was probably because he envied her initial desire to leave. That he'd resolved to stay and make the best of his circumstances on this side of the Gate, but she'd been willing to throw everything away to escape—to Amestris.

But now he was going to go home. Eventually. Disliking her on that principle was just hypocrisy. In a year, he'd changed. She'd probably changed, too. He should really take his own advice. So maybe—

"Hey, Noah," Ed said, carelessly so if one didn't pay attention to his tone. "You happen to know what the bastard's planning?"

Roy snuck a glance back at Ed and Noah as spoke with each other in hushed whispers. Undoubtedly speculating on his dubious intentions for the outing. Good.

Al looked up at him, hazel eyes intelligently taking in his smug demeanor. "Colonel, are you playing matchmaker?"

"When you say it like that, you make me sound like Hughes," Roy chuckled lowly. Because Maes had always been persistent in trying to set him with actual dates, the eternal search for the perfect wife. Such as my lovely Gracia, he would espouse, and have you seen my daughter today? "Perhaps I am."

"Well, I don't think that Ed likes her like that, but I appreciate what you're trying to do," Al said, picking out preserved meats under the watchful eye of their vendor. Roy exchanged a few dollars to the astonishment of their shopkeep. "I arrived after whatever happened between them happened, so I don't really know their history. Ed doesn't like to talk about it."

Roy peered over the crowd in search of the pair. They were at the far end of the market, selecting fresh produce. "He'll feel better about it by the end of the day, hopefully."

"I don't really know what you're getting out of this, Colonel," Al said, with faint bemusement as he followed Roy down the streets. Roy guided them over to the dry products. Flour, salt, sugar, spices. "It's kind of an understatement of how well whatever you've planned has worked, though. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous. I can't seem to ever get brother to do anything that's good for him."

"He hates being manipulated, so it's a tactic best used sparingly," Roy replied, paying for the ingredients. They'd evidently shocked another vendor with their method of purchase, much to Roy's amusement. "But it's just one of the oldest tricks in psychology. Leave them alone together to bond over a common enemy: me. You'd think one of your brother's hobbies was lambasting me on a daily basis."

"Nice one, Colonel," Al nodded, almost approvingly. "You're really something. I think I like you."

"We'll have you convincing him to drink milk, yet," Roy said, hefting the bag of goods in his arms. Mission accomplished. "And please, call me Roy. There's no military here for me to be a Colonel in."

Al beamed, young and radiant, yet still far more mature for his age. And that was why Roy liked Alphonse Elric so much. "Nice to meet you, Roy. I'm Al."

Roy laughed, because talking to Alphonse was almost therapeutic; the younger had that kind of effect on people. "Let's go find your brother."

Noah was apparently teaching Ed how to pick out cabbages, much to his consternation. "So, you want a dense one," he said, lifting one in his automail hand. After a thought, he switched it to his left. "And kind of compact, with no loose leaves." He stared down his nose at the leafy green vegetable sitting innocently in his palm. "What's the point? It ends up in the same place, anyway!"

Noah smiled patiently. She seemed to have experience dealing with Ed, who had little patience for the domestic arts. "Some say it tastes better, and they definitely last longer if they're well-picked."

"Lasts as long as I can empty the pantry," Ed drawled, and spotted their approach. "What did you pick out, Al? Bastard pay for you? Hey, cover me, too, moneybags."

Roy smiled indulgently as he handed over a few more dollars, not even putting a dent into his collected savings. The trend of surprising the locals was never going to get old. "Al and I have gotten everything on our list. Finished with the produce, Ed?"

"Yeah, I think," Ed replied, accepting the sack of potatoes handed to him by Noah. "What's your rush? It's not like you're running out of money anytime soon, you hack."

"It's still prudent to have good financial habits," Roy threw back as they made their way back to the apartment. "Unlike some people with a propensity for property damage."

"Look, everything I destroyed probably deserved to be demolished. For reasons, or for bad taste. And hey, we didn't blow up the apartment!" Ed replied loftily, and Roy was gratified to see his expression lacking the dark shadows of fault when he'd first seen Noah. As was the girl, who was smiling gaily in the daylight. That was one thing Roy loved most about people—drama was inevitable, but when pressed, things almost always worked out. With little to no outside meddling, because that was the thing about proper communication. He relished in the feeling of having done something good.

Soon, they arrived back at the apartment, and Roy turned to Noah before she could bid them farewell. "Would you like to come up for lunch? We could use your help."

Ed squinted at him even as they headed upstairs. "Already making yourself home, Mustang? It hasn't even been two days and you're inviting people over."

"Be nice to Mr. Moneybags. I intend on paying my share of the rent," Roy said serenely and watched Ed throw out his tongue at him childishly as Al opened the door for their party. As they set down their groceries on the kitchen table, Roy turned around to address the room. "We're going to make a pie."

Everyone in the room stopped to look at him with varying measures of incredulity. "We're what?" Ed asked faintly.

"Pie, us. Make," Roy said as if speaking to a child, knowing that it would agitate Edward. It seemed like a good idea yesterday and it still seemed like a good idea now. Even as it seemed too domestic, too much like a team bonding exercise. Like the exercises they made recruits go through in the Academy, eons ago. "Don't give me that look. We have one expert to help us here, and baking is like alchemy. How hard could it be?"

Ed looked resigned, but Roy was well-attuned to reading people. Especially Fullmetal, who wore his heart on his sleeve. There was a light in his eyes that spoke of laughter, a slant to his smile that reminded Roy of a more innocent Edward. Before Nina, perhaps. Certainly before Hughes and Maria Ross.

Al picked through their supplies. "Famous last words, Roy."

As it turned out, very difficult. Or it might have been easy, if he and Roy hadn't spent so much time arguing over spices. For the record, Ed had been firmly on the side of not adding ginger. Roy apparently liked ginger, the freak.

The only reason why it hadn't actually turned out to be burnt to a crisp was largely due in part to the combined efforts of Noah and Al, whose teamwork was admirable in their attempts to defuse the situation. And as proof of their success, sitting before them was an almost-perfect replica of Gracia's famous pie.

"Some things don't change across universes," Roy said, chewing contemplatively. He looked like a war veteran; though instead of soot smeared across his nose, it was flour. Ed himself wasn't one to talk. They'd had a brief flour battle, and he would say no more on the topic. "It tastes just like her recipe."

"It does," Al agreed, still in almost pristine condition. "I wonder if it's a family recipe or if she made it up?"

"She told me that she'd made it through trial-and-error," Noah said, thoughtfully packing away the remainder of the pie for them. Ed frowned, because he had been halfway to reaching for his fourth slice. "Baking is a bit of a passion of hers, I think."

"This world's Hughes is missing out," Ed said through his mouthful of pie, and saw a brief flicker of a frown on Roy's face before it resolved itself back into indifference. Ed thought briefly of that expression before resolving to speak again, this time to Noah. "Oh, Noah. We're planning on leaving the country soon. It's getting pretty bad. Could you pass that on to Gracia?"

Noah looked briefly stunned before she regained her composure. Her mouth twisted into a wistful smile before she answered. "Of course, Edward. Though, I think she will insist on throwing you a goodbye dinner."

"I'm counting on it," Ed huffed, pushing back his chair to collect their plates. He caught her eye again as he turned away. "Hey, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who is sorry," she said, and Ed knew they weren't talking about leaving the country anymore. She stood up and collected her coat, slipping it on and collecting her portion of their hard work.

"No harm done," Ed said, giving her a wry grin. "I'm just sorry it took so long for me to come around. Thanks for coming by."

Both Al and Roy bid their farewells to her, and with three people, the kitchen was quickly spotless once more. Roy sighed, setting the broom aside. "Well, that was fun. I don't have your stamina, Fullmetal, so I'm going to take this opportunity to pass out cold for the second time in two days."

"Weak!" Ed called after him, as Roy departed to take a shower and then to pass out in his new room. Though truthfully, he couldn't blame him. Ed was feeling the fringes of exhaustion prickling at the edges of his vision, and fatigue was starting to set into his limbs. At least, the non-mechanical ones. But before he followed suit, he had to know.

"Al, were you in on this?" Al looked up from the pile of dishes in the sink, looking faintly guilty.

"No, I wasn't," Al admitted, and waved the dishcloth at him. Ed sighed and accepted the rag. "I didn't even know he was planning on anything until we were at the market."

"He looked smug, didn't he," Ed said, and it wasn't a question. He knew Roy would have been smug after an achievement like that. "Why'd he do it?"

"I don't know," Al said, pausing in his task. "But I think he did it for you."

Not even a week after Roy had first come to this strange, new universe, he was attending another one of Gracia's family dinners. It was almost like he'd never left Central.

In the intervening days since, Roy had taken his time exploring the new world he was in. It was far more than just scientific curiosity that lead him to wander the streets of Berlin, taking in the sights and mood of the populace. He was in an entirely new universe. The concept itself was absurd, but here he was anyway. He'd never felt more like a tourist, wide-eyed and gawking at the sights and sounds. It went beyond saying that the country was suffering. Even the outlandish, unbelievable situation with the homunculi back home seemed almost comedic compared to the visceral reality of a country struggling in the aftermath of war, the pressures of running a country through mundane economics and flagging politics.

It was, in short, depressing. And while it made Roy incredibly homesick, it also tugged at his heartstrings. The part of him that wanted the best for everyone—the same part of him that was drawn to the military in order to do good—demanded that he throw his lot in with these people and drag them screaming out from their depression. It took every effort to remain focused; he had a duty to his people, to Amestris, already.

But even so, there was something like beauty in this gritty, bedraggled country. Like a diamond in the rough, overflowing with potential. Like Amestris.

Edward had been treating him differently as of late. And Roy, for all his social prowess, found him unreadable. And that was unthinkable for someone as open as Fullmetal.

Ever since that the day that he'd coerced him to reconcile with Noah, more than once he'd caught Ed staring at him, assessing. Like he was a puzzle or a particularly difficult alchemic research project. He could understand this, in part. Because who wouldn't want to suss out the differences between the Roy you knew and the Roy you suddenly found yourself living with? Roy himself was guilty of the same—he was trying hard not to see Ed as his own Edward, or as his subordinate. Which wasn't overly difficult, because Ed was clearly older and maintained a distinctly different appearance to help him divorce his attitudes towards the young man.

But Ed had shown none of that interest in the first two days, so Roy could only conclude that he was guessing at his motivations for helping him fix his relationships.

That wasn't the only thing. Roy was suddenly thrown by the subtle shift in their dynamic. Oh, Ed would still snap if Roy poked fun at his height or at his bottomless stomach. But it often took a second attempt, now, to rile him up. The sudden tolerance for his usual bullshit seemed to have increased twofold and Ed was doing downright nice things for him out of nowhere.

Bringing him coffee when he was reading, offering books on language and history, offering to practice German with him when he wasn't at the university. Sometimes he stayed up late just to catch Roy in a conversation of politics, a custom that Roy had to admit he enjoyed. But Fullmetal hated politics, so was this just Edward practicing equivalent exchange?

And Roy would be lying if he said he didn't like this new, courteous, non-bratty Fullmetal. But he couldn't figure out if his intention was to be a good host or whether Fullmetal had suddenly accepted him as part of his flock, bunched in with his brother. Like he was coddling him in his strange, Edward-like way.

Or maybe that was just what friendship was like with Edward Elric. Roy had always wondered what it would have been like to have a relationship with the young man beyond superior and subordinate and their usual antagonism. Here, apparently, was his answer.

Gracia was bringing out homecooked dishes, many of which were of the local German culture. Roy had to confess that he had very little idea of the nomenclature of the dishes, but braised meat, sausages, and bread he could recognize. And knowing Gracia, even her alternate universe version self, it was almost certain that it was going to be good. He and Elrics had brought over a few loaves of bread, and Al had taken it upon himself to contribute some sweet pan-fried cakes with the leftover ingredients from their pie debacle. Noah was setting out plates, and Ed was beside himself salivating over the fresh dishes.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Roy," Gracia said to him in her accented English. Roy had since learned that English was this world's equivalent of Amestrian and Chinese the equivalent of Xingian. It was unfortunate that he couldn't speak German.

"Likewise, Gracia." Roy smiled. Like Alphonse, talking to Gracia was a therapeutic exercise. "It's very good to see you again. And especially so with the wonderful dishes you've cooked for us."

"Oh, you flatter me," Gracia blushed prettily with the praise and Roy suddenly found his foot assaulted under the table. Automail foot. Had Fullmetal no mercy? "I'm sure you boys are just as good at cooking, with what Noah's told me."

"It's just Al," Ed said, already tucking into his sausages and potatoes. "I don't really know how to cook for shit. I can do waffles. Bastard can cook, though. He made stew and meatloaf."

"Just enough to survive. What I'm capable of pales in comparison to Gracia's skill," Roy said, piling on the praise and ow, automail fist. "I don't usually have the time to cook, anyway. I'm usually too busy to cook for myself, so I live mostly off takeout."

"Roy, that can't be good for you," Al told him, and Roy felt mildly abashed being chastised by a thirteen-year old boy. Eighteen in spirit, and that was what counted. "You should ask for time off for yourself."

"Alas, paperwork waits for no one," Roy said with a plaintive sigh, deliberately overdramatic. Ed let out a scoff through his mouthful that sounded suspiciously like derision, or 'yeah, right.' There was a knock on the door, and Gracia excused herself to answer it. Roy paused before setting down his fork. Another guest? As far as he knew, the dinner had been meant primarily as a farewell party for the three of them.

And then, a man with the face of his long-dead best friend walked in.

Roy was wrong about this world.

It was hell. He was in hell and this was purgatory, where he would be judged for his sins and tortured with familiar faces. No ice ran through his veins, no glacial feeling of fear took over his body: no, it was all fire. Fire, fire, his weapon of choice. The hot, searing feeling of hatred that beckoned every time he thought of Hughes' murderer, every time he looked at his picture and thought of revenge. The burning shame that accompanied it, that he'd failed to protect a friend; the roiling feelings of regret, for involving him too deeply.

Yes, he was in hell.

"Good evening," the man said, and even the accent and the almost-uncomfortable formality didn't dispel the spectre of Maes Hughes. Familiar-unfamiliar hazel eyes evaluated him, the newcomer of the group. "Hello, I don't believe I've met you before."

And I've never met you, but I know you. And I failed you.

"Nice to meet you," Roy managed, but it came out so stilted, even Ed had peered up from his dinner. "I'm… Roy."

Help came from an unexpected source—Ed had interrupted to complete his introductions, while Roy tried to hide how shallow his breaths had become. "Um, yeah, this is Roy. He's our new housemate. We came from the same country, and we countrymen gotta stick together, right?"

Hughes' double nodded, and dinner proceeded onwards. But it was wooden, awkward conversation, because they were sensitive to his discomfort. Until Roy could bear it no longer and excused himself, standing up during a lull in conversation. No time was more appropriate than now.

"Excuse me," Roy said, with a smile so false it could have been manufactured. "I believe I had some business to take care of at home. Thank you very much for the lovely dinner, Gracia. And it was nice meeting you, officer." He didn't dare say his name. "Ed, Al, I'll see you back at the apartment."

Between fight-or-flight, Roy chose to indulge the latter, and swiftly left the small townhouse. Because this was one doppleganger he couldn't stand seeing.

Of course he hadn't gone back to the apartment. And of course the first person to find him was Hughes. He always had.

A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled Roy from his intense focus on his drink—diluted and overpriced whiskey, the best he could get in a bar during these times. Roy squinted though the haze of alcohol and found the chaotic reflection of himself in Officer Hughes' glasses. The same frames Maes had worn, and the similarities were going to kill him. Roy picked up his glass again, fully intent on ignoring the other, when a hand on his wrist gently guided the glass back onto the surface of the bartop.

"I heard," the officer said, but then he furrowed his brows in before amending his statement. His accent—and his English—was worse than Gracia's. But not by much. "Sorry, I know. Edward said you were countrymen. Which meant you're from Shamballa." He paused to find the words and let go of Roy's arm when he was sure that Roy wasn't going to yank the glass to his lips anymore. "Edward told me that there are parallel versions of people on both sides? I'm sorry. It must be difficult, I understand." The officer made to move away, feet pointed towards the door. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, and to apologize."

No, no. Maybe he was a masochist, but now that he was here, he couldn't just leave. Roy reached out, almost unthinkingly, and grasped at the sleeve of Hughes' uniform. The officer blinked at him in confusion before settling on the barstool.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Roy said, surprisingly clearly considering that he was halfway into his second drink. "I should be sorry for the way I ran out. It was terribly rude of me, and a bad way to make a lasting impression on both you and Gracia."

Another difference between Officer Hughes and Maes was that he was terribly proper. Maes was loose, humorous when Roy needed it, serious when Roy needed it. Even so, Officer Hughes looked away, slightly abashed, at the mention of Gracia. Some things just didn't change across universes.

"The way you reacted," Officer Hughes began, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Something bad happened to my double?"

"You look like my dead best friend," Roy said, because that was evidently the best way to break the news to said friend's alternate universe double. He watched Hughes' eyes widen behind his spectacles. "He was murdered." And boy, did Roy get his kicks out of surprising people. But yes, Roy conceded that this Hughes had been fairly sharp to have figured that out from his reaction, concluding harm instead of simple nostalgia. Another trait he shared.

"I'm sorry," Hughes said again, and Roy shook his head.

"Not your fault," Roy laughed, shaky. It wouldn't even have stood up against a faint breeze. "I just can't believe you're real. Forget crossing universes, I could pretend I went back in time." Too far; he couldn't lose himself now. "Tell me how you know the Elrics."

"I was part of the group that sought to open the portal to Shamballa, the Thule Society," Officer Hughes explained, and Roy couldn't quite hide his shock. The officer caught the flinch and gave him a wry look. "Something my double wouldn't do? I know. I was also part of the National Socialist party."

"I understand," Roy murmured lowly, thinking about the promises shouted on the streets almost around the clock. In a strange twist of fate, instead of supporting Roy's bid for power, this Hughes had bought into another's vision. "You believed their assurances, and considering how bad it had gotten, any way out had to be better than none."

The officer nodded, accepting his analysis and looking openly regretful. "Yes, I bought into their propaganda. The racism, the so-called racial purity of Germany. And even the magic," Hughes recalled, with obvious revulsion. He seemed to be citing a specific memory. At Roy's curious look, he expanded on the statement. "Alchemy, you call it. But I saw what it did to Dietlinde. She went mad with power when she left for the other side, and I'm not sure that she was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Roy queried, because he'd heard little from Ed about Eckhart, much less her last words.

"That your world was an abomination that needed to be destroyed," Hughes said. "There's something to be said about power in the wrong hands. That every person in your world has the ability to become what Eckhart become is terrifying." Roy opened his mouth to protest, because hey, that was his world they were talking about. Well, not his, but the alchemic world in general. Officer Hughes was one step ahead of him. "But if people like Edward came from it, I suppose it can't be all that bad."

The edge of Roy's lip quirked up. "You did that on purpose."

The officer laughed. "Yes, I did. But Edward did his best to destroy the portal, with our help. A great many of the Society turned to help destroy it, after Eckhart." His gaze turned serious. "I've since been looking out for them, because I know that there are members of the Society that still believe in the power of Shamballa. And radical groups are appearing all over Northern Germany, now. Gracia insisted on getting out of Munich since the putsch, and I had to follow. I try to keep the brothers informed, now, but not from within the party. I couldn't go back to that. From within the government. I pass along news of the National Socialists when I can and try to keep them off the government's radar."

Roy thought briefly of Olivier, playing double agent for them among the higher ups. It was no easy task being an informant, and he was glad that Hughes had decided against endangering himself so. "Thank you. For looking out for them, that is. They need to be looked after, they're still young."

Hughes waved his concern off. "Yes, but they are very capable boys. To have them on our side of the portal, it may be more accurate to say that they're looking out for us."

Roy laughed, because that was true. "Sounds like the Elrics." A brief silence passed between them and Roy sipped more sedately at his glass. "So, Gracia."

Hughes' expression took a turn for the bashful, and Roy's smile became positively wicked. To tease a Hughes who flushed at the mere thought of his love interest instead of bragging about her, it was an opportunity that Roy could not pass up.

"Unfortunately, I met her while I was in the party, and my beliefs reflected that of the party's," Hughes sighed. "She has a kind heart, and even before she had taken in Noah, a gypsy, she would never have tolerated those beliefs. I'm trying to make up for it, and she is very understanding about what happened, but you know what they say about first impressions. That I was invited to dinner today was a surprise for me."

"Really?" Something about that last statement sounded suspect, but Roy was honestly in no state to think about the implications. "Well then, let me dispense some lady advice for you."

"You would?" Hopeful eyes stared out at him from behind rimmed lenses. Roy laughed. Of course he would. He would do a great many things for Hughes' happiness. And Roy knew that if this went any longer, the dam holding back all his emotions would break, and he didn't want Hughes to see him like that, not even the alternate version of him. He'd never wanted Hughes to see him like this, but Hughes had been his support anyway, until he was gone.

"Compliment her cooking," Roy said, rolling his wrist and watching the amber liquid swish around the glass. "Ask her to teach you about the meanings of flowers." Roy threw down the rest of his drink and smirked. "And be nice to Noah. She's pretty much adopted her."

The officer looked like he wanted to take notes, but he nodded eagerly anyway. "Thank you." He looked down at his wristwatch, and Roy pulled out his own pocket watch to check the time. Just after twenty-two hundred. He let it fall out of his hands, and it clattered gently onto the bar to rest beside his empty glass. Roy signaled for a refill, and the officer sighed in almost-disapproval as the bartender approached once more. "I have a shift now, so I have to leave. Will you be all right?"

"Go get her," Roy waved him off, smirking at his embarrassment. "Have a good night."

"You too," Hughes returned, and then he got up and waved to someone else at the far end of the bar. Roy turned around, curious, and found himself face-to-face with the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Fullmetal," Roy drawled, and watched Edward flinch slightly at the use of his codename. Roy narrowed his eyes. He'd used it deliberately in the tone he'd used as a superior officer to determine the problem. The younger alchemist was surely feeling guilty about something. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You didn't go home," Ed replied evasively, gingerly settling down on the adjacent barstool with his back against the bar surface. "I was—I mean, all of us were worried about you."

"I'm fine, Ed," Roy fluttered a hand dismissively and watched Ed's expression twist into a grimace. "Go back to the apartment, I'll be back..." Roy paused for dramatic effect, "shortly."

Ed's frown matured into a full-blown scowl, and he swiped the glass of whiskey from Roy's dangling fingers, downing the remainder of the glass in one shot. Ed's face contorted in pain as moderation was foregone in favor of bravado, and he gagged a little before speaking again, rasping through his words. "Knock it off, bastard, I'm too old for your short jokes."

Roy raised his eyebrows. "Impressive, but are you even old enough to drink?"

"I'm nineteen, you ass," Ed slammed the glass down back onto the bar, gaining the attention of the barkeep and most of the bar's occupants. Ed waved them off with an irritated gesture. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Almost twenty. So shove it."

Roy let out a put-upon sigh, settling an elbow on the surface of the bar and resting his cheek in his palm. "So you won't leave me alone. What do you want?"

"I…" Ed ran a hand through his bangs, gaze averted. He was basically fidgeting. Roy sighed and took pity on him.

"He stole my quiche."

Because that was the greatest non-sequitur in the history of non-sequiturs. It must have been the drink speaking, but he was feeling melancholy and Ed looked like he wanted to hear a story. And for some reason, Roy found that he hated to see that lost, guilty expression on the younger man. So here they were, and Roy was going to do this.

"What?" Ed said, startled. He sat up straighter, frowning.

"In the Academy," Roy clarified. "We met in the canteen, and I was going for the last slice of quiche. You know what he said?" And at Ed's blank look, Roy affected Hughes' casual, joking way of speaking. "'Sorry pal, spinach quiche is my favorite. Just can't resist it, you know.'"

Ed blinked at him for a long moment, and Roy was briefly concerned that he might slide off the barstool. Then he cracked a disbelieving grin, bright across his face. "Holy shit, Mustang, that was a really good impression of the Major!"

Of course it was. When you were friends with the man for almost ten years, with that voice talking in your ear about his wife and daughter almost day in and day out, you picked up some things. Even if some of it was sometimes for show.

"Thanks," Roy said dryly. He reached for the glass again, but Ed pulled it away.

"That's like your third glass, Mustang," Ed lectured him, and Roy frowned.

"How did you know—"

"So you probably hated him, right?" Ed said quickly. So that was how it was going to be, Roy thought, smiling faintly. "If you were rivals, how did you become friends?"

"Heathcliff Erbe," Roy said, and that was a name associated with bitter memories. But it was still a fond memory, so Roy found himself willing to continue. "He was an Ishvalan cadet alongside me, and he wasn't well liked among the recruits. So I caught a bunch of Maes' friends beating him up in an alley one day." Roy let a smirk flit across his face, nostalgic. "So I decided to get involved. With my fists."

"You're not the best at hand-to-hand, Mustang," Ed said, dumbfounded. Roy supposed he was still digesting the idea of him getting physical—it wasn't a style of fighting he used much, mostly because flame alchemy required little one-on-one engagement. "You didn't lose, did you? Where was Hughes in this? With his friends?"

"Believe it or not, Ed, the military does train us in hand-to-hand. Though not as rigorously as your teacher," Roy replied, and observing Ed's almost instinctive flinch at the mention of his teacher. He'd never had the pleasure of meeting Izumi Curtis, but from the rumors, she was surely a fearsome woman. And if reports were correct, also fighting with them on the Promised Day. "As it turned out, Hughes walked in on my spectacular beatdown and pulled a gun on me and Heathcliff, telling us to move away from his friends. But surprise," Roy waved an index finger in the air, punctuating his statement, "he turned the gun on his own friends. And rushing at them and beating them up together was a bonding experience if nothing else."

Perhaps it was easier, telling Fullmetal these things. Because he was at the same time the Edward he knew and not. He knew him, or the outline of him, but not. And he knew, eventually, that they would part. His secrets would not follow him back to his own world, a stamp of confidentiality, as he let out all the things that burdened him.

It was to his bemusement then, that Edward let out a small chuckle. Then Ed seemed to realize that they were talking about Hughes, and then his demeanor became reticent once more. Roy frowned, because that had been the exact opposite reaction he'd been trying to incur. Roy had completely forgotten that he'd left his pocket watch out on the table, brought back to his attention when Ed reached out and picked it up with gloved fingers. He seemed to note the time and closed the watch cover. Then an insistent look of curiosity swept over his expression, and he extended an automail finger to tap at the case of the watch. Metal clanged against metal through the fabric of his glove, making a dull tapping noise.

"What's this?" Ed asked, turning the watch around to show him the crest of the Amestrian dragon, tip of the finger poised just under the most forward claw. Roy's lips thinned at the sight of it.

"A dent," Roy said shortly, and Ed shot him an unimpressed look. "What, you want another story? I've already told you one. Two is just being greedy."

"I want to know," Ed demanded, then evidently thought better of it. "Sorry, I get it. You don't have to tell me."

Roy blinked, because he'd expected him to steamroll the information out of him. That was what sixteen-year old Ed would have done, so somewhere in three years' time this Edward had learned manners.

Perhaps it was fitting, Roy thought, for him to tell Edward about Ishval when he'd so ardently avoided the topic to the version back in his own universe. Eventually, he'd wormed the story out of Riza, so maybe this was divine justice. If it wasn't, fine, he'd blame it on the drink. It was always easier to blame it on the drink.

"How much do you know about the Eastern Rebellion?" Roy started, and Ed looked up at him from the watch, eyes plainly revealing his surprise. "Or how much did my other self tell you about Ishval?"

"I know what's common knowledge," Ed said cautiously, like this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It probably was, honestly. "That tensions in Ishval lead to the order of extermination, and that the introduction of the State Alchemists brought the war to a swift end. You—or your other self—said only that you did a lot of things that you regretted in Ishval."

Another constant. "He is right. Because I—we murdered thousands of innocents there." Roy snorted. "And all for nothing. Pawns in the game of the homunculi. Alchemy was meant to help the people, but all I did was kill. And flame alchemy is especially good at destroying."

A dawning realization crossed Ed's stricken face. "Human weapons."

"Yes," Roy said, closing his eyes to the sympathy in Ed's face. He didn't need it. He'd atone for it, soon enough. "That dent came from Ishval. I had cleared off a roof of insurgents with a blast of fire, and I went up to survey for survivors. I found Heathcliff." And because his eyes were closed, he couldn't see Edward's expression. "He'd been shielded mostly by the entrance to the roof, and he recognized me. He shot me." Roy pointed at his chest, the exact place in his ribcage where the shot had landed. "That watch saved me. And Hughes, who'd followed me up and shot Heathcliff while I was down. I was offered a replacement, but I fixed it myself and left that small dent as a reminder, mostly."

"Don't forget," Ed breathed, and Roy opened his eyes again to the sight of Edward Elric, for once in his life wide-eyed and speechless.

"I suppose so," Roy said only, and reached out with the intention of taking the watch from Ed's hands. Roy frowned when Ed evaded him, the watch still settled firmly in his grasp.

"So Hughes was with you in Ishval," Ed said, finally. "Did you… did you ever figure out how he died?"

Roy took in a sharp intake of breath. Because in reality, it had only been six days for him since Envy. "There may be differences between our worlds, but in my case, it was Envy."

"Envy?" Ed echoed, first in disbelief, then in understanding. "Envy. Of course. He shapeshifted."

"I was so angry when he confessed," Roy spat out, because the wound was still open, bleeding and raw. Even in the aftermath, when it had been revealed that Envy's particular brand of sadism and misanthropy stemmed from his envy of humans. "I was just—" Roy snapped his fingers quickly, almost violently, three times in succession; a mimicry of his pursuit of the homunculus. "He'd taken Gracia's form when he shot him. Even as I pity him for his jealousy of humans, that was just too cruel. I was going to take my revenge with his death, but ironically enough, you stopped me." Roy let his mouth form into a wry expression. "Well, my universe's version of you. And the Lieutenant. Said I couldn't lead the country with that face."

"Lead the country?" Ed repeated faintly, and Roy could almost see the cogs of the young prodigy's mind turning, working in overdrive. After a moment, Ed's eyes became bright with comprehension. "Mustang," Ed said, a gloved hand over his mouth and eyes downturned and staring at the watch, "you're a fucking idealist, aren't you?"

"And it only took a drunken conversation with you to figure me out," Roy said, voice wry. "Satisfied?"

"No, I'm not fucking satisfied," Ed hissed, and Roy was astounded to find genuine vitriol reflected in burning golden eyes. "See how it feels to have an entire decade of thinking you were a complete and utter bastard overturned when really, it was all fucking smokescreen."

"Isn't this a bit of an overreaction?" Roy said, because he didn't really know how interpret this situation. Ed wasn't angry at something that he'd done so much that he was angry at who Roy was.

"No," Ed raged, turning in his seat to fully face him. It took a few seconds, but he'd eventually schooled his expression into something like calm, partially thoughtful but mostly just controlled frustration. "And your entire team knew about your goals? Everyone but me? Was I not part of your team?"

The more this went on, the more Roy strafed towards confusion. "Of course, though keep in mind that I technically wasn't your commanding officer. Even so, I don't see how my goals had anything to do with your quest for the stone." Roy paused, and thought maybe a fourth glass might be in order. "My universe's version of you actually extracted the story from my Lieutenant, and even managed to force a promise out of me."

Ed heaved a large breath and finally stilled, preternaturally calm. The night was seriously growing more bizarre as it went on.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye was in Ishval with you? Like Hughes, too, and she also knew?"

There was a destination in mind, Roy thought, with these questions. Ed was grasping at something, but Roy couldn't see it. He'd never spoken this much about himself before in so many sentences in his life. But it was cathartic, in a way, to get the weight of his problems off his chest. Because outside of going to Hughes' grave and talking at his headstone, there were few he could look to in the interest of having an outlet for his frustrations. His subordinates needed a leader, not an agglomeration of weaknesses. Riza would have understood—and likely the only person who understood him best after Maes—but he hated putting more on her shoulders especially after he'd roped her into his plans. And while Hughes would have pried it out of him, Riza respected his privacy, which was as much a blessing as it was a curse.

"I was her father's apprentice," Roy said, answering mostly out of a damning curiosity to know where Ed was going with this. Hell, once he went back to his own universe, it would essentially be like this conversation had never happened, anyway. "I'll spare you the specifics, because the Lieutenant's familial business is her own. But at his funeral, I told her I was going to serve in the military to, as you put it, be an idealist. Imagine my reaction when I found her in Ishval."

"I can't believe your life, sometimes," Ed dropped his head into a hand, shoulders slumped forward.

"So yes, she knew. And she didn't resign." Roy sighed tiredly, half-lidding his eyes and peering at Ed through a messy fringe. "I asked her why, and she told me that we, as soldiers, had to shoulder the burden of suffering for innocents to live freely. So I asked to her become my personal adjutant, to watch my back. And to stop me if I strayed from the path."

And forgive me, Lieutenant, for going where you couldn't follow.

Ed brought his head out of his hand to stare at Roy's pocket watch for a long moment. Roy watched him carefully, beyond curious what he'd derive from his truncated life story. Roy supposed it was only fair, in part, because he'd known everything about the Elrics from the start. Though not this Ed's, because as a consequence of coming from different universes, their stories were divergent. But this Ed now knew everything about this Roy, and the part of Roy that liked dangerous things—liked to play with fire—wanted to see what he would do with the information now that he had it.

Ed stood up from his barstool and pocketed Roy's watch.

"I—that's my watch," Roy said, dumbly.

"No shit, Mustang," Ed said, and the little brat was grinning. "Now you said that the other me had made you a promise. I'm gonna make you one, too."

"With my own watch?" Roy spluttered. "Isn't that stealing?"

"Shut up for a second," Ed said, leaning forward into his personal space. Roy instinctively leaned back at the intrusion. Ed reached out to poke him hard in the chest with a finger. "This is like your promise to your country, right? I'm going to keep it for now. And I'll give it back to you when we get you back there. Because we will get you back there, so you can do your thing and be all fucking optimistic and shit. And because the Lieutenant's not here, I'll watch your back for you in the meantime, got it?"

"Is this really happening?" Roy couldn't help but ask as Ed herded him out of his seat and towards the door.

"Yep," Ed said genially, shoving him none-too-gently outside and just as quickly bracing him before he stumbled into a sewer grate.

"Are you sure you don't miss having your own pocket watch?" Apparently the alcohol was choosing now as the opportune moment to impair his motor functions because he very nearly stumbled over his own feet. Only Ed's sturdy grip on his arm kept him from falling.

"Not really," Ed scoffed. "Not unless I was waving it around people who were unwilling to believe that a kid was a State Alchemist."

"Have it your way," Roy shrugged, but couldn't quite wipe the smile off his face. That promise, it was such an Edward thing to do. "But I expect its safe return. I do need it for work, you know."

As they walked underneath the starless sky and past darkened windows, a comfortable silence settled upon them. So it was then that Roy was startled by the slight clearing of a throat from his left. Ed was looking at him, contrite, and in a sudden burst of insight Roy knew he was going to reveal whatever had been causing him so much guilt earlier.

"I was the one who invited Officer Hughes to the party," Ed confessed, so softly that it was just barely audible. "So I'm sorry about ruining your evening and everything."

Roy couldn't help it; the way laughter bubbled, effervescent, from the bottom of his chest. "Edward, you shouldn't have." And if it came out more flirtatiously than it should have, then he'd still blame it on the drink. "What did I do to deserve such consideration?"

Perhaps Ed had never been on the receiving end on such a tease, but even in the low light Roy could see the bright red flush that painted Ed's face. "You did that thing, four days ago. You know, pretty much helping me get over my shit with Noah, because apparently I'm too incompetent to handle my own relationships without being manipulated into it. It was really dumb. I just," Ed sighed, picking at his gloves, "I kind of wanted to return the favor. Equivalent exchange. Because seeing Gracia seemed to help, I thought seeing Hughes might have the same effect. But I miscalculated pretty badly." Ed shoved his hands into his pockets in a single, frustrated motion. "Shows how good I am at people."

"How about we talk about things like adults instead of manipulating each other into messes in the future," Roy suggested, and Ed looked up at him sharply. His entire posture seemed to relax in a show of relief at the implicit extension of forgiveness.

"Sounds like a plan." Ed punched his arm lightly in a show of mutual understanding. Roy managed a smile as he rubbed at the affected area, and they continued down the route back home.

In truth, Roy thought Ed's attempt at restitution may not have been much of a loss at all. That it wasn't so much the act of seeing Hughes more than the act of talking about him, and by extension, his problems, that had truly helped. He felt like he'd underestimated the effect of talking about his problems, putting them into words. Now that it was out in the open, he felt like he was a step closer to accepting Maes' passing, and further away from the shadows of Ishval. He could possibly even work up the courage to speak to Riza about it when he returned.

Roy caught the glimmer of the watch chain in the moonlight, spilling from out of Ed's pocket. It was the thought that counted. That was what mattered the most, and sometimes, good intentions were just enough.

When they eventually parted, Roy thought he might just miss Ed. The benefit of erasure with their separation suddenly didn't seem so much like a boon, anymore.

"Hey, bastard," Ed greeted, slightly muffled behind the piles of books he was carrying. He deposited them unceremoniously onto the coffee table. Roy watched despondently as a few books tumbled to the floor. "Back from the university library. Got some books on the countries we were thinking about moving to. Al's still poking through storage, see if any of Hohenheim's stuff might help us."

Roy quickly set his mug of tea onto a clear space of the coffee table before Edward could manage to knock it out of his hand. The way he threw himself onto the couch beside him did not bode well for hot liquids. Roy sighed and picked up the closest book on France.

It had been three days since their disastrous gathering and Roy's embarrassing bout of sentimentality. Roy had managed to apologize to both Noah and Gracia for running out on them, and though Gracia was unaware of the existence of parallel world counterparts, she was still extremely understanding. He'd returned somewhat baffled with another bouquet of flowers—multicolored carnations this time—now sitting in the glass vase on the kitchen table and replacing the daffodils from his first day here. While Ed and Al gathered information on where to go before potentially jumping ship to America, Roy had been spending his time sifting through newspapers and gossip in hopes of gauging domestic and international political conditions.

"I still think England's our best bet," Ed said, thumbing through the book on Switzerland. "Hohenheim worked for Churchill when I was first here. He may still have some contacts in London that might be able to help us with immigration papers."

They weren't the first to think of leaving Germany—in fact, political tensions between the National Socialists and the government had been rising since the putsch, though emigration would likely not peak until the National Socialists took power. As Roy saw it, with no other strong contenders, it was almost an inevitability. Versailles had weakened the government's economic ability, the presence of socialist elements and Jews in the government would provide the National Socialists with enough fodder to decry the failing government in line with their ideology, and their leader was enviably charismatic. The rest would be up to historiography to decide.

"You might be right," Roy replied, and exchanged the book for the one on the United Kingdom. "Though most emigrants from Germany have chosen border states."

Edward leaned over his shoulder to examine Roy's book. "I'm pretty sure that Hohenheim has a few correspondences we can use from storage."

"Mm," Roy hummed absently, reading through the book's section on the country's recent history. He nearly dropped the book when he felt a cheek press against his shoulder. "Edward?"

"I've been thinking," Edward said, drawing out three sheets of paper from his personal journal. His head still rest where it lay against Roy's arm, and he showed no inclination of removing himself. "About the transmutation circle we could use to get you back to your universe." Roy laid the book down and accepted the papers from Ed, each marked with a different transmutation circle. The first one, he recognized immediately. It took half-a-minute of examination of the others before it hit him.

"These are all human transmutation circles," Roy said with some alarm, looking down at Ed. Ed was scratching out a new circle in his notebook, with elements of the second. "One is the one you used to transmute your mother, and the two others I don't recognize, but…"

"Yeah, but they were all used to summon the Gate, at least in my circumstances," Ed explained, still penning out his new creation. "The six-pointed star is of Hohenheim's design, and the last one, of Al's design. Because the Gate always opens when human transmutation is attempted, a homunculus is created or returned, or if activated on the body of an infant. All but Hohenheim's required the sacrifice of a homunculus or human being, and only then to create a stable portal, so I think we should start there. The old man always did know more than he was telling."

Human transmutation was not an area Roy knew much about, so most of what Ed had told him was news to him. And if anything, the Elrics were the foremost experts on the subject, though not through personal preference. He wondered which parts were specific to this world's alchemy, but before they discussed this further—

"I have a theory," Roy said slowly, and Ed's pen stopped moving in his journal. "It doesn't really have evidence, not really."

"Little about inter-dimensional travel has evidence," Edward said, sighing against him. But he seemed to be listening. "Trailblazers, remember?"

"I came from an alternate Amestris, not an alternate Earth," Roy began, and Ed turned to the next page in his journal, fresh and blank. He began to diagram Roy's explanation in labelled boxes. "Your Amestris and this Earth are linked by the Gate. A known factor, as you have traversed it bodily at least three times." Two boxes were drawn and labelled, linked together by a single neat line. "Suppose that my Amestris and your Amestris run parallel to each other, and I came diagonally from my Amestris to Earth." Ed's pen stopped again after the diagram was drawn out.

"What—are you saying," Ed said, because he'd scribbled out a right triangle. Roy reached out to trace the hypotenuse between Earth and his own Amestris.

"I paid a yet unknown toll to travel here." A white lie, perhaps. Because he remembered his conversation with Truth. The way back home lay with himself, not the Elrics. Truth had posed a riddle as the toll back, and he had yet to find the answer. "The distance between the two worlds is longer, and I wonder if the toll from here to my Amestris is greater than the toll from the two parallel Amestrises."

"You want to go to my world," Ed whispered, clutching his pen tightly.

"Travel between here and Amestris is a known quantity. You've proven it," Roy reasoned. "You were planning on going back anyway, and I'd like to minimize my toll, whatever it might end up being if my theory is correct." Roy gave him a mischievous look. "And of course, the National Library. I'd like to see what references I can dig up in there, if there's even anything to say about time-space alchemy."

"I..." Ed said, sounding slightly breathless. He flipped to a new page and started outlining a new circle with wavering lines. "I—okay. Okay. We can do that."

Somewhere along the way Roy had realized that he'd wanted to see Edward's smile, wanted to be there to see the relief when Ed returned home. Call it selfishness on his part, but Roy would put off a national coup just to see it happen.

Train stations seemed to be symbolic of beginnings and endings, at least in their lives. It was no special holiday, but the Lehrter Bahnhof was packed with departures and arrivals. On the platform with him stood his brother and Roy, along with Gracia, Officer Hughes, and Noah. Al made his way back to the group, their tickets in hand. They hadn't accumulated much in their stay in Berlin, so it had been fairly easy to sell what possessions they had over the course of a few days. Half the décor in the apartment had been books, anyway. In the end they'd packed only the essentials, and it looked like they were living out of suitcases again, just like the old days.

"Make sure to write," Gracia instructed Ed into her handkerchief. Oh, she was just too kind. Despite having just met her a year ago, Al would definitely miss her. "And send photos, too! I'll miss you too, Roy."

"Of course," Roy said smoothly, and Gracia's cheeks pinked slightly. Officer Hughes tried and failed to hide his scowl. Ed mirrored the expression with notably less success and swiped at Roy's ankles, which he dodged artfully. Al stifled a laugh and thought he was getting better at the sport of dodging Ed. "And thank you again for this lovely gift. Your baked goods truly have no equal."

"Damn it, bastard," Ed groused loudly, and was summarily dragged away by Noah. Al saw her speak to him in low tones as he and Roy exchanged goodbyes with Gracia. Officer Hughes approached them a final time, leaning close.

"One more thing, you two. I've gotten word that Adolf will be released on the 20th of December of this year. And Lieutenant Hess around the same time. I'd be careful around then. It's unlikely that they'll pursue you outside of Germany, but it's still a possibility."

"Understood," Roy said, straightening up and extending a hand. He gave him a grateful smile, just a touch melancholy. "Thank you for all your help, Officer. And take care of the those two. It'll be rough going in the future."

"My pleasure, Roy," Hughes returned, shaking the proffered hand. "I'll see if I can convince them to get out of the country, and I'll do my best." Hughes looked down at Alphonse, reaching down and ruffling his hair. "And you keep your brother out of trouble, Al."

"I always do," Al promised, smiling. "Thanks again, Officer."

And as they boarded the train, waving their last farewells to their few friends, Al found himself looking forward for what the future had in store. Especially when his brother kept glancing at Roy like that from across his seat, fidgeting with the chain of his new pocket watch in a way he hadn't ever done with his own.