A/N: Hey guys, sorry about making you wait over a week for this chapter when the others have been mostly days apart. Donjusticia actually had preeeetty much this entire chapter written before we were even done with chapter 3, but there were some plot elements that he left out and I had to rewrite like the entire second half of the second scene and got serious writer's block on all of four paragraphs. FOUR of them! And they were short ones, too! Ugh.

Anyways, here's hoping you guys enjoy this chapter. Still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist though.

Donjusticia's A/N: The following chapter may be too awkward for most viewers. Readers who have a low tolerance for Dramatic Irony should immediately find a different fanfic to read… probably a comedy… cough cough… from the funniest fanfic author ever… cough cough… cough cough…

…

READ MY STORIES!

Chapter 4 - "Colonel Mustang, I would actually like a private word with you."

It isn't until late afternoon the next day that Roy is allowed to leave the hospital. Hughes sticks around until then, even though he could have left hours ago, so Gracia and Elicia return to walk the two of them home. Elicia rests in Gracia's arms while her parents chat. What about, Roy doesn't care to listen. He's more focused on—and frustrated by—the fact that he's struggling to keep up when they aren't even walking that fast. His breath comes in short gasps that he's trying and failing to keep quiet.

His ragged breathing must catch the attention of his friend because Hughes turns to see how he's doing. "Hey, slow down there, old timer," he jokes, earning a glare from Roy. His expression shifts to a more serious one before he continues, "Seriously Roy, we don't need you keeling over again right after leaving the hospital. Why don't you spend the night at our place?"

(—Hughes screams—)

(—Running. The bathroom. Blood under the door—)

(—Hands limp next to the massive gash in his throat—)

Roy blinks the image away—that was nothing but a nightmare, dammit, I can't let it affect me like this—and shakes his head apologetically. "I don't want to burden you anymore than I already have."

Elicia chooses this moment to poke her head up, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Uncle Roy's gonna stay with us tonight?"

Hughes reaches over and ruffles her hair before shooting a look at Roy. One that clearly says "You wouldn't disappoint her, would you Roy?"

"If you're worried about being a burden, you shouldn't be," Gracia says, smiling warmly at Roy. "You and Maes are practically brothers, Roy, which makes you family. And if you think Maes talks too much about Elicia and I all the time, imagine how much he tells me about you. I could probably write your biography if I wanted to!"

Hughes winks at his wife. "I'm sure you'd do a fantastic job with that."

Gracia laughs, lightly slapping his arm. "Oh, stop it Maes." She looks down at Elicia, who has almost drifted asleep, head tucked into Gracia's neck. "Besides… some things are best left forgotten."

Hughes' gaze hardens. "…Yeah…"

Roy can't help but agree. The nightmares—the memories—that cause him pain will never truly be forgotten, but it's… better, not having to deal with them all the time.

They round a corner, approaching the exit, when Hughes turns to face Roy again. "You still haven't given me a straight answer, buddy," Hughes says with a laugh. "So, what do you say? Why not kick back and take it easy tonight? You know Gracia makes a mean apple pie."

Roy grimaces, half from the lingering ache in his chest and half from the thought of him taking it easy. Sure, he can't go out and do anything right now, but he needs to plan ahead before everything falls apart. His rush to save Hughes is causing him so many problems—Maria Ross is awaiting execution, the nationwide transmutation circle is still being dug and he can't go do something about it, and he's almost certain the other homunculi are now keeping tabs on both him and Hughes. He won't be able to act as freely as he did last time around—but, on the other hand, at least he already knows how far out of line he has to step in order for him to be punished.

"I really do appreciate the thought, both of you," Roy says, "but… still, I'd rather just get a hotel room."

"Nonsense," Gracia scoffs. "On this short notice, you'll be lucky to find a room with a decent bed inside, and someone fresh out of the hospital needs a good bed to sleep on. You will be staying the night with us—it's the least we can do for you after what you did for Maes!"

"It's hardly equivalent, but at least we're trying to give you something," Hughes pipes in.

The image from his nightmare surfaces again and he sighs, putting a hand to his head. "I understand, but I—"

His breath catches in his throat and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees the car parked just outside the entrance. An expensive one, with the Amestrian flag displayed on the hood, soldiers flanking either side of it. He watches as one of the soldiers opens the door to the car, and his blood boils when he sees Wrath step out of it. He walks over to them with a pleasant smile on his face—as though he isn't a homunculus deceiving the entire nation, as though he isn't responsible for ordering the deaths of countless innocents, as though he isn't a murderer.

The burning in his blood turns into a cold fury.

As though he isn't the one who cut Riza to pieces after she was already dead out of spite.

"Roy!" Hughes hisses. Urgent. Worried.

And he remembers his place. This is not Wrath approaching them—or at least, he shouldn't know this. This is Führer King Bradley, leader of Amestris, and someone he has no choice but to salute.

Elicia stirs in Gracia's arms, turning around to see what's going on. Her eyes light up as she recognizes the approaching man, and she points at him. "Mommy! That's the F-Fyoo-ruh! You showed me a picture of him!"

"It's Führer, sweetie, and… I know," Gracia whispers, still in shock.

When he comes to a stop, Bradley returns Roy's and Hughes' salute, and when he drops his arm, they follow suit. "I see I came at the perfect time. It's good to see you've recovered, Colonel Mustang," he says, still smiling.

Yeah, because you need me alive for your plan, Roy thinks, keeping as straight a face as he can. "Ah, Führer Bradley. To what do I owe the honor?"

Bradley chuckles—such an unsettling normal human sound. "No need to be so humble, Mustang. Your heroic deeds have been the talk around Central Command for the past few days, and so my wife and I would like to personally thank you with a dinner at our mansion." He pauses for a moment, eye darting over to the Hughes family. "I hope I'm not interrupting any plans you might have already made."

Dinner? He's inviting me to dinner? What the hell's he playing at? Roy wants to refuse. He really does. But that would make it way too obvious that he knows something he shouldn't—no soldier, especially one trying to climb up the ranks, turns down an offer to have dinner with the Führer. Suppressing a grimace, he replies, "We hadn't made any plans yet, sir. I'd be happy to eat dinner with you and your family."

"Excellent!"

"…Well then, I guess we'd better be going. Dinner takes time to cook and I'm rather famished," Hughes says, taking his wife's hand. "And Roy," he adds, "you're not spending the night in some dingy hotel room. Don't make me have to hunt you down after you're done visiting the Führer's mansion."

Roy sighs and goes to respond, but Bradley beats him to it.

"Major Hughes, you're invited to eat with us too." As an afterthought, he adds, "Your family can come as well; I'm sure my wife won't mind the extra company."

Gracia splutters, face red, and lets go of her husband's hand in order to cover her mouth. "I—beg your pardon, sir, but, we're hardly dressed for such an occasion."

Hughes, equally surprised, adds, "Not to mention, Elicia here is, well she's very young and all, and she needs to get to bed. It's—it's an immense honor, sir, but, perhaps another time?"

"Nonsense," the Führer replies. "I know it's very short notice, but my wife and I really aren't as prudish as you think, Mrs. Hughes. You're dressed just fine. Besides, it looks to me as though your daughter doesn't seem to be tired at all."

It's true; while Elicia had been just about to fall asleep before the Führer showed up, now she's squirming in her mother's arms, an excited look in her eyes. "I wanna see the Fer-rer's house! Can we go? Pleeeeease, Daddy?"

Hughes looks like he's about to pass out, sweat trickling down his brow. His mouth moves slightly, as though he's trying to speak, but no words come out while he rapidly looks between his daughter and the Führer. Eventually, he stops with a sigh. "Aw… curse my inability to say no to my darling daughter! We'd be honored to eat dinner with you, sir. Isn't that right, Gracia?"

"Y-Yes, of course. It's an honor, Führer Bradley," Gracia says, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

Roy shoots his friend a knowing look—Hughes doesn't know the truth, but he's certainly starting to put something together. They're both trapped, and they have to play along.

During the drive to the Führer's home, Hughes and Gracia engage in idle conversation with Bradley. Roy joins in attempting to distract himself from the fact that he's sitting less than a meter from one of his worst enemies, but he really only manages to insert a few comments here and there. He eventually decides to just listen to their conversation—listen and think—and it makes the ten minute drive feel like eternity instead.

What's the point of all this? Roy thinks, staring out at passing cars. He interrogated Hughes in the hospital when I was still asleep. No elaborate reason like this necessary. So then, why this charade? I'm sure he just wants to hear my side of the story and find out if I know too much. He sees a gate up ahead, soldiers already standing on either side of it and saluting the car. …At the very least, neither Wrath nor Pride should start anything with Gracia, Elicia, and Mrs. Bradley with us.

"Ah, and here we are," Bradley says, as the car pulls to a stop on the edge of a well-maintained lawn. In front of them is his mansion—white stone walls, only decorated with the Amestrian flag, but an extremely massive building nonetheless.

Elicia is the first one out of the car, bouncing around and wildly pointing at the mansion. "Mommy! Daddy! Look, it's a castle! Just like in my books!" The three-year-old giggles, twirling around in a circle. "Is there a princess inside? Ooh, or maybe a prince?!"

Gracia runs to her daughter, picking her up to keep her from dancing all over the place. "No, sweetie, it's not a castle. Just a really… a really big house."

Bradley chuckles at the sight, strolling up next to them with a pleasant smile on his face. "Well now, my wife and I like to think of it as our castle," he says, winking at Elicia, "and I'm sure you'll get to play with my son at some point this evening."

While Elicia cheers about meeting a "prince", Roy glares at the back of the Führer's head. He's glad he's one of the last ones out of the car because no one can see it. This bastard is the same one who wanted to shut Elicia up at her father's funeral in the last timeline, and now he's acting all friendly towards. And his "son" is certainly no better.

Hughes is the last out of the car and immediately goes to catch up with his wife and daughter, brow furrowing when he realizes he won't be able to link arms with Gracia due to where Bradley has positioned himself next to her. He looks back to Roy with a silent plea for help written all over his face, and it hurts Roy to know that he can't do anything.

Just don't do anything drastic, Maes. I didn't save you just to watch you die all over again, Roy thinks as he runs to catch up to the rest of them.

Mrs. Bradley is already at the door to greet them, her son by her side. Selim's face beams with all the playful innocence of a child, and the smile grows larger when he sees his father approaching the door. "Father! You're back!" Selim exclaims with joy, running up to Bradley and promptly being scooped into a gigantic hug.

The sight sickens Roy. He knows this is nothing more than a gigantic charade, with poor Mrs. Bradley as the unsuspecting victim. As Selim begins rattling on about his day at school, Roy's stomach churns at the insincerity of it all. Worse so that he can't say anything about it.

"It's so wonderful to have you all visiting us," Mrs. Bradley says, gesturing to the open doors. "Please, come inside. I'm sure you all must be famished."

As they enter the mansion, Gracia sets Elicia down in order to shake Mrs. Bradley's hand. "Thank you so much for all of this! Although, I apologize for our attire—if I'd known you were going to host us, I would have gotten my family dressed for the occasion! I'm so terribly sorry!"

Mrs. Bradley smiles warmly at Gracia. "Oh, you don't need to apologize, Mrs. Hughes. Really, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I had no idea that my husband hadn't bothered to send you an invitation beforehand!" She shoots a playful glare at her husband. "Sometimes I wonder just how he can manage to run this country."

"I've got a good wife to keep me in check," Bradley says with a chuckle, "although I do admit, I could improve my abilities to plan a little better."

Mrs. Bradley laughs. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that. I still haven't forgotten our first meeting, dear."

"This sounds like an interesting story," Gracia notes. "Would you mind sharing more? It's not very often one gets to hear about this side of the Führer's life."

"Perhaps over dinner," Mrs. Bradley replies.

Roy holds back a sigh. "This side" of his life is all a lie, though… Selim's too. He scans the dining room as they're brought into it. Aside from the sickening fact that he and the Hughes family are in the presence of two homunculi that could kill them all on the spot if they so chose, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary given the situation. There are no guards behind what might be expected of the Führer. Not only that but, true to his word, the food and décor are surprisingly modest. Roy honestly hadn't expected Bradley to be telling the truth when he said he wasn't that prudish.

Mrs. Bradley takes charge of the seating arrangement; in her mind, arranging it so as to maximize conversation, but in Roy's mind, to generate maximum discomfort—not that she realizes it. Führer King Bradley is, of course, at the head of the table. Hughes is just to his right, with Gracia next to him and Mrs. Bradley next to her. Roy is on the Führer's left, Selim next to him, and Elicia on Selim's other side. It's just his luck to get seated between the two homunculi—and he can tell that Elicia being clear on the opposite side of the table is making Hughes all sorts of uncomfortable. He wants to say something about it, but can't think of what to say that wouldn't be suspicious. So he takes his seat, observing the food spread before him.

Rather than having a servant carve the turkey, the Führer takes charge, expertly carving it while freshly baked rolls, baked potatoes with half-melted butter already inside of them, and slices of a mouthwatering corn casserole are passed around the table. Mrs. Bradley makes sure that Selim and Elicia both have reasonable portions before taking her seat. Despite his appetite having left ever since he agreed to come here, Roy takes what he thinks is appropriate. A glance across the table at Hughes lets him know that he's not the only one who isn't very hungry.

"So," the Führer begins, offering a generous chunk of turkey to Roy. He accepts with a forced smile. "You two went through quite the ordeal three days ago."

"Yeah!" Selim agrees, looking expectantly at Hughes. "I heard you'd almost been shot! What was that like?"

Mrs. Bradley give her son a harsh look. "Now Selim, be considerate. I'm sure they both must be shaken after what happened." She pauses for a moment. "I can't blame you if you don't want to talk about what happened. To be attacked by a fellow officer like that… We're all just glad that you both made it out safely."

"Yes…" Gracia agrees, eyes darkening as she lays a hand on her husband's lap. "I don't know what I would have done if Roy hadn't been there… if Maes had been…" She looks at her daughter and can't bring herself to say the last word. "…Well, that's in the past. Maes and Roy are both safe and the person who attacked them is in jail."

"Yeah…" Hughes absentmindedly nods, idly stabbing his fork at what little food he has on his plate. He keeps missing the food, causing a little clink each time metal meets china. Roy notices the look the Führer gives Hughes and decides to speak up.

"It was the least I could do for him," he loudly pipes in, following his comment up by forking a large portion of the corn casserole into his mouth. He's sure it would taste delicious if his nerves weren't wound up so tight, but his stomach flips at the idea of eating anything and he has to force the mouthful down with a gulp of the water he asked for. He puts on his most convincing smile. "Excellent food, by the way. Did you cook this, Madame Führer?"

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a wife if I couldn't do the basic things," she replies with a bright smile on her face, "and I did indeed make that casserole. I can't claim much responsibility for the rest of the food, though. I do have a few professional chefs to coach me in the kitchen, after all."

Gracia takes a bite of her turkey. "Mm, you'll have to lend me one of those chefs. Any more of this food and Maes might just leave me for your cooking!"

"I'd have him executed as a traitor before I let that happen," the Führer deadpans.

He can't keep a straight face when both his wife and Gracia start laughing. Hughes nervously chuckles with them, eyes not leaving his daughter across the table as he takes a bite from his food. Roy doesn't find the joke funny in the slightest, but tries to laugh with them anyways. It sounds unnaturally loud and draws looks from everyone else so he stops, clearing his throat.

"Uh… sorry," Roy says, eyes dropping to his plate as he cuts his slice of turkey into a smaller portion. "I just, if there's one thing I know about Maes, it's that there's nothing in the world that could make him leave his family." Nothing except death, that is. "I mean, have you seen all the pictures he carries with him? I can hardly catch a break when he goes off talking about them," he adds, hoping to bring the conversation to a more comfortable topic for his friend. He's been unusually quiet the entire dinner and it's not right.

Elicia is the one to speak up, though. "That's because my daddy is the bestest daddy ever!" she exclaims.

"I don't know, my father is pretty cool too," Selim pipes in.

Exactly which "father" are you referring to? Roy ruefully thinks, taking another bite of turkey.

"Nuh-uh!" Elicia protests, hands on her hips as she glares at Selim. "My daddy is the best! He gives me toys, and piggyback rides, and he tells the best bedtime stories!"

Selim shrugs. "Well, I guess that's true, but I bet your dad's never let you ride a pony before."

The three-year-old gasps, eyes wide as saucers. "A pony? You have a pony?"

"Yeah!" Selim replies, face bright with all the innocence of a normal six-year-old. "I've got lots of them out back, all sorts of sizes! After dinner, I could show you how to ride one!"

Well, aren't you the smooth one, Pride. Roy lets out as quiet a sigh as he can, trying desperately not to glare at the homunculus or grind his teeth in anger.

Elicia squeals with joy before giving her father her best puppy-eyes look. "Can I, Daddy? Pleeease?"

"Elicia, don't be rude," Gracia interrupts. "Daddy can't tell them what to do. It's up to our hosts."

"Oh, she is more than welcome to ride one of them!" Mrs. Bradley says with an excited expression on her face. "Selim doesn't have many playmates, you see—most of the kids at school are too intimidated by him being the Führer's son to befriend him. I'm sure that Elicia and Selim will—"

Hughes suddenly slams his good hand onto the table, rattling the loose silverware and cups near him. "She's too young for him!" he blurts, almost desperately.

Gracia slaps his arm, not caring that it's his bad one, and glares at him. "Maes, we are with the Führer and his family, do not start this. Elicia is only a child, you don't have to worry about her making friends with a boy."

"You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Hughes," Mrs. Bradley assures him. "Selim is a very well-behaved boy."

"That's not—" Hughes grimaces, gripping his injured shoulder. "I didn't mean…" He hangs his head, face flushed with embarrassment. His mouth moves for a bit, unable to actually voice any words until he sighs. "…I'm sorry about the scene. I just don't think it's a good idea… right now, anyways. It's gotten late; it's time for Elicia to get to bed."

"But Daddy, I wanna ride the pony!" Elicia protests.

Bradley glances at the grandfather clock resting on the wall behind him, humming to himself. "I'd hardly call it that late, Major, but if you believe that it is, you may leave. You'll simply have to bring your daughter to work with you one of these days."

"I-I'm sorry?" Hughes splutters.

"Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you," the Führer says, exaggeratedly hitting himself in the side of the head. "I mentioned that you were going to be transferred when we spoke the other day. Well, I've been in need for a personal assistant for quite a while now. While it is troubling that you disobeyed orders, I've found it hard to find anyone else more qualified for the job."

Roy's fork slips out of his hand, loudly clattering against his plate. He's sure the noise would have drawn attention had Hughes' reaction to this news not been to make some bizarre squawking sound while falling out of his chair—and a certainly justified reaction at that. This is exactly how the Führer held Riza virtually captive last time around. Now Hughes will be in that position, able to be cut down whenever the homunculi feel like it.

Dammit, Roy thinks, picking up his fork while Gracia helps her husband back to his feet. I was expecting Pride to come up with some excuse to leave me alone with Wrath, not this. This is even worse.

"Are you alright, Maes?" Gracia asks, concern written all over her face. "Working directly under Führer Bradley is—I know it's quite a shock, but, it's a good thing, isn't it?"

"W-Well, I wouldn't say—that is—" Hughes cuts himself off, clutching at his shoulder again and this time not bothering to hide the hiss of pain. "Shiii—uh—sorry—I think the pain medication they gave me at the hospital just—ah—wore off." It seems to hurt so much that he even flinches when Gracia gently lays a hand on it.

"Oh dear…" Gracia mumbles, withdrawing her hand. "How bad does it hurt right now?"

"On a scale of one to ten? I'd say a seven," Hughes replies, face scrunching up. "Maybe an eight. I-I'm sorry, Führer Bradley, I really don't mean to cause a scene. My shoulder just has a mind of its own right now, haha… ha…"

Bradley isn't laughing, his lone eye staring directly at Hughes until the Major looks away, still holding his shoulder. "…Well, I suppose it can't be helped," Bradley says eventually. "An injury like that will definitely hurt for a while. Perhaps it's time to send you and your family home?"

Relief washes over Hughes' face for a split second. "That—that would be great, sir," he says, forcing himself to smile. "Thank you very much for inviting us to dinner, and—again, I'm so sorry about this. As… As soon as my shoulder's healed up, I'll make things up to you. Somehow."

"Aw… are we going home already?" Elicia whines. "I didn't get to see the ponies!"

"Sorry, sweetie, your daddy is in a lot of pain right now," Gracia replies. The three-year-old pouts, her cheeks puffed up like balloons, so Gracia quickly adds, "You'll be able to see them some other time. Right, dear?"

Hughes stiffens; whether it's from his shoulder or the idea of bringing Elicia back here is anyone's guess. "I—well—I suppose…" He looks nervously at the Führer.

Bradley waves his hand dismissively. "No need to look at me for permission, Major; I was the one who suggested bringing her with you one of these days. How does this Thursday at 3:30 sound? That way, Selim will be home from school, and we can also discuss just what I'll have you doing as my assistant." He pauses for a moment, taking a bite of his food. "…Provided your shoulder isn't causing you anymore trouble, of course."

"That… that would be acceptable, sir," Hughes says, bowing in lieu of a salute.

Mrs. Bradley rises, clapping her hands together. "Excellent! I'm sure that Elicia and Selim will get along just fine. In the meantime, I'd be happy to escort all of you outside."

Just like that, dinner comes to a close. Roy can hardly believe it. The whole time, he's been expecting something to happen—some sort of interrogation. The announcement of Hughes becoming the Führer's assistant being the only thing that did, though? He's immediately grateful for Hughes' tendency to overreact to big news—the interrogation will come when he's had more than enough time to prepare his answers.

"Ah, Colonel Mustang, I would actually like a private word with you," the Führer says. He has not left his seat yet, unlike everyone else.

…Of course. I shouldn't have let myself think I'd gotten off easy. He notices Hughes' worried glance back at him and subtly motions for Hughes to go on ahead before returning to his seat. Hughes makes a face, but does end up leaving with his family, deciding that Selim leading Elicia out of the mansion is a more pressing matter.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about, Führer?" Roy asks as soon as the two of them are completely alone.

The Führer takes his sweet time answering, idly swirling the contents of his wine glass and watching the way the surface ripples. He takes a sip from it—almost painstakingly drawn out—before setting the glass back down. "You and the Major both seemed quite tense during our meal. Anything bothering you?"

And so it begins.

"Maes is still very shaken after the attempt on his life," Roy starts. "He's also ridiculously overprotective of Elicia, so I have no doubt that her being placed on the opposite end of the table unsettled him greatly. As for me…" He trails off, leaning back in his seat. "It's stupid, really. I had a nightmare when I was unconscious and I still can't get it out of my mind. You'd think I'd be able to deal with nightmares after my time in Ishval, but…"

That's not really a lie, is it? That nightmare is still bothering me.

"Ishval…" Bradley takes another sip of his wine. "You were a hero then, too."

Roy holds back a grimace. The Hero of Ishval—not a title he's proud of.

"But you became a hero back then not by being in the right place at the right time, but because that was where you were supposed to be," Bradley continues, and Roy can almost feel the gaze from the eye underneath the patch. "Enlighten me, Colonel. You were stationed in East City underneath General Grumman—what led you to abandon your post and come to Central three days ago?"

"With all due respect, sir, I didn't 'abandon' my post," he replies, his left hand tightening into a fist underneath the table. "My paperwork was being taken care of and I knew my transfer to Central was imminent. Maes had agreed to celebrate over drinks whenever I was transferred to Central, and so I decided to surprise him."

Again, totally not a lie. Just try calling me out on it, Wrath.

"You already knew about your transfer?" Bradley asks, not skipping a beat. "It has not even been finalized yet. Don't you think that's a bit early to be celebrating?"

"I was confident. And I'm glad I was." He closes his eyes, pretending to look pained, as he adds, "If I had left a moment later, I can't imagine Maes would have made it out of that phone booth alive."

Bradley nods in agreement. "Yes, if you hadn't been there, Maria Ross surely would have taken his life. As it stands, she is awaiting execution for her crimes."

As if I don't know that already. "I'm just glad that Maes is alive," Roy decides to say, trying to steer the conversation away from Ross. "Really, that's all that matters to me right now."

Bradley swirls his wine glass again, setting it down without taking a sip this time. "What about your own life?" he asks. "You were injured far worse than Major Hughes in your attempt to save him, yet both Ross and the Major claim that not a hand touched you. Even the doctors could find no signs of external damage to your body. How do you explain that, Colonel?"

"I don't know," he replies immediately. "I honestly don't remember much of what happened that night after I fired a warning shot at… Ross. I heard from Maes that I lost a lot of blood—that's probably why I can't remember. I just hope that something like this doesn't happen ever again."

The Führer stares at him for an uncomfortably long time, as if trying to weigh the truth of Roy's last words. He won't find a lie in that statement—Roy really doesn't know what happened to himself, only a theory that it was some sort of equivalent exchange.

"You know, Colonel," Bradley begins, his hand tapping the handle of the carving knife next to his plate. "You're being praised as a hero once again for your actions. A soldier putting everything on the line for his own friend makes for quite the encouraging tale. But do you know what I think about your actions?"

"No, sir," Roy replies, trying his damned hardest not to sound angry.

"I think that your actions the other night may have constituted one of the single most idiotic things you have ever done in the entirety of your career," Bradley practically growls, not bothering to hide his wrath. "I do not care for your reasoning. I do not care that it is only because of you that Major Hughes is alive today. You are a soldier before you are a hero, Colonel Mustang, and soldiers are expected to follow orders—including remaining at their assigned post. If one soldier steps out of line, there are consequences for his whole unit—for his whole country. I suggest that you think about that the next time you decide to act in such a careless manner."

Roy rises from his seat, confident in pose, seething in mind. "I don't need to 'think' about that," he says, matching Bradley's glare. "I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to."

The Führer's glare does not lessen in the slightest. "Even at risk of being kicked out of the military?"

"If you're trying to make me regret my actions, you can go ahead and stop now," Roy retorts. "I made a promise to myself years ago—that I would protect everyone that I can so that they, in turn, can protect those that they love. I would be a hypocrite if I went and turned my back on that now."

They glare at each other again, the sound of the Führer tapping his knife being the only one that fills the room, until the door swings open. Mrs. Bradley and Selim have returned.

At once, all the animosity in the Führer's face is gone. "Ah, you both came back right on time. The Colonel and I just finished talking."

Like hell we did. I know you still have questions for me.

Roy bows to Mrs. Bradley. "I'm leaving now, but I just wanted to thank you again for the meal. It was delicious, and it was a great honor to be here." Straightening himself, he turns back to Bradley. "One more thing, sir. Maes said that he thinks he was attacked because of something he found out right beforehand. He did not tell me what it was that he uncovered."

The Führer's brow narrows, the slightest smirk appearing on his face. "Now Colonel, if you know that Major Hughes should not know that information, why would you want to know it?"

"I don't, sir. Just thought you should know."

A/N: Once again, kudos to Donjusticia for coming up with the dinner sequence thing because that never would have crossed my mind. But his version didn't have any mention of where Hughes was getting transferred, and it also had Elicia actually getting to ride the horses in this chapter (off-screen though). I unfortunately had to change that part—and that was the part that gave me trouble.

This chapter's fun fact? While I was suffering from writer's block, my muses decided that instead of writing this chapter, they wanted to write a scene from a future chapter. So I have like, 1600 words for a chapter later on in the story written out now. Donjusticia has many future scenes already written out, though, because I asked him to write those scenes. …Okay maybe "asked" isn't the best word. "Pestered until he wrote them" is probably better.

But I digress. Thank you all very much for reading this chapter, and please leave a review telling us what you think!

Donjusticia Ending A/N: Awwwwwww, isn't friendship wonderful? I bet Selim and Elicia are gonna have the bestest most closest magical friendliest friendship ever! You all should in no way be worried about any of this! NOTHING bad could POSSIBLY happen!