Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Making no money off of this.

Notes: Things have gone off into AU land where the homunculi are concerned. Sunshine, cinnamon, and honey for the most wonderful Jaya Mitai for the beta and letting me borrow concepts and characters from her brilliant Perfect After All series.

-x-

She hangs above him, the trailing dark hair shielding her face and chest, but he knows what he will see. A slim, silver blade flashing dully a hand's width beneath the hollow of her throat pinning her to the wall, blood soaking silently into her black dress.

No.

I have been here before, I have seen it, leave me alone!

She lifts her head, blood bubbling over full lips, stark against her pale face.

"Alchemist."

No.

He backs away, but the array is under him, he can feel it waiting, the thrum of energy mocking.

Her eyes focus and darken as the full lips thin, long dark hair evaporating under his frozen gaze, the array, eager, whispering its secrets.

Blood runs down the white dress shirt, he's rarely seen the man without his jacket, and it should be unfamiliar, but even at this distance, he knows, and he chokes.

A look of resignation, her look, and his look, and her look, repeated.

Fullmetal!

Activate the array!

-x-

Three months ago he would have sneered at the thought of standing here, meeting these people, smiling and bowing and teasing around his answers and doing anything other than just storming in, taking the place down, and locking all the goons in jail. But the next move from Colonel Langston would only occur if the operation was allowed to continue, and he needed the man down more than his minions. He was just about to give in and lean his head back against the wall for a moment when the door creaked open.

"Major Elric," an oily voice greeted.

He ground his teeth together at the way the man lingered on his rank, gaze obviously implying Ed should not outrank him, alchemist or no.

"Lieutenant," he replied coolly. Well, this was some way to win him over to their side. But then again, he'd been the one to carefully maneuver his way in with Langston and Sherman likely didn't appreciate his presence.

The man gave a stiff smile and motioned for him to follow.

He had his charming speech planned, expressions and inflections painstakingly practiced; these men didn't know him well enough, they only had his reputation to go by and he'd had practice manipulating his reputation to his advantage already when he was younger hadn't he?

Channel the bastard, he thought, walking smoothly behind his guide, refusing to give in to instinct and blatantly scan the room for danger like the imposter he was.

Or maybe…play it as you would a game of chess.

-x-

They were sitting together in Al's room having breakfast; curtains fluttering in the warm breeze, the occasional bird chirping, making the absolute normalness of the situation all the more surreal. The morning paper had been dismembered, sectioned among the various people in the room; Ed reached out and snagged a page from under the plate of waffles and balanced it on his lap.

"Military Commander of West City Arrested for Embezzlement, Replacement to be Decided Next Week."

There was smoke in the air and something burning not too far away, angry marks in the earth where explosions had ripped apart the soil, the sound of distant gunshots. Lieutenant Hawkeye appeared, dirt streaked and grim, supporting a slumped figure with an arm draped around her shoulders. She saw him standing there and started in surprise—

--the Colonel walked down the dim hallway, head up, shoulders squared. Doors loomed before him, he's never been inside this set, but they're the same, always the same and the arms will reach out as they open, grasping, and Mustang's not going to walk out those doors again—

"Brother?" Al's worried voice called him back and he realized he was standing, shaking, Winry and Pinako looking up at him in concern, the newspaper crumpled on the ground.

"I'm fine, Al," he managed to croak, convincing no one.

What do you want?

A chittering of dark fingers across his spine.

I?

We?

Want nothing. What do YOU want?

…bastards.

-x-

The woman leans against the doorway, posture sultry, eyes sharp. He feels his hackles rise knowing he's seen her somewhere before but unable to remember; she speaks of his secrets and he growls, lunging.

Sharp nails elongate and pin him; he moves to strike back, but she withdraws easily, unimpressed.

"I have a story to tell, Alchemist. Whether or not you believe it, I think it would be wise to listen." She lists a place; the location gives them all the advantages, but the curl of her lips suggests she feels herself in no danger either way.

-x-

They meet her in the corner of a café, late afternoon and only a third full, the nearby chairs and tables strategically arranged for potential leverage. She slides smoothly into the seat opposite them and tells a story of a monster in a human's body searching for a new vessel. A monster that created other monsters to serve her; a monster seeking to make the Stone. Her master has been greatly weakened over the years; only four of her seven servants remain, two sacrificed years prior to destroy the third and never reborn.

"What do you want?" he asks coldly, voice echoed in Al's stiff posture.

"My master uses humans driven to desperation to create the Stone for her. These years she has been focusing on others, like the Scarred Man of Ishbal even when it is apparent that the Fullmetal Alchemist has been searching for the Philosopher's Stone." She smiles thinly at the way he and Al both straighten in alarm and waves vaguely. "Only to those who can sense the pattern in what you seek, Alchemist. But your time is close. Rumors are that Hoenheim of Light has returned from the East and whether my master subdues him or converts him, while she left you alive as a goodwill gesture and lure, now that her prey is near she will use you as bait. Whether Hoenheim will aid his sons or join my master to save them, I do not know, but perhaps you would value a chance to aid yourselves."

The automail leaves dents in the old wooden table as he snarls, "Don't talk about that bastard in front of me, he never cared about us in the first place and I don't care what he gets into or if he's alive or dead--" but Al puts a large hand heavily on his head and asks quietly, "Why are you telling us all this?"

She holds up a locket, a curl of hair tucked inside.

"The scarred one gave me this, and I remembered. Remembered who she used to be and what my master did to her people to prolong her own life. I feel what she would have felt, if she had known the truth of what happened. I have her memories and her conscience; she sees me for what I am and she will not let me rest. I tell you, Alchemists, because by telling you, we may all get what we want."

"And why should we believe you?" he asks, voice strained.

She shrugs. "I could spit up one of my Stones if you like, but the process is not pretty and I doubt it would go unnoticed. Let me tell you about my newest sibling. My master found her abandoned in a little town in the east several years ago. My master has not the strength to revive her fully, so these past years she has only given her enough of the Stones to prevent her from dying but not enough to be truly alive. She dreams, as we all did, before we take on a complete form and the memories are purged by the infusion of the Stones. I hear her cry out for a house on a hill, grassy plains, a swing hanging from a big tree. I hear her call for a tall man with glasses and beard, for her children, her two young sons."

-x-

They walk back to the hotel in silence, the occasional clanking of Al's armor punctuating his brooding.

They had never checked the basement again before they'd burned the house down; there was nothing there he'd wanted…and he had been too afraid. Granny Pinako had grimly told them she had cleaned the scene before anyone could get nosy; neither side had pressed the other for details. Colonel Bastard had been there after them; perhaps he would know something, but he was only stalling, he knew, stalling to once again admit what was already plain from years before.

Blind. He was blind and a coward and he was still standing there, back to the ruins of their home trying to walk away. He had been blind and it was no longer just him, him and Al, it was bigger than he'd ever realized and if the woman's tale proved true—

It no longer mattered. Mattered that he was blind. What was important was not what he had not seen, hadn't wanted to see, what mattered now was what he could still do. What they could still do, because Al was an Elric with everything implied, and he really should listen to his little brother more even if he wouldn't like some of the things he was bound to hear.

There was a pounding of footsteps behind them, the harsh breathing of one not used to running. Ed whirled, automail ready, then stopped dead, eyes wide in surprise.

"Boys," the man panted, hands on his knees.

And it was so anticlimactic, so absolutely ridiculous that this would happen to them now of all times, all times free for the choosing, now when he had no choice but to move on, when there was not time to waste for him to dig his heels in and let the raging dark thing in his chest out—

"Father?" Al managed first.

He bit back the scream in his throat. "Hoenheim," he greeted coldly.

-x-

"You're doing what?"

Winry sounded angry, but her expression looked lost; Granny Pinako chewed thoughtfully on her pipe and Al backed him quietly with his eyes.

He cursed the Gate again for always doing this, bringing that look of silent disappointment or resigned support to the eyes of his friends and family, and he hated it for doing that, hated it, and there would be no future, calm, other chance, new world, whatever, unless he tried, Al was right; he'd done it to himself the first time whatever Al said about sharing the blame, but now he had a chance to prevent the second and always, always, a reason, hostage, for doing it, and he took a deep breath and shook off long, dark fingers, because he was doing this job, he was once again, simply doing what needed to be done.

"I'm sorry." He'd explained already, he and Al had explained, and he waited now to see his judgment, because he was doing it anyways the way it had always been, but he knew better now, should have been old enough to have known better, and he wasn't leaving, sacrificing, it, anyone, behind, again.

"How much did anyone know about why you had the automail?" Pinako's voice startled the three blondes from their stare off.

He floundered, splashing, and Al tossed in an anchor before he did.

"The Colonel knows, and his people. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. Maybe a few others. But most people should have no idea other than the reasons submitted in Brother's file."

"But people still know you as the Fullmetal Alchemist, and there's no way to bring flesh out of metal that I know of yet, even with the new casings designed to cover automail." Pinako glanced over at her granddaughter.

He saw a spark in Winry's eyes as she faced her grandmother's challenge.

"We'll do it the other way around then." Grabbing him by the collar, she marched him into the workroom, Al trailing curiously behind.

-x-

It was breathtaking work; he wouldn't have expected anything less from the Rockbells. Armor that encased his right arm and left leg, lightweight but sturdy, flexible and strong, easy to move in and remove with enough extra material to form his trademark blade. It wouldn't fool anyone familiar with automail if they were next to him while he punched through a wall, but he was fairly confident most people were not observant enough to pick up on the slight difference that was now in his footsteps.

Mustang had not been surprised at the armor when he'd first walked back in. Hughes had asked about it in that deceptively calm way of his, a hand on Ed's metal-plated wrist when he'd first stopped by the Lieutenant Colonel's office fishing for hints on the atmosphere, and he wasn't sure what kind of test he had passed, but Hughes had nodded, satisfied, and it stood to reason that what Hughes knew, Mustang would also know.

-x-

"The girl at the café said she saw you two going in this direction, she said there was a woman in a dark dress with you."

Ed looked into tawny eyes so similar to his own and saw that the man knew full well what the woman had been.

Seated in their cramped hotel room, he and Al asked; Hoenheim gave answers. Hoenheim's reasons, reasons?! Ed wanted to laugh, his sins, and Ed's spite died down to muted confused horror; why he had returned, and Ed felt the years of watching his mother pine, his brother in the armor, his broken road to redemption press in around him smothering, and it was his own fault, his alone, but some part of him had not grown up enough yet to resist flinging some of the anger, poison, out, watch it spatter against Hoenheim's walls, viscous and sticky and stained. He could see Al becoming exasperated with him, but he was trying his best, and it wasn't as if that old bastard seemed to care.

Very old bastard.

He shivered slightly despite himself.

"I say we check out the place tonight. We see if Lust is giving us correct information, we see what we're up against. Just a quick sneak in to check our facts."

"It's too dangerous, you boys just stay out of it; I'll take care of things."

"You weren't around to take care of things when me and Al were growing up so I don't really care what you want to do now, I'm doing what I think needs to be done. If you wanted a say in things, you should have stayed around."

Hoenheim opened his mouth to protest, I was trying to protect you by staying away, yeah right, but Ed snarled and the older man backed down, surprised.

Al broke the uncomfortable silence before Ed could win the staring contest.

"How much time do you have left?" Al asked softly.

"Enough," Hoenheim replied with a sigh. "What is left in this body, enough to finish what needs to be done."

Ed ignored the glance in his direction that asked more than he trusted himself to give.

-x-

He was running, dodging, trying to find a chance to attack, but the other man was too fast and why didn't he have a weapon? He wanted to clap his hands together but his body wasn't obeying; he was moving to another's commands, a puppet, trapped.

The edge of a blade whistled toward him; with a cry, he managed to wrest control over his body and brought his hands together as he rolled out of the way. He prepared the transmutation in his mind, bringing his palms to the earth and—

Gloves. Scratchy and larger than his own. Torn flame arrays tattooed on the backs, smeared with blood. The blade pierced his shoulder then, and he screamed and jerked up and back staring into the eyes of—

The Fuhrer.

He found himself staring blankly at the dark ceiling of his room with wide eyes, sheets fisted in his hands.

Slowly, his right hand made its way over to his left shoulder, and very carefully, he squeezed. His breath came out in a whoosh and he rolled over, flopping onto his stomach limply, dragging the pillow over his head.

I'm trying.

I'm trying!

It wasn't just Mustang, it was larger than either of them, larger than all of them, a yawning maw that gaped fuzzily in the back of his conscious, too big to fill up, so he clutched at the fragments of the edges to keep them from crumbling, to form a bridge to hold things together because he didn't want to think about crossing otherwise, even as the pieces reflected, echoed back at him, mocking him with parables.

He had a meeting with that snake Junet tomorrow and a mission the day after; he didn't need more reminders of what he was out to stop, he needed sleep.

He also realized suddenly, as he pulled his face out from under the pillow to suck in a breath of fresh air, the Gate had given him no hint as to his own future.

-x-

He saw her hanging, pinned with a mess of gleaming blades to a wooden post standing in an active array halfway across the room. A very fat man with a bald head was trapped, whimpering, in another array not too far from her, the two smaller arrays engulfed by a third that spanned across the whole room, spreading almost to the walls of what had once likely been the ballroom of the ancient mansion. The third array was not active, but it throbbed in its proximity to the others, as if sensing and trying to leech the energy away. He barely had time to wonder how it was possible before a sharp snarl of delighted laughter rang from the side of the room, and Hoenheim was shoving him out of the way, too fast, what was that? a clank, a growl, he turned in time to see Hoenheim clap and latch onto his attacker in a blur of motion. There was a panicked howl and he heard the other scream, "Bastard!", but before he could join the fight, a short command from a new voice called the attacker back.

There was a hint of slender frame and spiky hair cursing in the shadows, then the new voice spoke again.

"Hoenheim. I see you have considered my offer." The speaker came into view, moving slowly but confidently across the array from a side door to stand before them, an old woman, bent nearly double with age, eyes and voice still commanding.

"Dante."

-x-

Dante wasn't supposed to be here; Lust had said her master would be away. Halfway across the room Lust was mouthing silently at him, had probably been trying to catch his attention since she'd made out their forms in the half-light; he knew what she wanted, wanted him to open the Gate with the array carved into the floor while Dante stood upon it, and there were a hundred reasons why he should, could end it, and a hundred more where he couldn't, not like that, and he had not quite been expecting this, this way, resolve, though he very well should have; had been hoping, was hoping there might be another way despite it all, and faced with the exchange before him, he was pinned with horrified fascination.

"What do you want, Dante?"

"You know what I want. Surely your own vessel will not hold together much longer."

"I gave you my answer years ago. It hasn't changed."

Dante looked to the side then; glanced casually at first Al, then him, and Hoenheim had clapped his hands together before Ed's palms had touched.

She smirked then; gave a dry laugh and a half bow. "I did not have a chance to invite your sons yet," she murmured regretfully. "But there is someone else here I think you'd all like to meet."

There was a low growling from the figure that had remained in the shadows, but Dante's voice carried over it. "Come in, my child. There are people who wish to see you."

"Beautiful, isn't she? Used up quite a bit of incomplete Stone, but wouldn't you say she was very worth it?"

Hoenheim froze, eyes wide for a split second before he clapped again, and the homunculi of Trisha Elric gracefully moved in front of Dante, large eyes clear and blank. Hoenheim stopped, but evidently the movement was enough of an excuse for the homunculi waiting in the shadows to attack again, and Al was racing forwards into the room to catch the attack, and there was a squeal of metal as the homunculi nimbly ducked and tore Al's right arm off.

He clapped then, clapped while running forward, slamming his palms to the floor; no one was going to touch Al, not while he was alive and not while he was dead, and his transmutation crackled, stronger than he'd been expecting, and Al and the homunculi were dodging and ducking and twisting in a wild dance across the floor and the shadow of his mother was advancing on his father outside the circle and the huge array carved into the stone sensed power, and he felt his alchemy twisting away from him, Yes Alchemist, now, NOW! draining, wrenched into another form to run shrieking in blue-white flares across the lines carved in marble. We have been here centuries, Alchemist; all power inside this array belongs to us. You would do well to remember, but it's a bit too late now.

A high pitched giggle, followed by another. A slow wash of warm light, thick and heavy. A shadow before him.

The Gate.

-x-

Most of what you brought with you rightfully belonged to us. It was owed to us, long ago.

He floated sluggishly in gold, unable to move.

But you did open the door for them to return, and for that, I suppose, we must trade. What do you want, Alchemist?

The figure was blurry, hunched in a corner of the sea of light, and he remembered his previous dealings, remembered that any fool that valued his life would know better than to ask, but he was screwed anyways, and if things came down to the end of it, it had never been about his life. The array came into his mind, glorious and deadly and perfect, throbbing behind his retinas with searing intensity.

You know what I want.

Very well, Alchemist.

He caught only a glimpse before the doors closed, but it was enough, everything he'd ever hoped for, Al beautiful and perfect and whole and he'd never see him never know him—

Darkness as the doors groaned and shut.

It was over.

So this is how it would end.

Not the one he'd been expecting, but really not all that far off from what he'd expected. Hoenheim was somewhere outside the array, he and Al had both sent letters back to Risembul just last week--

A soft wheeze, almost like a sigh, if it was possible to sigh in this place.

-x-

"What do you think about leaving Halber in charge of Riverside?" He thumped a boot impatiently against the coffee table as Mustang pondered his next move. His own setup, he'd realized with surprise, was starting to resemble the tactics he'd just used when he'd teamed up with the local law enforcement last week to corner those bandits in Finch. Well, it'd worked pretty well then; it was worth trying again now.

Mustang's moves were still difficult to interpret, but he was starting to pick up on moods. Today it seemed things were closer to home; he'd bet that piece there was Havoc, that one there was likely Breda—

"He might have done better with someone else as his second in command, but he knows the area and people and the transition should be smooth; he's a good solid choice to at least keep things stable."

"You mean the situation in the west?"

Mustang moved a piece and leaned back. "The details are not clear yet and any relevant information is currently still withheld. Your move, Fullmetal."

Stubborn bastard.

-x-

The second time he woke up he was in Risembul. The first time had been somewhere dark, a cold, hard floor, someone shaking him desperately, calling his name, but he felt like he'd been thrown into a rock crusher, and he didn't even manage to open his eyes before passing out again. But now he was in a bed, his bed in the Rockbell house, and he was stiff, so stiff all over it hurt to shift around, but Al was in the other bed, breathing, breathing! and he felt his own breath catch again, years falling away as he turned on his side to reach across the gap between the two beds knowing that his arm wasn't long enough but it would bring his fingertips just that much closer—

His arm. His real arm and the feel of the sheets on his leg. His real arm and real leg and real brother. He covered his eyes to keep out the glare from the sun for a moment.

When he removed his arm, Hoenheim was hovering above him worriedly.

-x-

"You're leaving again." And the man standing before him looked so old, so old and worn and tired and definitely not ready to go anywhere soon and he wondered why he should care.

"Dante had more than one base of operation. It is…of utmost importance to investigate and seal anything…that might still be around that should be taken care of."

Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looked between the door to the bedroom where Al was still resting and the front door facing the road.

"Stay with your brother," his father urged. "Take care of him…you did a better job than I ever did."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "Not without saying goodbye to Al, you don't."

"I already told him. Al knows." Hoenheim's voice was quiet, steady, and he kept his gaze fully on Ed.

"Well, I guess at least this time you told me," Ed growled, turning away to stomp back into his room.

"Edward, wait. I'd like to come back again, when it's over…if you want me back. But only if you do. I've done you boys a lot of harm and I don't know if there's anything I can do now that will mean anything or make it better, but I want to try. If you are willing."

A second chance. And Ed was all too familiar with second chances.

"Stay in touch, old man," he huffed, moving away so Hoenheim would have room to put on his shoes.

"Thank you," his father replied simply. "Take care of yourself and stay out of real trouble."

He didn't wave as the figure made its way down the dusty road, but he stayed leaning against the doorway for a moment and watched.

Stop acting like the other bastard.

-x-

He juggled the receiver with his shoulder as he waited.

"March 23 just like you said, Brother," Al's voice confirmed, tinny through the telephone and he suppressed a shudder.

"Thanks, Al."

"What do you want me to look up next?"

"Al, you should be resting, not—"

"I'm fine, Brother, and walking to the library to look through old newspapers for you is good exercise. Besides, it makes me feel better because I'm helping." The last was so soft he almost didn't hear it through the fuzzy connection.

"Al--"

"So, what's next?"

"…okay, do you have anything from two days ago about the yellow dog and the vase in Rustfall?"

A bit of rustling; Risembul's tiny library was more of a storage shack cobbled together by remodeling some old offices complete with telephones still in place; the librarians didn't particularly care if someone used them as long as there weren't too many other people about.

"…the yellow dog is still in the west, Brother; he never left."

Silence.

"Brother, are you alright?"

So Colonel Kasson had not left for Rustfall. Images of panicked men running, shouting, a mad scramble for weapons, sudden cries of surprised pain, began to fade from his mind. He should be worried, now that he'd decided to pursue this path, but oddly enough, the revelation filled him with relief.

It's changing, it's changing, I don't know in which way, but something's happening, we're on even ground now and it's my game again—

He quashed the tremor in his hand by gripping the receiver harder. "Yeah Al, I'm great."

-x-

He would be home for a few short days in Risembul, and after being dragged into the shop so Winry could check over her latest creation, he'd finally had a chance to bring his luggage upstairs to the room he and Al shared in the Rockbell residence.

There were pages scattered across the floor of the room and he picked them up absently, soft smile on his face at the sight of Al sprawled across the bed fast asleep, worn out from their trip outside the house this afternoon. He straightened the edges of the papers and was depositing them in a stack on the small desk in the bedroom when the array on the top page caught his eye.

Two steps took him to the bed, a third and he was shaking Al's shoulder.

Al looked up, blinked sleepily, that smile, he could die for that smile, then frowned at the expression on his face.

"Brother, what's wrong?" Al pushed himself into a sitting position.

Wordlessly, he handed the stack of notes over, jabbing at the array.

"Why, Al? How long…was it the Gate, did it show you something, too?"

Al carefully removed the pages from his shaking hands. "A long time, Brother." Al's eyes lowered. "When I was in the armor…at night…we both knew it might happen one day, the armor might reject my soul…and being what I was, I would wonder…if I would need to…" He looked up, hazel eyes pained. "It's not your fault, Ed, it really isn't, I just wanted to write everything out, see how far it could go so I could forget about it…or maybe help in cases where soul alchemy is misused." He finished in a whisper.

He knew the military could make great use of arrays like these if they weren't following this line of research already. It was dangerous, could be horribly misused…but if they learned more about soul alchemy, even just theoretical basics and mechanisms, it could also be applied to undoing some of the horrors they'd seen.

Like chimeras.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Promise me Al, promise me--"

"No promises, Brother," Al whispered. "But I know what my life is worth and I won't abuse that."

He closed his eyes again, one heartbeat, two, then opened them.

Moving to sit beside Al on the bed, he picked up one of the pages of notes at random. It was brilliant really; brilliant and beautiful, graceful curves intersecting in intricate loops to form the full array. Al was a true artist in all senses of the word, and he traced a finger across a swoop thoughtfully before clearing his throat.

"There might need to be an extra ring at the outer edge to bleed off the rebound," he managed without croaking.

Al shifted closer to his brother and dug his chin into Ed's shoulder as he snagged another sheet from the middle of the pile.

"I think, depending on the strength on the alchemy and what we've already seen, the vessel housing a soul can temporarily substitute as a "body"; I've got an array here that might work for transferring only a part of the soul or soul energy; I think the soul may be able to control the vessel it's been sent into if neither the soul or the vessel recognize it as foreign. There are implications to this that might have applications because it's less risky than transferring a soul all at once and it should be easier to adjust to but there might be a problem with splitting from the original host and it's all theory right now—"

He petted Al's hair roughly as he considered Al's ideas, and Al dug his chin into his shoulder again, silently giving his thanks.

-x-

Mustang was so much easier to read up close, he'd realized. The man continued to never let on more than he could, but up close he now knew what it meant when Mustang's left hand strayed to his pocket, when his eyes would flick before he smiled, what it meant when his palm curved up, and what orders would tend to be issued if his palm curved down. They had always been there, the pieces of an array he hadn't previously bothered to read, and he wondered how Mustang managed to piece together so many others when so often he still felt he had no clue what even this one was saying.

"You look terrible," he prodded, digging for the reason the man had become even more tight-strung the last few days.

Mustang smiled then, a fond open smile, and he saw it, a flash in the back of dark eyes, strong and determined and resigned. "I'm fine, Fullmetal."

He took the offered tray of chess pieces silently, chewing at his lip. There was something too familiar in that gaze, but the pieces from the Gate no longer connected and he could not guess the source.

"I know you've just returned from Star City, but there's a case I think you'd like to look into in Alembic." The colonel snagged a folder from the top of the pile. "It might tie in to the possible rebel group along the south border you've been trying to track down."

"Yeah, yeah, more work," he snorted, flipping the folder open and rifling through the contents. "Hey, wait, wasn't this supposed to fall under General Wichar's jurisdiction?"

"He agreed that you are better suited for the task being an alchemist. But yes, report to him first after you have returned."

His eyes raised, then narrowed, but the colonel's gave nothing more away.

-x-

He waited in the shadowy corner of the steps outside Mustang's house for a moment, checking for anyone who might be listening or following, then with a conscious straightening of his spine, he slipped silently down the road. A jumbled meeting with Hughes where both of them had been worriedly throwing hints out to each other had sent him racing for Mustang's house; he tried not to think about how he'd almost been a step too late, and it was the Gate's fault, but he was here to stop mistakes before they happened—

Mustang had held his eyes a long moment before he'd left, and he wasn't fourteen, not fourteen anymore, he was sure, sure on what he'd decided, and Mustang had sighed and given him a lopsided little smile.

There were a lot of things he needed to do tomorrow. Things to do, people to see; time was limited and every minute counted now. First he needed to visit old Daggett, then the place behind Main Street…

-x-

He scanned the scenery outside the window blandly; Bradley obviously distrusted him enough to keep him in the same vehicle under close watch, or maybe he was only being toyed with like a mouse in a trap, but the presence of the guards, required as a precaution, probably prevented the Fuhrer from explaining his deal before they reached their destination.

A secret meeting with the top brass. At the Fuhrer's vacation mansion near the outskirts of Central. Where no one was likely to interrupt, reinforcements would be difficult to call in, circumstances would be difficult to explain without the scrutiny of regulations, and where a body was unlikely to be found.

They were counting on it working both ways.

Edward had promised a distraction; a group of western rebels that apparently had the same ideas for halting the war that he'd had and would be extremely pleased to hear about Amestris' leader taking a small retreat with lowered security. Joining them might also be several names (and their likely hapless underlings) from the military, which according to Edward (and his own sources) would be quite gleeful at the prospect of scoring a promotion by saving the Fuhrer from a terrorist attack. Colonel Junet, at least, Roy was sure, would be especially happy if he could do so at Roy's expense.

They needed a commotion, something to muddle up the story of what really happened, and Roy was certain anyone in the military would usually be more than happy to accommodate on that front if it could save their own skins. Not to mention the purpose of these secret meetings had remained secret since they'd started; he didn't think the higher ups would want that exposed if they no longer had anyone behind them to fall back on. With luck, ha, by the end of the night, the true story of what had happened would be so mangled it would never be completely pieced together.

Edward's confidence had faltered as he'd admitted to being unsure how much manpower he would actually be able to muster and the inability to predict or relay any movements due to the limited time left, but the simple fact that Edward had done, had been willing, was still willing to do, this, all, it; had already left him humbled, stunned and shamed and grateful and breathless as he hadn't been since his team had first sworn to follow him.

The mansion became visible between the trees, and he felt the familiar adrenaline rush as all his senses came fully awake for battle. There would be no time left to think in a moment, they were getting close to where Edward assumed the ambush would be located-- there was a whistle, an explosion—he was impressed despite himself by the rebel firepower--and the cars had stopped, one overturned, there were soldiers and generals scrambling and more soldiers that would have a lot of explaining to do on what exactly they were doing here if they didn't actually manage to protect the Fuhrer-- and there was shouting for them to take shelter by the vehicle but more attackers were closing in—

He took the Fuhrer by the arm, tugging the man in the direction of the mansion.

"Let's get you out of here, sir!"

Stay away, Ed; stay away and take care of yourself. You shouldn't have to see.

-x-

He was in uniform for once, or rather, a uniform, his disguise, hair under a cap and Winry's creations hidden with sleeves and pants and boots and gloves.

He'd debated wearing the armor if he was supposed to be in disguise, but it was too exposed without a weapon, and he was not prepared to use a gun. He was here to stay out of the way mostly, quietly try to direct everything where it was supposed to go—

A scramble and he was out of the way of his latest assailant; the right glove, damn, had come off, caught in the bushes, but as long as he was not yet forced to transmute, no one was likely to notice the Fullmetal Alchemist's presence in this mess; the bigger problem was that he couldn't seem to find Mustang.

The man could take care of himself…do what needed to be done…

The blade whistles shrilly, springs, and it's through the thigh this time and into the wall behind and the face under the eyepatch is mocking, contemptuous—

No. He hadn't been lying, he'd used up all his freebies, the course had changed and he no longer knew for sure what would happen, half of it had likely been his imagination in the first place, stupid Gate scrambling things up--

The Fuhrer removed the eyepatch but the eye was always in shadows no matter how many times the dream repeated and the sword was pulled out, scraping against bone—

There had been several figures that had scattered soon after the first attack; they'd likely all been chased down by now—

Flames in a cellar. Shadows. Walls. He didn't, shouldn't know anymore, shouldn't. It wasn't supposed to actually come down to this, dammit!

Mustang was nowhere to be seen.

What were you expecting?

With a curse, he dodged another blow and returned one to the other man's ribs. Swearing under his breath, he hurried off in the direction of the mansion.

-x-

"Thank you for your concern, Colonel Mustang, but I think we can all drop the act now."

The blade had been drawn, was out and lashing smoothly across where his unprotected side had been exposed only a split second earlier before the man had even started speaking.

He rolled up from the grass and snapped before quickly rolling again, the Fuhrer's blade scoring the ground where he'd been crouched.

"Very impressive. As was your little diversion back there. Unfortunately, that implies you have no interest in joining me, and I shall now have to put an end to this little problem."

-x-

He cleared the wooded area and pounded across the open ground in front of the mansion. He could see Mustang and the Fuhrer fighting now; it wasn't that far, really, from the skirmish he'd left behind, but the woods had been blocking the view of the building. Mustang had probably hoped to get somewhere more confined, where it would be easier to control his alchemy, and both the colonel and the Fuhrer had likely been waiting until they were out of view of onlookers to attack.

Almost upon them now, he saw the scorch marks on the ground, a large patch of charred earth where Mustang had likely tried to roast his opponent by surrounding him with fire from all sides, and pieces from a partially collapsed wall of the building, results of what might have been an explosion.

He reached them just in time to see Mustang receive a deep gash to the leg; the colonel didn't stop attacking with his flames, but Ed had never seen anything move as fast as Fuhrer did, not even the long-haired homunculi in Dante's base. Mustang stumbled then, and he wondered if he should attack now, despite the distance still being too great to offer any real advantages, because if Mustang went down the man would likely never get a chance to get up.

He saw Mustang slip, fumble; the Fuhrer's sword poised to sweep down, then a wall of flames eight feet high as Mustang braced his faltering leg and snapped again.

He was close enough now; still at a run, he slammed his palms together, dipping low for the ground, but before his palms could make contact there was a sharp cry, and startled, he looked up.

"Don't move, Elric." The Fuhrer's voice was oddly calm; his clothes were smoking and the wall of fire behind him was lower now, dying off without artificial manipulation of the atmosphere. Mustang was breathing harshly, half kneeling, right glove shredded, the Fuhrer's blade run clear through his shoulder and out his back. Ed pretended to stumble forward, arms outstretched to catch himself, but the Fuhrer pulled the blade sharply downward, and Mustang gave a strangled scream.

They held their poses for a shuddering moment, then Roy gripped the blade protruding from his shoulder with a bloody hand and yelled hoarsely, "Go!"

The Fuhrer raised his other hand deliberately, and Ed watched with slow horror as it darkened and lengthened into claws. "You know my kind, Elric." Bradley was watching him intently, and from the corner of his eye, Ed saw Mustang scrabbling. The razor-like claws whipped around, pressed against Mustang's throat as the Fuhrer calmly pulled the blade out and Mustang sank to his knees with a choked cry.

"I have to thank you, I suppose, for getting rid of my master. It's been much easier to do things the way I wanted now that she is no longer watching my every move." He sighed dramatically. "I'd hoped to convince you to join me as well, Elric, but I might need to alter my methods now. Drop the automail, boy, or the colonel dies."

Automail? Bradley didn't realize he no longer had automail? It was only armor now—

Armor.

Mustang looked up at him then, mouth opened to speak, but then his eyes tightened and he bowed his head, looking away.

And he knew what Roy wanted to say, was going to say, and Mustang was a bastard, bastard, three times a bastard, but he hadn't asked, had not spoken, and for that alone, everything, it was worth it.

If things don't work out, you'd better look after Al for me.

He moved his left hand slowly to his right, knowing Bradley would run Mustang through if there was even a hint of alchemy, and carefully pressed the release on the armor. Stretching the fingers of his right hand forward, he pressed them gently against the inside of the metal, releasing the energy from his previously halted transmutation. He pictured the array, the beautiful, dangerous array, visualized every sweep and curve in his mind. There was a muted flash of blue, not enough to be noticed from outside the armor, and the tiny array imprinted itself onto the inner side of the steel, fully activated. He felt a warm rush down his arm, then shocking cold as his finger left the array, but he was still standing, albeit dizzily, which was probably a good sign. A second pulse of alchemy, circling from where his hand joined his arm at the armor, and a second array, still fresh from memory, drained the feeling from his arm as the energy traced into the armor, waiting. Hiding a grimace with a curse, he fumbled clumsily, removing the armor as his left side started to go numb as well.

Not good; this needed to be fast.

Holding the armor in front of him, and ignoring the way Bradley had started and was shifting towards him warily at the sight of his right arm, he tossed the metal shell forward, onto the ground.

Here goes nothing.

There was a clank upon impact, and his reaction, pent up, quickly completed itself upon contact with a surface. The homunculus binding array that had imprisoned Lust formed itself into the earth, sending dirt flying, and if the second part of his plan didn't work, Mustang would at least be able to activate the array. Bradley growled and sprang at him, but he was pushing now, or pulling, he couldn't tell, split in two places at once, echoing in layers, and it was odd, detached, but he could feel it—and through the edge of where a metal palm had landed across the newly formed array, a surge, surge of familiar power, but no longer connected, and the fragment of his soul bound to the armor flared in delight as the array under it activated in a swell of blue—and he was rushing, rushing into the array, what happened? He could see the array, feel the array all around him, he was the array and he was racing through the outer circle, swerving into a spiral, flinging himself giddily out of a sharp turn and loop, and he saw the grass, earth, Mustang, stone; tasted the cry of outrage that rang from the Fuhrer's lips as the homunculi found himself sealed and unable to move, and Mustang was snapping, snapping, snapping, and the air scorched toward him, his body, he could feel it but he was seeing it from outside his body? in a fiery rush before the flames stopped, three feet in front of his nose as the blaze in the center of the array swirled upward in sheets of blue, obscuring the two figures in the center of it from sight as he felt himself dragged into the vortex.

He wondered, dazedly, as he? his soul? wove through the array that Mustang's alchemy was good, but he shouldn't be that good, the present conditions simply should not have been able to allow flames of that magnitude. Or maybe he was passing out from oxygen deprivation, everything was spinning in a riot of bright circles.

The flames flickered wildly, licking the sky, and he realized suddenly what it was. Mustang was inside the array, and the Stones inside Bradley, frozen, potential exposed in the space of the array for whatever use Dante had deemed worthy, were being used to fuel Mustang's alchemy. The same way the Stones had fueled his own alchemical reaction back in Dante's mansion before the Gate array had channeled it for its own.

He could make out he was actually seeing double now, one view from his body which seemed to be swaying alarmingly, glimpses of what was going past as his soul continued circling inside the array; Mustang on his knees, clutching his shoulder, the Stones inside the Fuhrer cracking and melting into a sticky brown sludge as everything else was turned to ashes. The flames died as the Stones disintegrated, and with a slam that hit him everywhere at the same time and caused his vision to go black, the fragment of his soul returned as he collapsed and his hand brushed against the edge of the array.

-x-

"Mustang."

The man looked dead, collapsed in a bloody heap, and he stumbled forward on shaky legs wondering how long he'd been out.

Dark eyes fluttered open and his legs gave on his last step, sending him to his knees.

"Edward." A disbelieving whisper. "You're alive."

"Of course I am you idiot, you didn't think--"

"I burned the house," Mustang continued in a hoarse croak. "Rebels took on more than they could handle, the mansion was torched."

Ed gaped at him a moment and a fist swung forward before he remembered himself and settled for ripping out a clod of blackened earth.

"Dammit you bastard, you had the sense to torch the house but didn't think to do something about your wounds, don't you dare die on me you asshole!"

He reached forward roughly, trying not to panic, he needed bandages, he needed to stop the bleeding, god, he hoped Hughes had picked up on the clues he'd left that morning and help was on the way—

"Not planning to." Mustang's eyes fluttered shut. "Demand…explanation…for this," he managed before passing out.

-x-

He wanted to shift further upright at the familiar slam of the door, but it had taken most of what strength he'd had to struggle to his current position. He still managed to raise a practiced eyebrow in a manner suggesting he was looking down at the intruder despite the disadvantage of being confined to a bed, but Edward only snorted in that inelegant way of his and matched the eyebrow with one of his own.

"You shouldn't be up. Doc Patterson's going to throw a fit."

"Unlike you, Fullmetal, I have permission and I don't try to make the good doctor throw fits on purpose. I would really prefer not to annoy him too much as he is a very valuable ally in our current situation."

Sharp white teeth flashed for a moment before Edward replied, "I'm fine. Doc says I'm good to go, there wasn't anything wrong with me in the first place."

Roy silently wondered how many of the outpatient negotiations had occurred behind the doctor's back or by pulling rank, but he could greatly sympathize with the young man's impatience.

"You're always so big on me getting reports in on time, I thought you'd appreciate getting my summary of what's been happening outside." A toothy grin, and he winced and waited. "According to the newspapers and the grape vine, we learned of the terrorist plan but were unsuccessful in stopping it. You were injured when attempting to stop the well-organized terrorist plot on short notice. Apparently, you'd also been on the special panel dealing with the situation in the west, and despite being unable to attend the current negotiations, many of the ideas you previously proposed were apparently very successful in helping to set up this round of talks. It's going around that some of those plans and the ideas submitted to the higher ups by Hawkeye and the others were crucial in preventing what might have become a full blown war, and you are, at the moment, very highly regarded by the public."

"That was Hughes' doing," Roy murmured with a sigh. "They were supposed to have taken any possible credit for themselves to prevent backlash." Edward raised an eyebrow at this and his lips thinned, but Roy continued before the other could start.

Sinking back against the pillow, he let his eyes close slightly against the sunlight streaming through the window. "So what are your plans?"

Fullmetal frowned for a moment and picked up one of the files Roy had been reading before the young man's intrusion. "Al and I will be heading out to catch up with our old man; I don't think he knew about Bradley either, and with three of us we should be able to scour through Dante's stuff faster."

He nodded; it was as he'd expected, and while a part of him insisted that any research the Elrics recovered should be looked over first for possible categorization, he really had no right to demand anything on the matter, and he trusted the judgment and discretion of the Elric brothers and the reputation of Hoenheim of Light to balance things out. "Your resignation forms are ready; I'll tell Lieutenant Hawkeye to change the dates on the first page and submit it later this afternoon, everything else should already be in order."

Had been in order since Ed had first reappeared.

The file Edward was holding was slapped down hard against the hospital covers, and he blinked, startled. Edward was glaring at him, and the young man scowled viciously before continuing. "You are the slowest learner I've ever met, Mustang, me included. After we're done with that part, Al thinks he wants to stay in Central for a bit. There's research we're both interested in and Granny Pinako thinks it would do Winry good to try some work in a big city to get some experience as well. There are things you still want to do even though your ass is currently out of the fire and General What'shisname doesn't seem likely to follow Bradley's example as the next Fuhrer, and there are things I still want to do. As you are apparently too thick-headed to figure out when you are being stupid, I suppose I'll just have to join up with Hughes and the others to make sure you're getting things done right. And don't look so surprised, I keep my promises."

Promises? Wha-when?

But a laugh was bubbling out of him, uncontrolled, and he tried to stifle it because it pulled at all his wounds and that hurt, but damn, it was good to be alive.

"Thank you," he managed when he could breathe again, ignoring the way Fullmetal's hand hovered outstretched in concern.

I'll be keeping my promises, too.

"I'm assuming you're taking the 3:20 train to Risembul?"

He preened silently at Fullmetal's startled look; some things were too good to change. Stiffly moving the files out of sight beneath the extra blanket Riza would be taking away later in the afternoon, he gestured to the small stand next to the bed.

"Open the top drawer would you, Edward?"

Ed did as asked and pulled out a chess set in surprise.

"Breda brought it in yesterday," he explained. "Think you have time for a game?"

There was a soft smile as the young man spread the board and began arranging the pieces.

"Sure."