There was a reason that Roy Mustang had kept the Elric Brothers far, far away from any cases that involved the deadly, sprawling spider's web that made up the syndicates of organized crime across Amestris. It wasn't really his division, anyways, and beyond his depth of comprehension and experience, so it was certainly not a can of worms that he was about to foist upon any of his subordinates intentionally. Ed and Al weren't naïve; Roy knew that to at least some degree they realized that many of the notorious atrocities that had made the news—or ones that at least had reached the investigations division that Hughes used to try so desperately to keep away from the prying eyes of the press— were a little too clean, too baffling, too calculated to have been the random crimes of some wayward soul.

And then, of course, there were the names that everybody knew to watch out for, rumors that spread and circulated far and wide about Amestris' infamous families.

Namely, the Valeras.

Valera, Valera…. The name had been a thorn in Roy's side, and, more namely, in Maes Hughes's side, for years. After Maes's death, Roy had been far too preoccupied with the more immediate threats within the government to pay any heed to the celebrated family of steel magnates from the South. Much of the railway lines across the country were comprised of highest-quality Valera steel. Its current CEO, Peter Valera, was famously wealthy, and kept his name in the newspapers not for being one of the most cold-blooded orchestrators of mass-murder Amestris had ever known, though that was common knowledge by word of mouth, but for his charity work. Hell, there was even a Valera Orphanage in Central. Funny, though, that two weeks after its opening, three bodies had been found chopped to bits in a dumpster in South City, half-mauled by rodents by the time the police had found them, and there had been no doubt in Roy's mind who was responsible.

The brilliance of Peter Valera was that none of his allegations could ever be pinned on him. They never once even made it to court. Maes had suspected that it was because he had rats, a perfectly orchestrated network of rats, working in the military and police forces. But every attempt to do the same, to even get a single military operative inside Valera's well-oiled murder machine, always wound up in the disappearance or gruesome death of said operative in an unfortunate "accident."

And so Roy had always kept the Elric brothers steered quite clear of such cases because he knew that it was exactly the sort of thing that, if they ever got a firsthand taste of the horrors such a man could unleash by lifting a finger, they'd never be able to let it go. It was exactly the sort of gross injustice that neither of them would be able to stand, especially Ed, with that damned hero complex of his that he was lucky hadn't gotten him killed years ago. But Roy certainly wasn't about to have them die for it, especially when they had their bodies to regain.

And after the Promised Day, that goal fulfilled, it never even crossed Roy's mind that a soulless killing operation so flawless as the Valera corporation could ever touch the Elric brothers.

That was, until the night that Alphonse vanished from his hospital bed in Central.

He'd been there for two weeks already, frighteningly frail and hooked up to various tubes and machines while his body struggled to recover from its years left to waste away in front of Truth's Gate. But every time Roy had seen him, he'd looked perfectly content, if exhausted, and whenever Ed was with him, deeply happy. Whenever the two of them were wearing twin lopsided grins over some shared joke, or gold eyes flashing with mild irritation or amusement when they were arguing over something completely stupid like whether or not Ed had a crush on "that pretty nurse with the curly hair," it struck Roy how alike they were in physical appearance, as well, especially the more Alphonse recovered. He'd gained a bit of weight, and his cheeks didn't look so hollow, and some benevolent nurse had cut Al's hair short. That was one physical difference that was probably for the better—long hair may have suited Ed fine, but on Al, the lank, heavy, dead length of it had just made him look more ill.

Ill he certainly still was, too weak to stay awake through the day and only just beginning to eat solid foods again, not even strong enough to get out of bed. And now he was missing.

When Roy had gotten the call, and then promptly drove to the hospital at a breakneck speed that would've gotten him arrested as a civilian and burst into the hospital room to see for himself, his gut plummeted as though he'd missed a step going upstairs. There was the bed, neatly made, all of the machines disconnected and turned off, the IV line still hanging from its hook and slowly drip-drip-dripping its contents into a puddle on the ground.

And there was Ed, hunched over on the edge of the bed, toes brushing the linoleum floor, looking pale and stunned.

It was the sight of Ed first and foremost that stopped Roy dead in his tracks. Up to this point, Roy had been a whirlwind of activity, seeing red and with a sick feeling churning away inside him at the very thought of somebody doing such a thing to Alphonse Elric of all people, and he'd already assumed that Ed would be in an absolute uproar by the time he arrived.

But something had stopped Edward dead in his tracks. Roy stepped into the room, slowly, noticing the clipboard that sat on Ed's lap, clutched in his very white knuckles.

"Edward?" Roy set a hand on his shoulder.

Ed looked up. His eyes were bleak, devastated in a way that almost hurt to look at. He wordlessly handed over the clipboard.

Roy took the clipboard, eyeing the notes scrawled on the paper. It was a list, in the neat, clinical handwriting of what he assumed must be one of the hospital's head doctors, of all of the people who had come into contact with Alphonse over the past two weeks. Several of them were civilian volunteers, as the hospital was severely overworked and understaffed in the deadly wake of the Promised Day. He skimmed it, both vaguely appreciating that Ed had already done as much as he could before he'd gotten there and also the cooperation of the doctors to come up with such a complete list given the inevitable disorganization of the hospital after such a disaster.

But one name, near the very bottom of the list, made Roy's heart stop.

Primary Nurse: Marie Valera.

...

The first thing that Alphonse noticed when he came to was the low rumble of an engine. He felt it, like a deep throb that spread from his chest to every inch of him and made all his newly-restored nerves rattle and ache. The side of his face was pressed against warm leather, and something dark and woolen—and a more than a bit itchy—had been tucked around him like a blanket. He shivered nevertheless as he blinked dully up at a low, dark ceiling. It was chilly, and his fingers curled around the wool.

And that was when he realized he didn't have the faintest idea what was going on, or where he was.

He tried to push himself up on an elbow, but his body refused to listen. The muscles of his shoulder and arm felt like jelly beneath him, and he didn't know whether to attribute that to still-severe atrophy, or to…something else. His head felt fuzzy, his every thought muddled and slippery, and suddenly all he wanted to do was lay his head back down and go back to sleep. Whatever was going on, Ed could explain it to him later.

And with that thought, he was jolted into alertness.

Ed.

Ed wasn't here.

But where was here?

"H-hello?" he managed, around a tongue that felt thick and dry and gummy. It was barely audible over the continued, painful thrum of the engine. A car, he realized, with a sense of vague dread. Something wasn't right here. "Hello?" he repeated, louder.

And then, from somewhere in front of him, he heard a little yelp, and something changed in the movement of the car. He heard tires skid. It seemed the car had lurched suddenly to the side before righting itself, as though the driver had been startled badly enough to momentarily lose their grip on the wheel. Al's stomach took a nosedive at the sensation.

A throat cleared. "So, you're awake." The voice floated back to him—a woman's, trembling slightly, but trying valiantly to sound matter-of-fact.

And then Al was confused again. He knew that voice.

"Nurse Marie?" he asked, slowly, squinting at the dark silhouette he could now vaguely make out in the driver's seat. And then he saw them—just black shadows against the harsh glow of street lamps, like wisps of smoke, but there was no mistaking them—there were those corkscrew curls of hers that Ed hadn't been able to take his eyes off of.

"Mm." The noise neither confirmed or denied it, but there was a frightened edge to her voice. She paused. "Are you cold?"

He stared blankly at the back of her head, the stiff way she seemed to be holding her neck. "A little," he said, and shivered, though he wasn't so sure it had to do with the chilly air at all. "Where are you taking me?"

She said nothing for a long moment, then let out a breath. "Just try and sleep now, Alphonse," she said.

And Al fell silent at that, dread tightening his chest even as exhaustion muddled his brain and made his eyelids heavy.

He did drop back off, but not before he heard Marie's shaky whisper.

"I'm sorry….I'm so sorry…."

TBC