Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Balance of Power ❯ The Pattern of a Tangled Web ( Chapter 25 )

"The Pattern of a Tangled Web"
Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Four
Balance of Power

 

Part One

 

WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie **SPOILER HEAVY** and slightly AU

June 5, 2006 -- 8:42am
Rose Hill, Kansas

Maes yawned as he entered the kitchen and walked, a little unsteadily, to the counter where the coffee maker stood. Reilly, already pouring for herself, observed his shaky approach and automatically filled another mug. As she slid it along the counter to him, he glanced significantly back toward the table and murmured, "Something going on I should know about?"

"I'm not sure," she whispered back. "I just got up, and this little conference was in session when I came in."

He yawned again, turning with the mug, to lean back against the counter. The 'little conference' resembled the one he and Tom had participated in last night, or rather -- Maes glanced at the big wall clock above the fridge -- this morning, not quite six hours ago. Except this time it was Ed and Al under sharp scrutiny.

For a tiny woman, Amber Branch had an intensity that rivaled Ed's. She never raised her voice, never made a threat, but the very air around her sent a message that no one wanted to piss her off. Maes had been amused last night to see Tom, the old veteran, answering her questions and giving explanations almost meekly. But once Amber had turned the interrogation to Maes himself, focusing those shrewd eyes on him and demanding answers, he'd understood Tom's deference. Amber obviously would not suffer fools gladly, and had the wherewithal to make them answer for themselves if they aroused suspicion.

This morning, she was as awake and alert as if she hadn't gone to bed a mere five or six hours ago. Calmly seated at one end of the table in the bright, roomy kitchen, she held Ed's automail wrist in her grip and peered at him speculatively. Al stood behind his brother, watching uncertainly and clutching Ducky's tool case in one hand while holding tight to Ed's shoulder with the other. At the far end of the table slouched Tom, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between his hands and looking centuries older than his sixty or so years. Maes hoped the older man had managed to grab a few hours' sleep on the couch or something.

Amber's sharp gaze locked onto Al. "Do you remember me, son?" she asked.

Interesting, Maes thought. Next to him, he felt Reilly perk up and Tom sat straighter in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth between Amber and Al.

Ed shot a shocked glance back at Al, but Maes was impressed that the only sign of Al's nervousness was a barely audible gulp before he answered. "Yes ma'am. You interviewed me because someone thought I might be a terrorist."

"What?!" Ed snapped back around and started to come to his feet, but Al's grip on his shoulder kept him sitting. "Al would never--"

"Brother," Al said, "she didn't believe it."

Amber's voice remained neutral, but Maes noticed a firmness in her shoulders and a tensing of her back, as she said, "No, I didn't. But... you didn't tell me the whole story, did you, Alphonse?"

The younger brother's head drooped a bit, and his voice went very soft. "No ma'am." Then he straightened and looked her in the eyes. "There was a good reason though."

"I'm sure you believed that at the time," Amber said. "But look at it from my point of view. You weren't completely honest with me then, how do I know you're telling me everything now?"

Al's composure started to crack. He stammered, gaze skating desperately over everyone else in the room in an attempt to garner help from someone who could back him up. Maes felt for the boy. He was familiar with what Amber was doing; had used that tactic himself in interrogations -- in another world... before I died. He also knew Tom and Reilly were smart enough to keep quiet right now. Amber wanted to get the story from Ed and Al -- wanted to hear their side of it -- and she didn't need the rest of the group's input contaminating the boys' answers.

Al shook his head and the hand on his brother's shoulder went white-knuckled. Ed was, amazingly, keeping quiet at the moment, but from the clenched fist, the ram-rod straight back and the flexing muscles in his jaw, Maes knew that wouldn't last long. He wanted to step in, to tell Amber to back off a bit, but he didn't dare. Too much depended on the Elrics' uncompromised testimony.

"Please believe us, Mrs. Branch," Al said softly. "We don't have any reason to leave anything out, now."

Amber regarded the younger boy for a long moment, never revealing anything of what she was thinking. Finally she said, "We'll see." Then she focused on Ed. "So let me understand," she said. “This… other dimension, this other world you supposedly come from... there's some sort of nifty little gate connecting it to our world. And you two, your friend Hughes, and Bond, managed to just... fall through it?"

"It's a bit more complicated, but that's as good a description as any," Ed nodded.

She pushed his sleeve further up his arm, revealing more of the automail. "And this alternate dimension is technologically advanced enough to create prosthetics like this, but not advanced enough to use a lighter weight material. And computer chips aren't even so much as a figment of their imaginations? Not to mention they're capable of creating explosive devices that no one in forensics can even begin to identify.”

She was just as skeptical last night, Maes recalled. He took a sip from his mug, then set it on the counter.

“We advanced with alchemy,” Ed said.

“I did warn you it was hard to believe,” Tom reminded her.

"Hard," Amber released the arm and rubbed at her temples. “Or maybe make that impossible.”

"If you want," Al began, "we could do a small demonstra-- "

The back door opened at that moment, and almost as one, the five reluctant adventurers swiveled in alarm to face it. Tom and Ed surged to their feet, and Maes tensed, nudging Reilly behind him with one hand while reaching automatically for a throwing knife with the other. His hand was under the edge of his shirt before he remembered, for the hundredth time, that his weapons of choice were an entire world away, buried in an empty coffin.

Whoever he feared might be coming in couldn't have shocked him more than the person who stepped into the kitchen, still wearing scrubs from the night shift at the hospital. Llyn Quennel stopped abruptly, letting his stuffed back-pack drop to the floor with a muffled thump, as he registered the virtual wall of staring strangers. "Mam...?" he ventured uncertainly. "Why do you have so much company, so early?" His dark eyes moved from one face to another, passing over Maes but darting back in a double take. "It's you!" he exclaimed, his shock obviously matching Maes' own.

"Excuse me?" For once, Amber was thoroughly nonplussed, looking from one man to the other. The situation, Maes was certain, was getting more bizarre by the moment for her. "Llyn, do you actually know these people?"

"Well no, not really, just..." Llyn frowned. "Holland, was it? No, that's not right, you're-- "

"Maes Hughes. Good to see you again." Maes glanced at the two brothers, and fought down a sudden urge to burst out laughing. The succession of reactions passing across their faces as they realized who the newcomer reminded them of was almost comical. But he dragged his mind back to the business at hand. "Amber, I seem to have had the pleasure of being stitched up by half your family in the last few days. Got any more doctors hiding in a cupboard somewhere?"

"And just how did you find yourself being stitched up by my son?" she demanded.

"It was the cursed man." Llyn's words were clipped, his face tight. "Don't you remember I phoned you about him, mam? He blew up a car, killed a girl, injured another quite badly. Hol-- Hughes was running from him and I helped him escape."

"He let me hide in his car till my friends here could find me," Maes added.

Amber continued staring at her son, thoughtfully weighing his words against everything else. "You saw something in Bond... and felt you had to save Hughes from him."

"He's a bad man," Llyn stated flatly.

She nodded, as though he'd confirmed something for her. "Well, he proved that to all of us last night."

Again the young man's eyes darted around the room, until they stopped on Maes' face. "What happened? Tell me."

Amber pulled out another chair across the table from Ed's. "We'll give you the details later. But I need a few more answers from these boys first."

Ed and Tom subsided back into their chairs as Llyn took his own seat at the table. Ed was, Maes reflected, putting up with the interrogation with remarkable patience. Maybe he's just too tired to resent it. Or, more likely, Maes amended as he watched Al put his hand back on his brother's shoulder and saw Ed's lips turn up in response, it's the happiness of the reunion that's making him so mellow this morning.

Amber returned briskly to her questions. “Just tell me one thing, Edward, Alphonse. You didn't come here to invade us? These… Gates, or whatever, they're not a security breach that I'm going to have to try and explain to my superiors? Because frankly, if I have to, I'll end up locked away in a nice padded cell.”

“Mrs. Branch,” Al said, “my brother and I aren't cold-blooded killers!”

“I never said you were, Alphonse.”

"What Al is trying to say is it takes a sacrifice -- of sorts -- to open the Gate," Ed explained. "We ended up here by accident. All of us.”

"It takes a what??" Amber's eyes darted from one brother to the other, voice and gaze hardening. "I think you'd better explain the 'accident', and how you `aren't cold-blooded killers' -- or terrorists," this with an added sharp glance at Al, "even though someone apparently died to get you here."

“It was a bomb,” Al said quietly. “We were trying to defuse it. We didn't succeed."

“So you were pushed through some kind of Gate into this time period... and everyone else died? Isn't that a little... convenient?”

“Do you think,” Ed hissed, “that we're glad they died? They were people we were trying to help! What kind of monsters do you think we are?”

“It's just a coincidence I'm not comfortable with.”

“I don't know why they died and we didn't. Maybe it's because we've been through the Gate before. Maybe it's because we're alchemists-- “

“I doubt that,” Maes put in. “I came through a Gate and I'm no alchemist.” Although, the sudden thought struck him, my coming through was connected to Bond's. People died then, too. And that happened without any input from the Elrics.

Ed glared at him. “You're not helping here. The point is that we're here, not because we killed someone, but because someone died. There's a distinction, you know.”

“A very fine one sometimes,” Amber replied.

“Mrs. Branch,” Al turned his earnest gaze on her, “if we were the type of people who would kill someone just to get us through the Gate, we would have done it long ago. But we could never do such a thing.”

And yet, Maes' inner commentary continued, Bond would do exactly that. Has he been trying all this time to repeat what happened before, and get himself back?

“Al's right,” Ed went on. “If I could figure out any way of getting back through that Gate without someone dying, or giving--" Ed hesitated and passed a quick glance up at Al, who responded with a gentle squeeze on his brother's shoulder. "--or giving up something important to us, we'd be gone tomorrow. But I won't take that risk.”

“From everything I've seen, Amber,” Tom interjected quietly, “I believe it's the truth. These are good people.”

“For what it's worth, I think so too, mam,” came Llyn's unexpected endorsement.

Again Maes glanced at the young man, and found Llyn's disconcerting dark eyes fixed on his face. He lowered his gaze quickly to the floor; the guy's unnerving visage stirred too many roiling emotions to deal with at the moment.

He was saved from that concern when the weird universe he seemed to be caught in threw all of them yet another wild curve. Alden wandered into the kitchen, yawning and making a beeline for the coffee maker, when suddenly he glanced at Al, stopped short, and exclaimed, "Why, it's you, lad!"

And Al, gaping in his turn, burst out, "The red-haired doctor!"

"Oh dear god," Amber groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Not you, too."

"Al?" Ed looked from one to the other incredulously. "You know this guy, too?"

"Not really. Well yes," Al amended, "he did talk to me once at the hospital, but..."

"I was called in special," Alden supplied. "I hardly got a look at ye two boys last night, in all the rush t'find beds for everyone. How's your arm, son? And -- it was you then, was it? Who yon lot," he waved his hand vaguely at the rest of the kitchen, "were breakin' out o' that place."

"Yes, it was me," Al nodded. "It's kind of a long story."

"I'll get me coffee then first, if you don't mind. So, how is your arm?"

"Much better, thanks."

Amber lifted her head, jaw set. Maes felt a rush of sympathy for her. "Is there anyone in this family," she demanded, "who hasn't been privately dabbling in this situation already?"

As though in answer, there was a squealing yell from the stairwell entrance to the kitchen. "Llyn! You're home!" And a small figure burst through the doorway, hurling itself enthusiastically toward him. He barely had time to push back his chair, but he'd obviously encountered this whirlwind numerous times, for his arms were already out and he was already leaning over. In one motion he scooped up the little girl flying at him, sweeping her onto his lap and into his arms with a laugh.

"Well, good morning to you too, Lucy. I was just thinking of crawling into the fridge for my morning nap, and now you've woken me up."

"You were not," she informed him firmly, then fell abruptly silent as she realized they were surrounded by strangers.

Llyn angled his chair so the visitors could see her better. "All of you, this is Lucy, my little sister. Lucy, these are some visitors who've come to see us for a while."

Maes' breath caught, and for a single instant, the entire world dropped out from beneath his feet. A vision interposed itself over the scene: Roy Mustang, popping by the house to pick Maes up for a meeting, responding to an insistent little girl by picking her up in his arms and chatting with her while he sat and waited for her father.

No. Stop. No. This child might have been around the same age as Elysia, but Lucy's hair was reddish blonde rather than light brown, flying loose around her face from just having gotten out of bed. And she was smaller, finer-boned. She looked nothing like Elysia. And this was not Roy.

The girl became suddenly shy, burying her face in her brother's neck. He planted his chin on her hair and grinned at Amber over her head.

The woman reached over and brushed a few fine locks of hair from her daughter's shoulders, smiling fondly. "You look a fright, Lucy. I need to get you cleaned up and get that hair brushed before our visitors think I keep you locked in the shed overnight."

"No," the girl shook her head vehemently, her arms tightening around Llyn's neck. "Want to see Llyn."

He grinned again. "Let her have breakfast with me first. I'll bring her up when I head upstairs for my nap."

Amber pushed her chair back, and stood. "Very well. Meanwhile, I really need to think about all this. In fact... I need to make a few phone calls, if you'll excuse me. Feel free, all of you, to make yourselves some breakfast; we just stocked up yesterday."

"We'll pay for whatever supplies we use," Reilly volunteered.

The other woman waved the suggestion away. "No, no, that's not how we do things around here. Help yourself. Alden can show you where things are. Or Llyn, before he comes upstairs." She turned to leave, but not before leaning over to kiss her son on the cheek, and her daughter on the top of her head. "Have a good sleep," she told Llyn, then impaled Tom with a sharp glance. "You at least I know, Tom. Keep an eye on things till I come back down. Do not make us regret helping you."

When she was gone, Reilly leaned over and muttered in Maes' ear, "So, you ready to get out of here in a hurry if she decides we're not on the up and up?"

"We'd better plan for it," he murmured, nodding. "Maybe get Ducky and Heist woken up and fed first."

Reilly grinned in malicious anticipation. "Ducky is not going to like being got up so early. Maybe I'll send Ed to wake him."

"Well," Llyn remarked, setting Lucy on the floor and shuffling to the fridge, "Our family does seem to have become a bit...involved with all of you, haven't we?"

Reilly stirred at Maes' side, thoughtfully taking another sip of coffee. "This seems to be one of those times when a lot of separate threads are converging at one place. I wonder what the significance is."

Ed retorted, "Oh no you don't. We're not starting with that mumbo jumbo again." But even he, Maes noted, didn't speak with his usual firm certainty.

"There's nothing mystic about it," Tom said, mildly. "It's not like Wichita is a hundred miles away. And Amber works for a branch of the government." He grinned wickedly and added, "I could tell you which one, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Aye," Alden said with a chuckle. "I have privileges at most of the hospitals in t'city and they call me in to give consults on a regular basis." He nodded toward the doorway that his wife had just exited and added, "Amber travels a lot when she's on an investigation, too."

"That can't be easy on your marriage," Maes said and then stifled a laugh as he caught Reilly petulantly sticking her tongue out at Tom from the corner of his eye.

"Remind me t'show ye the garden later, Maes," Alden said with a wicked grin. "It's one of the best marital aides ever thought of... if I do say so m'self."

"So what would you like for breakfast?" asked Llyn, yawning hugely. "I'm sure we've got some of everything. Bacon and eggs? Porridge? Toast? Muffins? I'm sure we've got some of everything."

Alden, eyeing the doorway through which his wife had just exited, sighed in resignation. "I'll join ye for breakfast in a few minutes, but first I think I need to have a chat with Amber. No -- first I need that coffee." He grabbed a mug from the tree on the counter, as Reilly obligingly stepped aside to give him room. After pouring himself a cup, he tipped it back and took a sip, exhaling in deep satisfaction. "Yes. That's better," he proclaimed. He leaned over and gave his son's arm a squeeze, adding, "Good mornin', by the way. Care t'tell me why ye drove three hours to get home right after ye'r shift, rather than get some sleep first?"

Llyn's answer was a silent shrug and a mildly contrite smile.

Alden shook his head and headed out. "Ye needn't follow in my footsteps quite so studiously, son."

Llyn watched him go, and remarked, "What an interesting day it is already. Now, where were we? What do you want, Lucy?"

"I want what you want," the little girl proclaimed, still holding tightly to his hand and warily eyeing the visitors from behind one of his legs.

Reilly joined them, peering into the appliance. "Let's see what you've got. My name's Reilly, by the way, and it's nice to meet both of you; the blond one over there is Ed, and the brown one is his brother Al. We really should pay for everything, you know. You don't know how much Ed eats."

"Hey!" Ed protested. "I don't eat that much."

"You do so, Brother, and you know it," Al grinned, and was rewarded with a good-natured punch on the shoulder. With Ed's flesh hand, naturally.

Maes watched them absently, but his attention returned again and again to the thing that had occurred to him during Amber's questioning. It nagged at him. Even when Ed came over and commented quietly, "Do you see who that guy looks like?" Maes merely nodded absently. He picked up his mug and took another sip, staring with a frown into the dark liquid. He's an alchemist. It happened once, even without the Elrics. If he survives his wounds and keeps trying -- what if Bond manages to get back to Amestris on his own??

~`~`~`~

"Brother, just go take your shower," Al said as he caught a black shirt before it hit him in the face. Like everything else that had come flying out of the duffel bag, it was ripe.

Even though the interrogation was over, his brother was still on edge and it showed plainly in his sharp, quick movement as he rifled through his clothes in the guest room they and Maes had been given when they arrived. "I'll see if Mrs. Branch has something clean to wear until we can wash these."

"It's only a couple of things, Al. I do have clean clothes, yanno."

"That would be a first," Al mumbled as he dropped the shirt into the growing pile of malodorous fabric on the floor.

"What was that?" Ed said as he glared up at the younger brother.

The duffel toppled over, spilling out balls of socks, wadded-up jeans and more smelly shirts -- along with a variety of discs, a couple of spiral notebooks and a large, thickly-bound book. With a sigh, Al knelt down to help gather the items back into the bag. The odor was stronger down here, and Al wondered just how Reilly put up with his older brother's frequently atrocious hygiene. She certainly didn't strike him as the type who would allow it. "Brother, don't you know that if you put dirty clothes in with the clean, you'll make the clean ones smell, too?"

"I'll try--" Ed snapped as he jammed a pair of jeans back into the bag "--to remember that--" A shirt was crammed in with the stabbing force of a dagger blow "--next time I have to pack shit--" In went a handful of sock-balls, and Al feared for the stitching at the bottom of the duffel "--in a hurry because someone's--" The discs were scooped together like a stack of cards and stuffed back into the bag "--coming to kill me..." Ed trailed off as he reverently lifted the book and stared at the cover.

Al gently grasped Ed's wrist and said, "Brother, I'm sure Mrs. Branch will find out that we can be trusted."

"Hope so." Ed said, distantly.

Al hadn't really paid any attention to the book when it had tumbled onto the floor. He'd assumed that it probably had something to do with whatever his brother was obsessed with at the moment. Usually physics these days, since alchemy really didn't exist here like it did back home. And finding a book on the subject that wasn't the object of derision and ridicule from him was next to impossible. But the expression of sheer agony on Ed's face alarmed him. "B-brother?"

Ed shook himself and started to stuff the book into the duffel, but Al tightened his grip on his wrist. Strangely, Ed didn't fight when he took the volume from him.

Al wasn't sure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. There was no mistaking the woman in front of the flower shop window, even though she'd gracefully aged a couple of decades in (from his point of view) mere months. Of all the technology and vernacular and tee-vees and computers and everything else he'd experienced that were completely alien to him, nothing hit him quite so hard, and made it quite so obvious that he and Brother were displaced in time, as this faded, black and white photograph. "That's... Noa," he said through tight lungs unable to get enough air.

"There's something I need to tell you," Ed said, as Al continued to gape at the photograph on the cover.

Noa's arm was around the shoulders of a youth who was sullenly glaring back at the camera through long bangs. The skin was noticeably swarthy, even within the limited shades of grey of the old photo, but the eyes that stared back at him were unusually light and terribly, terribly familiar. A thrill of something Al couldn't identify shot painfully through him and he feared the answer to the question he had to ask. "Brother," he whispered, "who is that boy?"

"My... s-son," Ed said, the word 'son' little more than a shamed hiss.

Al's vision tunneled as the impact of those two words slowly sunk in. "Son? But how--?" At a disgusted scowl from Ed, he said, "I mean, I know how. I just--" He gestured helplessly. "I guess I'm wondering... well... are you sure?"

Ed clenched his jaw and stared down at the book in his younger brother's hand, then took it back. As he slid his fingertips reverently over the photograph on the cover, he swallowed and his lips had begun to tremble. After a moment, when he got himself back under control, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

Al was agog and suddenly saw his brother in a new light. A father! Brother is a father! Wait... Ed? A father?! Isn't this the same person who gets so obsessed he barely notices anyone, let alone girls?! Well, apparently he noticed Noa long enough to-- Al felt himself heat up and shook the imagery away as quickly as he could, replacing it with another revelation that nearly knocked the wind out of him again. "I'm... an uncle!" he blurted out with a grin.

Ed glanced up, eyes wide in shock. Then a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he nodded.

"Maybe we should see if we can find him," Al said, excitedly. "You could try to contact him. Gene told me that computers and the internet are great for--" His voice fled him at Ed's stricken look before he ducked his head. "Brother?"

"He died, Al," Ed said, unable to meet his brother's gaze. "He and Noa and this world's Hughes and Gracia were killed."

"How?"

Ed shoved the book back into the bag to be buried amidst the discs and smelly clothes. "There was a war after we left. They were all sent to concentration camps." He clenched his jaw and his head dropped a little lower.

Tears sprung to Al's eyes and he swallowed. "War?"

"World War Two, Al," Maes said from the doorway of the guest room.

Al started and stared, wondering how long the man had been listening. Maes wasn't looking at Al though; he was watching Ed, a look of concern and compassion softening his green eyes.

"A second World War?" Al whispered. The very sound of that was frighteningly ominous in light of the damage that remained from the first one by the time he'd joined Ed on this side of the Gate.

Maes faced Al and said, "All of Europe was involved. So was Japan, Russia and the U.S. It was the equivalent of Amestris declaring war on every country we'd ever had contact with, all at once."

Ed continued to stare at the floor as he flexed his right hand rhythmically. "We failed, Al. I failed."

"What do you mean?" Al asked.

"That bomb," Ed said. "Even after we destroyed all that data, someone still managed to create one... more, actually. They... they dropped two of them on Japan."

"Ed," Maes said, softly chastising, "Germany didn't drop those bombs. America did. And you couldn't possibly have prevented what happened." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I don't know if it was a good thing or not, to be honest. But I do know that the end result was a damn sight better than what could have happened if you and Al hadn't destroyed the data in Germany. You didn't fail."

Al reached out and lightly smacked Ed in his forehead, and said, "Idiot."

"What the hell was that for?"

"Because you keep feeding your pet GuiltZilla," Al said as he rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.

"My whu--?"

Maes chuckled and waved as he wove around them and headed to the guest bathroom. "I've got dibs on the shower, boys."

Ed returned the wave absently. "'GuiltZilla'? What's that? Some kind of strange language you learned in the hospital?" He suddenly went from confusion to feigned irritation and added, "And what's with the disrespect here? They teach you that too?"

Al covered his mouth in an attempt to hide a giggle and failed spectacularly.

Ed softened at the sound and said, "It doesn't matter. I'm glad they took good care of you... and kept you safe."

There was a light knock on the door and then Amber poked her head in. "You two have showers yet?"

"No, Hughes beat us to it," Ed grumbled.

"Good! I need a small favor from you, if you will."

"Of course, Mrs. Branch," Al piped up. "Brother and I will be happy to help."

~`~`~`~

"'Brother and I will be happy to help'," Ed mocked as he stood in the center of the dilapidated barn, hands balled into fists and jammed into his hips. The bright morning sun from the open doors behind him and cutting through spaces between slats of weathered siding all around only illuminated fragments of what looked like an enormous, sleeping beast lurking in the shadow of the loft. Dust-motes and hay-flakes -- awakened after who-knew-how-long by his arrival and now floating lazily in the stale air -- sparked briefly, then faded a moment later as they passed the terminator from striped light into banded darkness. "Al, next time you feel like volunteering us for something... don't."

Next to him, with his arms crossed and studying the same enormous stack of broken furniture and wood scraps, stood Al. Except he didn't seem to be even the tiniest bit irritated at the work ahead of them, nor did he seem ashamed of himself for aiding their conscription into manual labor. "It's not so bad. I bet it won't take us long to move it at all."

"Are you looking at the same pile of junk that I am?" Ed spun on Al and jabbed an accusing finger back at the trash slated for the fire pit. "Small favor my ass! There's nothing small about that."

Al sighed and his shoulders slumped. "The Branches are being nice to us Brother. It wouldn't hurt us to be nice back."

"This isn't 'nice'. It's slavery," Ed complained as he stomped up to the pile, grasped an amputated chair leg and yanked. It came free with less effort than he'd anticipated and he stumbled backwards a few steps, then fell on his ass with a soft whump that kicked up a fresh cloud of dry hay and dust that tickled his nose. The stack wobbled dangerously for a tense, breathless moment, but the tangle of broken furniture quickly stilled and both boys exhaled at the same time--

--Then Ed sneezed, and it all came crashing down with a chorus of clattering snaps and cracks and flying splinters as both boys scrambled to get out of the path of destruction.

A low chuckle drifted along the tail end of the avalanche, then a familiar voice said, "Still letting your emotions override your focus, I see."

Ed sprang to his feet and into a defensive stance as his head darted around. "Where are you, asshole?" he demanded. His gaze landed on his brother, who was calmly looking up.

Al glanced sidelong at him, then back up and silently pointed toward the loft.

Ed let his eyes follow the line from Al's finger to the sagging platform with an annoyed leer. "What the hell are you doing here?"

As a hunched form shifted in the dim space overhead, light bounced off an oval of glass and a halo of wavy, sandy hair, and illuminated half of a face that was crinkled with a wide grin. "I'm not there, I'm here."

"Stop being a smart-ass, Singer. You know what I meant."

"Then you should say what you mean."

Ed ignored the soft snicker from next to him and sneered. "Fine. What are you doing there?" he clarified as he fluttered a hand in the general direction of the hayloft.

"Isn't it obvious?" The light coming through the large, open doors spotlighted Singer as he unfolded himself and took a step to the edge of the loft, bringing him into stark relief. The harshness of the morning sun in contrast to the deep shadow behind him only highlighted the rumpled state of the fatigues over a faded grey t-shirt sporting a dream catcher in the center and worn jeans with fringed holes in the knees. Combined with long sandy hair hanging loose past his shoulders and bits and pieces of old straw sticking out all over him at crazed angles -- along with that insufferable grin -- the wanderer appeared more insane than Ed remembered. "Are you always this slow?"

"Are you always this damned literal?" Ed snapped. "Or do you reserve that honor just for me?"

Singer bent, grabbed the straps of the olive-green duffel next to him, then gracefully leaped down. He landed so close to Ed that the younger man instinctively threw his right arm up and staggered backwards. Ignoring him, Singer faced Al and bowed. "It's good to see that you've gained your freedom, Steppin' Wolf."

"Huh?" Ed said.

Al tilted his head curiously as he examined the man in front of him, then his eyes widened and lit up as dawn struck. "You were in my room that night. Are you the one who left me the flute?"

"Wait a minute--"

Singer nodded. "Your memories were haunting your dreams. I'm surprised you even noticed that I was there."

"Excuse me?" Ed said, more insistently, but was still ignored.

"The music stopped the nightmares," Al said to Singer.

"Good."

Ed had gone from the shock of discovering that Singer had also met his brother, to irritation at being left out of the conversation, to indignation with the suspicion that he could have gotten Al out of that hospital a lot sooner -- had this psycho bothered to help. Protectively, he put himself between his brother and the interloper. "You knew where Al was all along?"

"Of course."

That was just too much. Mere anger sailed right past vexation straight to outrage and was closing fast on fury as he aimed a left hook at Singer's jaw and bellowed, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!"

"Brother!"

Singer dodged the fist and caught it in his hand without a flinch or even a shift in his expression. "You didn't ask."

"Argh!" Ed screamed as he jerked his hand free and tangled his fingers in his hair in frustration. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Because you let me."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Ed declared, "I give up."

"That's a good start, Iron Butterfly."

"Stop calling me that!"

Singer shrugged, then faced Al. "Did he get dropped on his head too many times when he was younger?"

Al giggled, then choked it off when Ed shot him an acid glare. To Singer he said, "More like wrenched. Why did you give me that flute, though?"

"It told me to," Singer said as he bent over his duffel, opened it and started to reach inside.

Ed lurched forward and clamped an automail hand over the drawstrings -- effectively blocking Singer from getting his hand inside. "Can I ask you something?"

Singer cocked an amused brow at him. "You just did."

With a groan, Ed let go, straightened and scrubbed his left hand over his face. He was in no mood to talk in circles right now, but he needed answers and Singer appeared to know... something. What, Ed wasn't sure, but he intended to find out. He considered how to phrase the questions he had while Singer waited patiently with his arms crossed over his chest. The younger man quickly went through different versions and discarded them as too easy for the wanderer to twist. Then finally -- when he thought perhaps he'd formed the first one in a way Singer couldn't play games with -- he asked, "Why are you so interested in me and Al?"

"Because you're interesting."

Ed snagged the other man's collar with a flesh hand and yanked him down to his level. "But why are we interesting? What reason do you have for showing up wherever we are and talking in riddles?"

Singer stared, unblinking, into Ed's eyes for a long moment. Then, too fast for the younger man to prepare, he grabbed Ed's hand and pressed his thumb into his palm. Ed's fingers went nerveless and tingly and he lost his grip on Singer's collar. Then the older man deftly bent Ed's wrist back, dropping him to his knees. "I was told to," Singer answered calmly.

Ed refused to give in. Even in his position, he kept a steady, defiant glare on the other man. "Who told you?"

"They did," Singer said as he pointed upwards with his free hand and whirled a finger.

Ed sagged in exasperation and was now convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that Singer was an escapee from an asylum somewhere. "Who is 'They'?" he asked, tiredly.

"They have no name," Singer said as he released his hold on Ed and took a step back. "They are who They are."

"Are they animal, mineral or vegetable?" Al asked as he came up beside Ed.

The older brother stood, rubbing his abused wrist and gave Al a narrow-eyed glare. "Thanks for the help," he grumbled low.

"You didn't look like you were getting your ass kicked... too badly," Al said, just as quietly.

"None... and all. They just are." Singer answered.

Ed suddenly recalled something Singer had said the last time they met. "Are they what Reilly calls the 'Shadows'?"

Al shot a questioning glance at Ed, but said nothing.

Singer nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his expression patronizing. The only thing missing was a pat on the head -- and Ed would have sliced off the offending hand if Singer had even tried. This did nothing to improve his mood any, but getting an actual answer of sorts led to another question. "Are these 'Shadows' from here--" He held up a hand, knowing that he'd just asked the wrong question. "Wait. I mean, are the 'Shadows' from this plane of existence?"

"They exist in all planes and are from none of them."

Ed was suddenly breathless at the possibilities and finally getting some answers. "How do they move from plane to plane?"

Singer's smile burst into a wide grin. "The same way you do."

"The Gates," Al whispered.

"H-how do They use them?" Ed asked, fearful of the answer, but needing to know. "How do They open them?"

Singer's grin disappeared and his voice was solemn. "I can't answer that."

Ed lurched a step closer, fists balled at his sides. "Dammit! Can't or won't, Singer?"

"Can't," Al said softly, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "What can you tell us about the 'Shadows' and the Gates?"

Singer inclined his head in deference to the younger brother and said, "I can tell you much."

"What can you tell us about them, that directly concerns us?" Al rephrased.

"Better question," Singer said as he shouldered his duffel. "You learn faster than your brother does." He shifted the weight of the bag and started to step around them. He paused, glancing down at Ed before focusing on Al, and said, "I can tell you this much: You know--" Singer said as he tapped at his chest "--the answers already. It's a matter of how much you're willing to give up." Then he looked over his shoulder, up toward the loft, and whistled.

Disappointment washed over Ed like a bucket of cold water. None of us wants to pay that price.

From the darkness overhead, the raven appeared and buzzed past Ed with a raspy caw, causing him to flinch and duck. It landed on Singer's shoulder and regarded the blond with a baleful eye and a hiss, to which Ed responded with a sneer and a growl.

Singer chuckled and shook his head. "It takes a great amount of heat to make iron malleable, but eventually it takes the form that was intended for it." Then with a bow, he turned and strolled out of the barn.

With a sigh, Ed faced Al. He was expecting the same disappointment he felt on his younger brother's face, but was surprised -- and disheartened -- to see thoughtfulness and hope. "Forget it, Al," he said sadly. "You'll only make yourself miserable if you keep thinking about it."

Al blinked as he pulled himself out of his musing and said, "Maybe..."

"Don't," Ed said holding his palm up. Then he shrugged, dropped his hand and smiled sadly. "It's not so bad here, when you get used to it." He jerked his head toward the pile of junk and said, "C'mon, let's get this stuff moved. It shouldn't take long."

~`~`~`~

Alden gave Maes a light pat on the shoulder to let him know he was through examining his back. “Looks good.”

They were in the Branches' master bedroom, where there was at least a modicum of privacy. Maes was sitting on the side of the overstuffed lounge, dressed in only a towel. He felt leagues better after a shower and a bandage change, and whatever the ointment was that the doctor had spread over his shredded back relieved the pain and growing itch. He was actually beginning to feel human again.

Alden came around and gave him a hand up, then helped strap on a flexible shoulder brace that would allow for more movement. “How does that feel?” he asked.

Maes gingerly tested his injured arm and nodded. “Much better.”

“Well, I wouldn't suggest doing cartwheels, but I think ye can manage now,” Alden said. “That just leaves one last thing to take care of,” he added as his eyes trailed down thoughtfully.

“I hate to ask…”

“Aye, the loaning isn't the problem. It's the fit. I can find a shirt that'll work, but ye're a bit long in the leg and wide in the waist to wear my pants.”

“An old pair of sweats will be fine, Alden.”

“True. Except Amber won't allow them in the house.” Alden crossed over to the walk-in closet and disappeared inside. “Says she expects her men to look presentable and not like slobs.” Hughes could hear the other man rummaging about inside, and it sounded like he was going deeper. “And if she canna get the blood out of those scrubs, don't expect to see them again, either.”

Maes gazed down at the large fluffy towel wrapped about his waist. It covered well, but the idea of being stuck in it for hours wasn't the most pleasant of prospects. It was beginning to look like he was going to be trapped in this room until Reilly could make a run to the local store to find something for him.

“Ah!” Alden exclaimed from deep inside the closet. “Hughes.”

“Hmmm?”

Alden poked his head out and a grin split his face. “That's a good old Scottish name.”

“Some of my family came from Caledonia. I guess that's my world's Scotland.”

Alden whipped out an armful of tartan fabric. “I've a feeling 'Hughes' is a lowland name, and may not have a Scottish -- or Caledonian -- tartan. But it's a Welsh name as well, I remember. Llyn is Welsh; I adopted him when he was a wee bairn, when his parents died. I've a few of his old kilts here; perhaps ye wouldn't mind wearing something a bit more traditional.”

So Llyn was adopted. Perhaps that explained the age difference between him and Lucy whom, Maes supposed, was Alden and Amber's biological child. “Well," he chuckled, "I suppose the ancestors won't mind if I wear a pattern that belongs to the country of our distant cousins.”

Moments later, Alden was putting the finishing touches on the kilt when a knock came on the door, and then Ed stuck his head in. “Amber wanted me to tell you the scrubs are going into the bonfi--" The kid was a disaster. Grass and splinters stuck out of his hair at odd angles, and his face and clothes were filthy. The only thing recognizably Edward were his enormous gold eyes, which grew wider when he caught sight of Maes. "...why the hell are you wearing a skirt?”

“It's not a skirt,” Maes said. “It's called a kilt.”

Ed came the rest of the way into the room and scanned the other man from head to toe a second time, a sly smile on his face. “I don't care what you call it, it's still a skirt.”

There was another knock and this time Al entered, who was, remarkably, nowhere near as disheveled as his older brother. “Brother, Reilly wanted to know if you wanted to go with her to—“ He stared at Maes and then broke out with a wicked grin. “Nice legs, Maes.”

“Thanks.”

“Does Ms. Reilly ever slow down?” Alden asked.

Both Maes and Ed answered in unison, “No.”

“Then tell her that whatever she was going after can wait until morning. Doctor's orders, ye are all going t'relax tonight.”

“Are we?” Maes asked, fixing sober eyes on the doctor. “For all we know, we could end up in jail or on the run again by tonight, if your wife doesn't get the answers she's looking for in those phone calls. It's hard to relax with that hanging over our heads."

Alden straightened to face him, but instead of matching Maes' sober expression, he favored him with a kind smile. “Man, ye're not to worry. It's Amber's way, to be thorough and all, but if she were going to call the authorities, ye'd be in custody already. She knows she can trust you.”

“That sure wasn't how it sounded when she left us in the kitchen,” Ed maintained.

“Are you absolutely positive about this?” Maes asked.

“Aye, as sure as can be. Listen to me. She trusts Tom, so that might've been enough. But ye've got Llyn on your side too, and Amber's not about to disregard the word of that boy when he speaks as he did. He scoffs at it himself, but he can See things sometimes. When he spoke on y'r behalf, that settled it.” The man looked at each of them in turn. “Y'hear? Put those worries right away.”

"All right," Maes said. "If you're sure. Which means that we have a lot to celebrate tonight."

“There is much to celebrate, t'be sure,” Alden said, and Maes caught the look of mischief that flitted across the man's face when he regarded the boys. “In fact, ye should be getting' ready, y'selves.”

“He's right,” Maes said. “You two are hardly dressed for the occasion.”

“Not like we have a lot of choice, Hughes,” Ed said. “At least we're not wearing skirts.”

“Kilts,” Maes and Alden both said.

“Whatever.”

“Y'see, that's the problem, boys,” Alden said. He disappeared back into the closet, and came out an instant later with more tartan fabric. “Luckily, I still have some of Llyn's from when he was younger."

Ed eyed the fabric suspiciously and said, “There is no way you're getting me in that.”

Al, on the other hand, was far more intrigued. “I don't know, Brother. It might be fun to wear a traditional costume for the night.”

“That's the spirit,” Alden said as he tossed one of the kilts to Al. As the younger brother unfolded it and held it out to inspect it, Alden added, “Of course, if ye wear traditional clothes, it must be in the traditional manner.”

Al looked up at Alden, and it was all Maes could do to keep from laughing as the look on the boy's face went from puzzled to a slow dawning, followed by a creeping and brilliant shade of red. “Uh… maybe I'll pass, after all,” he said as he handed the kilt back to Alden.

Ed was a beat slower on the uptake than his brother, but when it hit him the shocked expression on his face was even more priceless than Al's embarrassment. “Hughes, please tell me you're not…”

“I am.”

Ed shook his head and exited the room. “I really hope it's not windy tonight.”

It was Al's turn to become mischievous, as he gave Maes a look that could only be described as lecherous. “I'll bet Reilly wouldn't mind the wind at all.”

He made as though to skitter out of the room after his brother, but Maes got to the door before him, clamping it shut and leaning against it, arms folded. “That does it, Alden,” the man grinned narrowly, face still flushed at his own embarrassment. “Give him the kilt. He's not getting out of here till he puts it on.”

Al's grey eyes widened, and Maes could see him almost visibly registering the fact that he was outnumbered. “C'mon, Maes,” he pleaded, “I was just kidding.”

“Don't start stalling, Al. I couldn't wrestle you to the ground when you were in that armor, but you've been sick; we're more evenly matched now. And I've got backup, even with my gimpy arm. Plus, you don't want to insult the generosity of our host, do you?”

It was a low blow, he admitted to himself; he didn't think Alden would really mind if the boys didn't wear the kilts. And at the moment, all things considered, the kid would win any wrestling match hands down. But Al's sense of courtesy and honor were Maes' trump card, and would likely override everything else.

He was right. Al turned back to Alden, still wide-eyed, and held out his hand.

 

~`~`~`~

 

Ed stood awkwardly in front of the dryer, dripping from his recent shower and the humidity in the tight laundry room. The over-sized terry robe he wore was off his right shoulder, the sleeve hanging empty at his side. His right forearm was resting flat on a threadbare towel, the panel off, exposing the cables and bearings that enabled his automail to function. Next to him, the case of delicate tools Ducky used to maintain his computer sat open and a can of WD-40 waited as he poked around inside with a small screwdriver to find the part that was hanging and squeaking.

He could hear activity buzzing around the kitchen and out in the back yard, but he was isolated at the moment and extremely grateful for it. The robe covered him well enough, but he still felt exposed. The sleeves were long -- too long... dammit -- and wide, and even though the sash was tied securely and the hem nearly hit the floor, it still gapped when he moved and had forced him to shuffle gracelessly through the rambling farmhouse with his left hand clenching the front of the robe just below the sash.

The repairs he needed to do were minor and he could have waited until Hughes and Dr. Branch released Al from whatever torture they were inflicting on him, but there would be questions and concerns if Al managed to look closely -- and he would. There's nothing to be done for it now, Ed thought as he paused his probing a moment and rolled his right shoulder with a grimace. Maybe later, when we get settled somewhere and have the time.

The door opened and Ed turned... and came face to face with his past.

"Ah, sorry, didn't mean t'startle ye," Llyn said.

As he hastily shoved his arm back into the sleeve and pulled the robe over his shoulder, Ed said, "S'okay. I was... just looking for my clothes."

Llyn cast a glance at the panel to Ed's forearm lying on the dryer, the lubricant and the tools... and the black jeans and shirt folded neatly on top of the washer, and said, "So I see." He gazed back at Ed and smiled. "Ye don' have tae hide, Edward. I already know the whole story, remember?" As he came closer, he dipped his head, gesturing at Ed's arm, and added, "Besides, it looks like ye could use another hand there."

"Thanks, but," Ed said as he instinctively curled his right hand closed and pulled his arm closer to his body, "the mechanism is complicated." Then he realized how his comment sounded, and stammered, "Uh... nothing personal."

Llyn chuckled softly. "No offense taken."

Ed felt himself beginning to relax a little around this strange man who only reminded him in passing of someone far more arrogant. He thought he'd get used to bumping into people that brought back memories him of his life in Amestris... and Llyn didn't look that much like Mustang -- in fact, when he looked directly at him, he looked almost nothing like Colonel Useless -- however, there was enough similarity that when he caught sight of him sideways it felt surreal.

Llyn tilted his head curiously and asked, "Then, d'ye mind if I observe? I've an interest in neuroscience technology -- especially since I came across an article not too long ago about advancements in prosthetics." He gestured at Ed's shoulder. "I take it that plate is where the connection between the -- automail, was it?" At Ed's nod, he went on, "That's where the connection between it and you is housed, enabling you to make the arm move?"

"Yeah," Ed said. He touched his shoulder and said, "The wiring is connected to the nerve endings."

Llyn winced. "Aye, I'll bet it gives ye a bit of pain when the weather turns, doesn't it?"

The tension left Ed as he nodded. To Llyn, he wasn't an oddity -- he wasn't even a patient, really. There was a casualness in the man's demeanor that made Ed willing to discuss the technology of automail and compare what he was familiar with to what was being researched in this world, now. With a smile, Ed rolled his right sleeve up, exposing his arm once more. "I guess I could use a little help, here. If... if you don't mind, that is."

"Not at all. If ye don' care that I'll be asking a million questions," Llyn said, as he slipped another small screwdriver from the tool pouch.

As Llyn followed Ed's direction with the maintenance, he explored the inner workings of the arm. He compared Ed's automail with what he'd learned about prosthetics in this world and Ed absorbed it all hungrily. Questions about his arm and leg were woven in with detailed descriptions of the advances that had been made since the early 20th century and were expected to be available soon, giving him a sense of hope. The one thing he'd hated most about being in Germany the first time was the unavailability of replacement limbs that could move similarly to real ones. From Llyn's descriptions, it appeared that Ed might eventually be able to replace his automail with something like it, but much lighter.

The young doctor's excitement brought back warm memories of Winry, but at least Ed didn't think he was going to have to duck any flying wrenches.

He had no idea just how much time had passed, but before he knew it, Llyn straightened and said, "Let's see how ye do, now."

Ed tested his arm and wrist with a series of twists and turns, and nodded appreciatively at how smoothly and quietly they moved. "Not bad. As good as Al does, in fact."

Llyn picked up the can of WD-40 and said, "Speaking of which, where is your brother?"

Ed rolled his eyes upwards and pointed toward the ceiling. "I think he's being held hostage by your father and Hughes."

With dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, Llyn asked, "Tell me, was my Da in a kilt?"

Ed shook his head, and Llyn visibly relaxed -- until Ed added, "Hughes was, though."

Llyn groaned and covered his face. "I was afraid of that. Da looks for any excuse to wear the tartan. If he talked y'r friend Hughes into one, chances are, he'll do t'same to y'r wee brother. P'haps we should form another rescue party."

Ed almost became horrified, but then he remembered how Al had turned on him when Singer had dropped him to his knees -- and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Nah. I'm sure he's not getting his ass kicked... too badly."

Llyn appeared confused, but didn't ask for clarification. Instead he held up the can of lubricant and said, "I'll just put this back in the garage, then. There's a website ye'll wanna take a look at. Just do a search for 'Bionic Arm'." He turned and started toward the door that led outside, but hesitated next to a shelf with several stacks of folded clothes. "Ah!" he said as he pulled a pair of pants and a shirt from one pile. He faced Ed with a sheepish grin and waved the clothes around. "This is what I'd come for in the first place." Then with that, he opened the door and left Ed alone once more.

~`~`~`~

Maes and Alden emerged in the kitchen, all decked out in traditional kilts with all the trimmings and tassels. They stopped just inside the doorway, standing shoulder to shoulder, posing proudly, grinning hugely and waiting until they had the full and undivided attention of everyone in the sun-bright room. Amber and Reilly dropped what they were doing at the counter, turning to lean back against it, both of them giving appreciative gazes that -- at least from Reilly -- had a hint of the lecherous that made Maes feel quite a bit warmer than he had been a moment ago. Ducky, hunkered at the table with his laptop, arched a brow and had far more success at suppressing a snicker than Ed, who was standing behind him.

Amber murmured, “Now, isn't that a picture. Definitely worth waiting for.”

"Aye," Alden said, still grinning, "But ye havnae seen the best of us, yet." At that, he and Maes both stepped aside with a flourish to reveal Al, who was freshly showered and dressed in a formal white shirt and impeccably draped red-toned kilt, a black leather sporran with leather tassels hanging in front, his legs adorned in high cream-colored hose, a small, black-handled dagger tucked into the right sock. The reaction was instantaneous, and everything a proud Caledonian might have dreamed of.

Heist, strolling through the entryway to the dining room, stopped short at the sight and exclaimed, “Damn! If I'd known you were such a hottie, I'd have broken you out of that place all by myself.”

Llyn stepped into the room from the outdoor entrance, and whistled appreciatively, “Young Elric, you cut a fine, fine figure, there.”

Ducky burst out, “Duuude! No wonder they locked you away, you heart-breaker, you!”

And Ed stared in absolute, frozen silence.

Maes watched him take it all in: the strong, muscled legs; the straight, clean lines of the kilt that was anything but a “skirt”; the pristine whiteness of the long-sleeved shirt encasing the young man's broad shoulders; the head held high and proud, fine brown hair a little ruffled, cheeks flushed with excitement. Al stood on conscious display, arms at his sides, wide eyes bright as he waited for his brother's reaction.

“Al,” Ed spoke at last. “That's just... spectacular. You're going to be fighting them off if you're not careful.”

Maes chuckled to himself. He had to hand it to him: Ed had a streak of grace, and a way of giving in when least expected, and he regarded his brother with open, unabashed admiration.

Al blushed, ducking his head. Maes grinned at Ed, and teased, “You'd look just as good, you know. You sure you don't want one too?”

He was unprepared for Ed's darting glance of alarm, before the young man's more characteristic smirk took over his face. “Not a chance, Hughes, I already told you. And anyway, I'd be an anticlimax after this. I think it's Al's night to shine.”

“C'mon, Ed, if you're really squeamish, I'm sure you could wear something under-- “

“Drop it, Hughes.” This, not from Ed, but from Al. Sharp and flat, the boy's eyes stern with warning.

And only then did the man notice Ed's left hand resting on his leg, fingers spread, as though unconsciously trying to shield it from notice. His automail leg, hidden as always under the long legs of his pants. Even the hose coming up to his knees, as Al's did, would never disguise the nature of that leg.

Maes cursed himself for not thinking -- so used to Ed's prosthetics and the technology that created them -- and scrambled to redeem the situation. “All right, all right,” he babbled, running his free hand through his hair, “some of us are into cross-dressing and some of us aren't. So sue me.”

“Besides, Terminator,” Ducky muttered, bending back over his laptop, “you just couldn't compete with such a good-looking brother - OW!” he yelled, as Ed flicked the back of his head with an automail finger. “Cut it out, Ed!” he complained. But he shot Maes a private smile, satisfied with his distraction.

Another unexpected streak of grace, the man thought.

“Right.” Amber straightened up with fresh purpose. “Just a few more things to finish and we're ready to celebrate. Llyn, take Al out with you and start the fire, won't you? Ed, you and Ducky can check the tables out there, and make sure we don't need any more. The rest of you can help me carry things out. Maes, you're excused from lifting anything, I think.”

As the diminutive woman issued brisk directions like a military officer, Reilly sidled close to Maes and murmured in his ear, “You cut a damn fine figure yourself, by the way.”

“Why, thank you,” he bowed.

“Should I even ask...?”

“Let's just say it had better not get windy,” he grinned impudently.

“Or maybe it should.” She laughed softly and slipped away again, grabbing a couple of folding chairs and taking them out the door.

Maes watched her go, then turned abruptly to Amber, touching her shoulder with his good hand. “Do you think,” he said, voice a little unsteady, “that I can ask a very big favor of you...?”

**********

June 5, 1919 -- 2:21pm
Central City, Amestris

Roy peered down into the sewer line and wondered, for the hundredth time, if this was really what he'd signed up for all those years ago. The ongoing repairs weren't technically his concern; that work belonged to Central City administration and the new civilian government of Amestris. But the damage to the city a year ago had resulted from an invasion, so the military had a certain responsibility to help with repairs. Especially since some of the carnage had been caused as much by the military's defensive tactics as by the invaders' actions.

Not to mention Roy's own defensive actions. One side effect of blowing up invading robots was the ruin of everything within range of the explosions and their resulting shrapnel. The razing of several small buildings along the main route of the invasion could be laid, in the end, pretty much at Roy's door.

And then there was the fact that the invaders had come through a transmutation circle. And that, he'd realized early on, was what he'd signed up for -- to do good for the people through alchemy. Or, since that seemed to have become an impossible dream, at least to help repair the damage that alchemy did to the people.

So he stood, hand in one pocket fiddling with a battered and scarred State Alchemist's watch, staring down into the excavation running along a side street, where workers -- some of them soldiers under his command -- reconstructed a broken sewer tunnel, brick by brick. The thought flashed through his mind: some things could be repaired with bricks and mortar. While other things...

His fingers clenched around the watch. Concentrate.

“Havoc,” he wondered, “did they give you that estimate yet?”

Jean Havoc, watching to his left, replied without taking his eyes off the work, “This block will be done by the end of the week, sir. Two weeks, and it will reconnect with the main line, and we'll be done here. City admin will take over and resurface the street itself.”

“Budget?”

“Over, I'm afraid.” The lieutenant cast him an amused glance, adding, “But isn't every budget, these days? Too bad our paychecks haven't done likewise.”

Riza Hawkeye, standing to Roy's right, leaned around him and remarked, “We've been under budget in a couple of places where the lines survived intact, so we may balance before we're done.”

“And we'll be one of the few departments who do.” Roy nodded, turning away from the scene. “At least everything's on schedule, so we can rest easy about that. Let's get back to the office, Hawkeye. Havoc, report later, all right?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Roy had only taken a few steps when he jerked to a halt with a sharp gasp. Heart pounding, fear and hope choking the breath in his chest, he gaped at a dim figure standing in the shade of a store front across the street. He wanted, needed to get over there, but he was frozen in nightmarish horror -- couldn't walk, couldn't move. He felt the tugging on his arm as though from a great distance, and barely registered voices hammering at the edges of his awareness. He had to get there -- before it was too late--

“Sir! General! What's wrong?” Lieutenant Havoc. Pulling at him, rotating him half around, dragging his attention away from...

Roy yanked himself back -- and blinked. Hawkeye crouched before him, gun out, aiming toward the store front he'd been concentrating on. The empty store front.

Even as that fact dawned on him, she straightened up, lowering her weapon and frowning back over her shoulder. “Sir...?“ Her too perceptive eyes searched his face. “I don't see what the problem is...?”

They hadn't seen anything. Either of them. Then... had he? Really?

“You okay, boss?” Havoc asked, his own eyes sweeping up and down the street before returning to his superior officer's face.

Roy forced his thudding heart into a more even beat, and his lips into an upward curve. He regarded the two of them with his amused, sidelong smile. “Relax, both of you. I'm fine. Old reflexes die hard, that's all.”

“You're sure everything's all right?” Havoc didn't seem entirely convinced, and Hawkeye's suspicious gaze still bored into him.

He studiously ignored it. “Everything's fine. Sorry to startle you. And now we'd really better get back. Coming, Hawkeye?” He turned on his heel and headed back along the street, away from the construction zone. Despite the bright sunlight and the warm day, he found himself shivering, and couldn't seem to stop.

After a quick murmured exchange with Havoc, Hawkeye jogged to catch up. She said nothing about the incident, which was almost more uncomfortable than if she'd spoken her mind. At least then Roy could have concentrated on arguing, and maybe settled himself down with that return to normalcy.

Instead, he brooded in silence as they walked together toward headquarters, under trees recently planted on the boulevard in the massive beautification project sponsored by some of Central's wealthier citizens. Roy plunged a hand back into his pocket, fingers finding the State Alchemist's watch, tracing its contours over and over as he pictured once again the inscription scratched roughly into the inside of its cover: Never Forget -- 10 Oct 03.

**********

June 5, 2006 -- 6:17pm
Rose Hill, Kansas

Maes stood to one side, nursing a drink in his good hand and watching the celebrations before the bonfire. The boom box on the table by the door blared some rousing Caledonian -- or rather, Scottish -- bagpipe and fiddle music. Alden and Amber were engaged in some sort of highland dance together on the lawn close to the fire, Alden kicking up his feet with the vigor of a much younger man. A little to one side, Ducky and Heist... well, he supposed they regarded their gyrations as a dance, while Lucy tried to teach Al the same high-stepping moves that her parents were making so energetically.

Reilly appeared to have gone inside for a minute. Ed was, unsurprisingly, at the refreshments table, nibbling absently while his nose was buried in a book... and beyond him--

Maes caught sight of Llyn's face and looked away again, quickly, concentrating on his glass with a frown. He debated putting it down and going to find Reilly, until he found Llyn at his side, holding a glass of his own.

“Nice night,” Maes remarked. “Very warm.”

“Even warmer when y're dancing,” Llyn chuckled. After a moment of silence he added quietly, “He must be a good friend, I think?”

“Who?”

“This person you see whenever you look at me.”

Maes sighed and gently swirled the ice in his glass. “Sorry about that. You're right. He -- Roy -- he's my closest friend, and we've been through a lot together. And he thinks I'm dead. And for me -- he is dead. As dead to me as my wife and daughter.”

“Sorry to be such a reminder, then.”

“You are -- and you aren't. When I look right at you, it's obvious the resemblance is only superficial. But,” Maes shrugged apologetically, “when I just catch a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye, it's as though he's standing right there. I'm trying to get used to it, but my nerves are shot. It's all a bit much right now.”

“Maybe we could prescribe something to help you calm down?” Llyn asked, frowning his concern.

“No, it's all right. You've already done more than enough. You saved my life only a couple of days ago, after all." Maes smiled reminiscently. "Another way you remind me of him... we did that for each other, more than once."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He is -- I mean was. Was." A little shrug. "Got to get used to that, I suppose."

~`~`~`~

He was blushing furiously, and he hated himself for it. Staring back at him, a devious smile tugging at her lips, was Reilly.

Ed had been paging through the books Ducky had found for him... it seemed ages ago now. As it was, he'd read through three of them twice, and was on his third pass-through with the current volume. Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, he sighed. If this was the extent of knowledge for this particular field, he was truly concerned. Ducky had promised to find him more books; but the man had also shown a considerable lack of initiative unless prodded... painfully. A shadow had fallen over the page he was reading, but Ed had been too focused on the line of text to pay it any mind. He wasn't aware of Reilly standing over him until she'd grabbed his wrist, while simultaneously wrenching the volume from his hands. "Hey, dammit I was reading that!"

Reilly smirked as she flipped the book in her hand. "'Contemporary Mathematics: Groups, Languages, Algorithms'? Ed... this is as dry as dry toast."

Ed snatched for the book, missing as she lifted it away. "Maybe to you..."

She tossed the book into the grass behind him. "Look, you are going to enjoy this evening even if I have to beat you, got it?"

Grumbling, he nonetheless allowed her to pull him across the open lawn. The warm evening air really did feel nice as it washed over him. Glancing around, he smiled suddenly as he caught sight of Al. The younger boy was engaged in what looked like a tickle attack with Amber's small daughter, Lucy. As he watched, he felt a hand brush his arm. "You ever cut a gig in the evening light?"

Startled, Ed glanced back at Reilly, who looked positively wicked. "W-what?"

With a laugh, she spun in place, then grasped his hand. "Come on Ed, you can't tell me you've never danced before!"

Ed swallowed thickly and groaned with resignation. He'd known Reilly long enough to realize that to refuse her would probably end with him in stitches. "Fine, but just for a minute..."

Reilly laughed as she spun him in a circle. "Sorry, you're on my time now!"

Through his protests, he could hear Ducky shouting something that sounded like 'lord of the dance', but didn't acknowledge it. Probably just another stupid tee-vee reference again. Condemned to his fate, Ed finally gave in, allowing himself to gradually learn the steps of the dance as Reilly led him over the grass. It really wasn't too complicated. Glancing every now and then at the other dancers around him, Ed gleaned enough information to take back a little control. Reilly gave him the lead willingly, and Ed was amazed to realize he was actually having fun. When Reilly dropped breathlessly to the grass after a particularly rousing turn, Ed was surprised to see how much the light had faded.

Sitting beside the flushed woman, Ed chuckled slightly. All the dancing had brought to mind a memory, so faded from time that it felt as though it belonged to someone else. It was a brief flash, his mother and father, holding each other as they spun across a moonlit yard... He turned to Reilly, not quite knowing what to say.

Before he could speak, a shout caught his attention. “Ed, come and roast some marshmallows,” Ducky called across the yard.

Reilly smiled knowingly as she stood. "Beat it, I'm through torturing you for now."

Tom wandered over from the house as she spoke, and took her arm. "Amscray, I got second dibs."

Smiling, Ed left his spot on the lawn, where Alden and Amber and Tom and Reilly had begun another dance. Wandering over to the logs near the edge of the fire pit, he joined his brother and the others. Al and Ducky hunched over on one log, marshmallows already thrust toward the flames on the end of long, thick wires. Kneeling in the grass nearby, Hughes patiently helped Lucy put a couple of marshmallows on a wire of her own, while Llyn and Heist occupied a bench on the other side, their own marshmallows almost done.

“Here you go.” Llyn handed him a wire as he passed.

Ed flopped down into the grass beside Hughes, reaching across into Ducky's bowl and fishing out a couple of marshmallows. “Remember how we used to do this back home, Al?” he mused.

“I was just thinking about that.” Al's eyes shone, looking across Ducky at him. “All the kids from the town used to go up to the Rockbell's place.”

Hughes smiled to himself, “I can just picture Winry and the two of you, all in a row in front of the fire, like cute little ducklings. Here you go,” he added to Lucy, placing one end of her long wire into her hands, then cupping her hands in his own and guiding it nearer the fire.

“My dad and I used to do this,” Ducky reminisced, “when we went camping.”

Llyn smiled. “It should be part of every child's experience in this country.”

“Well, it's not mine,” Heist remarked. “This is the first time I've ever done this.”

Ducky peered over at her. “Seriously? You are way backward, H.”

She snorted. “Tell me when I've ever been near a bonfire in the city, Ducks. I don't do rustic, you might remember.”

“Then you're in f'r a treat,” Llyn asserted. He pulled his own wire back toward him and examined the even brown crust on his marshmallows, shading toward black just at one edge. “There's an art to it, you see,” he remarked, grinning at Heist's own white-black results. “You need to be turning constantly. Here. Try one of mine.” He touched a marshmallow, fingers jerking back from the heat, then waved the wire around to cool it before trying again. The marshmallow finally dragged off the wire, trailing steaming goo as it came free. “Open,” he said, and as Heist obediently opened her mouth, inserted the marshmallow inside, running his fingers across her lower lip to free them of the sticky mess.

She chewed gingerly, eyes never leaving his face, taking quick, sharp breaths to dispel some of the heat. Then her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “S'good! S'really good!”

“Oh no!” Lucy cried simultaneously as she lost hold of her wire and it dropped into the flames. “I losted it!”

“Hold on -- I'll get it.” Hughes grabbed the nearest end of the wire. But it had already heated just enough that he dropped it again. “Ow! Ow! Sorry, sweetheart -- it's too hot. But don't worry, we can start another one. Why don't you have mine, for now?”

“No,” the girl pouted. “I want mine.”

“Then we'll get another wire,” he began, but she shook her head vehemently, pig tails flying. “No,” she repeated. “I don't want it now. I want to dance.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It's not hard to start another one--"

“Dance,” Lucy insisted, leaping to her feet.

“Then dance it is, my lady,” Hughes agreed gallantly, and followed the little girl across the lawn.

Ed watched them go with a grin. “Shouldn't we be taking pictures of this?” he chuckled.

Ducky groaned. “And then have to look at them over and over for the next year?”

Al laughed in delight. “You know him pretty well already, I see.”

Ed stretched out his legs, watching his marshmallows gradually turn brown as he rotated them close to the flames. He glanced over to where Heist had already stuck three more marshmallows on her wire. Llyn seemed quite amenable to supervising her latest attempt closely, leaning against her arm, murmuring comments into her ear. Beyond the two of them, over on the lawn, the original two couples continued their slow dance, while Lucy lifted her arms for Hughes to pick her up and join in.

Ed couldn't remember the last time he'd been this relaxed. It certainly hadn't happened any time since he'd found himself in this era; all those weeks had been spent worrying, first about whether he'd ever find Al, and then about whether they'd ever be reunited. But now, at last, they were. He could still hardly believe it: Al was free, he was here in the flesh. And Ed was determined that nothing -- nothing -- would ever separate them again.

He looked over at his brother, to find Al already watching him. They smiled companionably across Ducky, who leaned back with a smirk as though giving them more room to stare at each other. Ed snorted. The guy was such an idiot.

Presently, Al's eyes focused over Ed's shoulder, and his brows drew together in consternation. Ed snapped his head around, instantly on the alert for trouble. But nothing had changed; the two adult couples continued to dance, while Hughes swayed from side to side, Lucy cuddled in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

Ed glanced back at his brother, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question, but Al nodded insistently back toward Hughes.

This time, Ed saw it. The little girl was essentially sitting on the man's good arm as he supported her against him, while his other hand rested lightly on her back. Her light, pig-tailed head nestled in the curve of his neck and shoulder, and he had rested his chin on the top of her head as he moved slowly, rocking gently back and forth in time to the music.

Hughes stared into nothingness, seeming at first merely to be gazing abstractly as he danced. But as he pressed his cheek against Lucy's hair, his head tilted slightly and the bright glow of the bonfire fell onto his face. The searching glare of the flames cruelly bared the unendurable yearning there. Cheeks drawn, jaws clenched rigidly against an inner pain, his lips parted and began to tremble, green eyes bright with welling tears.

Ed watched with constricted heart, fresh grief flooding into him. The song slowly came to an end, and the man bent over to set the little girl on her feet on the grass. He leaned down to say a few words to her, whereupon she nodded vigorously and came scampering back to the logs by the fire, clambering into her big brother's lap, asserting, “Mr. Hughes says I get your marshmallows.”

Hughes stood, his face half in shadow, watching until she was safely in Llyn's care. Then he spun around, taking off his glasses and swiping the back of a hand across his eyes as he walked alone into the house.

Ed looked back at Al, who looked as miserable as he felt. They shrugged helplessly at each other, until Ed suddenly realized that his marshmallows, still held over the fire, were blackened and ablaze. He flung down his wire, rolling them in the dirt and stomping on them until the fire went out. It wasn't fair! That the Gate should have grabbed this man and ripped him out of his world -- it just wasn't fair! It should have taken Mustang, or better still, Hakuro -- anyone but Hughes.

Ed gazed in gloom at the ruined marshmallows. If only there were something he could do! He was supposed to be a prodigy, and he'd passed through the Gate several times now, surely he ought to be able to figure out something that could get them home. But always, always he ran up against the wall, against that one thing he simply could not do to activate the Gate.

He and Al had each other, and so they endured it. But Hughes...

Ed scraped the charred marshmallows off the wire, jammed another couple on, and thrust them into the fire, rotating them absently as he mulled over the problem for the thousandth time.

~`~`~`~

Unnoticed in the darkness, two pair of eyes watched as Hughes disappeared into the house. The woman called Reilly, who'd become the Protector of all three of them made to follow him, but Tom -- her 'Spirit Father' -- stopped her with a gentle hand. Speaking softly, he appeared to convince her to let him go in her stead.

The Iron Butterfly had witnessed his friend's heartbreak and vented his frustration, but after he'd stomped the flaming marshmallows out, he'd settled onto the log with a pensive scowl.

"It takes a great amount of heat to make iron malleable, but eventually it takes the form that was intended for it," Singer said. "Our friend is beginning to suspect the temperature is rising."

The raven on Singer's shoulder fluffed his feathers and trilled quietly, and the man smiled. "You're a skeptic," he said to the bird. "His brother is his weakness and he'll do anything he can for him. Once Iron is heated enough, he'll bend."

Man and bird returned to their observations in silence; the Iron Butterfly and his Wolf brother were slowly moving toward the correct path, but they were not his concern at the moment. He was more interested in Hughes and Reilly, who were far more entangled in the web of events to come than even they would suspect. The choices they made tonight would be what either freed the other two to accomplish what was necessary, or block their direction with selfish desires.

~`~`~`~

Tom found Maes in the darkened kitchen, back to the door and hunched over a counter. His shoulders shook and his hands gripped the counter so tightly, Tom wondered if there would be imprints left. "Care to talk about it?" he asked.

Maes' spine snapped straight and Tom heard a soft sniff, but by the time the other man faced him, he had himself under some semblance of control. "Pardon?"

Tom knew better; even in the flickering, uncertain light of the bonfire filtering through the lace curtains over the sink, he could see the man had been crying. "You seemed a bit upset a minute ago."

Maes chuckled softly, but it was forced. "Ah. Not at all. I'd just lost track of time." He acted like he was searching for something on the nearly empty counter behind him, and then he snatched up the only thing within his reach -- a box of matches. "Oh, here they are." He held up the box and rattled it. With a lopsided smile that Tom knew was entirely faked, he added, "Can't keep a lady waiting, now can I?"

Tom stepped back and held the door closed with one hand. "Maes, what the hell are you doing?"

Maes shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Okay, Tom, you did your fatherly duty here. My 'intentions' toward Reilly are honorable, and I promise I'll respect her in the morning and all that bullshit." Determination and irritation settled over his face as he added, "You can relax now. Reilly and I are adults, after all."

"No shit," Tom said, flatly. "But Reilly also has a nasty habit of letting her heart blind her to common sense." Tom held up a hand to stop the protest he could see forming on Maes' lips and sighed. "Don't. You're a good man, Maes. I know you care about her and wouldn't deliberately hurt her, but--" he leveled a firm, steady gaze at the other man "--make sure you're being honest with yourself, too."

Maes didn't answer. Instead he turned on his heel and headed out through the laundry room.

Tom sagged against the door and rubbed his hand down his face when he heard the side door close. "Looks like I'm going to have to restock my supply of emotional super glue again," he mumbled and returned to the party.

~`~`~`~

Singer saw the older man exit the house and return to Reilly's side a moment after Hughes had slipped away under the cover of darkness. Tom whispered something in her ear and from the tight set of her shoulders, Singer guessed that she was going to ignore the advice of the older man and make the same mistake as Hughes tonight.

He hummed tunelessly and pondered the reasons why so many people forced themselves to make choices that the Spirits told them were wrong. They forget to be still and listen, he thought. They think they want something, but it's all too often not what they need and they only get heartache for all their efforts.

Half an hour later, the tiny woman pulled Reilly aside and spoke with her. She pointed her down the same path Hughes had taken earlier and set into motion events that Singer knew would --well, 'End the World as We Know It' is a bit extreme, he thought, but it'll certainly annoy the hell out of the Spirits. Not to mention bugging the shit out of the entities called the 'Shadows'.

Pulling a dagger from his belt, Singer scraped a shallow hole and pulled a cloth pouch from his fatigue jacket pocket. He opened it and took out a generous pinch of tobacco, sprinkled it into the hole and whispered a prayer to Grandfather Sky, asking if He'd be willing to throw in a little help in redirecting these people.

He received his answer sooner than he'd expected...

~`~`~`~

"It was elegant, H, but there was still a fatal flaw," Ducky said.

The hacker was sitting next to Ed and talking across him to Heist, which tended to intrude into his thoughts. Under normal circumstances, he'd be absorbing everything they said and filing it away for later use, but he had other, more pressing problems right now. Namely Hughes. Unfortunately, the solution to that problem was alchemical, not technological, and therefore the discussion was useless to him and that made it irritating, because a part of his mind wanted to learn more.

Ever since Ducky had tossed him his first computer book a couple of months back, Ed had devoured the subject like it was candy. The numbers and codes had to be understood and broken before they revealed their secrets, and each language was unique to the creator. It was much like alchemy and the system an alchemist used to protect his notes.

But it wasn't alchemy.

"What 'flaw'?!" Heist protested. "I closed every hole, tied every knot, left no letter out of place. Gollum was perfect."

Programing was easy for him because he'd already had the basis in alchemy. He was even quite proud of some of the codes he'd written, even if most of what he'd learned so far was elementary. But there was something missing.

Alchemy was alive. It had a scent, a taste, a sound. When he was transmuting, Ed could feel the energy that the arrays and symbols and theorems created flow through him. There was a beauty to it that was transcendent and always left him breathless. Alchemy had a soul, programing didn't.

"If it was perfect," Ducky said, laughing, "they'd never have found it."

Unfortunately, not even alchemy was going to help their current situation.

Oh, it would... but neither Ed nor Al would be willing to pay the price. As much as Hughes belonged on the other side, and as badly as Ed wanted to get him there, he would not, could not, take the risk. Who would have to die to open that Gate? Me? Al? If not us, would it take someone else? Reilly? Ducky? As much of a jerk as he is, I can't sacrifice him. I can't even do that to Bond, and he deserves it.

"Well, if you'd've written it, the whole system would've become the mother of all implosions," Heist teased.

Ed slumped over, jamming his elbow into his knee and dropping his chin into his hand. Every encounter with the Gate ran through his mind as he puzzled over the solution. Every time had ended in disaster. Loss of limb, loss of corporeal form, loss of life. Al's body was trapped in the Gate for five years. Ed lost his arm and leg to it. His alter self died. Ed had willingly transmuted himself to get Al back, just as Al had done something similar to return Ed. Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and countless men were killed. Hohenheim was thrown to the other side, never able to return... he sacrificed himself to get Ed home.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?" Ducky said. "It was my first simulation. How was I to know that the code would make the plane collapse like a black hole when you accelerated past mach 1, until we tested it?"

No matter how many different methods were used to open the Gate, the end was always the same... loss. Sacrifice.

"That's only because you couldn't think outside the box at the time," Heist laughed. "You were so certain you had it right, that you wouldn't even consider an alternative plan. Arrogant ass!"

The image of Rose in a formal gown and having the infant she cradled in her arms rudely yanked away flashed through his mind and Ed's heart started to pound. Except once--

A horrified scream ripped through the serene evening and Ed launched himself off the log and started running without thinking about it. "That was Reilly," he shouted as he barreled headlong into the weeds behind Alden.

~`~`~`~

He watched as the Scotsman, the Freak and the Iron Butterfly tore down the trail. The old man held the Wolf back, and the rest of the party chose to remain in the light. Singer listened as voices drifted his way on the breeze, but could only pick out bits and pieces. From the tones, it was clear that no one was in any danger, but the word 'snake' came through clearly.

A moment later, he heard the Freak make a noise like a raven's caw that he could only assume was laughter, and he cast an amused glance up to the star-spattered sky. "Your sense of humor is sublime, as always."

The bird on his shoulder hissed irritably, and Singer said, "You would have never thought of that. Stop your lying." He was rewarded with a sharp beak clicking shut next to his ear and nearly fell over in his effort to avoid being bit. "All right, all right. I take it back." As soon as the bird calmed, however, Singer added insult to injury by petulantly sticking his tongue out... and narrowly avoided losing the tip when the raven snapped at it.

~`~`~`~

The crisis was over. Fortunately, it hadn't been much of one, but Al had a few moments of apprehension when he'd heard Reilly scream and Tom had held him back from running down the trail with Ed. "I think there are more than enough people to handle whatever happened." the older man had said. He'd sounded unconcerned, but there'd been a line of tension around his mouth and something Al couldn't identify in his eyes.

A moment later, he'd heard Brother bellow at Ducky and the hacker had burst into the light of the bonfire like he was being chased by chimeras -- laughing the whole way. Ed hadn't been running when he returned, but his face was flushed and he was fidgety.

The reason why became embarrassingly clear when Alden strolled back to the party looking thoroughly amused. "Ye'd dubbed the place the Garden of Eden, love," he'd said to Amber. "They just met the serpent."

"They're okay, then?" Amber asked.

"Aye. Only their pride was injured." Alden had wrapped his arm around his wife and waggled his brows lecherously. "Although we might lose Edward to a fatal case of humiliation."

Ed had groaned and covered his face and Al sympathized. The last thing he wanted to picture was Maes Hughes in a compromising position with anyone; least of all, someone who was not Gracia. It was wrong, somehow.

But is it? he wondered as he flopped down into the grass and hastily tucked the hem of the kilt down. Maybe it's just that Brother and I remember how much he loved Gracia that makes it seem wrong. But he's stuck here like we are, and he was so sad when he was dancing with Lucy. Brother and I have each other; he doesn't have anyone.

Al sighed and leaned back against the log his brother was using as a seat. The party was beginning to wind down and even with the excitement he was feeling truly relaxed for the first time since falling into this world.

Ed's hand rested on his shoulder as if to make sure he was still beside him, and he asked, "You okay, Al?"

The younger brother nodded and smiled. "Yeah." He was reunited with Ed, Maes was alive, and he could trust the people around him. The best part of it all, Al didn't have to worry that Bond was lurking in the shadows, ready to leap out at him at any moment. Amber assured them all that even if he lived and got better, he'd be locked away, never to threaten them again.

Still, there was always that small chance.

In light of that, Reilly had suggested -- and it had been agreed on by a unanimous vote -- that they'd all relocate somewhere and start life anew. Amber said she'd pull some strings to make sure everyone had new identities and histories, and with the money Reilly was able to free up from her inheritance, they would do fine. In fact, they'd be like a family of sorts ("We'll put the fun in dysfunctional," Tom had snarked) and Al found he was looking forward to the stability all that was offering. No more throwing themselves into dangerous situations. No more people wanting to kill them for one reason or another. They'd have a home to return to every day, maybe even jobs. They wouldn't be putting off their 'lives' until they could achieve some drastic, desperate goal. And if Reilly made Maes a little happier, all the better. "Yeah," he repeated as he used Ed's left thigh as a headrest. "This is nice, isn't it, Brother?"

Across the bonfire, Ducky and Heist were leaned in close, talking in low tones that no one else could hear. Suddenly, Heist punched the strange hacker and Ducky's response was an insane cackle.

"I dunno about 'nice'," Ed said. "Weird, maybe."

Al giggled. "Well, it'll never be boring."

To Al's left, Tom and Llyn were sitting in the grass and talking animatedly -- or at least as animated as Llyn could get with an armful of worn-out, sleeping toddler. Over by the buffet tables Amber was doing a slow dance with her husband.

Maes and Reilly hadn't returned to the party, and Al supposed that they didn't intend to. Something about that continued to nag at the back of his mind, though. They're adults, he thought and tried to push the pervading sense of wrongness away, but it wouldn't budge. The tears he'd seen in Maes' eyes when he was dancing with Lucy just didn't mesh with spending a night with Reilly doing something that should be making him happy. Except I don't think it is, he thought. Not really. I think he's trying to tell himself that it will though. Al suppressed a groan. Maes didn't belong here -- no more than he and Brother did -- but at least they could adjust. He didn't think Maes really ever would. His heart will never mend until he goes back.

He kept returning to what Singer had said earlier: "You know the answers already."

Al certainly knew through unpleasant experience. Except Singer didn't point at his head when he said it. He pointed at his heart. Was he trying to tell us something? That we needed to look within our hearts for the answers? If that was the case, it would be obvious that we needed to try to open the Gate. But is it worth the sacrifice? Can we deliberately take someone's life to save someone else? And who would we choose? How would we choose?

The answer is: We can't.

...There has to be another way.

~`~`~`~

 

June 5, 2006 - 11:41pm
Rose Hill, Kansas

"Hey Al," Ed said, pulling the younger brother from his musing into the bonfire. "You know how to play that thing?"

Al slid the flute from his shirt-pocket, twisted to face Ed and waved it at him. "You mean this?" he asked, secretly welcoming the interruption. "Yeah. Sorta."

A shy, crooked smile graced Ed's face, and he said, "Would you?"

Al beamed at him, nodded, and wriggled about a moment to get comfortable. He'd always created the best sounding tunes when he let his mind wander over happier times -- so he closed his eyes, placed his lips on the flute, and allowed pleasant images to form in his head. The idea of having a family again was the first thing that came to mind, and Al thought about when he and Brother were small; when Mother was still alive, and it always seemed like summer time--

--Risembool... They were running along the green hills near the train tracks and he'd challenged Ed in a race to see who was the fastest. Brother always used to leave him in the dust, but Al had hit a growing spurt and his legs were longer--

--They were fishing from the creek near their house. It was the first day since the spring melt that was warm enough to bring the worms to the surface, but the only thing either of them caught that day were colds from horsing around too close to the water--

--Brother had sassed at Granny Pinako yet again. Only this time, he was smart enough to know when to duck. Too bad he wasn't smart enough to duck the second time--

--Dublith... All is One and One is All. Brother had complained about stupid riddles, but when they'd finally solved it, they felt like an entire world they never knew existed had opened up--

--Al never knew he could fly. What a wonderful sensation! Weightless, he spun in the air and marveled at the sky and ground turning around him... Of course, he was going to have to work on his landing--

--To train the mind, you have to train the body. How exhilarating it was to push beyond the limits he thought had existed, to feel his body move without conscious thought; to send his brother hurling over his shoulder--

Al's thoughts wandered to grimmer times; the years he was in armor and they were searching for the Philosopher's Stone -- but even then, there were light moments that he cherished--

--Ed challenged Colonel Mustang to a fight. Kittens, Philosopher's Stones and Recertification aside, this would not end well. But Al couldn't help being amused when the colonel pulled his left hand out of his pocket and reminded Ed that he wore two gloves--

--They did it! They had actually managed to take down the immovable object, Major Armstrong, in a sparring match. It took both of them working as a team, but they did it!--

--They watched Colonel Mustang literally sneak around the corner, and they followed at a distance, curious. Why, they'd wondered, did he want to hide in the supply closet? And did he ever find out it was they who told Lt. Colonel Hughes, armed with new pictures of Elysia, where he was?--

--Ed should have known better than to hide Havoc's cigarettes. It always made the second lieutenant cranky, which in turn annoyed the first lieutenant, and she had much better aim--

--Brother was in the emergency room, screaming and bellowing and cursing badly enough that the poor private who'd delivered them was blushing. At one point, Ed sounded like he was being killed, and that was when the colonel had arrived. Al saw Roy Mustang go deathly pale just before he barged through the curtain that had been drawn about the exam table. If he'd asked, Al would have told him Brother just needed a couple of stitches--

--Al had seen the terror on the colonel's face that day on the parade grounds, but Brother never said much more than "He froze up". Ed would never admit to anyone that he worried about Mustang some days, after that--

Brother acted like he hated the colonel, and sometimes the colonel didn't seem to like him all that much, but what Al saw when Ed's back was turned, was how Mustang's expression softened when he looked at them. Ed would swear to his dying day that Mustang had just used them to further his own goals all those years, but the truth was, Ed had used him, as well. More alike than either would ever admit, they were intertwined in heart, soul, and goal--

"Al..." Ed broke in, his voice shaky and barely there.

Al's eyes snapped open and were instantly locked onto the bonfire--

--Or more accurately, what the bonfire had become.

The flames were dancing higher, coalescing, forming into a shape that defied the laws of physics. An eight-pointed star within a circle... and in the center, a hook -- much like a serpent. It was a part of the crest given to them by Teacher; the array that had kept his soul bound to the armor all those years.

As they watched, the serpent grew thicker about the middle, sprouted legs and a head. It twisted around smoothly and wriggled downward, stopping at the edge of the star. Its head came up, searching the sky blindly--

"Is that... a lizard?" Amber asked.

"A salamander," Ed whispered. "It's... a fire elemental."

Two dark, flameless crescents within the salamander's head appeared and grew, like sleepy eyes slowly opening up from a long dream. It tilted its head back down to earth and regarded both Al and Ed curiously. Then it blinked and the flames fell like molten rain... the bonfire once more behaving as it should.

There was a long moment of stunned silence -- even the frogs and crickets nearby had quieted -- then everyone started talking at once.

"Whoa!"

"It looks as though talent runs in th' family, a'ight."

"Well, would you look at that."

"Al, how did you do that?" Ed asked.

"I'm not sure."

**********

June 6, 1919 -- 6:41 am
Central City, Amestris

Roy stumbled into his room and fell into bed without bothering to strip out of his uniform. He could barely move; couldn't even expend the energy to crawl under the covers before his eye slammed shut and refused to open again.

The inside of his head had begun to feel like a crowded auditorium just before the lights dimmed as phantasms twisted and morphed. Disjointed voices threaded through his consciousness, interwoven with the thin strains of a single instrument that he couldn't immediately identify. Music he didn't recognize played, stirring up primitive images and emotions within him -- never staying still long enough for him to grasp and examine closely. Gradually, his body felt like it was floating even as it was weighed down by sleep.

Visions of aboriginal people dancing around a fire and chanting hypnotically, dressed in skins and moving like the animals they imagined themselves to be, mingled with passages of dry text dispassionately describing theories on energy transference and religious beliefs -- all of them brought on by the book he'd gotten from Muriel. They came so fast that they'd all blended together, becoming a part of each other.

A man -- and Roy knew with a certainty that only came in dreams that he was a mystic -- came into focus, with a face that felt familiar, yet not -- with long sandy hair and ancient, gold eyes that had seen more than other humans. As he faced Roy, he smiled benevolently and the skins around him changed into flowing robes while the bonfire collapsed into itself to become a glowing array with alien symbols. "You're beginning to understand why I chose this place," the leader said as Roy was pulled backwards.

He was left standing on a hill in the dark of night, gazing down at the sacred grounds in the distance. He could see more, and realized that the array was within the skeleton of a hulking beast that had died nestled against an old tree. The bones were older than time and had seen countless rituals; many of them were broken and shattered, unidentifiable. Those that remained were blackened and charred. From the tree hung a relic -- an enormous ring tied with woven vines.

A thrill of comprehension surged through him like a bolt of electricity and Roy struggled toward consciousness, but his sleeping mind refused to release him. A new dream started, and he knew it must be a dream because everything looked like he was trying to see it through a wall of flames. That should have made him awaken instantly, because for too many years, any dream that started that way ended badly; usually with him screaming and bolting awake in a puddle of cold sweat, or occasionally barely in time to lean over the side of the bed and vomit.

This time though, it felt different; had a new flavor and sensation. It didn't frighten or nauseate him, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. He felt more of a detached curiosity; he wanted to see how this played out.

Thought became deed, and the flames irised open to a black, velvet sky with familiar summer constellations overhead. There was a low murmur of voices behind him, and the melody became clearer. As he tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, he heard a trembling whisper... a single sound that he couldn't understand, but it felt heartbreakingly familiar all the same. As he searched, the music stopped and he was surprised at how desperately he wanted it to continue. He tried to cry out to the invisible player to keep going, but he couldn't find his voice.

Then he looked down. The firelight licked over spun gold and bronze and danced in wide, awestruck eyes--

--Roy snapped awake, gasping for breath -- It was a dream! Oh gods, it was only a dream!

**********

June 6, 2006 -- 12:37am
Rose Hill, Kansas

Night had fully enveloped them, and the fire had been reduced to smoldering ashes by the time Amber roused the group to head inside. Ed had stared contemplatively at the fire long after everyone else had fallen to talking amongst themselves. Al had hesitantly played a few contemporary Amestrian songs before falling silent, as though the magic had gone from the flute after the vision in the fire. Filling a pail of water from an outside faucet, Alden poured the contents over the remaining coals, setting free a cloud of smoky ash. Taking the hint, Ed pulled Al upright and pushed him towards the house. The younger boy shook his head wearily, returning the flute to an inside pocket.

Inside, Amber and Heist worked together to wash the dishes from the afternoon meal. Tom and Ducky sat at the kitchen table while Alden carried a sleepy Lucy to her bed. Ducky had already unpacked his computer and was tapping his fingers impatiently as the machine powered up. Reilly and Hughes were nowhere to be seen, but Ed already knew where they were. Blushing again, he walked over to sit across from Ducky at the table, dropping his small stack of books down with a thud. Ducky barely glanced up before returning his attention back to the screen. "What's up Term?"

Ed sighed, but let the nickname pass. "I need more..."

Ducky leaned forward suddenly, tapping at the keyboard. "About damn time! Amber, hon- your internet sucks out here!"

Hands buried in suds, Amber glanced over her shoulder. "Hey, I'm perfectly content with dial-up. I never did grasp what was so vital about instant access anyhow." Beside her, Heist fumbled, nearly dropping a dish.

Ed lowered his brows. "Ducky."

The hacker glanced up. "Yup?"

"I was wondering if I could get..."

A series of beeps made Ducky look away again, this time with a grimace. "Ah, frickin' damn!" He shouted, only to be immediately shushed by Tom and Amber.

A moment later, Alden appeared. "Ducky-- lad, ye plannin' to put the lass back to bed yerself when she wakes?"

Only slightly contrite, Ducky tapped furiously at the computer again. Ed, losing patience, stood slowly, walked around the table, and shut the computer.

"Ed, what the hell!"

Ed held the top down while he stared at the hacker. "I need more books."

Ducky shot a glance at his computer. "You know, that really isn't good for..."

"Ducky..."

The young man stood. "What kind of books, I hear Alden has quite the collection -- vintage Hustler from the 70's -- though I prefer a more modern collection myself..."

Ed ground his teeth. Before he could start ranting however, Al intervened. "Please Ducky, it's important."

Managing to actually look apologetic, Ducky ran his hands through his hair. "Yeah, all right. I think Heist might have something in her backpack..."

As he wandered over to talk to Heist, Ed ruffled Al's hair. "You look exhausted, you should go to bed."

Al yawned in response, stretching his arms stiffly over his head. "Okay Brother. But so should you."

"In a minute."

Al drifted towards the room they shared with Maes. Meanwhile, Ed flipped open Ducky's laptop and looked up Google. He hesitated at typing in the search bar. Part of him was really anxious to find out; but a bigger part was afraid to know.

Before he could decide, Heist dropped down in the chair next to him and pulled her backpack into her lap. “Ducks said you needed books?”

Ed closed down the search engine. “Yeah, do you have something I could borrow?”

Heist upended her pack on the table. Ed stared as more books than he thought could possibly fit in her pack spilled out onto the hardwood surface. In addition to the books, a number of other items trickled out. Several bundles of rubber wire, five or six small plastic sticks on cords, and a handful of small wrapped tubes were just some of the objects that rolled out of the pack, scattering across the table and floor. Bending down, Ed retrieved one of the wrapped tubes, looking at it quizzically.

Before he could ask, Heist snatched it away from him. “Heh, sorry about that.” Reaching towards the book pile, she pulled a couple of volumes free. “These ones are Stephen King, which you're welcome to read if you want, but I figure you're probably more interested in the research texts.”

Ed didn't know who `Steven King' was, and with the pile before him of unread books, he didn't care. In moments, he was engrossed.

He was just beginning chapter seven when a hand tapped his shoulder. Ed tore his eyes away to look up, only to see Tom smiling at him. Everyone else appeared to have vanished long ago.

“Edward, I know this may not be my place to say this but, it's time to put down the book and go to bed.”

Ed rubbed at his eyes, suddenly noticing the stiffness in his right shoulder. As he straightened to stretch, he felt familiar tingles in his lower back and left thigh. “Mm, yeah… you're right. I guess I didn't know how late it was.” Standing, he hobbled a little on his sore leg.

Tom reached out to steady him. “Are you okay?”

Ed smiled lightly. “Sure, just a little stiff.” The look Tom gave him was disconcerting. On anyone else, Ed would have labeled it `pity'. Slightly irritated, he brushed aside the steadying hand. “It's no big deal. Just… just keep it to yourself, okay?” Tom nodded, and Ed turned back to the table to mark his place in the book. “Listen, Al doesn't need anything more to worry about…”

“I understand Ed. If you need anything, pain medication… I'm sure Alden…”

“No, it's fine. Besides, I can't risk taking something I might have a reaction to. When I first got my automail, I took Morphine, but had to quit when I started becoming dependent. In Germany, a doctor prescribed Hydromorphone. It worked for a little while, but I developed a resistance to it after about a year. And by then, of course, it was getting to be almost impossible to acquire.” Ed stopped, shaking his head. “I guess I've just gotten used to it.”

When he finally looked up again, Tom's expression was unreadable. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead, gestured to the guest room. “Don't make me carry you."

Retrieving his book, Ed started for the room, only to feel it slipped from his fingers. Turning around again with a retort ready, he saw Tom smiling at him benignly. Ed was suddenly overtaken by how much his expression reminded him of Hohenheim.

“I promised Amber I wouldn't let you read all night. Now, you don't want to be responsible for causing me to get beat up by a girl do you?”

Ed grinned. “Trust me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone.” Leaving the book in Tom's care, he turned his body towards the call of sleep.

At first, his mind was so wrapped up in what he'd read, he wasn't certain he'd fall asleep. However, as he lowered himself onto the bed, the previous day's activities seemed to catch up with him all at once. He was certain he'd never felt a pillow so soft…

The desire to close his eyes was overwhelming. Arranging his limbs automatically, Ed yawned hugely. The text was becoming blurred in his head. As he sank deeper into restfulness, his mind overlapped the present with his memories of the past. He saw Winry typing on a computer, Envy pursuing him in a helicopter, and the Gate. The Gate loomed larger, until it filled the world. A strange device was attached to the doors, studded with things that looked like buttons. He kept hitting different combinations, but nothing opened the doors. Around him danced the beings from the Gate, laughing and mocking his attempts. He beat his fists on the heavy wood. Suddenly, the beings peeled away from him, still laughing. There was someone behind him. He turned, and a saw a man with the head of a spider standing in a halo of light. The man raised a sword and prepared to attack, only to be thwarted by a small, dog-like creature with a black bird's beak. The bird-dog dragged the man away, and Ed felt himself sinking through the ground. Everything faded around him. Before long, the nightmare had been pushed aside by other memories, and Ed relaxed fully into sleep.

~`~`~`~

June 6, 2006 -- 1:04 am
Wichita, Kansas

The unflattering hospital gown drifted to the floor gently, and came to rest on the drab, green linoleum. One corner landed in a patch of something sticky and dark.

Stealthworks Alchemist James Sidney Bond didn't even wince as he pulled the tattered dress shirt over his arms where the flesh had been peppered by flaming shrapnel. Luckily, only one hand had been damaged, and only slightly; a minor cut along the thumb. His face was much worse. The searing heat, as the spider latched on to his face, had left deep pock marks down both cheeks. One eyelid was misshapen, curving into a permanent squint. The ear on that same side was also damaged severely, most of the lobe burned away, leaving only a curl of the cartilage. Four ribs had cracked from the concussion, but thankfully a couple of bomb squad guys had gotten between him and the main blast. They weren't expected to survive.

Bond examined his suit coat. The shirt was one thing, but the coat was simply a disgrace. Grabbing a marker from his things, he drew a quick array on his hospital bed sheet. Placing the coat on the bed, he activated the circle.

~`~`~`~

Four minutes later, the second guard returned from the bathroom. Seeing his partner missing from outside room 211, he peered through the small window. Dropping his hand to his belt, he fumbled the door open and barged inside. A glance at the floor caused his stomach to turn over liquidly. Fighting his nausea, he edged past the mass on the floor. In spite of his caution though, his right foot slipped a little, leaving behind a smeared print as he hurried to the window. The glass looked... melted. Weapon drawn, he leaned over the twisted frame, and looked down. Fumbling for his communicator, his voice cracked as he sounded the alert.

Beneath the sill, it appeared as though the wall had sprouted a series of narrow rods, evenly spaced, all the way to the ground.

~`~`~`~

June 7, 2006 -- 8:11am
Rose Hill, Kansas

When Ed awoke, he remembered nothing of his dream except a vague impression of a grinning coyote and a bright light, and that faded rapidly by the time he left the bathroom.

Nobody else was up yet. The lulling sounds of sleep added to the peace of the morning. Ed stepped carefully through the living room, not wishing to disturb the blissful quiet just yet.

A small noise came from the couch, and Ed glanced over to see Tom shift a little in his sleep. The older man had elected to bunk out on the sofa in order to watch the late news, and the television was still on, though muted. Some kind of morning news was on, with a long line of text scrolling beneath the smiling reporters.

Ed snapped off the set, and had taken two steps towards the kitchen, when something he'd read on the screen suddenly made its way into the forefront of his brain. His brow furrowed, and he turned back to the set. Crouching down, he pressed the button to turn it on again. The mute was no longer active, but Tom had kept the noise level low so as not to disturb anyone while he watched. Turning up the volume slightly, Ed scanned the headlines at the bottom of the screen. 'President makes strides in Uganda.... albino crocodile born to Houston zoo...', several more topics passed like this, and Ed was starting to think he'd imagined it when, 'suspect in hospital bombing escapes custody....'. Ed sat back on his heels, unable to stifle the startled gasp. He stared for a second in shock, then reached out to try another station, hoping for more news on the subject. He pressed the button for the next channel, only to be faced with a fuzzy white screen. Agitated, he tried again, and got the same result.

"Oops, sorry Ed, you need the remote." Ed turned to see Tom sitting up to fish the remote out from under his body.

"Quick, find a news station!" said Ed, scooting back so that Tom could see the screen clearly.

Tom looked at him oddly, but quickly adjusted the television back to normal before flipping through stations until he found a local news network. He adjusted the volume up a little more, then sat up fully, pulling his blanket around his legs. Ed remained seated on the floor, anxiously waiting through a long stretch of commercials, and ignoring the glances Tom kept shooting his way. Finally, the news was back, and Ed straightened as the main station anchor turned to the screen.

"We have breaking news. At approximately 1:15 this morning, the suspect who was being held in connection with the Wichita hospital bombing apparently escaped from police custody. Sources within the department are not releasing information, at this time, as to the nature of the escape. However, we've been informed that one of the guards assigned to the room was found dead. Hospital staff on duty witnessed that the window of the room where the perpetrator was held appeared to be 'blown out'. One witness claims he was outside the building when he saw a bright light or flash of some kind out of the corner of his eye. At the time, he reports thinking it was lightning. No other witnesses have claimed seeing any kind of light at the time of the escape. Police are warning people to remain indoors, and to report any unusual activity in their area. If you see the suspect, you are not to approach him. Instead, get to a phone and alert police immediately to his location. The suspect is described as a white male, between five-ten and six feet tall, early 40's and bald. He has injuries on his face sustained in the bombing and is likely to be armed. He is considered highly dangerous. Anyone with information regarding his whereabouts is urged to call the number at the bottom of the screen. Repeat: The suspect is armed and extremely dangerous. If you see someone fitting his description, do not approach him. Contact the police immediately."

Ed came to his feet, feeling a thread of fear burning the back of his throat.

Tom stood quickly as well, the blanket falling unnoticed to the floor. He was already rushing to Amber and Alden's room when he glanced over his shoulder. "You go warn Maes and Reilly, I'll wake up these guys. Hurry!"

Ed was out the door before Tom had finished speaking. The mood outside was disarmingly calm in contrast to the rising panic he was feeling. The heat of the day was only just starting to make itself known as he darted around the side of the house, across the yard and up the trail. "Hughes! Reilly! Wake up!" he bellowed as he tore through the arbor and at the silk-curtained gazebo, hoping that it gave them enough time to at least cover up before he got there.

Reilly was just sitting up when he made the entrance, rubbing her eyes and scowling as Hughes was slipping on his glasses. Ed had just a moment to be grateful they were both dressed before he slid to a stop in front of them.

"Ed, what...?"

Hughes stared at him intently, already seeming to answer the question before Ed spoke.

"Bond escaped, we have to run--"

__________

Bonus: "I said I was too old for the gymnastics. I didn't say I was too old to keep up with you."

Warning: The Bonus Piece is rated hard-R or NC17 (depending on your pov).