Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Balance of Power ❯ Move 'em On, Head 'em Up... Rawhide! ( Chapter 26 )

"Move 'em on, Head 'em Up... Rawhide!"
Arc One: Chapter 25
Balance of Power

 

Part One

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

 

A/N: meirelle opens the part beginning with August 5, 2006
Location: Central Texas with her contest winning entry! Congrats! (and *coughs* sorry about the insanity!)

It's going to be really quiet around here, Ray thought as he started his morning routine, the first part involving downing a cup of coffee before he even thought about going into his tiny bathroom. He would be back on his usual 12-hour day shifts in the ER area of the hospital as of today, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Tiger (Al... his name is Al, Ray reminded himself) made his escape only a couple of days before and had successfully reunited with his brother -- even though things got a little hairy for a bit there. And now Gene was going home later today. It was going to be... boring. Never thought a couple of kids would've made things so damned exciting, he thought with a soft laugh. Funny how someone can change your life without even trying.

With Al's help in boosting Gene's self-worth, he'd become a bit more confident in standing up to his mother and father in general, even managing to convince his parents that he was not an invalid. Yesterday, when Ray had happened by the physical therapy rooms, he'd seen Gene working out, a normal wheelchair waiting instead of his usual battery-operated tank. Now he was leaving and Ray was looking forward to seeing the kid off, but he already missed both boys.

I'm glad the kid's finally doing something he wants to do, Ray thought as he lathered his face for shaving. Maybe by the time he sees Al again, he'll be using crutches. If it is possible for him to use crutches or anything.

His daily routine didn't take too long. Patting his cheeks as he finished shaving, Ray bent his head to wash away the extra shaving foam, making sure to get that little bit that always seemed to sneak into his ear.

Then he looked up.

He'd barely had a chance to register the second image reflecting in the mirror, before he felt something cold, hard and deadly press against the back of his skull. "A pity I have to do this, Mr. Purdue. But I'm afraid you're a loose end." Click. "And I do despise loose ends."

~`~`~`~

Sidney was very meticulous as he removed his gloves and peeled off the the plastic rain poncho that had covered his suit. There was a slight residue of hair and brain matter on the cuffs of his sleeves, but the rest of the flotsam from that interfering nurse was disposed of in the kitchen trash.

He was almost saddened that he didn't have more time to spend with dear Mr. Purdue, but unfortunately he was on a schedule. Vendettas against meddling medical professionals aside, he had to get to Missouri.

He had other unfinished business, after all.

_________

****
From: heistgoeskerouac
Re: Why you haven't seen me lately

Hi Mom, it's your one and only daughter. Notice the new email addy. Yes, another one. No, I'm not in any trouble with the law again... though I am in a bit of a... situation... Ducky and I both are. And no, not that kind of situation. You're going to have to get your grandchildren from another one of your offspring, thank you very much. Hasn't Roman married our adorable little neighbor yet?

Actually, if you see Mama T any time soon, tell her the Duckster and I both send our love. We're not in a great position for easy communicating, and D has his hands full with another project right now. But we're both safe and healthy and we've still got all our limbs and two eyes each and our brain pans are relatively intact -- for the moment anyways. Ducky and I are keeping each other out of trouble, as always.

I love you, tell the boys their sister says hey.

~ Lena
****

June 7, 2006
Location: Western Missouri

They'd left Amber's and drove northeast. Ducky first, then Tom, Reilly, and back to Ducky. The few stops they dared take lasted just as long as it took to fill up with gas or swing through a drive-thru. Whether everyone was still stunned at this most recent turn of events or the general air of anxiety coursing through the van kept them from speaking, very little was said beyond the occasional low murmur concerning their destination between driver and whoever was riding shotgun.

Passing the hours spent cooped up in the Ninjavan idly watching the scenery go by held Heist's attention for all of ten minutes. While she was tired enough to sleep, her naps rarely lasted longer than the distance between potholes. It was like the few attempts at family road trips she'd been on as a kid, only without the forced fun -- without any fun. And less coffee. Definitely not enough coffee.

From her spot in the back of the van, Heist had an unobstructed view of the rest of their little group. She knew Ducky knew them well enough to continue going along with them, the ones from this world, anyway. Hughes, she thought, had been nothing but genuine and most particularly empathetic towards what his and the Elrics' presence was costing the others. He'd even sought her out at the bonfire before they'd roasted marshmallows and apologized for what had happened to Kitten. Alphonse, too, had thanked her for helping get him out of the hospital -- he didn't mean to be so much trouble, really. Considering he was wearing that kilt getup and looking absolutely squishable when he turned those enormous, penitent puppy eyes on her, Heist had forgiven the kid and promised no hard feelings in the space of about five seconds. Even Ed, the most guarded around her, was at least cordial when they crossed paths. Heist supposed if she was going to be running for her life from a sadistic, two-faced, impeccably dressed time-traveling murderer, there were worse people she could have been stuck with.

Mandar came to mind.

~`~`~`~

Heist made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as she followed Reilly into their room, sidestepping Ducky as he unrolled the sleeping bag he kept in his van and narrowly missing the pillow Tom had snagged from one of the beds and tossed in his direction. Entering the bathroom with a sigh, she tried not to think about when the last time was that it had seen a bottle of bleach. Their overnight accommodations were less than ideal, but staying off Bond's radar meant that options were going to be limited for a while. She changed into her pajamas and finished getting ready for bed as fast as she could. Opening the door, she found Reilly and Tom each lounged out on one of the two beds, the evening news turned on low. They alternated between munching on the last of a bag of pretzels and throwing the broken pieces at Ducky's immobile form.

"It's amazing," Reilly said, moving over to make room for Heist, her eyes never leaving Ducky. "Tom went to ask if the TV would bother him, but he was already dead to the world. We even tested the alarm clock -- twice. He didn't flinch."

Heist quirked a grin and slid under the sheets. "That's Ducks for you. He could sleep through the Apocalypse and all he'd do is ask where everyone went."

"Funny," Tom sighed, "I thought the past few days was the Apocalypse."

Reilly stifled a laugh as she grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. No sooner had the door closed then the mother of all godawful noises cut through the relative quiet in the room. Heist's blood ran cold as a thousand different worst-case scenarios sped through her mind. In the next bed over, Tom jumped up and fumbled with something on the nightstand. Reilly poked her head out of the bathroom, alarm etched on her face. A heartbeat later, Tom had snatched something up, and the assault on their ears ceased.

"Hello?" Tom inquired into the room's phone receiver.

"Good gods, that was the phone ringer?!" Reilly exclaimed.

"Apparently so," Heist replied, heart still thumping wildly somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

Tom nodded a couple of times, answered in the affirmative, and hung up. "Well," he said, laying back down on his bed, "Maes, Ed and Al are settled in next door."

"They could have pounded on the wall, it would have been quieter," Reilly mused, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Tom gave Heist a lopsided grin. "At least we know the phone works."

"Right," she agreed. And then, almost as one, they both leaned over to check on the other occupant in their room, the only one who hadn't spoken a word since the first minute he'd entered. Lying on his stomach, pretzel bits strewn around his head, the Duck Lord slept on.

With that note, Heist said her good nights and rolled over, facing the wall. She was exhausted, and rightfully so; she had only slept a few hours the previous night. She'd stayed up longer than she'd intended talking with Llyn on the Branch's second floor balcony. Having been woken up at an ungodly time to go joyriding around the country hadn't helped, either. As tired as she was, though, she remained awake. Heist kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep as Reilly eased into bed and Tom took over the bathroom. When he finished, she heard him move around, checking the door and clicking off lights, whispering a final good night. A little while after that, she heard him switch off the TV. The sounds of deep, even breathing soon filled the room.

Some time later, Ducky rolled over and with half a snort, woke up. Heist heard him fumble his way through the dark room to his bag, then to the bathroom. He retraced his steps and, amazingly, Heist heard a few careful crunches as Ducks found a late-night snack in one of the pretzel pieces that had landed in his sleeping bag. At least she hoped it had been one that had landed in the bag.

The crunching finally stopped, but Heist didn't think Ducky had fallen back asleep and she made her move. Sliding out of bed, she crept silently along until she was standing at the foot of his sleeping bag, the tips of her toes just barely brushing its edge. She waited until she heard a slight sigh, and he unzipped the bag to make room for her.

"Come on," he whispered and she stretched out next to him on the floor. "What are we, ten?"

"I couldn't sleep," Heist whispered back.

"Obviously." Ducky retorted quietly. A few moments later, "I can't sleep now, either."

"You thinking about anything?"

"Oh, nothing in particular... mostly about how completely screwed my life has become in the past couple of months."

"Yeah," Heist breathed out in agreement.

Ducky rolled over to face her, even though they couldn't really see much of anything. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this."

Heist didn't answer right away, her thoughts instead wandering to Sidney and her own involvement in this mess without Ducky's help.

"Hey, Heist?" Ducky inquired softly. "Are we... are we okay?"

She drew in a deep breath and smiled blindly into the black. "Does a traveling carnival have freaks?"

Suppressing a giggle, the two rearranged themselves as best they could in a more comfortable position. "You know, Hellspawn," Ducky whispered, poking Heist's side, "the least you could have done was brought your pillow and blanket to this shindig."

"Shut it, Tuckandroll. What are we, ten?"

~`~`~`~

Sidney watched as the array he'd etched into the bare ground burst to life at the edges, ignoring the scent of rain-soaked garbage as he monitored his work on the one dry section of pavement available to him. The bright blue fire of the alchemic reaction tightened and collapsed upon itself as it moved through each concentric circle, igniting the glyphs and symbols inside each section briefly. As the transmutation moved inward, the pair of objects in the center that had once been plain scrap metal shifted and twisted in on themselves, taking a new shape entirely.

As he monitored his work carefully, he recalled another alchemist who'd had arrays tattooed on his palms. The idea had its merits, but Sidney had never needed to keep his array on him in so... crudely permanent of a manner before. There was a time when no one could touch the Stealthworks Alchemist, after all. His fist clenched as he recalled the incident of a mere few days past, and how easily the Fullmetal bastard had managed to disarm him in the confusion.

It was shameful. James Sidney Bond had practiced his trade as much as he dared, but he'd become damnably soft. The brat had stolen a march on him, but the weak and ragged Elric wouldn't be able to do it again. He was making sure of that.

He could have made a visit to a tattoo artist; he certainly had the money for it. He wasn't as naively stupid as Reilly and her cohorts, putting all his funds in one place that could be blocked at the whim of the government he'd briefly worked for. The money he'd squirreled, smuggled, and hidden away was as accessible as the marker in his pocket, and it would be child's play to get the funds he needed for the simple geometric patterns that made his trademark alchemy work.

But people talked. And if the Elric brats had run to Branch, as he suspected, the bitch would be hot on his trail the instant he risked going to the loose-lipped morons who wielded the tattoo needles in this area. Besides, he had no desire to deal with the lackluster attitudes of people in this foul world. It would be far too easy for the mouth-breathing slug that he would inevitably encounter to make a fatal mistake.

Fatal for the tattoo artist, anyway. Just exceptionally bothersome for Sidney.

The idea of cutting the arrays into his palms had crossed his mind, but the fact of the matter was, blood was slick and he dared not risk a knife slipping in his red-saturated fingers. A mistake wouldn't do; the arrays had to be perfect. That left one choice. No questions would be asked, because Sidney could do it all himself. No witnesses to eliminate, and the Fullmetal brat, his weakling brother, and Hughes, that whoreson of an investigative officer, would not be able to disarm him the next time he confronted them.

He gazed through the mouth of the alley and across the street at the motel with the gaudy western theme: split-rail fence surrounding the lot, sickly orange and eye-searing green neon lights trimming the roof, fake cactus in pots along the walkway, and a sign with a bilious yellow horse. All but one window was dark as the blissfully ignorant slumbered, blanketed in a false sense of security. The single insomniac in room 132 wasn't Sidney's concern -- not unless he became exceptionally nosy. Chances were, though, he was oblivious and would remain so even as his life slipped away from him tomorrow.

He was far more interested in rooms 133 and 134. The windows were dark like most of the others, but he held no illusions that the occupants were sleeping soundly.

Good.

He'd been led to this place by someone still within the organization, but he knew that source of information could dry up without warning and planned accordingly. Bugs and tracking devices were remarkably easy to acquire, and contrary to the impression he'd given Heist, Sidney was quite adept at this world's technology. He'd bide his time and keep them under observation. Mr. Insomniac would merely be the first in a series of warnings that will only come to an end when Fullmetal and his precious little brother agreed to his demands.

The array had faded to a dull glow, and the pair of metal disks in the middle were now the right shape and white-hot. Sidney leaned forward with his palms down and flat. Even from a distance of two feet, he could feel the intense heat and his flesh was already beginning to blister.

The pain would only last for a little while. And the taste of sweet victory would dim it all to a vague, unpleasant memory.

~`~`~`~

June 8, 2006

Sidney slipped into room 133 and shut the door behind him. Giving himself a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom and to force the throbbing in his palms to quiet, he listened for the maid. She'd only been two rooms away when Fullmetal and his cohorts finally roused themselves from bed and out into the sunlight, and it had taken him as long as it took for her to finish that room and leave to move on to the next to pick the lock. His fingers had kept fumbling the picks and he silently cursed whoever chose a motel that still used old-fashioned hardware locks. Counterfeiting a card-key would have been a slow, time-consuming process, but it would have been easier and quicker than the clumsy manipulating of thin metal rods with swollen, burnt and bandaged hands.

No matter. It just meant he had less time than he'd like to do what he needed.

His gaze landed on an open lap-top that was running lines of white code on a black background, and he stepped over to take a look. What he saw made no sense to him, but the name of the file that was compiling was enough to make him smile coldly.

The genius brat isn't very imaginative after all, he thought. He didn't take long to get started on this, either. Won't it be lovely to see his face when he finally reaches for the Holy Grail and comes away with blood on his hands.

Sidney heard the vacuum start up in the room next door and decided he'd wasted enough time. Laying the laptop carefully on its side, he popped the door that held the battery open and placed the tracker inside. He would love to add a remote key-logger to the computer, just so he could track Fullmetal's progress, but there wasn't enough time to install it and cover his tracks. He had one last thing to do before he could slip out.

Predictable, he thought when he spied a cellphone on the nightstand between the beds. There was no mistaking who should have been carrying it -- he'd counted on it being left behind, in fact. The thing was a garish shade of metallic green and covered in stickers, and when he powered it up, it chirped a most obnoxious tune. So very, very predictable.

__________

June 10, 2006
Location: Southern Illinois

“Brother, can you scoot over a little?”

“I'm not even touching you.”

“But it's hot and you're sprawled all over the seat.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Reilly ground her teeth from the center seat in the Ninjavan. The boys had been sniping at each other for almost half an hour and there was no sign of abatement. It didn't help that they were trapped in the middle of traffic jam on an elevated highway on what must have been the hottest day of summer. The A/C couldn't handle the strain and crapped out an hour ago, and now any available window that could be opened, was -- not that it helped any. Heist had thought to unlatch the back doors and Hughes had slid the side door open... then promptly fell asleep.

“All right, boys,” Ducky tried to tease from the front, but even he had an edge of irritation to his voice. “Behave or I'll turn this car right around."

“I'd like to see that,” Tom muttered. Somewhere among the detritus and computer components littering the van, he'd found an old flier and was using it as a fan in an attempt to keep cool, but all he was doing was moving the scorching air in through the passenger window and circulating it around the metal box.

“Ed, please,” Al whined as he shoved at the older Elric, “move over.”

“Hey!” Heist protested, and shoved Ed back the other way.

“Knock it off!” Ed shouted.

Reilly sighed and buried her face in her hand. “Ducky, please tell me we're about to reach the end of this gridlock?”

“I could, but I'd be lying.”

She whimpered. Nightmare images of spending eternity cooped up in the Ninjavan -- in this exact spot -- viciously tore at her over-heated brain. She needed some sort of escape, and soon. Glancing over at Hughes softly snoring in the seat next to her, she envied the personality traits that kept him and Tom so mellow. Valium, she thought. Valium would be good. Her vision slid past the relaxed posture of the sleeping man, to the outside world. Down the embankment and just beyond reach (or at least beyond the ability to maneuver to an exit), was civilization. Life as she knew it hadn't ended out there.

She spied an electronics super-store and sighed. In there would be all sorts of lovely toys that would keep several hot and cranky people occupied and she could enjoy blissful silence. Too bad it's way over there, she thought, then almost smacked herself in the forehead a moment later. Instead, she mentally cursed herself for stupidity. The store was probably about a quarter of a mile away... if that. Leaning over in her seat to glance ahead, she noted that an exit wasn't too far away, either. This gridlock couldn't last forever...

She lightly punched Hughes in the arm, startling him awake, and said, “You're coming with me.” Then she stepped over him and hopped out of the van.

He shot a confused glance from Ducky to Tom, neither of whom offered anything other than shrugs, then silently followed.

Tom leaned out of the window and said, “Reilly? What in the blue blazes are you doing?”

“Sanity control,” she said, then poked her head back into the van and glared at the boys, who stared back owlishly, but at least silently -- for the moment. “You two? Not another word until I get back.” Then she pointed at Tom and said, “He has a gun and standing orders to shoot if either of you so much as blink, got it?” To Ducky, she added, “You. Meet us at Best Buy as soon as you can get off here.” With a final warning glance at the boys, she spun and headed down the embankment, expecting Hughes to follow.

By the time she felt the air conditioning of the store, her temper had cooled somewhat. She made a bee-line for the video games, and came to a stop at the locked glass cabinet holding the Gameboys. Hughes had kept up with her, although he'd been so quiet the entire trip, she'd almost forgotten he was there until he nearly slammed into her.

“Okay, Reilly,” he said mildly, “have you calmed down enough to tell me what we're doing?”

“Ed and Al don't like being cooped up, do they?”

“They never did,” he chuckled. “So... what now?”

“What do you think about a pair of these?” She glanced back at him and pointed at the display. “Think you can help me pick out a couple of games that would keep the two of them happy for awhile?”

Hughes perused the selection and then pointed out a cartridge with figures wielding comically large weapons and splattered with brilliant colors... mostly red. “Violence and mayhem,” he said. “Perfect.”

Reilly found the info on the game and scanned through it quickly. “It's rated 'mature', though. Al's a bit young.”

Hughes snorted, then quickly tried to cover it up by clearing his throat and pasting on a more serious expression that didn't fool Reilly in the least. “You're forgetting that technically, he's eighteen.” He leaned close, and added softly, “And this stuff would be mild compared to what they've actually seen.”

Reilly felt herself suddenly get colder and shivered as she recalled some of the horror stories Ed had told her of their lives in their own world. “G-good point... I guess. Al seems so innocent most of the time.” She patted him on the back and said, “You get to pick the games then. I need to find something else.” She strolled off as Hughes grinned and waved down a young man in a blue shirt with the store's logo on it.

She'd originally intended to see about a pair of MP3 players -- at least one for Ed, who had become rather addicted to the little bit of blues and gospel Reilly was able to escape with -- but found herself looking at computers, instead.

It was something else Ed had become rather obsessed with -- writing some sort of program. Although he was tight-lipped as hell about just what it was supposed to be -- beyond general grousing about her illogical filing system, anyway -- she suspected he was attempting to create a simulated Gate. Why was a question she doubted Ed would answer -- or perhaps couldn't, considering the passage fee -- but it meant that he glommed onto her laptop for long hours at a time, and she had to threaten him with bodily harm just to check her email.

She was reading the specs on a likely prospect when Hughes caught up with her, carrying a hand-basket loaded down with video games and accessories... and a rather amused Ducky in tow.

“Look what I found,” Hughes said, jerking a thumb back at the younger man.

“Figures this is what you went after,” Ducky said. “Traffic started moving about twenty minutes ago, and right now the rest of the gang are at Starbucks, cooling down and behaving.” He gazed over the laptop display and immediately pointed at one with a titanium case. “That's the one you want.”

“What makes you think I plan to buy one?”

Ducky and Hughes both gave her identical don't-bullshit-me looks, and Ducky said, “C'mon, Reilly. You've been bitching that Ed keeps bogarting your computer.”

“He's right,” Hughes interjected.

“Hush, you,” Reilly said, not completely serious. Then she turned to look over the laptop and nodded. “Looks like it's made to withstand some abuse. But what about static?”

“Shielded,” Ducky said. “Somewhat. I doubt it'll survive any better than your desktop did, if Ed decides he has to transmute something nearby.”

“Let's pray he never does, then,” Reilly said and found the boxed and sealed version of the display model.

Half an hour later, and quite a bit lighter financially, the three of them strolled across the parking lot and into the Starbucks with their booty. Dumping the bags in Ed and Al's laps, Reilly said, “Merry Christmas. Now stop driving me nuts.”

"Christmas?" Al asked absently -- far more intrigued with what was in the bags.

"Just smile and nod, Al," Ed said in a stage whisper. "And don't make eye contact, she'll think it's a threat and bite."

At that, Al's head shot up, and he stared at Reilly as if he wasn't certain his brother was joking.

Reilly reached over him and aimed an open palm at the back of Ed's head. "Behave."

Ed dodged the slap and cast a sideways glance up at her. His eyes were alight and he was smiling warmly. "Thanks, Reilly," he said holding a still-sealed game up. Then he flushed and added, "And... I'm sorry. About earlier."

Al slid from his seat, and wrapped his arms around her in a enthusiastic embrace. "Me too."

Blinking and stunned, she stiffened a moment, then relaxed as a warm-fuzzy feeling washed over her. She hugged Al back, burying her nose in a head full of bronze hair that smelled of sunshine and innocence.

__________

****
From: armoredalchemist
Re: Get out of Jail Free

Hey Gene!

I got your email! So you're home now? That's awesome! Look, I've been told by some of our friends that I should switch emails for security purposes or something like that. Long story. Heist said to keep an eye on your junk folder if you're using filters which, she said, as a fellow hacker you're probably already doing. Don't worry, you'll recognize my message.

- Al
****

June 12, 2006
Location: Central Indiana

Al scanned the display in front of him. Most of the items were things he'd never heard of -- and looked positively nauseating. He poked the slick package labeled 'Gummi Worms Extra Sour!', and curled his lip. At his side, Ed was rapidly filling his arms with a vast array of snacks. Long used to his brother's slightly unnatural appetite, Al was still amazed at the sheer volume of food Ed was managing to balance.

At the back of the gas station, Reilly was pondering the drink aisle. "Al, do you want me to grab you something?" she queried.

He smiled. "A Mountain Dew please."

Ed paused in his exploration to examine Al quizzically. "What's a Mountain Do?"

Al grinned widely. "Reilly, Ed wants one too!"

Reilly looked back at him over the shelves, wrinkling her brow uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

Al nodded vigorously.

Turning back, Reilly grabbed a couple of acid green bottles. "Well, at least it isn't Red Bull."

Ed and Al both stopped to look at her. "Red Bull?" they asked simultaneously.

At the far end of the station, next to the bottles of oil and packages of windshield wipers, Tom looked up sharply. "Reilly, don't you dare!"

Al saw her smile as she turned to regard the older man. "Trust me, I'd never do that." As Tom turned back to grab a few bottles of oil, Reilly started for the counter. "I have no reason to, Ducky already bought a box."

Al and Ed regarded each other as Tom groaned aloud. "Red Bull?" Al asked again.

Ed merely shook his head in confusion. "Everybody from this era is nuts," he muttered, grabbing a bag of chips and heading for the counter.

As Al turned to follow him, another package caught his eye, and he grinned wickedly. "Hey Brother, are you sure you don't want one more thing?" When Ed turned, Al held up a clear package containing a couple of yellow cakes.

Ed glared darkly, his eyes promising retribution, and Al chuckled as he prepared to put the package back. Then he paused. "Actually, these look kinda good..." Following the rest of the group as they converged on the counter, Al laid his single purchase next to Ed's massive pile.

Reilly glanced at him as they started to check out. "Al sweetheart, did you find something?"

Al nodded as he showed her his solitary purchase. "Yeah, Twinkies."

__________

****
From: pokerninja
Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears

Hey Gene,

It's Al again. Sorry for the email switch, but we're trying to be careful not to tip anyone off as to where we are. At first Heist wasn't even sure I should respond to your message, but Ducky said you were ok. Ducky, that computer guy who was working at the hospital for a while -- did you ever see him? He liked really bright Hawaiian shirts. Still does actually.

Anyway, he found some program of yours when he was fixing the hospital system. Said it was pretty good, too, so he left it alone. Well, he didn't know it was yours until I mentioned you later, all he said was that it originated from our ward, and there weren't that many people who could have written it. He vouched for your coding coolness or something like that, so I guess that means it's ok to email each other. Oh, Heist says to take the proper precautions in erasing these messages though. She says you should know what that means.

Seriously, though, I probably won't be writing you too often. We've fallen into some pretty dangerous stuff, and the last thing I want is to get you involved, too. More involved, at least.

So, you're aiming for an unmotorized chair? How's the therapy going?

- Al
****

June 19th, 2006
Location: Southwestern Ohio

It was late and the rest of his roomies were sound asleep -- the perfect time for Ed to lose himself in the endless lines of code he was modifying. The surface of the small desk in the motel room was impossible to see beneath the piles of books, rolls of maps, scattered sheafs of notes filled with unintelligible scribbles that only Ed could decipher, and the laptop. A female voice singing about getting a little 'r-e-s-p-e-c-t' was the only thing that reached his ears through the headphones, blocking the soft snores and mumbled words of the people sleeping nearby, and drowning out the bantering and laughing of the card game in the room next door.

It had taken only a couple of weeks for Ed to disentangle all the data Reilly had collected over the years about ley-lines and Gates, a little longer than that to garner enough understanding of programing to even begin to create a simple filing system for all of the information. Now he was refining it all, setting up cross-references, filling in extra notes, and trying to make it easily accessible. Unfortunately, writing a simple program wasn't so simple and Ed kept slamming into walls that took days to track down and correct in order to get around. Glitches, Ducky had called them.

He rubbed his eyes and then took a sip of the Mountain Dew that had gone warm. The problem he was facing right now was deceptively small. One file -- that's all it was, but an important one -- wasn't showing up in the program. Ed could find it manually, but it steadfastly refused to appear whenever he tried to call it up via his filing system. If someone else were to access the data, they could get the information they needed perhaps, since that particular file had little to do with Reilly's research, but it was the lynch pin for something else entirely... something vital to Ed.

He'd been at it for hours and it was beginning to wear on him. Even with all the caffeine and sugar in the soda, his eyes were starting to droop. It didn't help that the next song he heard was soft and soothing. I need to do something about this playlist, he thought, just before he rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes.

Warmth and a sense of being anesthetized blanketed him as he was peripherally aware the music had changed suddenly. The rich, woody tones of a flute wove through jumbled, rapidly moving images filled with ravens, alchemic symbols and bizarre chimera-like creatures that could only exist in dreams.

Wind whipped at him and he could see the landscape fly past beneath in a gold and green blur. The terrain quickly went from flat plains, ripe with wheat, to lush, forested mountains before he found himself standing at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a hidden, rocky canyon. On the floor of the small area was a circle of stones, the formation of which tugged at his memory. He knew this place! But there was something different about it. He thought there would be more trees, and not scrub pines and cedars, either. They should be taller, with wide, leathery leaves, or fan-like, fibrous fronds.

He needed to take a closer look, and he'd no more let the thought form when he stepped off the edge of the cliff and started to plummet--

“Brother!”

Ed snapped awake to the worried face of Al hovering over him. “What's wrong?” Ed asked as he rubbed his eyes and started to sit up. The horrible, green shag carpet felt sticky under his hand and it was only then he realized that he wasn't in his chair anymore. “How'd I get here?” he said, scowling.

Relief smoothed his younger brother's features as Al sat back and helped Ed up. “You fell out of the chair,” he said, attempting to suppress a snicker and failing.

Ed darted an embarrassed glance around -- Heist was little more than a curled up lump under the blankets in the bed at the far side of the room, and Ducky was dead to the world on the floor at the foot. Neither of them looked like they'd stirred the slightest at the disturbance. Dignity still intact, Ed let out his breath in a gust and then smiled. “I guess I'm tireder than I thought.” He came to his feet and stretched. “Let me shut everything down and I'll come to be--”

He'd only caught a glimpse before it was gone, but it sent a chill through him... a spot in the darkest corner of the room near the ceiling. Blacker than black, roiling and writhing like spilled ink as it receded into the night.

Ed's alarm must have shown on his face, because Al spun, slipping into a defensive stance instinctively and glancing around him, “What is it, Brother?” he whispered.

Ed took a deep breath, forcing his heart to slow down, and ruffled his younger sibling's hair. “Nothing, Al,” he said, forcing his tone to sound light. “It was nothing. I'm just really wiped.”

Al studied him for a moment, skeptical, but didn't voice any concerns. “Yeah. You should come to bed.”

“On my way,” Ed said as he shut the laptop down.

As Al crawled back under the covers and cocooned himself to the point all that stuck out was a tuft of brown hair and a pair of big, grey eyes, Ed glared at the corner once more. What do you want? he wondered.

__________

Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears -- Stonehenge-is-in-Caledonia my ass

Are you kidding me, Al?!? One of these days you're going to tell me how you make friends.

Heist? You know Heist? As in, THE Heist? Hacker God Extraordinaire? Or, rather, if I'm reading your message right, Hacker Goddess? Dude, put in a good word for me, Heist is my programming muse. I kiss the code she compiles.

Just, uh, don't show her this message.

Yeah, therapy's coming along. My dad said he'd take me anywhere in the world I want to go when I'm ready. After he gets back from... wherever he is right now, I can't remember. So who knows, maybe next year I'll be taking a trip down under. You'd like Australia, they've got a ton of really cute native animals.

Gene
****

July 3, 2006
Location: Northern Michigan

Hughes closed the cell and gave it a befuddled, unblinking stare long enough for Reilly to become concerned. She set her open book face down on her lap -- the book that only a moment ago had her so engrossed that she had barely even noticed when Tom, Ed and Al had wandered past with fishing poles, a bucket of bait and other accouterments they'd acquired from Goddess-only-knows-where.

When the man sitting in the chair across from her remained in that dumbstruck state for longer than Reilly thought was healthy, she leaned forward and peered at him, letting the book fall from her lap and lose her place. She was aware enough to know he'd been talking to Heist on the phone and that always elicited a specific range of reactions -- usually anywhere from annoyance to frustration -- but never silent bewilderment. “Hughes?”

He jerked out of his stunned musing and blinked at her. “That was Heist,” he said. “Apparently she and Ducky got hung up at the pizza place. Dinner'll be a little late.”

“Ducky's probably making some poor arcade game scream for mercy on a single quarter,” she sighed as she leaned forward and bent to pick up her book. At Hughes' apprehensive look she paused in mid-reach and felt alarm growing somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. “Please tell me they haven't gotten themselves into trouble.”

“It depends on how you define `trouble',” he said neutrally, but the slight twitch in one cheek told her that he was struggling with a strong emotional reaction.

Just what that emotion was, Reilly couldn't decipher yet. “What now?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You know, as long as I'm in this world, I'll never understand how those two keep running into people they know…” He waved a hand about the small cabin the Geek Squad was currently sharing. “...even out in the middle of nowhere.”

Reilly scowled. “Just spill it, already.”

He sighed and sagged, then gave her a confused smile. “Apparently Heist is acquainted with the manager at the pizza place. Or rather, he knows her… by reputation, at least. Anyhow, the store's computer went down and he drafted her into tracking down the problem.” He shrugged and went from perplexed to pleased. “Dinner's on him.”

Reilly wasn't buying it. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward again. In response, the much larger man -- who could stare down an assassin, risk life and limb against pissed-off, diminutive, automail wielding alchemists, even wear a kilt without an ounce of trepidation -- pressed himself back into the chair.

“Hughes,” Reilly said, a dangerous tone tingeing her voice.

He swallowed and gave her an edgy laugh. “Um, well? Seems that while Ducky was waiting for Heist to work her magic, the restaurant's `entertainment' found themselves one short and there was… a party scheduled.”

Reilly still couldn't understand what Hughes was so worried about. Ducky could at least carry a passable tune; just don't ask him to play any instruments. Therefore, she concluded, there was something else and Hughes wasn't telling. But what could be so terrible that the man would be afraid to just spit it out? What kind of trouble could Ducky get into entertaining a bunch of--

She suddenly felt like someone had taken her stomach and tied it into a pretzel knot. “Just what exactly is this `entertainment'?” she asked carefully, then cringing because she had a nasty feeling that she already knew the answer.

“It seems that the person in question is known only as `Kangaroo Bob'.”

Reilly wasn't certain if she should be horrified or laugh her ass off. She covered her face and tried in vain to suppress the giggles threatening to bubble up. “Oh God. Or maybe I should say, `Crikey'. Ducky in `Croc-hunter' mode? That's just… disturbing.” She managed to get the giggles under control before they spewed out and looked back up at Hughes. “We're going to have to suffer through weeks of a very bad Australian accent.”

“That's not the half of it.”

Reilly felt herself pale. “It gets worse? How can it possibly get worse?”

Hughes cleared his throat and it was then she saw the tremble of his chin and the twitch of his lips as he struggled valiantly to keep from laughing. “Kangaroo Bob is… a kangaroo. Literally.” He hesitated, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse into guffaws. “And yes, it gets even worse. There was some trouble while he was playing to the kids.”

Reilly's humor fled. “Aw, shit. Are we going to have to bail him out for drop-kicking some demon spawn?”

The chin-quiver became more pronounced and Hughes' lips looked like they'd developed a mind of their own as he shook his head, unable to speak at the moment. Eventually he dropped his face into his hands and Reilly watched as his shoulders shook in silence.

“I shouldn't laugh,” he mumbled finally. “It's tragic, really. And humiliating as all hell, but…” He looked up and rubbed the tears from his eyes. “Seems that while he was in the suit, someone stole his clothes.”

Reilly stared. Her mouth flapped open and closed as she tried to form words, but her brain had locked up and was now mulishly refusing to operate in any coherent manner as the absurdity of the situation pressed against the mental dam she'd erected in self-defense.

“Anyhow, they should be back any minute,” Hughes stammered through burbling sounds she assumed were brought on by his own attempts at control. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than they heard the Ninjavan pull up.

Reilly opened her book back up and settled herself deep into the couch. “Well, we can't laugh at him.”

“We can't?”

Reilly gave him a mock glower and pitched the paperback at him.

It missed him by a foot and he cocked a brow. “You'd never make it in Intelligence with aim like that.”

She only had enough time to stick her tongue out at him before Heist danced in with a stack of pizzas. “Greetings, fellow Geekites! I bring the true banquet of the Gods… free food!”

As the blue-haired woman dropped them on the counter and started throwing up lids, Reilly counted at least eight large pizzas. “Well, there's enough to feed Ed and Al, at least.”

Hughes was up and peering over Heist's shoulder at the contents of each box with mild disappointment. “What? No anchovies?”

Heist glanced back at him and grimaced. “Dude! Those are the nastiness! You'd be the only one eating. Ick!” This last was emphasized by a full-body shudder that bordered on a palsy.

Hughes feigned a wounded pout and said, “But I like anchovies!”

Reilly ignored the exchange to stare expectantly at the door. “No Ducky?”

“He's still in the van,” Heist said. “Said something about never coming out again.”

There was a muffled thump at the door and as Reilly went to get it, Heist added, “Or maybe it was that he needed help out. I don't remember.”

Reilly cast an annoyed glance back then opened the door.

She had prepared herself for the sight. She really had. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough and she had to draw from somewhere in the ancient past and racial memory for the stoicism born of aeons of hunter/gatherer tribes, ice ages, semi-nomadic lifestyles, and childbirth without anesthetic. And yet, even that wasn't enough to stop the fit of shocked laughter that exploded from deep within her solar plexus at the sight of a very disgruntled hacker in a plush kangaroo suit.

And it wasn't any normal kangaroo suit (if such a thing was possible), but a deep, royal purple with a bright, horrendously... blindingly pink chest, and incredibly long, thick feminine lashes over enormous, shiny black eyes. The incongruity of the stormy expression on Ducky's face embedded in the throat of the costume created a surreal image that was made all the more so by the fact that he was leaning back on the tail with the enormous feet of the costume propped on the heels and his plushy, purple arms crossed somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“Took you long enough,” Ducky grumbled as he rocked back then flipped onto his `feet'. There was no walking in that suit either, and Reilly snorted and coughed when she stepped aside to let the hacker hop in.

She didn't dare look back at what was making the terrible choking noise that came from the general area of the kitchen, either. She knew that if she did and saw the look on Hughes' face she would lose it entirely.

Once Ducky was inside she tried to shut the door, but it bounced back and she had to fight his tail out of the way to get it closed. “So… Um… Do they know who stole your clothes?” she stammered.

Ducky bounced further into the living room, one huge, fuzzy thigh brushing against the newspapers on the coffee table and sweeping them onto the floor. When he tried to shift out of the way in the tight space, his tail swung around and Reilly barely had enough time to jump over it and stumble out of the way before it toppled the spindly end table next to the chair, spilling a glass of soda all over her book.

"I'm going to have nightmares for weeks,” Hughes said dryly. “Seriously. I think I've been permanently traumatized.”

“I can recommend a therapist,” Heist said around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. She remained calm, having had more time and warning to reconcile herself to the shock, but there was still a glimmer of amusement in her smirk.

“Hughes,” Reilly sputtered, giving him a dirty look. At least she tried. Instead she was pretty sure it was hardly as intimidating as she was attempting.

“Yes ma'am?” He hung his head, but Reilly was in no way fooled into thinking he was anywhere near chagrined at this point. In fact she was fairly certain she heard him sniffling as he choked off a fresh case of the giggles.

She finally gave up and spread her arms out in a helpless gesture. “Please… just… shut up for now?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, then he sagged against the counter and started shaking in silent mirth, which was followed closely by not-so silent mirth, then became a full-blown belly laugh that made his knees weak.

“Oh sure,” Ducky grumbled. “You can laugh. It's not you in this thing.” Then he huffed and started to hop toward toward the bedroom...

...Past the open back door, where Ed, Al and Tom were returning from their fishing expedition.

The three of them froze for a brief instant as their brains tried in vain to wrap around the image in front of them, then Ed busted out with a high-pitched cackle that might've made Ducky proud -- had he not been the subject of amusement. Al skipped past the giggles and went straight to a severe case of hiccups and Tom, while not quite as robust, nonetheless was shaking and wiping his eyes.

Ducky glowered and leaned back on the tail; once again his fuzzy purple arms crossed over his chest and the huge feet propped up on his heels. It appeared, at first, that the hacker was simply resigning himself to wait out the storm... until he rocked back, using the tail for balance...

Tom was the only one of the three who had the presence of mind to get out of the way and he wisely took the quickest means of escape available... darting through the door and ducking out of the line of fire.

Ed and Al weren't so fortunate.

Ed went sailing through the door first, ripping out the screen, splintering the frame and never touching the stoop or the two steps leading up to it. He landed with a thud on the ground, bounced twice, then rolled to a stop a few feet away in a cloud of dry grass and dust.

Al turned his amusement onto his brother, pointing and coughing and sputtering through his hiccups as Ed weakly got to his knees.

“Ohshit!” Ed blurted suddenly, and Al spun around...

...in time to meet a pair of long, fuzzy feet slamming into his chest.

The doorway, having been cleared by Ed just a moment before, offered no resistance to the small, brown-haired projectile being shot through, and so he managed to stay aloft for a fraction of a second longer and a few feet further. He came back to Earth on top of his older brother, knocking the wind out of Ed and tumbling both of them ass-over-tea-kettle in a tangle of limbs.

When the boys finally figured out which extremities belonged to whom, they staggered to their feet, glanced at 'Kangaroo Ducky' and immediately collapsed back into the dirt in a gale of laughter.

Amidst the gaiety, Reilly heard the distinctive midi tone of Tom's cell playing 'Secret Agent Man' and everyone went still as they listened to his end of the conversation. There was only one person who belonged to that ringtone and she never had good news.

Tom stepped inside as he closed the phone, a grim expression settling on his craggy face. “Party's over folks,” he said softly.

__________

 

****
Re: don't bother tracking this, it already doesn't exist

Gene,

Heist here. I'm flattered, really. I can't say I've ever been someone's muse before. Sorry, I was reading over Al's shoulder (you know how it is, keeping an eye on the newbs). There's some instructions enclosed for how to cover your ass and encrypt your steps when messaging us; use it for the next year at least, or unless I tell you otherwise. Al and Ducky might endorse you, but it's not just their lives --and yours-- at stake, it's mine too. Nothing personal.
****

July 7, 2006
Location: Northeastern Minnesota

“No, thanks,” Maes said patiently for the third time. “I'm not really in the mood for a burger.”

“You sure?” Ed wheedled. “We'll be driving for a while. Don't you want something to keep you going?”

Maes snorted. “Unlike you and Al, I'm fully capable of lasting more than an hour after breakfast before I need to eat again.” He peered into the window of the fast food joint, and sighed. “But I see I'm in the minority on that. Look at that lineup. You'd better get in there so we don't take even longer to get going.”

Al hesitated, glancing from the long lineup to the man's resigned face. “Maybe we could wait a bit longer...,” he ventured, wincing as he awaited his brother's reaction.

At the sight of Ed's horrified expression, Maes laughed. “And I'd never hear the end of it till we could stop somewhere else. No, go on in, you two. We've got a few minutes while Reilly's at the drug store, anyway. I'll hang out next door and wait for you.”

Ed stepped out of the way of a pedestrian on the sidewalk and craned his neck to look into the store next to the burger place. “In a ladies' shoe store, Hughes?” He grinned, giving the older man a sharp elbow in the ribs. “You started with the skirt, and now you want the heels to match, is that it?”

Maes leaned back to survey the row of store fronts along the downtown street. “All right, all right -- the pawn shop next door to that. And Ed?” He flashed a deadly grin. “You'd better get going. Right now. You can't eat a burger with two broken arms, now, can you?”

Ed's laughter followed him as he turned his back and headed for the pawn shop. Once he stepped inside, though, the outer world was effectively shut out. Places like this tended to be dim, quiet, and rather dingy, as he'd had reason to discover himself a time or two, his first year in this world. Maes paused to let his eyes adjust, and ran a finger along the back of an old wooden chair near the front of the store.

His finger came back coated in old, greasy dust. A hard shell guitar case laid open and empty on a dusty, chrome-framed table beside the chair, overlooked by a couple of brass table lamps. The overhead light was muted enough that he wished the lamps were plugged in. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, nodded silently to the pale young man at the cash counter, and walked further into the store, hoping he didn't bump into anything.

He decided later that it was almost like a divine visitation. The shop remained dim and shadowed, its dark shelving units and low wooden ceiling beams serving to block most illumination from the streaked windows and the few light fixtures. Yet as he came to the center aisle and faced the back of the shop, a distant glow caught his attention and drew him irresistibly down the aisle toward it. A glass case, he realized, lit from inside, with two bright lamps hanging above, bathing it in radiance.

There's the light at the end of the tunnel, he chuckled to himself. Or the glow of divinity in the centre of a labyrinth. Or, he thought, maybe the white light those people talk about after a near death experience, when they come to terms with their life and become reconciled to their eventual death--

He stopped short, two feet away, the blood in his veins transforming to ice, and the hands in his pockets suddenly frozen and clammy. He couldn't seem to remember how to breathe.

His own death stared him in the face, cool and pure, almost serene in its self-assurance.

Glittering on a black velvet mat in the centre of the case, a set of throwing knives gleamed at him, light sparking like diamonds from their deadly sharp edges. So like his own knives were they, so like the ones he'd carried back in Amestris, that his own weapons could almost have followed him through the Gate and waited for him to discover them and seal his own fate.

Because that's what they were for, wasn't it? Maes yanked his hands from his pockets and lurched forward, palms meeting the top edge of the case, clawed fingers unconsciously seeking to gouge an opening into the glass. The knives were for him; he knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. Whatever doubts he might have entertained before, they had now vanished utterly. He would take Bond on, alone, and with these knives he might actually succeed. He would succeed. These weapons -- his own familiar, personal weapons that had served him so well in so many dangerous situations -- would solve the problem of getting close enough to kill Bond before the man's damnable bombs exploded. He wouldn't have to get so close, now.

He couldn't possibly survive -- that was a given, considering the nature of his foe. But now he knew he'd be able to take Bond with him. The knives were a gift.

The photograph in his shirt pocket pressed against his heart like a lead weight: Gracia and Elysia almost five years ago now, waving at the camera, eyes sparkling at him. He still couldn't breathe. The photo had been a comfort and a torment to him, every moment of his life since he'd fallen through the Gate. If there were any chance, any chance at all that he might still find them again -- but no. Ed tried to hide what he was up to, but it was becoming pretty clear that the young man was trying to find a way to open another Gate. Knowing Ed, he'd obviously continue to try, and would probably pursue the obsession for his whole life but it wasn't going to happen, was it? Maes had to face the facts, even if Ed never entirely accepted them. There was a price to pay, to open a Gate, and none of them could get around that. And none of them would ever choose that route -- choose to murder someone for their own selfish reasons -- so they could get home. So whatever Ed tried, they would always run into that rock solid wall. They would never return home. Maes had to face reality. And even if it could happen, what sort of man would he be if he left Bond here to terrorize this world? Alden and Amber and Llyn, who had been dragged into this mess simply by accident, but were now in danger because of it? Tom and Ducky and Heist, who had taken on the rescue of Al as a challenge to their abilities, but had begun to lose so much as a result? Reilly, whose entire life had been shattered, and whom he had failed so miserably in so many ways? How could he leave them to lose their lives to this monster from his own world while he returned happily to his loved ones without a backward glance?

Maes took off his glasses and ran the back of a hand across misted eyes. He couldn't do it, of course. He just couldn't leave them all to keep dealing with that horror themselves. Gracia and Elysia would never know. His girls already thought he was dead, and now they'd finally be right. Ed would rage when he found out what happened, but at least he and Al would understand, in the end.

And Roy. Roy would have understood, if he knew, probably better than anyone in either world.

The thought straightened Maes' back, and helped him blink the tears away and put his glasses back on. Time to do this, then, before Reilly or anyone else came to look for him. The lineup in the fast food joint hadn't been that long.

He turned toward the front of the shop, and called for the pale young man to come and open the case for him. He pointed out what he wanted to buy, and was very pleased at the unwavering calm in his voice.

__________

July 11, 2006
Location: Southern Nebraska

“Al, c'mon, give me the remote.”

Al remained where he was, standing on the bed, remote held high above his head as Ed leaned against him, reaching for it. It was just out of reach of his stretching fingers, so he jumped a little. The bed creaked ominously from the extra impact of the automail.

“Careful, Ed, you're going to break it,” Hughes remarked from his stretched-out position on the other bed in the room, hands behind his head.

Reilly, nose buried in a magazine as she sprawled beside him, added from behind its pages, “Break the bed and we leave you behind to wash dishes and pay off the debt, Elric.”

“You can't have the remote,” Al laughed. “I want to watch the new episode--"

“But why?” Ed whined. “It's such a stupid show. The story's not plausible, and the characters don't even look like real people.”

“Of course they don't,” Al told him patiently. “They're not real, so they don't have to.”

Ed stretched a couple more times, but each time, his brother managed to keep the remote away from him. At last he dropped down on the bed and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the propped up pillows. “All right, all right, have it your way,” he grumbled.

Al plopped down beside him, leaning against his shoulder. “Thanks, Brother. This is an episode I haven't seen before, so I really wanted to watch it.”

“Go ahead, then. I just don't understand it. Those implausible plots, all those kids with huge eyes -- why anyone would be interested in that anime stuff is a mystery to me.”

__________

****
From: lquennel
Re: You didn't think you'd get away that easy, did you?

Honestly, Hellene, you entrance me half the night and leave without even telling me your name? I'm wounded, deeply wounded. Had to ask my darling Mam if she knew anything else about you, and I must say that I can't decide what impresses me more: your juvenile record or that fetching color you cover up under the blue. You try so hard with that secret identity, but you're interesting enough on your own.

I just thought to check up on you. It's morning here, whatever time zone you're in now, and I hope you had a lovely morning too. Send Ed my regards and make sure he takes care of the automail, and pass on the doctor's orders to Mr. Hughes as well. And take care yourself, with that madman about. It would be nice to see you again sometime, preferably in one piece and sparkling to see me.

Yours,
Llyn
****

July 13th, 2006
Location: Northeast Kansas

"Well,” Tom sighed, picking up the remote, “I guess it's time to get the bad news again.”

“Do you have to?” Heist blurted. “Can't we have just one night without watching?”

“Sorry,” he answered gently. “But we have to know how close behind us he is. We don't dare skip even one night--"

“I can't stand it -- I can't stand any of this!” the young woman burst out. “We run and run and never get a break, and he always knows! I can't stand hearing about it if we can't do anything. I am so, so done! With everything!” She turned on her heel and rushed out the balcony door, slamming it behind her.

Tom, Reilly, and Hughes shared a look, and Reilly got up from the arm chair, sighing in resignation. “I guess I'd better try to talk to her down,” she began, heading for the door.

But Ducky was there first and barred her way with his arm. “Not this time,” he said soberly. “This one's mine, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah.” He said nothing else, but opened the balcony door and stepped through, making sure it was shut firmly behind him. He didn't want any witnesses to this.

He stepped to her side and placed his hands on the thin railing. Gulping nervously, he took a surreptitious deep breath, and then, not daring to look at her, made the plunge.

“So, Hellspawn,” he began, trying to sound casual but inwardly cursing himself for how his voice squeaked, “don't you think it's time you told me what you need to tell me?”

Instead of looking at him like he was out of his mind, as he'd thought -- hoped! -- she would, Heist stiffened at his side with a little gasp, her fists clenching the rail till her knuckles went white.

Oh shit oh shit! he thought in despair. I'm right. Shit, I'm right! What am I gonna do now??

“I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Tuckandroll,” she answered at last, about three beats too late to be convincing.

He wiped clammy hands on his pants. “Would it help,” he asked softly, “if I told you I've already pretty much figured it out?”

“Would it make you stop babbling riddles,” she retorted, “if I told you to go to hell?”

This was so bad. How had life gotten so screwed up?

“He was the dude on the other line that time, right?” Ducky forged on. “I actually talked to him -- the guy himself, and I didn't even know. And then in the car park, when you saw him -- I saw how you looked at him--"

“I did not `look at him'!” she hissed. “It was nothing like that!” Then stood with her mouth open as she realized how badly she'd given herself away.

“I didn't mean that,” Ducky protested defensively. “I mean, you knew the guy. I saw your face. You weren't surprised that he was there, H. You were surprised because he had a gun on Reilly.”

“You're crazy, Ducks.” Heist turned away from him, hugging her arms around her chest. “It's getting cold out here, I'm going back--"

“Do you want me asking you about this inside, then?” he demanded.

He saw her go completely still. Then, “Would you really?” she asked in a tiny voice that was nothing like her.

He turned around and sagged back against the rail, then flailed a little as it jiggled against his backside. Straightening up, he grimaced and shook his head at her back. “Sorry, Heist,” he muttered. “No I wouldn't, not really. But you have to tell me sometime, you know.”

“Why?” she muttered, hunching over. “You're just going to hate me.”

“No I'm not.”

“You are. Because all those people are dead. Kitten is dead. And it's all my fault that we're in this mess.”

“He was after Al already, and Hughes too--"

“I told Sid -- Bond -- about the rescue attempt,” Heist said in that small, frightened voice.

For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then -- “Fuck!” -- he bit off the word as though it had cut his tongue.

“Told you,” she whispered. “It is absolutely all my fault. And now you hate me.” Her shoulders shook, and Ducky realized she was crying.

“H, it's not -- it's not,” he insisted. “You didn't know what he was -- did you? I'll bet he never let on, not once. You didn't know what he was going to do.”

“But I should have!” she cried, whirling around and almost shouting the words at his face. “I should have figured it out! I mean -- I'm Gene's muse and everything. I'm supposed to know things. How could I have been so -- so stupid??”

Ducky pulled her close and hugged her hard, while she wept against his shoulder. “Crap, Hellspawn,” he said. “You know better than that. We can hack up a storm, but people? Even a genius can't figure out people.”

__________

****
Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears -- Stonehenge is in Caledonia :P

Australia? Kangaroos, right? No thanks, I've had my fill of kangaroos for a while. Their kicks hurt.

We're leaving again tomorrow, and we're packing for a longer trip than usual. Don't know when we'll hit another wi-fi hotspot (see? I'm learning). Take care, Gene. Oh, my brother wants to say something, too.

- Al

Hi Gene. I just wanted to thank you for looking after my brother in the hospital. I'm glad he had someone he could trust when I wasn't there.

- Ed
****

July 15, 2006
Location: Eastern Colorado

They'd been driving for over twelve hours. Their last encounter with Bond had been far too close for comfort. Ed had long since tuned out the soft sounds of Hughes' snores, Heist's headphones, and Ducky's conversation with Tom and Reilly. Outside the van, the world didn't seem to exist. Only the occasional roughness of the road shuddering the seats beneath him gave any indication that the vehicle was still in motion. Ed rubbed his face wearily. He was too hot again. The coolant system in the van only worked intermittently, and the combination of outside temperature and the heat rising from the floorboards was becoming unbearable. Leaning forward, he slid open the small window midway down the side of the van. The air wasn't much cooler, but at least it was moving.

"Are you okay?"

Ed glanced at his brother with raised brows. "I was just a little warm, why?"

"You're doing it again."

Ed realized what he meant, and quickly took his hand away from his right shoulder. "It's nothing."

Al's eyes seemed to bore into him; Ed turned his face back to the window. "Reminds me of Risembool. Remember how we'd stay out so late that we could barely see to get home again?"

He felt Al shift, and looked back to see his younger brother staring down at his clasped hands. Al's voice was soft when he spoke, likely to keep the rest of the group from overhearing. "It's getting worse, isn't it."

Ed sighed, digging a hand through his bangs. In the seat in front of him, Heist's playlist started another song; it sounded tinny coming from the small speakers in her ears. He cast about for a way to assuage Al's concerns. Looking at his brother again, he sighed. Al deserved at least a portion of truth.

Reaching down to massage his left thigh, Ed leaned his forehead on the seat in front of him. "It's the automail, it's been twinging again. It started about a month before we left for Germany. It only really bothered me when the weather changed. But this last month, it started getting worse." Leaning back, he looked over at Al again. "Don't worry, I just need to be more careful. I should be cleaning it every night. Winry keeps telling me..." He stopped, swallowing heavily. He knew his bluster wouldn't fool Al for a second. With any luck, though, it would be enough to keep the harder truth at bay for at least a little while longer.

Al looked up, but before he even opened his mouth, the van hit a rough patch on the road, making everything vibrate.

Hughes inhaled through his nose, sitting up with a yawn. "Huuuummmmeverything okay?" he asked, yawning again.

Ducky turned his head slightly without taking his eyes off the road. "According to Miss Navigator, there's a nice, seedy motel about four miles down this creepy dirt path."

Ed glanced to the front in time to see Ducky receive a whap in the back of the head. Too tired to grin, he none-the-less appreciated the punishment Ducky received. He's right though, mused Ed as he looked out the window. There was a sort of eeriness about driving down a dirt road at night. The trees on either side had grown right up to the banks, and it was easy to imagine any number of eyes peering at them through the dense foliage.

Almost as soon as he thought this, Ducky swerved sharply, earning him a round of exclamations and curses as everyone was tossed about. Rubbing his head where it had connected with the window, Ed looked out in time to see something fat, grey, and fast dart into the underbrush.

"Sorry, raccoon," said Ducky. "I swear that thing gave me the finger."

Reilly bent over to gather up the maps she'd dropped. "He's not the only one, dear."

The rest of the drive was uneventful. By the time they disembarked from the van, Ed was ready to sleep anywhere so long as it wasn't in motion.

Tom and Reilly went in to get rooms while everyone else grabbed their belongings. Reilly returned a few minutes later with two sets of keys. "Tom is getting us some dinner from across the street. Their idea of food here is half a pack of cigarettes and a stale donut."

Splitting up into two groups, Ed found himself sharing a room with Ducky, Al, and Heist. The room itself was small, with two medium sized beds and a tiny bathroom off the main area. Ed claimed the bed closest to the door for Al and himself.

Dropping down on the other one, Ducky flipped on the TeeVee while Heist made her way to the bathroom. After scanning through the stations, Ducky finally settled on one showing the news, albeit fuzzily. The words 'BREAKING NEWS' flashed across the bottom of the screen. "...o report as of yet about what caused the damage?"

The view shifted from a petite brunette behind the newsdesk to a man in a blue jacket standing in front of what might have been a small building at one point. "Amy, the police aren't saying anything concretely at this time. I have been able to gather, both from the firefighters working the scene, as well as some of the rescue volunteers, that whatever took place happened very quickly."

The screen split in two to show both reporters at the same time. "Do they think it may have been caused by a gas leak?"

There was a pause while the view shifted again, showing more of the damage. Various people, many in uniforms of some kind or other, worked relentlessly to move the twisted heaps of still smoking wreckage. The scene changed again to show the male reporter as he started speaking once more. "There's been no official word on that yet. For now, both police and firefighters are keeping pretty tight-lipped about the incident."

"Thank you Tom." Returning the view to the newsroom, the brunette turned to face the camera. "For those of you just joining us, there has been an explosion at the Riverside Hotel off Lake Drive and 3rd in downtown Topeka. So far, there are reports of up to six casualties..." Ed switched off the set, his right hand clenched tightly. The other two in the room sat nearby, silent and shaking. There was a noise to the side, and Ed looked up in time to see Heist, her face stricken, whirl back into the bathroom whence she'd recently emerged.

"Brother..."

Ed turned to his sibling. Al's face was tight, and tears were forming as he stared at the blank set. "We were... we were just there..."

Ed looked back at the silent screen. In the dark reflection, he could see Ducky pull his legs up tightly to his chest. "I know Al."

From the bathroom came the sound of tortured weeping.

~`~`~`~

In the next room over, Tom reached out and silently turned off the television. From the bathroom, he could hear Reilly retching, but no sound came from the man sitting on the other bed. Tom didn't want to look in Maes' direction, because he knew what he'd see if he did; he'd been watching it grow and fester for weeks, becoming ever more apparent with each newscast.

The bed squeaked as Maes slid off. “I need some air,” he said, and a moment later, the outside door opened and closed.

Tom waited until he knew Reilly was all right. When she'd stopped gagging and he heard the water in the sink begin to run, he followed the other man outside. He'd noticed the copse of trees in the vacant lot next to the motel when they'd checked in and that was where he headed -- he knew Maes would be there.

As he approached, he could just make out the broad-shouldered form that nearly blended in with the heavy shadows of the trees in the rising sun. Maes' back and right shoulder lurched forward, and an instant later the hollow thunk of a metal blade embedding itself in wood reached Tom's ears. It was followed by three more in rapid succession and then stopped as Maes strode toward the tree.

The other man was yanking the last knife from the trunk by the time Tom reached him and from the looks of it, it had wedged itself in tightly.

Maes turned with a grimace and rubbed at his shoulder, then started and brought the fist full of throwing knives up when he saw Tom. He sagged in relief when he realized the older man wasn't a threat, and said, “You really shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that.”

“I didn't think I was sneaking,” Tom said, mildly. He nodded at the wounds in the tree trunk and said, “Your aim's getting better.”

Maes glanced at the target, his lips pulling down. “Not good enough, though.”

“For what?” Tom asked.

Maes gave him a you-know-damn-good-and-well-what glare as he strode past and faced the tree once more. As he raised one blade, he said, “You might want to move.” When Tom stayed put, Maes brought his arm down. “I have to do this. You know how it is, the best candidate for the job and all that.”

Tom crossed his arms, and refused to move. “You won't survive it, Maes. Chances are pretty damned good that he'll kill you before you kill him. Then what? Nothing changes, except that you'll be dead.”

Maes huffed out a short, bitter laugh. “I'm already dead, remember?”

“You're alive here.”

Maes stared at him for a long moment, then, with a tiny shake of his head, he said, “Not really. I don't belong here. I just can't seem--” he broke off and held his hands out in a helpless gesture. “Ed and Al can adjust to almost anything. They've taken to this world like fish in a pond. Once Bond is dead, they can stop running and make a life for themselves.” He smiled sadly. “They've got good friends here who'll support them, after all.”

“So do you.”

Maes swallowed hard and glanced back at the motel. “Bond won't stop until he gets his hands on those boys, Tom. And he won't hesitate to kill the rest of you to get at them.” He faced the older man again, determination settling over his face. “And Ed and Al? They'll become the damned sacrifice, because they'll die before they let someone else be killed.”

“So that's it? You've made up your mind?”

“I can't go back. I can't stay here. And Bond needs to die. End of story.”

Tom nodded and moved out of the line of fire. He joined Maes and gestured at the tree. “Then I guess you need to practice.”

Maes gaped at him, but didn't make any move to resume his knife-throwing. “That's it? You're not going to toss out more words of wisdom to try and talk me out of this?”

Tom pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out. He took his time in lighting it and pulling the first smoke deep into his lungs. After he held it a moment, he leisurely blew it back out, then said, “You're preachin' to the choir here, Maes.”

“You're planning to go with me to hunt him down.”

Tom smiled and nodded. “You bet your ass. It's personal.”

"It's suicide."

"So I hear."

Tom could practically see the gears turning in the man's head as Maes studied him with narrowed eyes. He was a brilliant agent, able to put difficult puzzles together. Tom knew Maes would figure it all out shortly. He waited patiently, enjoying his cigarette, and was soon rewarded when Maes jerked ramrod straight and his lips parted as everything fell into place.

Maes glanced at the spent cigarette as Tom dropped it and ground it out with the toe of his boot. “How long?”

A cold, grim smile spread across Tom's face, and he said, “About as long as it'll take to hunt down and kill Bond.”

__________

July 26, 2006 -- 10:57 am
Wichita, Kansas

Amber Branch loved the park near her office. Right in the middle of old-town; there had once been a warehouse in its place, but twenty years ago the building had been demolished and the lot cleaned. Now it sported a fountain, a gazebo, rose bushes and one large pin-oak in the far corner.

It was late morning -- not quite time for the lunch crowd -- and there was only the Italian Ice vendor setting up his cart near the only opening in the Victorian-style iron fence that surrounded the patch of green.

She gave the vendor, a 30ish man with glasses and sandy hair that had been tucked up under the cap, a nod as she passed him. Already it was beginning to get too warm, and she felt for the guy -- that ugly red and white striped jacket couldn't be comfortable.

Her favorite spot was the polished wood bench under the pin-oak. It was in the far corner, and the one place that seemed to always have a slight breeze. Another advantage was that it was always in the shade -- whether from the tree itself, or from the building nearby.

The bench also had the added bonus, oddly enough, to be low enough that her feet touched the ground when she sat in it. She wasn't certain if it was just a mistake on the part of the planners, or it had been a deliberate attempt to attract children to the park (which was ridiculous, since it was in the heart of the business district -- but Amber had given up trying to comprehend the logic of local politicians long ago), but the lowness of the seat in a tall world kept it empty most times.

She had just settled down and opened the cheesy romance novel she'd picked up at the check-out counter the day before, when the vendor strolled her way with a cup in his hand filled with a mound of shaved, red ice.

She smiled up at him when he reached her, and he said, “It's beginning to heat up around here, isn't it?” He offered the cup of ice and added, “This one's on me.”

Amber took it with thanks and slipped a spoonful of the sweet, fruit-flavored concoction into her mouth with relish, then she gestured to the bench with her spoon and said, “Care to enjoy the shade before the lunch crowd hits?”

He glanced from the bench, then back at her and grinned. “It's not exactly built for normal people, is it? I might not be able to get back up.”

Amber's eyes narrowed. “Ha. Ha. What's next? Asking where my mommy is?”

“It had crossed my mind,” he said as he flopped down next to her, the grin never leaving his face. “Except that I don't think I could out-run a bullet.” He pulled off the cap, and a cascade of long, wavy hair fell out. He shook his head and scratched at his scalp.

“You're a smart-ass, Singer. It's a good thing I need you, else I might just use you for target practice.”

“I fear for my knee-caps.”

“I love you, too. Shit-head.”

The bantering died for a moment, as they watched the people in business suits hurrying along the outside sidewalk. Finally Amber said, “They're taking me off the case.”

“What about Bond?”

“They're still after him, but now they're after those boys, too.”

Singer pulled a foot up onto the bench and propped his arm on his knee. He didn't look at her -- preferring to watch the traffic outside the park, instead -- the constant grin on his face disappearing. “They're not criminals,” he said. “So I assume that the suits figured out what they can do.”

Amber nodded. “I'm not certain how, but I have my suspicions.”

“Does this mean I can take him out, now?” Singer asked excitedly.

She would have laughed, if the situation weren't so dire. Singer looked for all the world like an over-eager puppy. She half expected him to start bouncing around the bench and rapidly saying 'Pleasepleaseplease, pretty please' like Lucy would do when she wanted something very badly.

With a sigh, Amber stared down at the ground, the ice in her hands, resting on her knees. “Say it, Singer. You know you want to.”

He leaned over, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and planted a gentle kiss on her temple. “Nah,” he said when he sat back. “I never did like rubbing someone's nose in their screw-ups.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, okay... 'I told you so'.”

She chuckled. “I feel better now.” She gazed back up at him, and asked, “Do you really think they can do it? Do they have the smarts to figure out how to get back home?”

Singer leaned back on the bench, his arms spread wide on the seat-back and his legs stretched straight out. He stared up into the branches of the tree and said, “The younger one has the patience and the talent. The older one?” He shrugged. “To be honest? Only if he can cool his jets a little. He has too little patience and too much temper.”

“Not unlike a certain Special Forces Op I know once was.”

“Former.”

“Whatever.” She tilted her head curiously. “One of these days you'll have to try and explain all this weirdness to me.”

“You'd never get it,” he responded with a low laugh. “You're too comfortable dealing with things you can see and feel and smell and taste. You like the tangible and you can't wrap your brain around the intangible.” He nodded at his cart and the couple that was nearby, looking around. “I guess I should take care of my customers.”

When he got to his feet, Amber reached out and grasped his arm. “Keep them safe, Singer. Whatever you do, keep them safe. And... please... be careful.”

The man grinned warmly and patted her on the top of the head before he turned to head back to his cart.

__________

July 30, 2006
Location: The Oklahoma Panhandle

"We're overheating," Reilly said.

The car lurched and coughed and snapped Ed back into the here-and-now. Rubbing the feeling back into the left side of his face, he felt slippery dampness on his cheek and at the edge of his mouth, and realized that he'd dozed off.

"There was a sign a little ways back indicating a rest stop ahead," Hughes said. "It shouldn't be much further; think you can limp the Fiasco to it?"

Reilly shook her head and pulled the sputtering, jerking, pinging Ford to the shoulder.

With a barely suppressed groan, Ed straightened and unsnapped his seat-belt. He knew what was next. A glance out the front made him wince, though. The car might be small, but it was loaded down, and there was a hill up ahead. "Please tell me it's less than a mile away?"

Hughes shot a sympathetic glance over his shoulder as he popped his door open. "I certainly hope so."

"Okay Al, you get to steer," Reilly said.

"Hey," Ed grumbled, "Why does Al always get to steer?"

"He's lighter," Hughes said, as he gave Ed a hand out of the tight backseat.

"Besides," Reilly said, "You're too A.D.D."

"Add?" Ed asked as he rolled the passenger window down.

"It means you're easily distracted by shiny objects," Al teased as he hopped up front, and found the lever between his legs to pull the driver's seat forward.

Ed's response was to close the passenger door, lean into the open window and give his brother a one-fingered, latex-covered, automail salute. As he found a comfortable grip on the door-post, he mumbled, "Drive a little bit off the road one time..."

"I wouldn't call putting the car into a ditch 'a little bit off the road', Ed," Hughes said as he placed his hands on the back of the car. To Al he shouted, "Okay, let off the brake."

With Reilly at the driver's window, Hughes at the back and Ed at the passenger side, the pushing began. "Why does it always have to die at the foot of a hill?" he groaned, as he put his shoulder into it and the car slowly, stubbornly, rolled forward. Of all the places to get stranded in this part of the country -- the flattest, most boring area he'd ever seen -- it figured that the car would die on the only hill within a hundred miles.

“I think it's the Reilly luck,” Al quipped, and Ed heard a raspberry from the woman in response.

“We're gonna need to have a talk about that.” Hughes groaned as the car tried to roll back, and Ed caught a glimpse of him flipping around to put his back against the hatch in an attempt to get better leverage. When the Fiasco gave in and reluctantly resumed creeping forward, he added, “After we find a room and get a nap.”

“And a shower,” Reilly said.

“A cold shower,” Ed emphasized. He blew at a drop of sweat that was threatening to fall into his eyes. They'd spent money on the second vehicle a week ago because -- according to Tom's and Hughes' reasoning -- Bond and whomever he was getting his information from were keeping a watch for a van loaded down with seven easily identified individuals. Ed knew that excuse was bullshit. The real reason for the second car that Reilly had not-so-affectionately dubbed the 'Fiasco' had little to do with making it harder for them to be tracked. It was because Tom and Hughes were going to go after the assassin themselves. Soon.

They'd tried to keep it a secret from the rest of the group, but there was no such thing when seven people were packed together like sardines for weeks on end. Ed had cornered Hughes when they had a rare moment alone, furious at being left out of the plans. He thought the two of them were treating he and Al like little kids who couldn't fight their own battles. Hughes, of all people, should have known better, too. Ed had just as much reason to kick Bond's ass as the rest of them did. More, because that bastard had gone after Al, and that made it personal.

Except they had no intention of just kicking his ass and making sure he was locked away for good. They planned to kill him and end it permanently. With Bond dead, there was no possibility that he could escape again and come after them. Besides, Hughes had reasoned, someone with skills needed to stay behind in case Bond made an end-run around them. There was no way in hell that Reilly or Ducky, or Heist could defend themselves against an alchemist of Stealthwork's caliber.

Much as he wanted to, Ed couldn't argue against that. He just wondered if he could handle the backlash if Hughes and Tom didn't return.

What he'd really wanted to do, was tell them not to risk it. If the simulation worked and Ed's research panned out, they could deal with Bond on more familiar territory, but he dared not whisper even a hint, because if he was wrong...

He shot a quick glance back over his shoulder at Hughes, remembering that night at the Branch's; how he couldn't hide his heartache when he'd danced with Lucy. And no one spoke about what happened later that night, but Ed had his suspicions. He would catch Hughes gaze at Reilly when she was concentrating on something else, and see regret. Sometimes, Ed would notice the older man staring into nothing but fiddling with a wedding ring that was no longer on his finger, and it was like he wasn't even there.

He couldn't take the chance of getting Hughes' hopes up, only to watch the man shatter if he failed. No, he had to be absolutely certain he could do it, there was no other choice.

Ed knew something of what Hughes was feeling, but he recognized that he couldn't empathize completely. Would I be this lost if I'd been married and had a kid? he wondered, and an image of Winry flashed through his mind. She was wearing her coveralls open, revealing that tiny black top and her hair was pulled back in a bandanna. He felt himself flush, and was, for once, grateful for the ghastly heat. He'd always thought she looked best that way. It was... Winry.

Sudden regret stabbed at him and Ed decided that maybe he could empathize with Hughes more than he thought.

Someone on the highway honked and sped past a little too close, grinning and waving. Reilly, being closest to the traffic, instinctively winced, then shouted a string of creative obscenities at them. The now standard argument between her and Hughes started right on cue, and Ed ignored it. They weren't arguing about who should be pushing at the driver's window anyway.

Tempers are getting short all the way around, he thought bitterly. Everyone is getting on everyone else's nerves and no one's sleeping worth a shit. He stifled a yawn and blinked back the bleariness fogging his vision. Especially me. It was his own fault, he admitted. Writing code was a lot easier when no one was awake to look over his shoulder and ask questions he wasn't ready to answer. Least of all, from his brother.

Ed cast a quick glance at Al, who was concentrating on the road ahead and wrestling with the steering. He still hadn't told him about the Shadows. And what would I say? 'Hey Al, there's this thing that's following us around that's not human and if it touches you, it'll suck the life right out of you'? Ed blew a clump of sweaty bangs from his face and counted himself lucky that the Shadows hadn't actually done anything lately. They seemed to only show up when he was working on the simulation code, but they merely hovered in a dark corner by the ceiling. Like they're waiting for something.

“We've got company,” Hughes warned and everyone let the car come to a stop. Ed saw Al set the emergency brake and crank the wheel as he turned around to deal with whichever local authority wanted to pester them this time.

Instead of the expected black and white police car, an ancient pick-up rolled to a stop behind them, and someone jumped from the passenger seat. Ed couldn't see his face under the shade of the bill of a black mesh baseball cap, but the sandy hair pulled back into a pony-tail and that graffiti-covered duffel he hefted from the back would have been enough.

Ed groaned as Singer slapped at the door of the truck and sent the driver on his way. “You look like you could use another back,” he said as he approached.

“Thanks,” Hughes said, rubbing at his shoulder. “Will your friend be back to get you?”

Singer grinned as he lifted the hatch and wedged his duffel into the back. “He was going the other way.” He pushed the hatch back down, then leaned harder when it didn't click closed. “Besides, I have no idea who the guy was.”

“Don't think you're gonna con a ride out of us, asshole,” Ed snapped.

“Edward,” Reilly hissed.

Hughes glanced from Singer to Ed and darted a look at Al, who gasped in delighted surprise as he came out of the car. “Easy, Reilly,” Hughes said. “Ed, do you know this guy?” he asked, with a suspicious glare at the newcomer. Singer, for his part, allowed the scrutiny with patience.

“Yeah, and he's a pain in my ass.”

“He's helped us, Brother,” Al said. He patted at the pocket with the flute poking out of it, and said to Hughes, “He gave this to me, too.”

Singer offered a hand in greeting to Hughes and said, “The Iron Butterfly and Steppin' Wolf--” Reilly snorted “--know me as Singer.”

“He's okay, Maes,” Al said. “Brother just doesn't like him because he can't hit him.”

Singer nodded ahead of them and said, “The rest stop is just over the hill. We'll get there sooner if we stop bumping our gums.” With that, he braced himself at one side of the hatch and Hughes took the other. Al took that as his cue and bounced back into the driver's seat and shouted that he was ready.

“I wouldn't call his lunatic ravings helpful,” Ed grumbled, and returned to gripping the door-post.

“Iron Butterfly,” Reilly giggled as the car started to creep up the hill. “Cute.”

Ed winced and knew, without a doubt, that he'd never hear the end of that and vowed to get even with Singer for it.

As they gradually made progress, Ed could hear Singer and Hughes talking softly to each other and he tried to listen in, but all he could pick up were random words that offered no clues. He thought perhaps he heard Amber's name mentioned once, but he couldn't be certain and thought it was unlikely anyhow. It would be just far too strange if Singer knew her, he thought.

Ed concentrated on pushing the car and placing one foot in front of the other. He stopped watching ahead of them and counting the inches they gained and decided to let his mind wander where it wanted... and it wanted to take a tour around the strangeness of the last few months.

Synchronicity, Reilly had called it, he thought. 'The coincidental occurrence of events that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality'. Everything that's happened seems to be linked together somehow. How weird is it that Hughes was in the same small town, in the same time period, that I ended up in? And what about Al already meeting Amber and Alden? Or Hughes and Llyn? And just how much of a coincidence is it that I fell through the Gate on the one person's land who would actually believe my story?

The only conclusion -- as illogical as it was -- was that none of it was a coincidence and that only led to more questions that he didn't have the answers to... yet.

Ed felt the door-post rudely yanked from his hands and snapped back to the present in time to hear Al whoop in delight as he aimed the Fiasco downhill and toward the rest stop that wasn't very far ahead anymore. “Hey, wait for me!” he shouted as he tried to chase after his brother. Logic and the sweltering heat rapidly changed his plans and he slowed down with a wave at the quickly receding back of the small car. “Never mind.” A chuckle blended in with his gasps as he stopped and bent over with his hands on his knees.

He felt a slap on his back and sprung up, spinning and ready to take Singer down. He stopped himself in time to keep from punching Hughes, who arched back with his hands up. “Whoa.”

Chagrined, Ed pasted on a sheepish smile and said, “Sorry about that.”

Singer strolled by and arched a brow. “A little tense, Iron Butterfly?”

“Stop calling me that!”

Reilly giggled from ahead of them, and then started singing a tune. Ed wasn't sure, but it sounded like she was saying, 'In-da-gadda-da-vida, Baby... don'cha know that I lo-ove you-oo'

“What the hell was that?” Ed asked as he and Hughes fell into step with each other.

The older man shrugged and said, “I have no bloody clue. None of the music she listens to makes a lot of sense to me.”

They strolled the rest of the way in companionable quiet, but as they reached the entrance of the rest stop, Ed clasped Hughes on the arm and held him back. He kept an eye on Singer, who'd perched himself on the hood of the Fiasco next to Al and the pair of them were playing their flutes. The reedy sounds drifted on the limp breeze, harmonious and serene. Reilly was leaning against the passenger side of the car, arms crossed, listening.

"Hughes, what did he say to you?"

The other man studied Ed for a long moment, then glanced at Singer. "Do you really think he can't be trusted?"

"I don't know. Al seems to like the guy, but he just pisses me off." Ed shrugged. "He always talks in stupid riddles."

Hughes chuckled. "Well, no wonder." He turned his full attention to Ed. "He knows things he shouldn't. Stuff discussed between me and Amber, only."

"So he does know Amber?" Ed asked, incredulous.

"It would seem so." Hughes rubbed at the back of his neck and scowled. "We may not have a choice but to trust him, Ed. Amber's been taken off our case. Her colleagues are watching her closely and chances are, her phones are all bugged."

"So we're going to have to communicate with her... through him?!"

"Pretty much," Hughes said.

"Great. Lovely. We're all fucking doomed," Ed groaned.

Hughes laughed again and threw his arm over Ed's shoulder. As he pulled the younger man along to join the rest of the group, he said, "Glad to see you looking at this in such a positive light, Ed."

 

__________

 

August 13, 2006
Location: Central Oklahoma

Heist sat on the edge of her bed... replaying and replaying and replaying...

Pandora had spoken softly, but not soft enough... like someone worried she'd be overheard. More like... someone trying to deny what was being said.

"That monster has been playing every card in the deck, just to mess with us. Obviously he'd say that just to twist the knife a little more!"

...

"Well I don't give a fuck! It's bullshit!"

Heist rubbed at her forehead. Reilly's voice had been adamant. Her mother hen instincts were at full capacity now that her chicks were in danger. To drag it out a little further, she'd never suspect one of them was a rotten egg. Heist couldn't even berate herself for the horrible euphemism. She couldn't even move from the bed. She had a sudden mental image of archaeologists, a thousand years from now, discovering her desiccated mummy still frozen on the mouldered remains of a hotel bed. She wondered if the cell phone in her hand would be considered a museum piece by then.

With the thumb of her right hand, she flipped the cover open and shut, open and shut... the heavy clup the only sound in the room. She wondered how much time she had left before anyone caught her out. Pandora and Al had only gone to the pop machine, Ducks was just outside, with his head in the doghouse, and Terminator was making a good attempt at using up all the hot water. She couldn't wait any longer. And she had to find out... how much of a patsy she'd really been.

Reaching to her side, she grabbed the small blade pilfered from Ducky's (now Al's) toolkit -- Hope no one misses this one -- off the coverlet...

It's just part of the phone.

But she knew it wasn't true. She recognized the parts that belonged there, the tiny speaker, the connective circuits, the small collection of metal points littered across the plastic motherboard. But this piece was different. And it knew it'd been found.

The tiny filament reared back, testing the air like an inchworm, waving back and forth. Horrified, Heist jerked to her feet, tossing the phone to the floor like it had burned her. Imagined images of Kitten's death ran through her head, and she heard her own voice whimper as she backed away numbly, hand fumbling for the door. But the device didn't explode.

Curling back down, it stiffened briefly, then dove, the pointed tip burying itself in the exposed circuits. There was a tiny hiss, and a curl of powerfully acrid smoke wisped up from the phone. When it dissipated, nothing remained of the device -- or the phone -- but a dusting of metallic powder.

She rubbed her hands up her arms, still clutching the exact-o knife in a tight fist. Now what?! She could just hear herself trying to explain this to Reilly, 'Yeah, funny thing happened! I was ordering a pizza when this crazy robot worm showed up and pulverized my phone. It's okay though, I managed to place my order first... but if we stop at a mall, I need to hit one of those cellular bodegas...' Oh yeah, totally plausible.

She was still staring at the pile of metallic ash. Sid... Bond... he had to know, now. He had to realize his little toy had been discovered. Given prior experience, she knew he wouldn't be letting this slide either. In all actuality, she'd expected the small device to detonate and take off half her face. The fact that he'd designed it to simply destroy her phone was frighteningly telling.

He was still playing with her.

What was worse was that he knew her very well. Even as she stooped to begin hiding the evidence of her discovery, she tried to tell herself that he couldn't predict everything she'd do. She was a unique individual... she had her own mind, her own motives... and damned if she'd let him win! The last bits of powder disappeared into the fibers of the carpet. Standing, Heist examined her hands to see them coated in what looked almost like graphite. She wiped them on her pants with minimal success, and proceeded to the bathroom to wash up instead.

As hot water poured over her fingertips, she took a shaky breath and stared at her reflection in the dingy mirror. Stringy hair, still showing traces of odd color, hung over her forehead. Her skin looked pallid, her cheeks hollow and dark. And her eyes, half-hidden by thick glasses, were dead. She suddenly chuckled. Why bother hiding evidence, she already looked like a damn felon...

"What the fuck, Heist!" Ed shrieked at her.

She started and twisted around to find him blinking shampoo from his eyes and trying to look pissed. He failed miserably. Between the furious shade of red to his face, the wad of lather rolling down his forehead between his eyes, and the way he held the edge of the shower curtain up to his neck, he reminded her more of her old, sour-puss of a maiden aunt, whom, everyone swore, changed clothes in the dark and probably bathed with a swimsuit.

She'd totally forgotten he was in here. Thinking fast, she turned the tables and jabbed a finger at him "What the fuck, yourself, Term. I have to go, and I can't wait any longer." At that, she unsnapped the waist-band of her jeans.

It had the desired effect. Ed turned a deeper shade of red, and darted behind the shower curtain. "Dammit." An automail hand shot back out and waved at her. "Well... hurry the hell up, will ya?"

Heist faked a grin and returned to washing the smudge off her hands. The water only helped a little, but at least the stains had lightened somewhat. Shaking her fingertips, she turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel from the rack over the toilet. A quick scrub left a dingy film on the soft fabric, and she tossed the soiled towel to the floor. She returned to the room and dropped down heavily on the edge of the bed, letting her head sink to her hands. I'm so sorry... Reilly, Tom, Ducky... I let you guys down. Ed, Al... you'd be right not to trust me. You'd be better off if I just left the group right now. Except nobody, least of all Reilly, would ever let her disappear into the night. The only thing running away would serve would be to distract everyone even more, and give Bond a nice little opening. She couldn't do that... even though she deserved it. Maybe though... once everyone was safe...

Heist let her head fall back on the bed and she threw her arm over her eyes. She hardly noticed when Reilly and Al returned; didn't register Ducky coming back into the room.

It was all so fucked...

She heard the door open again, and Reilly's voice raise suddenly in perturbed alarm.

"Dammit Tom!! You look like shit! I thought you said you were okay..."

...So completely, totally, thoroughly, jacked-in-the-ass... fucked.

~`~`~`~

It took Ed at least fifteen minutes to stop cursing Heist, and get his heart and breathing back under control, then another ten minutes before he fell back into his previous meditative state...

...And the idea came to him just as he was rinsing his hair and at first Ed mistook his extreme stroke of genius to a loss of hot water, such was the sudden spine-tingling chill that coursed through him. Then he remembered that after at least half a dozen similar showers in the past however long they'd been at this particular run-down motel, the abundant hot water seemed to be the only thing going for it. No, this was his body's way of congratulating him, his understanding was now complete, everything had finally fallen into place -- everything made sense.

And with that feeling of accomplishment, Ed all but burst out of the bathroom, barely making himself decent with his towel before all eyes in the cramped room turned on him.

Unfortunately, they weren't the eyes he was expecting to see.

"Gah!" Ed exclaimed as he tightened his hold on the towel, feeling his face erupt into a flaming ball of heat even before he noticed his scarlet reflection in the dingy dresser mirror.

"Shouldn't that be eureka?" Hughes inquired somewhat innocently, trying -- and succeeding rather well, Ed thought offhandedly -- to keep from smirking.

Reilly, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding her amusement. "Everything all right, Ed?"

"Where's Al?" he blurted in response.

"With Ducky, Tom, and Heist on a food and caffeine fun," Reilly replied, plopping down next to Hughes on one of the small, rickety beds.

Ed looked between Hughes and Reilly and back to Hughes. "Tom, too? When did you and Tom get back?"

"Ten minutes ago," Hughes supplied, resuming his channel surfing on the ancient, slightly fuzzy TV.

"How long was I--"

"Over thirty minutes and counting," Reilly finished. "Heist still can't believe you take longer showers than she does."

Ed mulled that over briefly, wondering for one surreal moment why the heck Heist cared how long he showered. Then he remembered the embarrassing interruption earlier and in self-defense his brain backtracked to the proper point in time where it had registered Hughes sitting in the room. Half a second later, Ed had vaulted over to the older man's side, the hand not holding his towel fisting the front of Hughes' shirt. "What the hell happened?!"

Completely unaffected by the threat of possible violence, Hughes shrugged and said, “Oh, you know... Caught up with bad guy, he got the better of us, we retreated to figure out the next step. The typical, highly predictable action flick plot."

Ed blinked and let go of the other man's shirt. "You people and your movies," he grumbled a moment before understanding kicked in. "Wait... You're back. Does that mean...?”

Hughes nodded grimly. “Bond is still running loose.”

“That's fantastic!”

“What?!” both Hughes and Reilly sputtered in unison.

Ed shook his head and waved a hand. “No, I mean... It's not great that Bond is still out there, but it's great that you're back, because--” His over-excited mind caught up with his mouth and he stopped himself just in time. Hughes didn't need to know just yet, because if Ed was wrong he didn't think he could bear the shattering disappointment his friend would feel.

“Because what, Ed?” Hughes prompted.

“N-never mind.” Ed pointed at the bathroom and stammered, “I... think I'll finish my shower. Bang on the door when Al gets back.” Then he shook his finger at Hughes, “You? Don't go anywhere. Got me?”

Hughes snickered and sketched a sharp salute. “Yes, sir!"

Ed really didn't need to jump back in the shower, but he did anyways, turning the water up as high and as hot as he could stand.

Damnit, Al, I need to talk to you, he cursed silently, wishing his brother had chosen to stay behind while the others went out for supplies. No, he thought, there's no need to get upset with Al. If it were me, I wouldn't have wanted to stay and be the only one to interrupt... whatever the hell Hughes and Reilly have going on.

He dreaded going into the main part of the room, though not for fear of walking in on a reenactment of what happened in the Branch's secret garden. No, Ed was more concerned with the fact that every minute he spent out of the bathroom was one more minute he would have to spend in the company of the two people in this world who knew him better than anyone but Al. With Reilly and Hughes' ability to read him like a book, there was no way he was going to keep his secret.

But I have to. Al should to be the first to know -- I need him to be the first to know. Because if he doesn't agree that it'll work... no one else will know.

That thought sustained him as he finally left the security of the shower, toweled off, and dressed. He still hadn't heard the others return, but Ed had remained in the bathroom for as long as he thought he could get away with before anyone got suspicious and came in after him. He took a few deep breaths and attempted the most nonchalant expression that he could muster. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he opted for what was hopefully a more normal look of irritated confusion.

"You know, Hughes--" Reilly's voice startled him as he emerged from the bathroom and Ed's heart skipped a beat.

Fastest failed attempt at anything, ever.

He peered around the door; Reilly and Hughes were sitting together on one of the beds, watching a talk show with a lot of people yelling at each other. "--I'm not quite sure Ed's clean enough," Reilly continued, wrapping an arm around Hughes' shoulders amicably, still absorbed in the television and oblivious to Ed's distress, "Maybe he should spend another hour in there."

"At the very least," Hughes agreed, turning to wink at him.

Ed swallowed hard, and he was quite sure Hughes had caught the terrified glance he'd shot at Reilly. And there it was, the slight narrowing of green eyes, the faintest of frowns starting to tug at the corners of his mouth.

I am so busted.

Ed wracked his brain for a way out to keep Hughes from asking the question he knew he was moments away from asking. Come on, genius, think of something -- anything -- quick, Reilly's turning around, oh shi--

"Would you mind explaining exactly how you got here, Hughes?" Ed blurted.

Hughes' eyebrows shot up in surprise and Ed could almost see him weighing his options. Without missing a beat and tipping Reilly off, he cleared his throat and started from when he and Tom had parted ways with the rest of the group.

Ed was too busy pretending to be interested to pay attention to what Hughes actually said.

~`~`~`~

Al almost wished he had stayed behind and let the others get supplies. He and Ducky and Heist were on their way out when Hughes and Tom had returned. Before they'd even heard what happened, Tom said he'd tag along and all but ushered them into the Ninjavan by hand. In all his years in armor, traveling different worlds, and simply being Ed's brother, Al had never experienced a more awkward hour of his life. For the entire trip to the closest restaurant and coffee shop, he watched the other three engage in a verbal sparring match that would have put General Mustang to shame. Maybe even Teacher, too.

Al tried to figure out what they were really saying between the unspoken accusations and not-quite-retaliatory-insults, but by the time they arrived back at their motel, he was no closer to understanding than when they'd left. All he knew was that Tom and Heist had taken opposing sides, and Ducky was torn between agreeing with them both. And whatever it was, they were making a point not to let Al know any more than he had to. Which, he wanted to yell at them, they had done a fine job at doing.

Irritated, Al just wanted to eat his dinner and call it a day. So, of course, he walked into their room to find his brother rubbing absently at his right shoulder and making a half-assed attempt at not being distracted. In no mood to deal with another person's secrets, Al simply dumped his load of food on the dresser, grabbed the toolkit Ducky let them use for Ed's automail, and while the more vocal members of the group heralded their return, pulled Ed into the bathroom.

"You know," Al said without preamble, digging through the kit for the right tools, "if your arm was bothering you, you could have asked Hughes or even Reilly."

"Al it's--"

"I know they don't know as much as I do about it--"

"Al, the automia--"

"--but they could have at least followed your directions, better than you being in pain--"

"Al--"

"What is wrong with everyone today?" Al exclaimed, smacking the counter with his fist.

"My automail's not a problem!"

Al blinked, his previous irritation replaced with confusion and then a hesitant excitement. Ed was looking at him hopefully, expectantly, searching for some sign of understanding. Al knew that expression -- well, he had envisioned that expression -- had dreamed about what it would look like for years. Before his brother had even spoken the words, Al knew exactly what he was going to say.

They were going home.

~`~`~`~

Maes leaned back against the headboard and watched. Reilly was pacing back and forth in the narrow space between the beds, chewing her nails and shooting worried glances between the two men and occasionally at Heist and Ducky. She hadn't said anything ever since Tom had declared it best if he and Maes spoke to the group as a whole, rather than having to repeat themselves when Ed and Al finally emerged from the bathroom.

We're going to have our hands full when Ed finds out, he thought, as he shifted to sit on the side of the bed closest to the door.

And what in the hell are they doing in there? He didn't think it should take ten minutes for Al to make a few minor adjustments to Ed's automail, but that was how long they'd been hiding. And it was disturbingly quiet in there, too. There had been irritated words from Al at first, but then there was an excited exclamation, followed by a lot of indecipherable whispers. Then the shower came back on and he couldn't hear a thing.

Heist and Ducky continued to jabber manically over their dinner -- although, Maes noted, the girl wasn't actually eating so much as she was just pushing the food around in the styrofoam tray. She appeared to be trying to make herself as small as possible by putting her chair in the far corner, pulling her knees against her chest and wedging herself in as tightly as possible. She didn't even meet anyone's eyes, opting to focus on her meal or dart a nervous glance at the bathroom door.

Tom, who was leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, gave Maes slight head-shake.

So she didn't tell him anything, he thought. But she acts like she knows something. Not good. From the way Ducky hovered -- the rigid and quick jabbing of his fork into his food belaying his seemingly casualness as he leaned against the wall close to her -- Maes had a sinking feeling that the young man knew more than he was letting on, as well. Even worse.

This wasn't going to end well.

We need to get this unpleasantness over with. Now, he decided as he pushed himself off the bed and went to pound on the bathroom door.

He'd just raised his hand to knock, when the door flew open and he was nearly bowled over by an excited Elric. He'd managed to catch Al and keep them both from tumbling, but didn't miss the face-splitting grins on both boys' that disappeared in an instant as they glanced around the room.

"What's going on?" Ed asked.

"We need to talk," Maes said...

...And Heist burst into hysterical sobs.

~`~`~`~

Ed didn't hear anything after Heist confessed to telling Bond where and when they were going to break Al out of the hospital. All he could recall was the sensation of a light-headed chill when he realized just how close he'd come to losing his little brother again... permanently. Voices all around him sounded like they were far away and being channeled through a long tunnel -- and none of the words spoken made any sense at that point. Then, like a fire had started beneath him, heat began at his feet and surged upward as a red haze filled his vision. He felt disconnected from his own body -- unable to control it, unable to think, watching himself from outside.

He had no idea what happened after she revealed herself for the back-stabbing traitor she was, but he suddenly found himself with his back bent over the dresser and his skull against the jagged remains of a shattered mirror while something heavy and sweaty pressed hard on his throat and Ducky, face grotesquely twisted in fury, hovered over him so close he could smell the Chernobyl Chicken on his breath and the metallic odor of fear from the hacker's sweating brow.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear anything beyond the pounding thunder of blind rage. He could only see a swiftly narrowing tunnel in a sea of black. The only sound he made was a feral snarl and his only desire was to eliminate the most immediate threats to his brother's life, his own could be damned if it came to that.

"Brother, don't!" Al's voice cut through the roar of blood-lust in Ed's ears, bringing him back.

When he tore his gaze from the cold anger in Ducky's eyes and skated down past his chin, Ed was shocked to discover he was holding the tip of a dagger against the soft spot beneath the other man's jaw. Ed couldn't remember at what point he'd transmuted his automail.

Then the weight and pressure on his throat disappeared without a warning. Gasping and coughing as he stood, he rubbed his at his larynx and shook his head to clear it. He froze when he saw Hughes in front of him with one of his own spade-knives ready.

"Are you going to force me to kick your ass, Ed?" Hughes asked softly.

In answer to the question, Ed clapped and returned his automail hand to normal. Shame burned him as he gazed to the right of Hughes and saw the trepidation and sadness in Al's eyes, then he glanced to the left and watched Tom usher Ducky out of the room. Of Heist and Reilly, there was no sign. "Where--?"

With a relieved breath, Hughes glanced away and returned the knife to his belt. "They're outside. Reilly's trying to calm her down."

When Hughes met Ed's gaze again, the disappointment he saw there felt like the serrated edge of one of the man's knives had eviscerated him. He should have listened, but he lost his temper instead and Ed couldn't remember when he'd been so terrified and furious of what could have been. And he'd never been so damned pissed at himself, for not seeing it earlier. For almost three months, they'd traveled together, ate together, slept in the same room, and Ed never once suspected that Heist was feeding Bond information. He was just as responsible for endangering them all as that traitor was.

"I should have figured it out. I should have known."

"Nobody knew," Tom said as he leaned his hip against the table and pried open his own cellphone. "Except Ducky. And he didn't figure it out until recently."

"Brother," Al said as he joined Ed against the dresser. "She didn't know Bond was bad until that day in the parking garage."

Hughes held up a hand, halting any protest Ed might've had, and added, "And before you ask, she didn't say anything because she was scared." The older man's expression softened, silently begging for understanding. "In many ways, Heist and Ducky are younger than you. You have to remember, this isn't Amestris or Post-World War One Germany."

"But why didn't Ducky say anything?" Ed queried.

"He was protecting Heist," Tom said as he pried the back of Reilly's phone open.

Hughes smiled. "You would have done the same thing for Winry."

Ed thought of his childhood friend fondly. Hughes was right; Ed would do anything to protect her... even if it meant lying -- to her or others. Even... if it meant killing someone.

Like Ducky damn near did to me.

"I can accept that she was naive," Ed said. "But I won't trust her again."

"No one will," Tom said as he pried open the last phone in the pile. "She knows this. But we're not going to throw her to Bond, either." He tossed the cell onto the table and gave Hughes a grim look. "They're all clean."

Al glanced from one man to the other, and said, "That's good news, right?"

Tom shook his head. "'Fraid not, kiddo. It means that Bond will know for a fact that we found his little bug, and he'll be pissed."

"What about the computers?" Hughes asked.

"We need to make sure Ed and Reilly made back-ups, before we even touch them," Tom said. "I'm guessing that Bond will have any critters embedded into them react the same way Heist's cell did when she found it."

"We're not going to have much time to plan our next move," Hughes said.

"I have a suggestion," Al piped up and Ed grinned.

Tom and Hughes faced the younger Elric, brows raised in invitation and interest.

Ed's smile went devious, as he said, "We'll just give Stealthworks what he wants."

"Aren't we trying to avoid any more killing here?" Tom asked, wryly.

"And that bastard would see right through a lie," Hughes added.

"Disinformation," Al said. "It's not a lie, but what Bond believes is his own problem."

Hughes scratched at the back of his head and scowled. "You two are starting to sound a lot like Roy. It's rather disturbing, actually."

Ed waved at the bed and said, "Hughes, you might want to sit down for this."

Comprehension struck the boys' old friend with the force of a ten-ton wrecking ball. Hughes' knees gave out as he collapsed, missing the edge of the bed and dropping him with a muffled thud onto the floor. He went pale as he stammered, the words barely heard. "Y-you did it? We... we're--"

Al knelt next to Hughes, laying a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "We're going home, Maes."

Hughes swallowed and his eyes misted, then he wrapped a hesitant arm around Al's waist, drawing him close. Burying his face into the boy's shoulder, he reached blindly out to Ed with his other hand.

Uncertain and awkward, Ed slowly let his fingers touch his palm, then found himself yanked down and crushed against Hughes' chest. The intensity of emotion was impossible to resist. Ed felt his own eyes begin to sting and found his own arms embrace his brother and dear friend as the words he'd never dared utter aloud, even as he'd worked tirelessly on the solution and finally found the key, were repeated over and over by Hughes. "Home. We're going home. We're going home."

No one heard the door softly close as Tom went outside to give them this time alone.

~`~`~`~

Later, after Maes and the boys had called everyone back in and made the announcement, Tom found Reilly -- along with his mysteriously disappearing pack of cigarettes -- at the far end of the promenade. She'd slipped away during the excitement of the boys describing how they were going to open the Gate and get home, and had taken up residence on the top step as far away from their room as possible. She had her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin on her knees, staring through the step under her feet; the cigarette burning away between her fingers -- unnoticed and unsmoked. What little he could see of her face was blank... neutral, her eyes were dry, but the tightness across her back and shoulders spoke eloquently of her distress.

She wasn't so far into her own head that she didn't hear him approach, because as soon as he came up behind her, she wordlessly scooted aside to give him room.

Well, that's a good sign, he thought as he squeezed himself into the space next to her.

She handed his cigarettes and lighter over to him, and he lit one... waiting. It wasn't going to do much good to go on the offensive here -- all he would be able to do for now, was play the silent audience while she beat herself up. Once the storm blew past, he might be able to say something wise and profound that would make her shattered world all shiny and new again... but he seriously doubted it.

How many more times can she take getting kicked in the head before she doesn't get back up again? he wondered, feeling a twinge of guilt. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, but it didn't make him ache any less for the woman who was like a daughter to him. Let's take a woman who has a huge heart and a giving soul, and dangle happiness in front of her, then yank it away over and over again, and see how long it takes to break her, he thought sourly. The Fates have a sick, twisted sense of humour. It's a good thing I don't believe in them... fucking pricks.

They sat in silence, long enough for him to finish his cigarette, before she finally spoke. “You may as well say it and get it over with.”

“I know we've been running all over Hell and Creation, lately,” he said, “but I think we're still in the U.S.”

She rolled her eyes his way and glared. “Your point?”

“Well, if I were to say 'I told you so', that would qualify as Double Jeopardy. You can't be convicted of the same crime twice, and I think you're doing a damned fine job of punishing yourself.”

Reilly sighed and curled in on herself. “I should be... for what I'm feeling.” She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs and laid her forehead on her knees, hiding her face behind her curls. “I'm... ashamed of myself.”

“Why?” Tom asked. Although he already knew the answer, he wanted to make her voice the reason and perhaps realize that she really didn't need to immolate herself after all. He knew if she kept up this cycle of blame, shame and damnation, she'd rip herself apart.

“Why?” she repeated with a short, bitter laugh. “Isn't it obvious?” She faced him and Tom saw the guilt etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth, stark and sickly in the yellow neon light that trimmed the motel roof. “They were so happy -- he was so happy. I-- I had to walk out, because if I didn't, I'd make an idiot of myself and--” She cut herself off, swallowing and turning away from him; hovering on the edge of losing the tenuous control she was desperately holding on to.

Tom wrapped an arm around her and gently rubbed a thumb along her shoulder. There really wasn't anything he could say. He was going to miss Ed and Al and Maes too, but he was a cynical old bastard and he'd developed an emotional suit of armor that protected him -- except he didn't really believe that was so much of a good thing. Reilly wore her heart on her sleeve, and as a result got punched in the arm over and over again. It hurt, he knew. It hurt a lot, but he couldn't help thinking that her capacity to feel... to love... made her the stronger and better of them.

“I wanted to scream at him,” she whispered finally, “to beg him to stay... t-to stay with me.” Reilly took a deep shuddering breath and a tremor shook her. “His wife and daughter... his best friend... they all think he's dead. Everyone who matters now, is here.” She sobbed once and covered her face with a hand while she struggled with her hurt and shame. “I should be happy for them. I should be smiling and nodding and wishing them the best of luck. Instead I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself because they're leaving.” Reilly jammed her elbows into her knees and grasped two fists-full of hair, and hissed, “I'm despicable. Selfish, self-centered--”

“Grieving,” Tom said.

She stilled and slowly turned to peer at him from around her arm.

“To us, they're as good as dead the minute they cross that Gate, Reilly,” Tom said. “They're not moving across the country; they're going to another world, entirely. There is no possibility that you'll ever see any of them again.” He pulled her close and wrapped the other arm around her in a comforting embrace. “It's not selfish to feel that way, and it sure as hell ain't despicable. It's human and it sucks like a bitch.”

He'd warned her, but there was no weapon or word he could have used to get through to her heart... so he watched helplessly as she grew deeply fond of Edward, wrapped her heart around Alphonse and fell hopelessly in love with Maes. He went along with her as they all risked their lives for those three, as she lost everything that was her life for them. More than once, Tom had wished he'd convinced her to turn Ed over to the authorities that night -- it would have prevented a whole shitload of drama. It was logical; it would have been the 'right' thing to do -- back when he was in Intelligence. But the simple truth was, he would be no more able to do that to the kid than she could.

When she trembled again and he heard the soft sniffle against his shoulder, he knew the flood was coming. With a gentle kiss on her temple and a tightening of his arms around her, he silently gave her permission to grieve. He wasn't going to judge her -- not this time.

She took it. Burying her face into his neck and wrapping her arms around him, she shook with ragged sobs while her desires crumbled to dust along with her broken dreams.

~`~`~`~

A mute witness to Reilly's anguish, Ed silently spun on his heel to return to the cramped room -- and nearly crashed into his younger brother. They shared a look and then glanced back at the sobbing figure of their friend.

Moments after Reilly had slipped out, the joy at the possibility of returning home had faded, and Hughes' good mood had collapsed into depression. He'd quietly excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom, and while all anyone heard was the shower running, Ed knew there was more going on.

He tore his gaze from Reilly and Tom and softly asked, “Al, are... are we doing the right thing?”

The younger Elric watched the grieving woman a moment, empathy for her pain in the shining of his eyes, the trembling lip, the way he wrapped his arms around himself. “No matter what choice we make Brother, people are going to end up hurt."

Both of them remained where they were for a long moment, watching silently. Then Al laid a comforting hand on Ed's left shoulder, and said, "I think this is the best thing we can do, though.”

Ed hung his head and ground his teeth as he rhythmically clenched and unclenched his right fist. Why does it always have to be this way? How much longer are other people going to have to pay for our mistake? he railed silently.

__________

August 15, 1915 -- 1:10 pm
Central City, Amestris

Roy Mustang stretched his legs, looking up from his reading and surveying the city park around him. He shifted a little on the bench, angling his head back to loosen his stiff neck. He'd been bent over the anthropology book for almost an hour, propping it on one knee with a notepad on the other, jotting rough notes as he read. Although a tall tree shaded the bench, the sun was high overhead and he'd begun to grow warm. He undid the top button on his shirt and bent again to his notes, the sound of bird song providing musical accompaniment to his thoughts.

Normally he wouldn't spend time reading a book discussing theories of religion; to say his own experiences had made him skeptical was an understatement. But this book presented the theories objectively yet inoffensively, without sinking into a swamp of untestable mysticism. And one theory had leapt out at him as soon as he'd seen a particular name on one of the pages: Risembool.

It had once been considered a sacred place, until about 400 years ago when the scientific world view had taken hold and religious interpretations of the world receded into history. The inhabitants of the area had not only believed Risembool a sacred place (it was why they'd founded the village), but had believed that one spot on a nearby hill was a particular site of power. A place, in fact, where one could access another plane of existence.

Alchemy had only been in its rudimentary beginnings, back then. And even modern alchemists, for the most part, had never had a concept of portals to another world, until recently. Roy himself would have dismissed this idea as outdated magical thinking before the events of the last three years.

And he wasn't alone in this. A newspaper article had been stuck into the book; he'd assumed it was only a bookmark until he read it. It reported an academic conference, 50 years ago, just after the book's publication. At that conference, the researcher had presented his theory and been ferociously ridiculed for it. The lynchpin holding it together was the ancient people's belief that places like Risembool were somehow linked to another site of access to other planes -- a site that should have been located in the middle of Central itself. And no researcher had found a single shred of evidence that people in this area had ever believed in a portal to some other plane of existence.

They hadn't known, then, about the dead underground city with the huge transmutation circle in the midst of its empty, tilted buildings.

Roy had pulled some maps from Central Records, heart pounding as he'd spread them on his kitchen table at home and begun to calculate. As far as he could ascertain, the location of the site of power at Risembool was the exact spot where Hohenheim had built the house in which he and Trisha Elric lived. Hohenheim, who had also been responsible for the array in the dead, buried city.

That house was where Edward and Alphonse had attempted their human transmutation, and encountered something vastly more powerful than they'd expected. It was where Ed's limbs had been taken, and Al's body.

It was also, more recently, the site of at least two earth tremors.

Again Roy shifted, shutting the book and the pad, and setting them beside him. As he laid his arms along the back of the bench, watching people sitting or walking in the park, he caught sight of two people he knew, strolling along the far edge of the grass: Gracia Hughes, walking her daughter Elysia back to school after her lunch hour. The girl had just begun second grade.

He hesitated, wondering if he should walk over and greet them. They'd gotten in touch again, this past year since his return to Central, and Gracia sometimes invited him over for dinner. This area of the city, a few blocks behind the military headquarters, had been spared for the most part, when the invasion had happened last year; that was one of the reasons Roy occasionally brought his lunch to this park, to enjoy the unspoiled scenery and escape the din of reconstruction. He'd made sure that the few cosmetic repairs (some cracked roads and toppled fences) were made almost immediately, privately determined to do it as a favour to Gracia and in memory of her husband. He'd been remiss in leaving his friend's family unsupervised for the last two years, and was determined to make that up to them. Although he'd still made sure to send birthday presents to Elysia, every year since...

No. Oh, Maes. A wave of fresh grief washed over him, and he wondered if the pain of their mutual loss would ever really lessen. Some days it was still too much for him. He didn't think he'd go over and catch up to them today. Maybe he'd call them tomorrow.

He tilted his head back, searching in the tree branches for the singing bird. The high, mournful tones of its call reminded him, for some reason, of flute music.

Roy grabbed the book and pad, and stood up, striding out of the park. He didn't think he'd call Gracia tomorrow, after all. He was going to do something else instead.

He was taking a train to Risembool.