Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Balance of Power ❯ Keep a Candle in the window ( Chapter 27 )

Balance of Power - Chapter 26 - Part One

"Keep a Candle in the Window"

Arc One: Chapter 26

Balance of Power

 

Part One

 

 

WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU

 

 

 

 

 

August 18, 1919

Risembool, Amestris

 

Pinako Rockbell strolled with Den toward the hill southwest of their home and shop, ignoring the trailing sweat down her spine and temples. The sun had just peeked up over the horizon and already the air was heavy and hot and threatening rain. An empty threat. If there was any precipitation at all, it would only be enough to make it muggier. Even the cicadas, who so often announced the rising heat during the summer by buzzing louder, seemed too lazy to expend the energy in this humidity.

 

Of course, it would be too much to hope that the weather would deter the rubberneckers.

 

As had been the tradition for the past three years, Pinako made the one kilometer trek over the hill twice daily; the time of day varied, but it was always, without fail, morning and afternoon. She usually tried to time it at least an hour or so after the train had come through town, but some days her work or, like today, the temperature would have other ideas.

 

At first she was chasing groups of people away from the skeletal remains of the burnt ruins daily, but eventually the morbid fascination with the childhood home of The People's Alchemist waned, and only a handful of diehard fanatics continued to arrive at predictable times of the year. It was mid-August now, and the pilgrims would begin to get more plentiful as the anniversary of the last time Edward had 'officially' been seen grew near.

 

She was unsurprised, then, when she noticed a lone figure standing on the crest of that hill near the Elric property. He wasn't like most of the people who came to gawk, though. More often than not, they were simple folk who had been helped by Ed and Al, and had elevated the brothers to mythical status... or teenaged girls who worshiped the legends and knew nothing about the boys. This man's clothes were obviously new and off-the-rack from a big city store, not hand-me-downs or homemade, and his dark hair was deliberately shaggy, cut by a professional, rather than done at home by a friend or family member.

 

Den yapped and trotted ahead of her to greet the new arrival, nosing into his right hand when he didn't instantly acknowledge her. When he finally noticed the dog, he knelt next to her with a gentle smile and affectionate stroke, as a light breeze ruffled his overly long bangs. And Pinako's breath caught in her throat.

 

Nearly half his face was covered with a patch of black fabric now, but she had never forgotten it since the first time she had met Roy Mustang one horrible, rainy night... eight years ago.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

August 18, 2006

Central Oklahoma

 

"Would you mind not crowding me, Al?" Ed grumbled, hunched over the laptop, one shoulder leaning against the wall of the booth in the diner. His finger hissed quickly around on the mousepad, moving the cursor back and forth across the screen. The noise in the diner -- forks tinkling on plates, spoons clinking in coffee cups, and the subdued chatter of other patrons -- formed a backdrop of white noise as he concentrated on his search. His half-eaten breakfast of bacon and eggs had been pushed aside and forgotten, although now and then he reached absently aside and took a sip from Al's coffee cup.

 

"Sorry, but I'm being pushed," his brother responded, glancing aside at Ducky and Heist, both straining against him and trying to see the laptop screen.

 

"You should sit in the middle, Ed," Ducky suggested, "so we can all see better."

 

"Oh right," Ed muttered, "so I'd get to be shoved from both sides. No thanks." He frowned at the map on the screen, the leylines streaking across it in complete disregard of legal geographical boundaries, and certainly in disregard of mundane things like roads. "I don't know about this. How am I going to figure out the best place to find the right Gate? These lines are all over the place."

 

"Well, let's think," Hughes remarked from across the table, where he sat along the wall, next to Reilly and down from Tom. He was in the stage of leaning back and comfortably sipping his coffee, having sated himself with sausages, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. He swallowed and commented, "There's always Reilly's place. We know there's a Gate there. And we already know it works."

 

Ed glared at him in horror. "Are you insane, Hughes?? If we ever went back there, we'd be caught for sure! You know the place is being watched by the--"

 

Hughes held up his hands, laughing, "Ed, Ed! Relax. I didn't mean it. I know we can't go back there. I was just kidding, okay? Gee, don't you have any sense of humor left?" He picked up his coffee mug again, his grin disappearing into it.

 

Ed pursed his lips, his frown turning to a glower at Ducky's snicker, off to his left. He decided to ignore both of them, and bent back over the computer, shaking his head. "But on the other hand," he murmured, eyes narrowing as a thought occurred to him, "even if we can't go back there, I suppose we could find another place with properties similar to that one..." He continued moving the cursor around, eyes darting back and forth across the screen as he searched.

 

Vaguely, without registering them, he heard the calls continuing at the far end of the diner, as waiters placed bizarre orders through the kitchen window: "Adam and Eve on a raft, whiskey down, wreck 'em! Cowboy with spurs! And fry two, with sunshine!"

 

"It would help," Reilly added, pressing a fork down through three layers of French toast, "if you can find a conjunction of two or three lines -- preferably long lines that haven't been crossed by others. The place they meet, the sacred place, will be the Gate."

 

"I can't believe I'm finally going along with all that mumbo jumbo," Ed quirked an amused eyebrow at her, "but thanks. I'll show you if I find something." He heard movement as someone abandoned their place leaning against Al, and slid into the booth behind him. With a soft slither of cloth on faux leather, the person leaned over his shoulder.

 

"Any good candidates yet?" Heist wondered, her breath lightly stirring a few strands of his hair.

 

Ed fought down the urge to snap at her, but couldn't prevent the tingling of discomfort that spread across his shoulders, as though he expected a knife in his back at any moment. He gave his head a single terse shake, saying nothing.

 

"What about there?" Ducky stretched across as Al leaned back to accommodate him, and tapped a light finger on a likely conjunction.

 

Ed turned the screen slightly toward him. "I looked at that one, but it's in the middle of a big ravine. See? And I don't see any roads going in there. We'd have to dump the van and hike quite a distance. And probably get lost."

 

"I might be able to rig up GPS," Ducky mused.

 

"Another visit to the toy store, then," Reilly said. "Are you sure there's no GPS in any of the toys we've already got you? Not even in your van?"

 

"Nope. I had it in the Ninjavan but it got fried. Don't ask," Ducky interrupted himself, rolling his eyes. "But we probably won't need it if Ed finds a better place than that ravine."

 

Al suggested, "We should keep that one as a last resort, then."

 

"Ed," Heist spoke again from behind him. "You're missing one. You keep panning past it."

 

"I've been looking for almost an hour, and I doubt it," he growled. If his hair weren't so long, he thought it might stand up. He wished she would quit peering over his shoulder. It was giving him the creeps. He preferred her to be where he could see her.

 

"No, really," she persisted. "You're missing a good one. See those three lines there, that look like they're getting closer to each other and then seem to disappear? They don't. The map colour just gets darker there because those are woods, and the lines just blend in with the darker coloring. But I'm sure they meet somewhere in there. Look, seriously--" She leaned even further over him, her arm resting on his shoulder as she pointed.

 

He jerked away. "Don't touch me!" he blurted automatically, and saw the familiar hurt flash into her eyes before she averted them and pulled back.

 

Ducky glared at him. "Dude, how about cutting the melodrama? Just zoom in and see if she's right. If not, you can keep looking." He glanced aside as a waitress zoomed past, both arms laden with plates. The aroma of sausages and eggs wafted heavily over the table.

 

Ed wanted to refuse, but he really couldn't afford to pass up any possibility. He blinked for a couple of seconds as someone at a table across the aisle raised the window blinds and sunlight reflected from the hood of a car pulling into a parking spot outside. Then he clicked a couple of times, reluctantly, on the spot Heist had pointed to. The map zoomed swiftly up toward him, the details getting clearer and clearer, and the map colouring getting lighter and lighter, as the program narrowed its focus to the smaller geographical area. When he finally paused, he sat and stared at the screen for a long time in silence.

 

"Brother," Al finally whispered, breathlessly, leaning a chin on his shoulder. "It looks good. Don't you think? Really good."

 

Ed stared at the conjunction of the three lines, their meeting point standing out sharp and clear now that the background color had diluted behind them. "Yeah, Al," he murmured, heart beginning to pound, "it really does, doesn't it?"

 

"You're welcome," Heist snarked from behind his other shoulder. He ignored her.

 

Al traced his finger lightly across the screen along one of the lines, following it off the North American continent, across the ocean, and into Europe where it finally came to an end point. He remarked, "Look, Ed. Do you see where it ends?"

 

Ed smiled and nodded absently. "Looks like it's not far from where we started out, back in Germany." When his brother leaned back with a knowing snicker, Ed's brows drew together as he peered sidelong at Al's face. Obviously he'd missed something about the location Al had pointed to, and the younger brother appeared smugly content to wait until the elder had figured it out. Unfortunately, despite how much he stared at that particular leyline, Ed couldn't make out what was so interesting about it. Finally, sighing with mild irritation, he gave in. "What?"

 

Al's snicker turned into a barely stifled giggle. "You know, as far as alchemy goes, no one can beat you, Brother. But there really is more to the world than that."

 

"The hell you say," Hughes teased.

 

Ed pointedly ignored the man and said to Al, "So? Are you going to make me play 20 questions, or are you just going to tell me?"

 

"Look at the longitude and latitude at the other end of the line. Don't you remember your geography?"

 

Ed stared at the map for a long moment, digging through his messy mental filing system, even though it seemed mulishly determined not to let him find the folder containing the piece of information he needed. Then at almost the moment he decided to give up and insist that Al just tell him already, a light over a long-forgotten cabinet went on and the file opened up. Gooseflesh popped out along his spine and left arm, and he couldn't get enough air as he tore his eyes from the screen and stared wide-eyed at Al. "Risembool," he whispered, almost afraid that if he said it aloud, it would scatter like dust motes in the sunlight streaming through the window.

 

The light in his younger brother's eyes brightened as he spoke the name, and Ed's grin widened irresistibly. "Risembool," he repeated, voice rising with his excitement. "We really are going home."

 

"Let's have a look," Reilly put in, motioning for Ed to show her the map. He turned the laptop around and she pulled it closer, leaning over her plate to see it. "You're right about the North American end," she nodded. "It looks better than 'very good', it looks perfect." She tilted the screen, first in Hughes' direction and then in Tom's.

 

"There's just one little flaw with that site," Tom said, adding some cream to his coffee and stirring slowly. "Can't you see that border along the left edge? It's on Indian land."

 

"Damn, you're right." Reilly's face fell. "That's a problem."

 

"What's the big deal with that?" Ed demanded, frowning.

 

"It may be a big deal and it may not, Ed, so don't get excited yet." Tom put up a hand to forestall an angry outburst.

 

"But it's probably going to take a lot of time, even if we do get in," Reilly murmured glumly, still peering at the screen. "The Council Elders would have to vote on it."

 

"Okay," Ed said, "so we'll dream up something to tell them, and then they can vote to let us in."

 

"Not so easy," Tom shook his head. "And you don't want to 'dream up' some elaborate lie to trick them into letting us do this. You don't disrespect them that way. We want to be as honest as we can. Which could involve a lot more explanation than we'll be comfortable with."

 

"And anyway," Riley put in, turning the laptop around and sliding it across the table back to Ed, "we won't even get that far unless we can find an advocate to represent us to them. That could take us a while." She shrugged helplessly at Tom. "How are we going to meet someone and get their trust so quickly? I don't see how we can do it."

 

"That 'last resort' is looking better and better, then," Hughes remarked ruefully, his laughter fading.

 

"So I keep looking, that's all," Ed answered, turning back to the laptop screen.

 

"Hey, listen," Heist injected. "Do you hear that?"

 

"What are you talking about, this place is full of noise!" Ed snarled, half turning and glaring at her over his shoulder, finally losing his patience. But suddenly he heard it too -- the faint strains of music, barely audible over the sounds of tinkling cutlery and quiet conversation. He met his brother's gaze, recognition sparking between them. "Al -- can you hear -- does that sound like--"

 

"It is!" The younger brother's eyes lit up. "It's a flute! Do you think -- could it really--" He turned his head back and forth, trying to locate the source, until his head abruptly snapped toward the large window across the aisle, along the row of tables at the front of the diner. He wriggled on the slippery booth seat and pushed unconsciously at Ducky with one hand. "He's out there -- we need to get out -- we need to see--"

 

Ducky scooted out and onto his feet, frowning in mystification. Al leaped out of the booth almost at a run, and headed for the door, with Ed racing after him.

 

They skidded to a halt in the parking lot, following the music to where Singer sat perched on a fender, a few cars down from the door, flute still held before his smiling lips and the ubiquitous duffel bag on the asphalt at his feet. He nodded to the two young men but said nothing, bending instead to play a few more notes, eyes half-closed and one long braid slipping over a shoulder.

 

"Well well," Hughes remarked, coming up behind the brothers and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "Another visit from your mysterious friend, I see. What's he up to this time?"

 

"That's what we plan to find out," Ed said, his eyes never leaving the man on the fender. He hesitated, waiting for the music to finish, but then, "Hey, Singer!" he finally blurted, interrupting the tune. "Are you here for a particular reason?"

 

At last the man lowered the instrument, eyes crinkling slightly as he regarded his interrogator. "We're all here for a reason, Iron Butterfly," he nodded. "But I see you're not quite as impatient as usual. And Steppin' Wolf. Have you found your own music yet?"

 

"I-I'm not sure," Al breathed. "I think I'm getting close." One hand hovered, unconsciously, over the shirt pocket out of which almost half of his own flute jutted.

 

"Never mind that," Ed interrupted again. "What are you doing here?"

 

The man paused, regarding him in silence, the humor still glittering in his eyes. "Maybe I spoke too soon about patience." He lifted his instrument and regarded it briefly. "What am I doing here? I thought I was playing my flute. Did you hear differently, Butterfly?"

 

At Ed's frustrated snort, Hughes put in quickly, "You do seem to turn up at significant moments, though. It's natural that we'd be curious about why you came here right at this time."

 

"Just passing through," the other man shrugged, slipping off the fender. "I have some friends to visit."

 

"But...," Al ventured softly, brows drawing together, "...we're your friends too. Aren't we? Didn't you come to visit...us?"

 

Singer smiled gently. "Of course you are. But I have a meeting with some people." He jabbed his flute into his bag, zipped it shut, and slung it up and over one shoulder. Ed watched in disbelief as he turned and began to walk away. That was it? He'd drawn them out here with his music, and... that was it??

 

After only a few steps, though, Singer stopped, half-turned, and raised his eyebrows. "Well?" he asked. "The Council of Elders is waiting. Are you coming or not?"

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

Risembool, Amestris

 

“I wouldn't think you'd want to come back here,” Pinako said as she set a tray on the table with a ceramic tea pot and a pair of matching cups. She placed a perforated silver ball in each cup and hung the chains over the sides, then poured boiling water into each.

 

As she slid one cup across the table to Roy, the water had begun to turn a delicate shade of amber and he caught a hint of a distinctive floral aroma as it rose up in the steam. "Darjeeling," he said with a smile.

 

“My favorite,” Pinako nodded as she dropped a lump of sugar into her cup and let it dissolve without stirring it. “One of the few luxuries I indulge in regularly.”

 

“Your taste is excellent.”

 

“And you're beating around the bush, General Mustang,” she said mildly. “Why are you here?”

 

Roy took a contemplative sip, enjoying the musky spiciness and allowing himself a moment to experience the naturally sweet and cooling aftertaste while he marshaled his thoughts. Setting the cup down, but keeping his hand on it, he stared at the play of light on the golden liquid. “I guess I needed to take a trip down memory lane,” he answered lightly. When he glanced up and met her gaze, he saw her brow arch skeptically and knew he'd been caught. "You're not buying it, are you?"

 

She shook her head. “Frankly, I'm disappointed. That explanation certainly didn't live up to your reputation as the master beguiler," she said, the crinkle around her eyes softening the remark.

 

Roy winced and rubbed at his chin. "Those two years up north really did make me rusty," he mumbled good-naturedly. Then he sighed and turned the cup in his hand. “To be honest, Mrs. Rockbell, I'm not entirely sure why I came.” And that much was truth. He'd thought he knew, when he'd purchased the ticket to this tiny village, and even up to the point when he'd taken the kilometers-long trek to the ruins of the house where the two boys had been born. But once he'd crested the hill and looked down at what remained of the Elrics' property, reason and logic returned.

 

It was a foolish adventure, and if he were to be found out, his shaky status in the military would be yanked out from under him. As he'd stood on that hill and stared down at the charred skeleton of the house nestled against the scarred tree that had, amazingly, avoided being completely consumed by the fire, he'd told himself to leave. Get back on that train and return to Central and forget that he'd ever come here. But his feet had refused to obey his commands, and his heart raced whenever he tried to turn away.

 

That was when Pinako had found him.

 

“First of all, let's drop the formalities,” she said now, as she laid her pipe on the table and pulled a small drawstring bag from her apron pocket. “Call me Pinako. I haven't been Mrs. Anything since I was a young girl.”

 

“Very well,” Roy agreed with a slight nod, as he lifted the cup once more. “I'll offer the same courtesy. I'm not here representing the military this time; please call me Roy.”

 

“Good.” She tamped a pinch of tobacco into the bowl. “Now that we have that out of the way..." She paused to place the tip of her pipe between her teeth, then a slow, devious grin crawled across her face. "Those boys are trying to get back home, aren't they?”

 

Roy choked and sputtered on his tea as Pinako waited patiently. Once the spasms stopped and he could speak again, he said, “I wouldn't have any idea about that.”

 

“Just like you didn't know you needed to be here eight years ago?”

 

“I came to investigate the whereabouts of Hohenheim of Light. Edward sent a letter, remember?”

 

“He sent several, as I recall,” Pinako countered. “And that made it pretty obvious their father wasn't here. There was no logical reason for you to come to Risembool.”

 

“On the contrary. I thought perhaps I might get a little more information that would help us find him. Perfectly logical, and well within the parameters of an investigation.”

 

“Well, it was a good excuse, anyway. But if those boys were sending letters out all over the place looking for Hohenheim, it would seem to me that would mean they had no clues," she said as she took a box of matches from the same pocket the tobacco had come from.

 

“We had no idea if we'd intercepted all of the letters, Pinako," Roy said as he placed a hand over the box. "Allow me." As he took a match and struck it, he continued, "It was entirely possible one of them got to him and he'd returned for the funeral, at least.”

 

“How long did you sit on it before you finally took the trip out here?”

 

Roy hesitated with the flame hovering inches from Pinako's pipe, attempting to read the old woman's face. He saw nothing that would reveal to him just where she was heading with this line of inquiry and couldn't help but wonder if she had played much poker in her younger days; she certainly could pull a convincing bluff. “I'm not sure what you're getting at.”

 

Pinako took the pipe from her mouth and laid it on the table with deliberate softness, then took a deep breath. “We're just going around in circles, Roy.” She pinned him with an intense gaze and continued on. “Science can't explain everything, because some things just defy logic and reason. They just are. Perhaps some day we'll have all the answers, but for now...” She shrugged.

 

Roy chuckled. “There's an explanation for everything, Pinako. It's just a matter of digging deep enough to find it.”

 

“Really? So tell me, how do you power an array? Where does the energy come from?”

 

“The circle contains and channels the energy, while the symbols and components of the alchemical reaction--”

 

“Bullshit. Define the soul, Roy. You should be able to do that, since you've had so much close contact with Al.”

 

Roy gaped like a landed fish. The match, having been forgotten, burned down enough to singe his fingers. He hissed and shook the fire out, avoiding her stare. “I... I can't,” he whispered, finally.

 

Pinako gazed down and idly turned her cup around in her hands. “What makes one man a great alchemist, while another goes on to become a pharmacist? They're both chemists.” She focused on Roy, cocking her head to the side and smiling slightly. "Both professions require a thorough knowledge of the chemical makeup of anything they handle, both professions have essentially the same basic education. Yet at some point, with all things being equal, only a handful move on to become alchemists. It doesn't matter how brilliant someone is, there is a certain element that an alchemist must have in order to become what he is. What is it?"

 

Roy spread his hands. “I don't know. I suppose you do, though?”

 

Pinako shook her head. “Nope. But I have a theory.”

 

“Formulated by careful observation and experience, no doubt?” Roy said, gently.

 

“Of course.”

 

A heavy knock on the door interrupted them and Roy gave Pinako a mildly embarrassed smile. "My apologies," he said, as he stood. "I'm keeping you from your work."

 

She slid off the chair and waved him back. "I don't have any appointments the rest of the day. Relax." As she strode past, she stuck her pipe in her mouth and leaned in a bit. "And if I did, you would have already known about it. I'm not that polite."

 

With a soft chuckle, Roy settled back into his seat. Behind him, he heard Pinako turning the knob and the hinges squeaking as the door swung open. Assuming it was most likely a neighbor paying a social call, he returned to the delights of a truly good Darjeeling tea.

 

He'd brought the cup up to his lips, but was halted in mid-sip when she said, "I believe our visitors are here to see you, Roy."

 

He set it back on the table and twisted around, then felt the floor drop out from under him. Dammit. Caught.

 

From the expressions on the three faces as they entered the house, Roy could guess who'd headed the search for their wayward general. Alex Louis Armstrong stood at the back of the small group with his hands clasped behind him, and his head down. The man looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, even though he didn't really have anything to feel guilty for. Jean Havoc studied the beams and cracks of the ceiling, scratching nervously at the back of his head and chewing vigorously on the end of an unlit cigarette. Clearly the man had been dragged along -- possibly at gunpoint -- but left mostly in the dark.

 

No, it was Roy's adjunct who'd led the charge. Riza Hawkeye coolly met his gaze, expressionless except for a single raised brow, and absolutely no apology in her demeanor.

 

"Captain," Roy greeted her.

 

"General."

 

Roy waited a moment, unwilling to blink first, expecting her to explain herself. Riza, of course, did the exact same thing. In the meantime, Armstrong and Havoc fidgeted and Pinako-- Roy cocked a brow at the old woman, who watched the scene with quiet amusement, then sagged. He'd never won a standoff against Riza... ever, and he had a strong suspicion that he was going to be out-gunned if Pinako sided with her. Therefore, it was time for a tactical retreat, because the outcome would not be in his favor if he persisted in the current stand-off. Not even a little bit. "Hawkeye, why are you here?"

 

"You took a vacation."

 

"The horror!" Roy teased. "Imagine that. An officer taking a vacation."

 

"You never take vacations. Sir," she said as she strode into the room and stood at formal parade rest on the opposite side of the table. Armstrong and Havoc stepped further into the room, but remained hovering near the door.

 

"Then I guess it's about time, don't you think?" Roy said as he raised his cup and took a sip of his tea.

 

"But... Risembool?"

 

Roy spread his arms wide to encompass the entire area and said, "Why not? It's certainly quiet and peaceful here. Seems a good place to relax and recharge."

 

Naturally she didn't believe him.

 

It didn't help any that Pinako started to chuckle softly. "Your people know you too well, Roy," she said as she closed the door and waved the other two soldiers toward the table.

 

"It would appear so," he retorted wryly.

 

"General," Armstrong said, "we're merely concerned for your well-being."

 

"You have been acting a bit flaky lately," Havoc chimed in, and then flinched when Riza glared at him.

 

Pinako picked up the pot and headed for the kitchen. "Looks like I need more tea," she said, "and I'll see what I can scare up to eat." She paused at the entry and glanced back at Roy. "I think you're going to need a little help for what you're thinking of doing." She nodded at the three others in the room. "There's nothing wrong with asking for it."

 

Riza slowly sat down in the chair Pinako had vacated just a moment ago, her features softening to concern and a little bit of hurt. "General--" she said softly, then corrected herself and took Roy completely by surprise, "--Roy, what's going on? Why did you come here?"

 

He gazed down at the cup nestled in his hands, guilt shooting painfully through him as he realized he'd kept them in the dark for too long. "Forgive me," he said gently. "It was unfair of me to keep this from you. From the people I trust the most." He met each friend's eyes in turn, settling on Riza last and longest. "I wasn't sure I could explain just what had been happening lately. I'm still not certain I can." His lips twitched in a nervous smile. "And you'll probably think I've gone completely around the bend when I tell you this..."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

Central Oklahoma

 

Ducky knew he should be paying attention to the discussion, but every time he tried to concentrate, he got distracted again. From outside, this place had merely looked like a really big garage, with two huge rolling doors that could accommodate trucks if necessary. But once Singer had talked to the Elder and they'd been allowed inside, Ducky had discovered the building, instead, to be a total wonderland.

 

The Elder, Singer, and Ed sat on the only chairs, in the wedge of space in front of the old wooden cupboards and wall shelves occupying both walls of one corner of the vast room. Al stood behind his brother, hands on Ed's shoulders, and Tom, Reilly, and Hughes leaned back against a cupboard, listening to Singer and the Elder talk. Heist and Ducky had plopped themselves down on a big metal storage locker, and as his eyes had wandered over the rest of the room, she had given him a nudge in the ribs with a sharp elbow, flashing a knowing smirk.

 

She had good reason. He could hardly keep his gaze off the welding equipment, metal sculptures, and piles of scrap metal that filled this place. Singer hadn't told them that the man was an artist, but his creations, pieces finished and half-finished, surrounded the visitors. The welding equipment was situated in the opposite corner, while sculptures in various states of completion stood like a forest of vast, misshapen trees throughout the rest of the space. Along the walls stood the stacks of scrap: rolls of cable, pails of tin cans, half-rusted car parts, sheets of metal that might have been taken from heating ducts.

 

"...and this sacred ground is the only place where this Gate can be found?" Ducky half-heard the Elder ask.

 

For once, Ed spoke quietly and with respect. "No, sir," he answered honestly. "We can get to a Gate from other places. But they're much harder to get to, and as far as we can tell, none of them are as powerful as the one in this place."

 

Good answer, Ducky thought, his attention wandering again. Look at all this stuff! He'd never been the sort to try metal sculpture, but he could think of a million other things to do with chunks of this treasure--

 

In fact... now that he thought of it...

 

His gaze sharpened as it swept over the piles of scrap with a new eye. There was something he'd been wishing he could do... he wondered if the Elder would be willing to part with a little bit of his material?

 

"Before any portal is opened," the man said, drawing his attention back, "there must be a sweat."

 

"A what?" Ed repeated in bewilderment.

 

"A ceremony of purification," Singer supplied.

 

Yes, Ducky thought, if he asked the man nicely, he might just be willing to spare a few small sheets of something, and maybe even give a little welding help. It might just save the computers if they ran into trouble--

 

"What?" Ed yelled, leaping to his feet.

 

Uh oh, thought Ducky. There he goes. No chance now. Wonder what the problem is...

 

"Brother, it'll be okay," Al was already trying to smooth things over.

 

"Are you serious?" Ed blurted. "Are you going to do it -- sit with a bunch of strangers in a hot room all night, with no clothes on??"

 

Ducky gaped. Ohh, he thought. That kind of "sweat."

 

They'd have to do it, of course: Hughes, Ed, and Al, participating in the sweat lodge to be purified before they took their journey to the other world. If they wanted to get home, they had no choice. This was going to be good! Ducky couldn't wait to see this--

 

Or no. That was something he really didn't want to see, and he was so glad he wouldn't have to do it too. But Ed -- Ed!

 

Ducky buried his face in his hands and laughed till he thought he'd choke.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

Risembool, Amestris

 

"...If we're caught, it'll be the end of our careers," Roy finished. "And this time we don't have the excuse of a conspiracy to back us up. This is not going to benefit our country -- it's not 'for the greater good'. This is personal and selfish. I want to bring those boys back home." He waited then. He'd just given them a reason and permission to back out -- especially in light of the risks. Either they'd drag him back to Central at gunpoint and have him committed, or they'd believe him -- and help.

 

He wasn't really sure which he'd prefer, either.

 

"I will, of course, assist you in any way possible, general," Armstrong assured him.

 

"He'll need it," Pinako said as she returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of hot water, three more cups and a piled-high plate of sandwiches.

 

Right on cue, Roy thought with a smirk. He had little doubt that she'd listened in, even if she was giving them the impression of privacy. At least she didn't think he'd lost his mind; neither, apparently, did Armstrong. The question now was, what did Hawkeye and Havoc think?

 

"Riza," Roy said softly, as he placed a hand over hers. "I'll understand if you don't want any part of this." He left the question unspoken.

 

"Do you even need to ask?"

 

It was an old exchange. From the moment he realized he was headed to the top after Maes' murder, and several times after that. He didn't need to ask, but out of respect, he always did. This time, though... "Yes."

 

Riza nodded and said, "My place is at your back and by your side, general. It always has been."

 

There was no hesitation, no second thoughts, as Havoc rolled his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other and grinned. "Hell, it's been too long since I was part of a covert operation." He twitched exaggeratedly. "I'm gettin' itchy."

 

As Pinako refilled Roy's cup, she cast him an 'I-told-you-so' glance.

 

"Which reminds me," Roy said, turning from Pinako to Armstrong, "how far did you get before she caught you, Alex?"

 

"The train station, sir."

 

"Risembool?"

 

Armstrong hung his head in shame. "Central."

 

Roy chortled deviously into his cup as he made a 'gimme' gesture with his free hand. With a wistful sigh, the gentle giant dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cens notes, then counted out several and handed them over to Roy. As the general folded his winnings, he said, "Your stealth technique might've been passed down through several generations, Alex, but I'll gather none of your ancestors ever had to elude a Hawkeye."

 

At Hawkeye's heated glare, Roy cocked a brow and spread his hands. "You didn't think I would be clearing that cellar myself, did you?" He was making light of the situation, but deep down, he knew he'd have hell to pay for this when it was all over with. He just hoped that he was left with his hide mostly intact.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

August 19, 2006

Central Oklahoma

 

Ed stared at the small round hovel that had been erected for the ritual. Long sticks had been lashed together in a circle about three meters wide, and the entire structure had been covered in wide strips of bark and leafy branches. The height was about level with his chin, but he could see through the slitted opening that the earth inside had been dug out. In front of the opening, the lodge's creators had made a tapering cut in the ground, leading to a short post with the skull of some sort of animal mounted upon it. At its base was a collection of grasses and a few feathers, circled by a strip of different colored sand on each of the four sides. Just before the skull, a sweet smelling fire burned, guarded by two fire keepers. Ed had already been instructed that he wasn't to pass beyond the skull once the sweat had commenced. It wasn't so much a spiritual warning as it was a physical one. And it made sense. Emerging from the heated lodge, it wasn't uncommon to feel light-headed and disoriented. The last thing anyone needed was to stumble into the fire.

 

Brushing a hand over his stomach, Ed scowled. Late last night, they'd been informed that they weren't allowed to eat anything, in preparation for the sweat. The others took the news easily enough, but by now, his gut was cramping angrily -- and it reflected on his mood. Needless to say, he hadn't been a source of sweetness around the campsite. Nor did Reilly's cryptic comments about "hypo-gli-see-mia" help at all... whatever that was anyhow. Behind him, the sun was starting to go down, casting a soft red glow over the landscape. The Elders had gathered together a short distance away, speaking softly to the other members of the group. But as Ed approached, they broke apart. A glance at Hughes' face sent alarms blaring in his brain. "What... what's going on?"

 

Al fidgeted nearby, not meeting his eyes, and Reilly looked downright stricken. However, it was Singer who approached him, expression neutral and arms folded as he spoke. "The partaking of a sweat is a sacred event. There must be no impurities if you are to enter. This is why you were asked to fast beforehand. It is also why we are asking Maes to leave his glasses outside, as everyone else to leave their watches and other jewelry." He paused, looking pointedly, first at Ed's right arm... and then at his opposite leg. Suddenly grasping what what he was being told, Ed's mouth dropped open. He'd been aware of the no clothing issue... but this!?

 

He shook his head, unaware that he'd taken a step back. "No..."

 

Singer remained where he was, a light breeze stirring the hair resting on his shoulders. "It must be, Iron Butterfly." And then he turned, retreating to the shadows.

 

"Ed..."

 

He jerked away from Al's reaching fingers, then stalked in the other direction, his brain steaming. "Sure, easy enough to take your glasses off! Bet they'd say different if it felt like they were tearing their eyes out!" He stumbled over a branch and cursed through clenched teeth. Finally, coming to a rest near a thick oak tree, he pressed his hands against the mossy bark. It was much darker here than in the clearing, and he felt enveloped by the shadows of the surrounding woods. It didn't last long though. Already, he could hear the sounds of snapping twigs and the rough scratch of branches dragging over fabric. Turning around, he fully expected to see either Reilly or his brother stomping after him. But in shock, he saw instead the black-headed form of Ducky pushing awkwardly through the foliage. And boy, did he look out of his element.

 

Brushing flakes of bark from his sleeves, Ducky peered at him through the straggles of hair in his eyes. He shifted back and forth a little, shoving one hand into his pocket, the other rising to scratch at the crown of his head. A scattered breeze knocked several leaves free, sending them spiraling down to land among the rest of the litter.

 

Finally, when Ed was really starting to grind his teeth in irritation, Ducky spoke. "Dude, that really sucks."

 

Blinking once, Ed furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Surprised to find himself smiling a little, he shrugged. "Yeah, it really does." He said, pressing his back against the oak's rugged skin. They stood like that for a while, sharing the silence as night deepened around them. After a while, Ducky started shifting again.

 

"You know... this whole business... it's..."

 

Ed nodded, then realized that the other man probably couldn't see the motion through the shadows. "Yeah. Well... you kinda get used to it after a while."

 

More silence, and the occasional sound of something flying overhead. Small creatures scurried through the leaves, the darting patter of their tiny feet breaking up the quiet. Finally, Ed sighed and pushed away from the tree. He knew there was no other way. If he'd learned anything from the past; no amount of tantrum throwing made a difference in the long run. And truthfully, there just wasn't time to accommodate his emotions. "Come on. We should get back."

 

Ducky didn't speak as they fumbled back towards the sweat lodge. Just before reaching the fire's glow, the two men parted company -- Ducky retreating to the van where those not required to take part in the ritual were hanging out. By this time, the large collection of smooth rocks had been heated by the fire and placed within the lodge. The Elders, having stripped down, were slowly making their way through the slit in the mound.

 

Finally, the only ones who remained were Ed himself, Hughes, his brother, and Singer.

 

Without a word, Ed pulled his shirt over his head. The metal of his arm reflected warmly in the jumping flames, its smooth surface appearing almost liquid. And not for the first time, he felt a rush of admiration for its creator. His hand rose up to touch the ridges near his shoulder, his fingertips just inches away from the release trigger. Removing it wasn't anywhere near as bad as reconnecting... but it would still hurt. Dropping his hand again, he suddenly peered at the small circle of eyes. "Do you mind?"

 

With a round of apologies, the others walked a small distance away to give him some temporary privacy. Even moderately alone, his cheeks were still heated as he slid off his pants. It took a second longer to shed his boxers, and he'd never been more grateful to see the darkness of the closing night. By now, the only illumination was from the fire. Not looking forward to the impending crab-like scrambling, Ed walked back towards the circle, his clothes held in front of him. Looking around, he saw the other three emerge from the dark, now devoid of their own clothing. It didn't help him one bit. If anything, it made his face burn even brighter. Swallowing thickly, he slid down next to the lodge.

 

Al knelt as well, placing a small hand on Ed's left shoulder. "Let me help, Brother."

 

The leg was the most awkward to remove, the release positioned on the underside of the joint. Leaning his head back, Ed squeezed his eyes shut as Al placed both hands on the metal, leaning down to feel for the trigger. The was a second of nothing, and then he grunted as the leg released with a metallic clunk. Breathing deeply, he rubbed his left hand over the exposed port, suddenly frowning as a thought occurred to him. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Singer with confusion. "Hey, if my arm and leg are considered impure... how do they feel about the connecting ports? I can't exactly remove them..."

 

Singer dipped his head. "As these are considered a part of your flesh, the Elders have made a concession."

 

Ed mumbled as he massaged his thigh. "Of course my 'limbs' aren't considered a part of me... not like I use them for anything..."

 

Al had scooted around to his other side, having placed the leg on the folded pile of Ed's clothes. He was reaching for the right arm when Ed stopped him. "It's okay Al, I got it." Placing his hand over the trigger he braced himself, breath held tightly, and pressed.

 

He could feel the cords in his neck jump at this second disconnect. For whatever reason, his arm always hurt more to remove than his leg. Possibly because of the extensive involvement of flesh and bone... He did, though, manage to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. Holding out the arm for Al to take, he used his remaining hand to push his suddenly lighter body upright. Once his right arm was nestled alongside his leg, he reached up his free arm, meaning to grip the edge of the lodge. Instead, he felt another arm slip beneath his, and glanced over to see Hughes smiling at him.

 

"You know me Ed, I'll take any opportunity to hug someone."

 

He grumbled something about perverted touchy-feely types, but inside was grateful he wasn't being forced to crawl. It was humiliating enough that he had to hop. Naked. Next to another naked person. Towards a lodge filled with even more naked people.

 

All that was missing was the camera.

 

Thank goodness Hughes was currently lacking pockets...

 

 

 

Part Two

 

WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU

 

 

 

August 20, 2006

Central Oklahoma

 

It wasn't a large clearing, Heist mused, but there was room enough to draw the big circle Ed seemed to think he needed to make the jump to hyperspace, or wherever it was he was going. Whether he really needed the circle or not had been the subject of much discussion between him and Singer, ever since the "sweaters" (as the Ducklord called them) had crawled out of their steaming hut, exhausted, disoriented, and ravenous.

 

Ed had hardly said a word to anyone until he'd downed what appeared to be a vat of scrambled eggs and half a pot of coffee. Al was a bit more cheerful, even though the dark smudges under his eyes were bigger than his brother's. Hughes, on the other hand, was positively manic during breakfast, almost rivaling Ducky on his wilder days. He bounced around their camp, chattering like an idiot, a couple of slices of toast in one hand and a precarious cup of coffee spilling in the other. Even now, breakfast finished, he grinned like a maniac, jiggling up and down on his toes, nearer to the edge of the circle.

 

Heist smirked at Ducky, standing hands in pockets beside her, at the edge of the clearing . "You can sure tell someone's going home today."

 

"Yeah, I guess," he nodded, uncharacteristically subdued.

 

She peered into his glum face, and followed his gaze to where Ed had almost finished his careful construction of the circle. "Ducky," she murmured in surprise, "you're really going to miss them, aren't you?"

 

"No," he retorted. "They've been nothing but trouble since they got here. It'll be good to get back to a normal life." When she slowly turned back to him, regarding him under pointedly raised eyebrows, he snorted. "Shut up." As she continued with the knowing look, he rolled his eyes and left, walking closer to where Ed was working. Heist stayed back, out of Ed's sightline. Out of sight of most of them, actually, as they lined up around the edge of the circle like some kind of paying audience.

 

Ed, meanwhile, was putting the finishing touches on his drawing, as Singer stood by the edge and teased him. "Butterfly," the older man said, arms casually crossed, "you're making needless work for yourself."

 

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Ed muttered. "And I'm doing what's necessary. You have to get a transmutation circle exactly right, for something this complicated--"

 

"You don't need the circle at all," Singer told him. "You have all you need already."

 

"And you're the alchemy expert now, I see. Maybe in the other world, I could clap my hands and do this, but I probably wouldn't risk it for something this important. In this world, though, I need to draw the circle for something like this."

 

"You have all you need without it," Singer repeated, crouching at the edge of the circle, elbows on his knees and hands hanging between them. "You and young Steppin' Wolf." He watched the young man work, a fond smile touching his lips.

 

Heist also smiled silently at the exchange. She wasn't as sure as Ducky that they'd find a normal life again, after the three guys from the other world were gone. But even though they pretty much hated her now, she contemplated their departure with gloom. Somehow they'd grown on her, despite everything. And apart from the little matter of having to run for their lives, they'd given her a glimpse of a wilder, more amazing life than either she or Ducky had ever imagined before. And Ed was a genius! He'd picked up more understanding of computers and programming, in just a few weeks, than most people would learn in years. Give him another month, and he might even rival Ducky -- or her! -- in his proficiency.

 

She grinned to herself. Couldn't have that, could we? Maybe it was a good thing Ed was leaving, or she could lose her status as Hacker Goddess.

 

So lost in thought was she, that even the cracking of the branch behind her didn't clue her in, until the arm was wrapped around her throat and the soft, too, too familiar voice was murmuring in her ear, "Just hold still and be quiet, and we can get this finished quickly, all right?"

 

But Heist couldn't prevent the squawking gasp of fear as Bond's arm pressed against her windpipe. As she convulsively clutched at the restrictive arm, she saw Ducky glance absently back, then watched the horror explode into his face.

 

"HEIST!" he screamed, lunging toward her.

 

"Stay back!" Bond ordered sharply, and she felt something sharp press against her throat as Ducky skidded to a halt, face twisted in anguish. Heist's knees wobbled and threatened to give out under her, and she fought to keep standing, to keep herself from being choked. The others had noticed by now, and even Ed had leapt to his feet. But no one dared make a move. "That's right," Bond said. "Everyone behave, and nobody will get hurt. Well... almost nobody."

 

"What do you want, Bond?" Hughes demanded. "Let the girl go, and we'll talk."

 

"I'm not entirely stupid, Hughes," Bond sneered. "And you of all people should know better than to expect me to let her go now."

 

Hughes' face tightened, and Ducky gasped. "Please!" he cried. "Whatever you want -- take me! Let her go! Please!"

 

Oh Ducks. Heist blinked away the sudden sting of tears.

 

"No can do." His breath would have tickled her ear, if her nerves hadn't been screaming tight with the tension and fear. "She's my ticket home," Bond almost crooned. "Isn't she, Fullmetal?"

 

Heist's frantic eyes flew to Ed's face in time to see it stiffen in anger and revulsion. "No," he said flatly. "Not a chance. Not that way."

 

"Come now," Bond cajoled almost pleasantly. "It's not like you care to save her, and we both know it. She's a traitor. She's expendable. And we know you need a death, to open the Gate home. I'd bet you've been planning to use her all along."

 

Heist gasped and the arm tightened around her neck for a moment, until her vision swam. As it cleared, she watched Ducky whirl to gape at Ed, a horrified question in his eyes, and heard Ed snap, "Don't be stupid."

 

But it didn't matter, did it? Sidney -- Bond -- was going to kill her, and even if Ed hadn't planned it, it would give him what he needed. They hate me. He and the others would get home for sure. They'll never pass up a chance like this! She was dead, she was dead. Her trembling hands tugged mindlessly at the arm that held her, as her body shook in Bond's deadly embrace.

 

"If you let her go, Stealthworks," growled Maes Hughes, eyes narrowed in a deadly, ice-green glare that Heist could never have imagined seeing on his kind, friendly face, "you might survive this. If not -- you're a dead man. That's a promise."

 

Silently, Tom took a stance next to Hughes, body facing him, but his right arm straight out and the gun in his hand aimed at the only part of Bond not shielded by Heist: his head. The older man's thumb pulled the hammer back with a resounding click that seemed to echo through the woods as he wordlessly made the same vow.

 

Heist could almost feel Bond's grin widen, gaping behind her ear. "Spoken like a man neutered by principle. You don't really want to get home to that wife and little girl, do you, Hughes? If you did, you'd be leaping at this chance. You'd rather enjoy the more convenient charms of your girlfriend on this side of the Gate, wouldn't you?" His arm shifted, loosening from around Heist's throat, but she could feel the rest of his body tense up. Something was coming.

 

"You bastard!" Hughes hissed.

 

"There's another way, Bond," Ed urged, coming out to the edge of his circle, to stand beside his brother. "We can do this without hurting anybody. Let her go."

 

"Don't make me laugh. As if I'd fall for such a convenient, obvious lie. Not a chance, Fullmetal," Bond said, his arm shifting again, the hand pulling back toward Heist's shoulder, the blade in the other hand moving as well, toward the other side of her neck.

 

Oh my god! He's going to slit my throat!

 

She lunged away, panic injecting the adrenaline, but the last vestiges of her rational mind choosing the safest direction: sideways, away from the knife. She was quick, and almost made it, but Bond was quicker. He caught her by the wrist with one hand, and yanked her partway back.

 

"Not before time, sweetheart," he smiled narrowly, and raised the other, knife-wielding hand.

 

She screamed as it slashed down her forearm, and the old suicide joke dashed insanely through her thoughts, Across the street to the hospital, down the highway to the morgue. She saw her own blood shower in a wide arc as Bond dragged her a few feet, then shoved her violently forward. Through a haze of pain and dripping red, she saw herself falling toward the circle Ed had created, as her knees finally gave out.

 

"Keep her outside!" someone screamed -- Ed? Al? She could hardly tell, with everyone else shrieking and yelling.

 

But they were suddenly both there -- Ed and Al -- one grabbing her around the waist and the other clutching her free hand, trying to pull her away before she could touch the circle. Bond refused to relinquish his grip on the wounded arm -- oh god, it hurt, it hurt, she was bleeding to death, she was dying! -- and kept trying to drag her across the edge with him.

 

Heist felt like she was being torn apart. The pain seemed to permeate her whole body, the blood was everywhere, and she could hear Ducky screaming. I'm dying, Ducks! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry for everything! Jerked backward and forward, the breath slammed out of her and pain shooting through her arm with every jerk, she saw only snatched bursts of images -- Reilly with her fists to her mouth -- Hughes darting forward as Al yelled, "Stay out of the circle, Maes!!" -- the swift whipping of Ed's ponytail--

 

-- then one rapid glimpse of Singer's face behind her tormentor as he grabbed Bond's shoulder and yanked him back. Bond's gripping hand flew open in reflex, and Heist fell backwards, in a tangle of arms and legs, falling on top of Al, with Ed rolling just in time to avoid landing on her. She moaned in pain, her whole side on fire. Ed was instantly beside her again, kneeling, helping to lift her as his brother got out from under her. Then he leaned her gently back, into Al's arms as the younger brother sat, splayed so he could hold her against his chest.

 

Ed's metal hand tightened, painfully, around her arm just below the elbow, while he pressed his other hand directly over the bloody slash. As Heist yelped, twisting reflexively, trying to pull her arm away, he yelled, "Somebody get help! Doctor, bandages, whatever! And stay out of that circle!" A gentle hand stroked her hair from behind, pulling it out of her face, as she began to shiver uncontrollably. "It's okay, you're all right now," Al murmured. "Just hold on till we fix this..."

 

She was going to faint. They saved me. She thought the pain would keep her awake, but she could feel herself slipping away. They didn't let him kill me. She saw Ducky leaning over her and the brothers, tears of fear streaming down his face. Ducks, you're giving away a weakness, you know. Reilly was rushing over, grabbing Hughes' shirt as he tore it off, the two of them already ripping it into strips. They're not going to let me bleed to death...and god, does Hughes have muscles...

 

The last thing she saw, as her head lolled sideways and the curtain came down, was Bond and Singer, in the middle of the circle, each facing the other in a battle-ready crouch.

 

o0o0o

 

 

The larger man before him had strength in his favor, as well as the fury to fuel his attack. He fought with the manner of one who was practiced in stealth and cunning -- but who had long since stopped hearing the voice of the earth. Still, he must have been able to read something of his opponent's skills -- for he tucked the knife, more hindrance now than help, into his belt, and splayed his fingers in mimicry of his enemy.

 

They circled around the tattooed ground, each studying the other, waiting for that one clear opening. In an ancient cedar beyond the edge of the clearing, Raven watched them, beady black eyes fixed, feathered head tilted. The creature would not interfere. In fact, Singer doubted it would even cross the lines carved into the dirt beneath his shoes. There was Power here, radiating up through the soles of his feet and along the paths of his veins. It carried like a hum through the air -- vibrating electrically. If he could feel it this strongly, he knew his companion would be nearly overcome by the sensations.

 

The soulless man was smiling at him, an expression that tugged his sallow skin into a vile parody of human emotion. He watched, knowing Bond would break soon. His muscles had slowly been tensing for this moment... and as though aware of that thought, Bond lunged, locking his fingers around Singer's arm.

 

Singer allowed the contact, loosening his body to curl to the side. Then, bracing his legs, he suddenly twisted his shoulders, sending his opponent rolling to the ground. The force of the landing jarred the knife from his belt and it skated toward the edge of the circle -- out of Bond's current reach. However, the move wasn't without loss; for barely had Bond landed before his arm lashed back and recaptured Singer by the wrist, yanking the lighter man off his feet. They both moved quickly, Bond in a half-lunge, and Singer with an elegant backflip. Not giving the other man a chance to keep his footing, Singer leaped again, springboarding off Bond's chest with a violent kick towards the face. His foot grazed his opponent's nose as Bond jerked back, then lurched into a roll.

 

Singer hit the ground loosely, bending his knees as he prepared to lunge forward again, only to rock backward as his enemy crashed into his chest. He struck the ground hard, his back screaming where it collided with a pointed rock. Instantly, he pulled his hands before him and dug long fingers into the channels of Bond's throat. Tearing away, coughing, Bond wrapped one hand around his abused flesh while the other braced on his knee. In that second's reprieve, Singer gained his feet, resisting the desire to massage the throbbing ache above his kidneys.

 

In the silence of the moment, a pale exhalation of warm wind skipped through the circle, lifting the dampened hair from Singer's brow. On the periphery, the watching eyes of the traveling friends stared in silence. He remained acutely aware of the rapid breathing of Iron Butterfly and Steppin' Wolf as they wrestled against their desire to join the battle, to tend instead to the terrified shadow called Heist. Hovering close them, the ones called Ducky and Reilly emitted streams of layered fear, while the two men -- the Father and Hughes -- paced along the edge of the circle, their kinetic energy fairly snapping around them in unspent anxiety.

 

The branches of the cedar clipped together lightly, and from its heart, Singer heard a sound like a deep crack. Perched on a thick bough, Raven gave a single, piercing cry. He heard the message in its poignant croak, and let his arms fall smoothly to his sides.

 

In that second, the other man charged.

 

Singer tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as he listened to the pulse around him. He felt the pressure of Bond closing on him -- a malevolent heat radiating from his aura like a poisoned cloud. The pounding steps thumped on the yellowed earth, the light breeze that had been cooling him faded and died. Holding his arms at his side... he waited.

 

A moment before Bond reached him, Singer spun to the side. His hand lashed out, burying itself in the soft flesh of Bond's armpit. The other man made a startled sound of pain as Singer dug in his nails. With the other hand held flat like a blade, he slammed it into the concavity beneath Bond's sternum. The man grunted, instantly wrapping a crushing fist around Singer's wrist. The other arm was dead at his side, and Singer knew it would take some time for the feeling to return. He was just starting to withdraw his hand from beneath the other man's arm when Bond's grip on his wrist tightened even more. Looking up sharply, he found himself eye to eye with Bond, the other's ragged face runneled with sweat and grinning fiercely.

 

“That,” hissed the alchemist, “was a definite no-no.”

 

Savagely, Bond suddenly twisted the wrist in his grip, and Singer barked out a cry at the muffled snap. Pushing forward roughly, Bond sent him sprawling, and his aching back tightened at the impact with the baked earth. A heavy foot descended towards his chest, but Singer was just able to roll away. From the periphery, he sensed Tom and Hughes starting towards him. The emergency with young Heist was passing. He could not risk the others' involvement. He could not let that be. A look to the side, meeting the young, frightened eyes staring back at him. Steppin' Wolf. "Sing well my friend," he said softly.

 

The hazel eyes widened slightly, but before the boy could react, Singer forced himself to his feet.

 

It was time to end this.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

August 20, 1919

Risembool, Amestris

 

Roy stood on the grass, a casual hand thrust into a pocket as he, Hawkeye, and Havoc watched Armstrong's prodigious display of strength below them. The large man had had no trouble clearing the cellar beneath the burned-out house, heaving entire beams aside as though they weighed nothing at all. His three fellow officers stood just far enough from the edge of the caved-in hole to avoid flying debris, wincing occasionally at a louder than usual crack as mortared clumps of bricks smashed into chunks of plastered wall and smashed them to bits. In between the crashing and scraping sounds from below, a soft breeze set the tall grass whispering around them.

 

"Wouldn't want to get in the way of that," Havoc remarked as what seemed like half the fallen floor was shoved aside at once.

 

"Which is why we're up here and he's down there," Roy replied absently. "At least for the moment."

 

"You're sure you can get through from here?" Hawkeye wondered.

 

"Not at all," came the calm reply. "But I have to try. I'm sure, at least, that this is one of the places where there's a portal. So that gives me some hope." He kept his hands clenched into fists, hoping to conceal his nerves. It had been years since he'd faced a task with such butterflies in his stomach. It didn't help that he'd been in Risembool before, just after the portal on this spot had been breached, and had seen the end results: a suffering boy with two limbs missing, and another boy with no body at all, just a soul tacked to a suit of armor. Roy swallowed with dry throat, and murmured, "Just be sure you stay away from the array once it's drawn, Riza. No matter what happens."

 

In only a few moments more, the big man in the cellar had cleared away enough space to stand in and, even more important, space in which to draw a sizable array. He stood in the center, dark uniform blanketed by a light film of dust, and glanced questioningly upward. Despite his considerable exertions, he hadn't even worked up a sweat. Roy responded to his unspoken query with a curt nod. "One moment, General," Armstrong cautioned. "Let me make a safe way down." He began to shift one of the former floor beams toward the edge of the hole, as though to create a makeshift ladder.

 

But Roy had already hopped lightly down to the open space, landing in a crouch before straightening. "No need for that," he said tersely. "Let's just get on with this." He heard the heavy thud of Havoc jumping down behind him, and mere seconds later, Hawkeye's lighter landing. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at them, "I'd prefer that the two of you stay up there, on solid ground."

 

"Sorry, sir," Hawkeye replied flatly. "We're staying down here, in case something goes wrong."

 

He knew he wouldn't win if he tried to argue this one, and he'd already lost enough arguments with these two, lately. Pursing his lips, he repeated reluctantly, "Be sure to stay away from the circle, then. In fact, stand as far back as you can. There's nothing you can do if the alchemy goes wrong, but Armstrong might need your help afterward." He stared both Hawkeye and Havoc in the face, hard, until they had backed away almost to the wall. Only then did he move further into the center.

 

Armstrong shifted a final black, jagged hunk of fallen floor, propping it against a wall, and retreated in order to allow his superior more room to work. Roy pulled a stick of chalk and a sheet of paper from his pocket and, bending, began to draw, constantly comparing the chalk drawing with its rough counterpart on the paper.

 

He wasn't comfortable with some of the guesswork involved in this array, but the design was the best he could do after all his research. If it blew up on him, at least Armstrong was here to try to mitigate some of the effects and protect Hawkeye and Havoc. He didn't think anything would go really wrong, but you never knew, the first time you tried something. At least, he mused, he was more experienced than Ed and Al had been the first time they had tried something so complicated. He walked around and completed the outer circle first, then went to one knee as he sketched the inner details of the array. He marveled at the steadiness of his hand.

 

But for the merest second he hesitated, as an image flashed into his mind: Edward Elric, clapping his hands together and pressing them onto the floor, without even the need to draw a laborious array. It would be nice to do this so easily, but Roy had to be content with drawing the circle the old fashioned way.

 

After a final comparison of his chalk design with the array on the paper, Roy absently stuffed paper and chalk back into a pocket. He cast Havoc and Hawkeye a final warning glance, then checked with Armstrong, who nodded reassurance. Both alchemists were as ready as they could be for whatever transpired...

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

As Singer gathered his feet beneath him again, Maes tripped the release in his right sleeve and felt the knife drop into his hand. Skirting the array, he sought for an opening, cursing the fact that Singer and Bond were moving so quickly. As they struggled together, shifting back and forth and around and around, there was no way he could hit Bond without endangering the other man. Suddenly Bond dropped to one knee at the edge of the circle, his one still-functioning hand scooping up the all-but-forgotten blade. Grimacing in irritation as he seemingly lost patience for the game, he whirled back to face Singer. The sun flashed on metal as, in one smooth motion, he thrust it into the man's chest with such force that Singer was lifted from his feet.

 

"Your blood will do nicely, as well," Bond purred as he twisted the knife and shoved it deeper with a wet sound of gristle tearing and bone cracking.

 

Singer was dead before he slid off the knife, collapsing backwards to land on his back in the middle of the array. With a tooth-clenched grin, Bond gave his body a couple of vicious kicks until it rolled over, arms flopping. Blood spattered all over the array, and began to collect in a pool under Singer's chest...

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

...Remaining on one knee, Roy lifted his hands. But hesitated again as he felt the ground begin to shake beneath him.

 

"What the...?" Havoc glanced around uneasily as clods of dirt and rotted vegetation shook loose from the edge of the hole and dropped to the floor, bouncing a little as they shook apart. "General, are you doing that?"

 

"It's the other side," Roy whispered, pulse beginning to pound. "Something's coming from the other side." It's you, isn't it? Well, I'm ready at this end!

 

Hawkeye jerked forward. "General -- Roy -- wait!"

 

He slammed his hands onto the ground, in the center of the array, and the power roused instantly. It seemed to flash and spark through the lines of the circle, up his arms, and through his body, bolting through him like light, like flame. His startled gaze flew to Armstrong's face, as the man moved to the outer edge of the circle, stiffly at alert.

 

"General -- be careful!" the man blurted.

 

And then the white light flared brilliantly, and every distraction burned out of Roy's mind...

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

...Reilly screamed, and both Ed and Al leaped forward, Heist momentarily forgotten, into the midst of the red glow that suddenly sprang up from the line of the array.

 

“Wait!” Maes shouted, swallowing his horror. “Stay back -- I can't get a clear shot -- wait -- wait!! ”

 

But it was too late to stop them. They lurched back and forth, one brother on each arm as Bond flailed around, trying to shake them off. Ducky screamed, “ED!” and tried to rush the fighting group, but Maes yelled, “Keep back!” and flung out an arm to hold him back. Tom already had hold of one of the young man's arms, and jerked him sharply backwards, ponytail flopping, away from the edge of the flaring circle.

 

Bond's dripping knife still waved wildly in one hand, and for a split second it tilted back enough to carve a thin line of blood across Al's upper arm. As his brother gasped sharply in pain, Ed heaved himself forward, closing his automail fingers around the blade, and tore it from the man's hand, flinging it away.

 

And in that instant, as Bond's arm pulled sideways, Maes had his clear shot. He flung a knife across the space between them, and it sank into Bond's abdomen like a hot blade slicing into butter. Bond jerked backwards with a yelp, only kept from falling by the brothers' hands clutching at him.

 

There was time for him to flash a deadly glare at Maes, narrow, pain-filled eyes promising vengeance, and then the red light of the array flared brilliantly. Maes rushed forward, screaming Ed's name, arm flung across his eyes against the light, but it was too late. The crimson brilliance snuffed out as he hurled himself into the circle.

 

It was empty. Ed and Al, with Bond between them, had vanished.

 

Maes gaped at the lines of the empty transmutation circle, turning around and around in disbelief. Gone. They were gone. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

 

The lines of the circle were now stained deep red, as though Singer's blood had spread along each line and had then been seared in. The man himself still lay where he had come to rest, one arm twisted under him and the other flung wide. As Maes dropped to his side, he could see Singer's face, eyes still wide in surprise at Bond's final knife-thrust.

 

With shaking hand, Maes reached down and closed the man's eyes, his own still traveling around and around the array, tracing the lines obsessively as though somehow, if he could only find a way, he could reactivate it himself and follow the boys where they had gone.

 

Gone… gone. They'd gone through the Gate.

 

They'd left him behind.

 

The realization hit him like a hammer blow, the cold shuddering over the bare skin of his arms and back as though an icy breeze had swept past. Ed and Al had gone through the Gate, taking Bond with them. And he'd been left behind. He was trapped, exiled from his own world, and now there was nothing -- nothing -- that could ever take him back.

 

He heard the shouting behind him, dimly, as though it came through a wall.

 

“Ed! Tom, let go of me, dammit -- Terminator! Come back! Come back!” Ducky.

 

“They're gone, Ducky. You can't do anything now.” Reilly.

 

Gone. He couldn't seem to absorb it, no matter how often the word tried to penetrate his brain.

 

“But they're not done yet! They didn't take everybody! Reilly, they have to come back to get--"

 

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Reilly again, forcefully. “It's too late to do anything. They're gone. Drop it.”

 

No matter how the array had been activated -- with violent death, exactly what the boys had worked so hard to avoid -- the deed was done. Maes set a hand on the ground, touching the lines drawn there -- and they were as dead and inert as any other random line in the dirt. There was no Gate to open for him.

 

And a man was dead, the brothers' friend and helper. And the boys would be fighting Bond alone.

 

He'd been left behind. Useless. No future here, no future there. No hope now of helping Ed and Al, of getting back home, of returning to his family -- oh Gracia, Elysia -- what had it all been for?? And how -- how -- could he possibly go on now?

 

Maes slumped back on his heels and buried his head in his hands.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

To say it was different than the first time was to akin to comparing the difference between blue and purple. A haze of black was the first thing he was aware of. Like a shredded curtain, it hung on the periphery, twisting in a non-existent breeze. Color was dull, sapped of vitality in the flat light. Of the Gate, there was no sign. The ground... floor... surface beneath their feet sucked at them like they were walking on congealed blood, yet there was no surface to see, just an expanse of white nothingness. It was impossible to identify where the illumination in this place was coming from; it was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

 

And there was no sound.

 

Ed wasn't certain if his voice would even carry if he spoke, but he was reluctant to try. In spite of the vacancy of this place, he could feel the buzz of something watching; it itched across his temple, and settled, thickly, at the base of his throat. He felt a beat of pain in his surging blood, but brushed it aside in irritation. Now wasn't the time for personal concerns, dammit! He could feel Al's fingers clutching at his sleeve. The hand that held him shook. He wanted to look back at his brother, to reassure him everything would be okay, but his body felt frozen in place.

 

They continued forward through the endless landscape. Far away, nearly at the extent of visibility, stood a stacked monument that looked like three large boulders, one on top of the other. They seemed to vibrate, shifting as he tried to rest his eyes on them. At moments, they seemed to both advance and recede at the same time. The sight made his stomach roll sickly, and he felt like he was constantly trying to keep his balance. He missed the soft whiteness that had met him after that devastating battle with Envy. He even missed the Gate children who normally resided here. At least they provided an outlet for his tension. Al's fingers tightened a little more. If it wasn't for that contact, he'd wonder if this was even real. But it was so very real. The boulders shifted again, jerking across the landscape in stuttered halts and starts.

 

It was unnerving.

 

He wanted to close his eyes rather than keep staring at the unsteady rock. He began to wonder if it wasn't simply the activity of distant heat waves making the pile shift that way. By contrast, where he and Al were now was freezing. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder what had happened to everyone else.

 

A warbling, earthy scream cut through the suffocating silence. As though a membrane had been cut, Ed was suddenly struck by noise. Al's terrified breaths wheezed next to his ear. The ground beneath him squelched and shlupped as it reluctantly released each step, only to reclaim the next one as his feet moved him forward. Even the motion of his clothing had a presence, the cloth sliding against itself in a static whisper. With the release of sound, so too came the release of that stifling hold that had kept him facing only forward. He hadn't even noticed the compression on his chest until suddenly it was gone.

 

With the pressure alleviated, much of his internal pain faded as well. Al, with obvious reluctance, loosened the hold he had on Ed's arm. He regarded his older brother with hollow eyes, and Ed was struck by how small he looked, pale and shaking with Heist's blood soaking through his shirt. He was the older brother, but he wasn't used to being the bigger one.

 

"Al, did you see what happened to everyone else?"

 

Skittering fingernails dragged through his chest at the silence that met his inquiry.

 

"Al?"

 

It was then he realized that Al's wide, terrified eyes hadn't been looking at him. His brother's gaze was fixed beyond Ed... fixed on what Ed himself had been forced to stare at, moments before.

 

Realization and action came too closely on each other's heels for him to act.

 

The blow snapped his head back, and sent him pummeling into the ground. Al, too, was jerked off his feet, his fingers still wrapped in the sleeve of Ed's shirt. In spite of the apparent liquidity of the ground, Ed hit with a slap, tasting blood between his teeth. There was no time to react, no time to check on his brother as something gripped him around his neck and one leg, lifting him into the air. He was weightless for just seconds as his body was thrown, tumbling, to the misleading ground. Yet even then, the creature was upon him before he'd even stopped rolling.

 

"S-stop!" His cry was ignored as rough hands encircled his throat, pulling him, gagging, to his feet -- only to toss him aside once again. He couldn't even catch his breath. Somewhere, Al was screaming at him, and Ed had a terrified vision of his little brother, body cartwheeling through the air brokenly. As the beast came at him a forth time, Ed slapped his hands together desperately, only to cry out with pain and shock as the being latched on to his metal wrist and jerked, hard. He could feel the strain all the way to his shoulder, where the automail connected. He swung out with his flesh hand, connecting with tissue that seemed to dissolve beneath his blow. Before he could pull away, the flesh flowed around his arm, thick and dark like syrup.

 

"BROTHER!!"

 

Al was there, pulling at the creature's other arm, the one locked around Ed's automail. Tendrils of black flesh slowly worked themselves beneath the seams of his forearm, and the metal started to give. Ed's eyes widened in fear. Some of the coiling fingers suddenly started to withdraw from his arm... moving back down the metal... headed for...

 

"No, Al!"

 

He twisted his body mightily, and for just a moment, was able to kick out with his foot, knocking Al to the ground. Al grunted when he hit, rolling to his side to clutch at his ribs. Ed hoped he'd only knocked the wind out of him. But even if he'd cracked a rib, he couldn't risk Al being hurt by this... this...

 

His grasping fingers brushed against something hard.

 

The ropey arms started to pull his hand away again, but not before Ed's questing fingers found the object again... and recognized it. It was the hilt of a knife... Hughes' knife, which he'd last seen burying itself deeply into a muscled abdomen. Looking up in shock, Ed caught a glimpse of the creature's eyes. Rheumy orbs stared back at him, grey-blue irises surrounded by blood-shot whites. "Bond..."

 

Ed's horrified whisper broke off with a startled yelp as the plating on his forearm finally gave way. The black ooze wrapped around the arm piece, while more viscous fingers twisted around the newly exposed layer. Bond was still staring at him... something about his expression... And even as a black-webbed hand raised the stolen arm plate, raised it and held a hand near its surface, Ed knew what was about to happen.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Roy sprang to his feet, trying desperately to blink through the blaring light, the ground still quaking under him. "Armstrong!" he called. "Hawkeye? Havoc? Are you still there?"

 

"We're here, chief." He recognized Havoc's voice. "You okay? We can't see a bloody thing."

 

"I think it's clearing -- just hold on for a -- " The breath choked off in Roy's throat as the light divided and flung itself aside like two halves of a flaming curtain. Before him, in a vast grey space that had nothing to do with this world or the ruined cellar in which he stood, arose a mighty, looming Gate. It was gigantic and ancient, its pillars dark as scorched oak, incised with bizarre characters. Snakes and mutilated animals writhed up the trunks of withered trees, and around the thick, carven doors ran what appeared to be words, but in a language Roy couldn't possibly decipher. Already the high, dark doors were open a crack, and continued to open as he gaped at the widening blackness between them.

 

He darted a glance aside, to find his three companions lined up at the edge of the circle. "Do you-- " he faltered. "Do you see it?"

 

Hawkeye flung him an incredulous 'Are you kidding??' look before returning to her stunned inspection of the apparition, one hand firmly gripping the gun still holstered at her side. Havoc gulped, his voice shaking, "Oh yeah. We see it all right. Kind of hard to miss. What is that thing?"

 

"It's the Gate to the other world," Roy whispered. "I really did it -- I found it! And you see how it's opening? I knew I was right! They're coming through -- I know it!"

 

"Well...," Havoc shuddered, his eyes never leaving the ominous darkness between the doors, "something's coming through, anyway."

 

Roy paused, eyeing him in consternation before turning back to the Gate. It was so huge, so overwhelming -- the sense of Presence was so strong it was almost a physical force. As the doors opened further, a soundless wind rushed from the darkness between them, whipping his uniform around him and fluttering his hair. He felt as though it roared all around him, and yet there was nothing but silence, as the doors continued to open, soundlessly. Even the swishing grass around the edges of the cellar hole had fallen silent. The blackness between the doors was so concentrated it was almost tangible. It made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

 

"They're coming," he whispered. "We just have to be patient."

 

"How long should we wait?" Armstrong rumbled.

 

"As long as it takes." Roy bit off the words. After all this time, after all his searching, he wasn't going to give up now. My research was thorough. We're going to do this. I know we are.

 

He took a step closer, tentatively lifting a hand toward the carvings in the roughened wood. He didn't dare touch them, but let the hand hover above the sculpted patterns, his eye curiously following the mysterious writing. A strange buzzing sensation began to manifest itself in the back of his mind, a vibration that seemed to settle in his back molars.

 

They were coming. He could feel it, at last, at last. And yet...

 

And yet there was no sign of them. They were there, somewhere -- he was sure of it, though he had no idea how he knew -- but they weren't coming any closer. They should see the Gate opening by now. They should be coming through...

 

Something is wrong. The thought jolted through him in a stab of fear. They're not coming. Where are they? What have I done wrong?

 

He turned to the other alchemist and barked, "Armstrong, can you sense anything? Can you tell if-- "

 

But it was too late for questions. A long, unearthly scream of terrible pain and pure rage burst from the shadows within the Gate, shattering the heavy silence. Roy whipped back to face the towering edifice, his heart pounding in his throat, horror shuddering through him. Edward! Alphonse! No! He leaped forward without thinking, only dimly aware of Hawkeye yelling frantically behind him, and plunged between the mighty pillars and the half-open leaves of the doorway. Hands groping through the nothingness before his sightless gaze, he staggered forward in darkness, pushing himself on until forced at last to halt and hope for his vision to clear and reveal the nature of his surroundings.

 

He looked back the way he had come and saw, as though through a thick screen, the column of light between the two doors. Good, at least he'd have that as a reference point--

 

--except that he wouldn't. Because as he watched in horror, as he thrust himself in alarm back toward the doors, they swung toward each other with astonishing speed, and crashed together with a powerful boom, throwing him onto his face. And leaving him alone in the darkness.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Ed felt his body slammed to the ground once more. It was getting harder to fight, his flesh arm shaking with the strain and his automail arm now almost useless as the oily mucus covered it nearly to his shoulder. Bond was struggling to slap his hand against the arm piece; Ed had just one chance. He suddenly relaxed his body, allowing the ooze to jerk him forward. In the bare seconds of inertia, between fighting back and giving in, the pressure on his arm loosened. Before the coils could renew their grip, he thrust his hand forward, striking the hilt of Hughes' knife square. Bond roared as the blade sank deeply into his flesh. For a moment, the dark matter coating the rogue alchemist responded as well -- rearing back in mimicry of Bond's pain. Then, before Ed could recover enough to try to scramble away, the wreathing mass collapsed down upon him in a smothering wave.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

"Roy Mustang, damn you, don't you dare go in there without me!" Riza yelled.

 

As she flung herself forward, frantic to tackle Roy before he could think of entering the massive Gate, Havoc grabbed her around the waist and yanked her roughly back. She felt him bang, hard, into the cellar wall behind him, but even that couldn't loosen the tight grip of his arms. Even as she clawed at his hands and kicked viciously back against his shins, the hair-raising scream howled from the darkness between the great doors, and Riza watched in horror as Roy dashed into the void without a backward look.

 

"Riza, hold on!" Havoc grunted as she dug in her heels and jammed him against the wall again. "He knows -- ugh! -- what he's doing."

 

"I am not--" slam! "--going to let him--" slam! "--go in there alone!" Slam!

 

But Havoc's grip still held -- and she wouldn't be following Roy through the Gate after all. Before she could try again to extricate herself, the huge doors swung shut with a deafening boom, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Finally, her captor's iron grip lessened as he stumbled, and she staggered free.

 

But the Gate vanished even as she broke loose, the light of the alchemic reaction snuffing out, leaving the cellar half in shadow. Riza leapt -- too late -- into the center of the transmutation circle, turning on Armstrong as he stepped into it beside her. "Where is he?" she cried. "Bring it back! We have to go after him!"

 

"I will try," the big man nodded, face already drawn in concentration. He added, going to one knee to examine the lines of the array, "It may take a few moments. One must be cautious, seeking to use a complex transmutation circle created by another."

 

"What are you talking about?" she spluttered, trying to ignore the band of fear squeezing her heart. He was gone, he was gone! "The lines are already there -- can't you just activate the circle again? We have to get the general back!"

 

Armstrong murmured as his eyes continued scanning the lines, "There are factors... one person's skills are greater in some areas while another may have no success at all. It would be the worst thing I could do, Captain Hawkeye, to rush into this without study..."

 

"We don't know how long he's got," Riza retorted. "We have to get him back before something terrible happens! Didn't you hear that scream?"

 

"Listen," Havoc put in, appearing beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder, his own eyes anxiously following the movements of Armstrong's hands, held lightly above the lines in the circle as the big man traced them. "It'll just take longer if you distract him, Riza. Give him a chance to figure this out. The boss'll be fine."

 

"I do hope he will," Armstrong muttered.

 

"What do you mean by that?" Riza demanded. No. It can't be, not now, not after all we've been through.

 

When Armstrong looked up, his eyes pierced her to the core. "You must understand, Captain," he said gently. "We do not know where the general has gone. Remember that it took Edward Elric two years to discover a way to return. And we do not know if General Mustang has even been taken to the same place. I will try to reopen the Gate, and hope that he is able to attempt it as well, from the other side. But neither of us really understands the working of these Gates. It is possible that I will not succeed in bringing him back."

 

She shouldn't have let him stand in this circle alone. She shouldn't have listened to him. She should have been right there at his side. She should have --

 

"Riza." Havoc squeezed the hand on her shoulder, obviously sensing the maelstrom of self-recrimination swirling through her mind. "Just wait. They'll do this. I'm sure they will." But the unconscious frown drawing his brows together was not comforting.

 

Riza swallowed her fear and nodded, more to humor him than anything else. She fell silent, hands clenched into fists at her sides, watching intently as Armstrong continued studying the lines of the circle.

 

Damn Roy Mustang. If he made it back after this, she was going to chain their wrists together. After she'd shot out his other eye.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Al lifted his head slowly, gasping at the soreness where Ed's foot had connected. Trying to get his bearings, he swiveled his head, seeing only milky white ground and shifting black sky. Where was Ed? His fear for his brother struck him in his chest as solidly as a blow. Scrambling to his feet, he began searching frantically.

 

"Brother, brother where are you??" His cries were deadened, like he was shouting through a blanket. He stumbled through the stark landscape, desperately trying to catch sight of any anomaly. As he half-ran, half-walked, the shifting black skies above him started to wreath faster. Al stopped, looking on mutely as thin threads of inky darkness started dropping from the sky, appearing both fluid and solid by turns. He jerked as he heard a sound behind him, guttural and pain-filled.

 

"Brother!" Al wasn't sure if that was who the voice belonged to, but he had no doubt Ed wouldn't be far from whoever made it. Whirling, he squinted his eyes, trying to see through the rising mist. Something was condensing out of the blanketing white... a black morass of oily plasm. As the thick substance reared up, then plunged to the ground, a figure stumbled away from it, clutching something to his chest. Whoever the being was, he staggered away as Al ran towards him. Meanwhile, the black bile on the ground seemed to be enveloping something. The tips of two metal fingers protruded from the mass.

 

"Ed!" Al tried to plunge his fingers into the suppurating feculence, but the oozing mire resisted his attempts. Beyond him, the other figure had dropped to the ground, still clutching something to his chest. Al was too focused on trying to free his brother to really pay attention to the other man, but as the ground around him suddenly shuddered, he looked up quickly... and gasped. A Gate had risen from the ground behind the man.

 

Staring, Al wasn't aware he'd halted his futile efforts to save Ed until he felt the ooze beneath his fingers suddenly shift and begun rapidly flowing away from him, toward the other man. But the distant man, seeming to ignore everything else around him, had laid his treasured object on the ground.

 

It was then that Al saw what he had been holding: the outer shell of Ed's arm. And finally, he realized who the other man was.

 

"A..Al..."

 

Al's eyes jerked to his brother. Ed was deathly pale, his lips bloodless and his eyes red-rimmed. His gasping breath seemed to be coming at great cost.

 

"Brother, Brother what's wrong??" Al tried to check Ed for injuries, but stopped as another tremor shook the ground. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he watched, stricken, as more Gates rose up, towering around them. There were three now, each slightly different from the other in texture and shade. Bond, still ignoring them, placed his hands on the stolen armor, and at last Al absorbed what was happening.

 

"NO!!"

 

A thunderclap of blue-white electricity enveloped the other alchemist, casting violent patterns of light on his grinning face. Behind him, the doors to the first Gate began to open. The crawling sludge was almost to the Gate when it suddenly turned, wrapping filmy coils around Bond's legs. Crying out, Bond was thrown to his chest, his curled fingers desperately trying to find purchase on the featureless surface.

 

Around them, the other Gates also began to open. Al watched open-mouthed as the black ooze began to take on distinct shapes, the closer it got to the first Gate. Bond was still struggling, but seemed to be growing rapidly weaker. His hand reached up, clutching at something buried in his side -- the knife Hughes had thrown. Grasping the hilt, Bond jerked it free in a spatter of blood, and wrenching around he swiped at the thing, or rather, the things that continued pulling him steadily backward.

 

The knife passed through the creatures as though they were made of water. Finally the short blade fell from Bond's hand and without pause, the creatures pulled him away through the hungry mouth of the Gate. Just before the doors closed on him, Al could hear his tortured scream.

 

Looking back, Al saw that the other two Gates had continued to open. He also noticed something else. The plating from Ed's arm had been transformed, into a shape Al recognized immediately -- an intricate spider, red lights like eyes, blinking out one by one.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Roy staggered blindly in the darkness, arms sweeping in front of him in the vague hope of finding the Gate. If he could just get himself there, he might have a hope of getting through again. Armstrong was on the other side, and the array was still there. If the other alchemist could reactivate it, there might just be a chance--

 

But if he got out, what would happen to the brothers? They were still here somewhere, he could feel it. Somewhere behind him -- if "behind" even had a meaning in this non-place. He couldn't just leave without trying to find them and bring them back. Especially if he'd guessed correctly, and there really was something wrong. There hadn't been a repeat of that bone-chilling scream, but the dead silence that had followed it was even more oppressive, and the dread in the pit of his stomach grew heavier as each moment passed.

 

Now the darkness began to fade, or else his eye was finally adjusting. He gritted his teeth and deliberately stopped flailing around, arms dropping to his sides as he took himself under control. He turned back in the direction that he thought he sensed the brothers, and waited for his sight to become clearer. Not that he waited patiently; he was already getting eye strain from peering into his murky surroundings. He couldn't suppress the sense of urgency that had flowered inside him at the sound of the scream.

 

The area around him was getting brighter, though. The black he'd first stumbled into had dissipated so much that it was now grey, quickly shading into white. He still couldn't tell if he was in some sort of enclosure or an open space; if there were walls, they weren't discernible, but flowed seamlessly into the...ground?...beneath his feet. Which appeared to give a little, as he moved, as though it weren't entirely solid or had been covered in some thick liquid that hadn't quite dried yet. He kept wanting to lift his feet, to pull his boots away from the stuff, whatever it was. Grimacing, he decided he didn't actually want to know what it was.

 

Roy began to turn around again, to survey his surroundings when, with a swirl of white smoke, the Gate seemed to loom suddenly out of the mist, like a slab of darkness forcing its way through the wispy white. It towered steeply above, giving the impression of leaning, as though it were about to thunder down upon him. Its doors remained firmly shut, and he had to fight down the urge to rush to it and bang his fists against them, yelling for Armstrong to get him out. Instead, he turned away from it, the need to run and escape dragging at his back like a stone as he turned. If he could keep the Gate directly behind him, he could at least keep his bearings as he peered through the whiteness. Though what good it would do to keep looking into the never-ending white he couldn't imag--

 

And then with another swirl of mist, they were there, just a short distance away. His heart leaped in joy and plunged in fear almost simultaneously at the sight of Alphonse kneeling at his brother's side, Ed sprawled before him, limbs splayed and still. Roy started toward them, lips parting as he drew breath to call out. But then Al had seen him and began shouting urgently, "Run! General, run! Quickly!"

 

His steps hitched in confusion, before he followed the boy's desperate glance toward another Gate -- how many of them were there?? -- and he gasped at the metal thing that sat before it, lights blinking out ominously, one by one.

 

He recognized it -- dammit, he recognized it! But it was impossible, it couldn't be here, it couldn't exist! He staggered a couple of steps toward the metal spider, gaping like a fool --

 

"General, you have to get away!" Al screamed frantically, as he pulled Ed into his arms and tried to back away from the deadly thing.

 

"Alphonse, no!" No! He had to save them, help them, he couldn't lose them now when he'd just found them! Roy whirled back toward the brothers, muscles tightening to spring forward, but it was late, too late, the lights on the spider were blinking out -- the Gate -- the knife -- the boys -- he couldn't reach any of them and there was no time, nothing he could do --

 

The explosion was blinding, deafening, and it swept toward him in a rush of red flame. He waited for the agony, expected to feel himself shredded into bleeding chunks, but instead the hot, roaring wind picked him up and flung him violently backwards -- between the two dark, looming pillars -- between the doors it had forced open -- through the Gate and into his own world, as a violent boom shook the ground. He landed with a grunt on his back, gasping desperately to breathe in the hot, dry, raging air. Dizzily he lifted himself up on his elbows, trying in vain to reorient himself and sit, hoping still to rush back into the Gate to retrieve the brothers. He heard Riza screaming, and felt Armstrong's big hands at his shoulders, lifting him up.

 

Then watched in grief and horror as the mists around the closed Gate swirled one last time, and disappeared in a deafening whirlwind, sweeping across the Gate and taking it with them. Roy sat in the middle of a dead array, in the center of the burned-out cellar, and he had failed, failed.

 

The heat and the pain swept over him in a devastating wave, and he collapsed backward with a groan, limp and unconscious in Armstrong's grasp.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Maes gasped and sobbed, covering his eyes with a dust-coated palm. He could smell the dirt and chalk on his hand, and the stink of blood in the air, hear Ducky's whimpers and Reilly's muffled crying over the rumbling in his ears. Finally he became aware of hands pulling on his shoulders.

 

“Get your ass in gear, soldier!” someone shouted right next to him as the din grew louder, and it was only then that Maes realized the shaking and roaring wasn't within himself, but all around them.

 

He struggled and stumbled to his feet on the shifting surface, falling against a solid form that gave way and tumbled under his weight. Scrambling to gain his footing, he yanked Tom up, then he slipped, his hands slapping hard on the sharp, vibrating rocks beneath him, shredding skin and sending a bolt of white-hot agony up his right arm. Grasping his shoulder, he started to get back up and follow the older man, but his right knee gave out in a spark of shooting pain, and he watched the earth race back up to meet him once more.

 

Reilly caught him before he fell, putting herself under his left shoulder and wrapping an arm about his waist. Clumsily, they staggered and stumbled away from the center of the quake, but were brought up short by a blinding flash that lit the woods around them and washed away the color of everything nearby. In the same instant, a blast of hot air with the force of a hurricane hit them and threw them flat. Daring to look up, knowing he shouldn't, Maes watched a wave-front of light and air scream through the forest, tearing off leaves, snapping branches and trunks of the weaker trees, and bending the larger ones nearly to the ground.

 

Flipping to his back and sitting up, he watched in horrified fascination as the very air above the spent array shimmered and swirled and began pulsing in waves, the dark center writhing and spinning and growing larger. Maes came to his feet and shambled back toward the opening Gate, slowly at first, then gaining speed, desperately praying that he could jump it before it closed again, his heart aching at the sound of Reilly's anguished cry: “Maes, no!”

 

He skidded to an abrupt halt at the outside ring when an invisible force shoved him back and a deafening concussion slammed into him. Gasping for breath, staggering to regain his footing, he was hit again and thrown off his feet by something more corporeal. Instinctively wrapping his arms around the fleshy cannon ball, he tumbled and rolled, knowing that he had to protect the bundle without yet comprehending what it was.

 

When Maes finally came to a stop, he turned the body onto its back and quailed. Pale, lips an alarming shade of blue, and flesh ice cold, Edward Elric lay still. Maes leaned down with his ear near the boy's mouth and nose, then shot up and searched for a pulse. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Al clumsily disentangling himself from Reilly, holding his side and stammering an apology.

 

Then the young man gave the woman a hand up, at the same time turning toward Maes and Ed. Comprehension struck, and the boy stiffened and went white. “Brother?”

 

Maes gulped and tried to talk through a mouth gone dry. “He... he's not breathing,” he croaked.