Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Crossfire ❯ part one ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property and genius of Arakawa Hiromu, and are used and abused without express permission for non-profit entertainment purposes.

This is a post-movie speculation-fic, which means that this is primarily anime-verse, and there will be spoilers for the anime series and movie as a whole. However, there are a few appearances by manga-only characters and a few manga canon points that I borrowed. Feel free to point out any mistakes in the canon.

Warnings: violence, foul language - the rating reflects the language more than the violence. I think. (Ahaha, I use a lot of bad language when I write Ed. Shame!)

Crossfire

It seemed to Edward Elric that every time he passed through the Gate, it had some new Truth to add to what he had learned the previous trip through its hazardous passage. He subconsciously contributed this to the fact that the worlds that the Gate sat between were each constantly changing. Not much of the Truth ever stuck once he'd made it through, but he was reminded of it each and every time he stood before the carved gray stone doors.

This time, though, he hadn't honestly meant to summon the Gate. He thought he had destroyed this side of the Gate, and that Mustang had done his job on the other end like Al had told him he would. Bastard had probably either chickened out, or his scientist's mind would have taken over and insisted that he learned more about it before he had it destroyed. Besides, it should have been impossible for anyone on this side to summon it - it required a taboo alchemic reaction on the other side in order for it to appear, with human transmutation as the catalyst. Simultaneously, there should have been a circle on their side, along with a sacrifice to the Gate and the blood of a human who had already passed through it. At least, that had been the norm for every other Gate appearance that Ed knew of.

All he knew this time was that the Gate-dwellers had his younger brother back in their clutches, and Ed wasn't about to let it get away with stealing his brother away from him again without cause or reason. What the hell had they done wrong this time - save from disobeying a blatantly corrupt government by smuggling a gypsy out of its clutches - anyway? For a brief moment, he wondered if the Gate had decided that Al hadn't paid for his body in full, and was back for the past dues. But Sloth - their mother's body with a homunculus' soulless conscience - had been sent back to where it belonged; the payment was moot now, was it not? In that case, the Gate actually owed Ed his leg back, at the very least. Come to think of it, now that Al's body and soul were reunited again, shouldn't he have his arm back as well?

This is impossible, he kept telling himself, still trying desperately to come up with a reason for the Gate's return. If he could find a reason, he could find a way around it. Thus far, he had come up empty-handed.

Alphonse was calling to him, voice reaching a high-pitched, panicked tone that Edward hadn't heard from his brother since they were children. It brought back a memory of his brother as a ten-year-old, when they both saw that accursed Gate for the first time, and the first time it had extracted payment from the both of them.

No. This wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let it.

Edward reached out with an angry roar, and this time he didn't miss his brother's outstretched arm. Flesh fingers curling around his brother's wrist, his brother returned the gesture, but before Ed could muscle them both away from the Gate's open doors and greedy arms, they were pulled inside the passageway filled with black-bodied, wide-eyed Gate-creatures.

And then Edward again knew the Truth: they hadn't initiated the Gate's appearance; someone on the other side was bringing them back. The toll had already been paid, and the Gate would deliver as promised to the (probably dead) fool who had dared summon it.

Ed couldn't imagine anyone who would have done something so idiotic - after all the Elric brothers had been through, after what Ed had learned about the Gate's true nature, after Eckhart's invasion that had destroyed nearly all of Central and parts of Lior… there should have been precautions made in order for nothing like that to ever happen again.

This was somehow Mustang's fault, Ed decided. It didn't matter if Mustang wasn't the one behind the reaction - he was still at fault. But before Edward could come up with several choice words that he would no doubt shove in the bastard's face when he got the chance, the other end of the Gate opened wide.

Much like coming to the end of a long train tunnel, the world flooded with bright white light, and when that faded, Ed blinked and realized that he was staring blearily up into a bright blue sky dotted with clouds, and that it was a surprisingly beautiful day. Head heavy, ears ringing with echoed whispers of now-forgotten Truth and a body aching from abuse delivered by disembodied hands, he blinked and slowly turned his head to see that Alphonse was unconscious beside him, but from a glance looked unharmed. Beyond his brother stood a very familiar white building whose entrance was still adorned with a green banner. They were in Central, back in Amestris - not Europe.

Home.

Edward blinked again, trying to figure out how exactly they'd managed to end up there, in the middle of a street in broad daylight. Surely nobody was so stupid as to try to summon them back here in such a public-

There was chalk on the ground, crisp white lines and intricate symbols spreading under and around both Elrics. Though it had been years since Ed had cracked a single book on alchemy - something so useless in the world on the other side of the Gate, especially once the Thule Society had dissolved - he had little trouble recognizing the design. Someone really had brought them back. Intentionally, even.

And whoever is responsible is dumb as fuck-

The ringing in his ears slowly faded, and Ed suddenly realized that he could hear murmuring voices all around him that didn't belong to Gate-creatures. A large number, if he wasn't mistaken, and they sounded surprised. Rolling painfully on his side and trying to push himself up - his head spun horribly at the motion - he saw through double vision that the entire road in front of the military headquarters had been blocked off by a short, concrete barrier, and beyond that stood countless numbers of crisply-pressed blue uniforms.

A demonstration. They were in the middle of a demonstration for the Amestrian military. Edward had done something like this before for renewing his certification as a National Alchemist, but that had been in the East, and it had been years since he'd challenged Roy Mustang to an alchemy battle. The sound of booted feet pounding against the pavement finally registered, and - speak of the bastard - wasn't that him approaching them at a run?

What the fuck did you do to us, Mustang?

But Roy Mustang - both of them - looked just as surprised as everyone else sounded. Ed almost commented that between two of them, at least they had one good pair of eyes.

"Fullmetal?!"

It was the last thing Ed heard before a stab of sharp pain pierced his head, and stars exploded in his vision as Central and the military and all Roy Mustangs faded from sight and memory.

--

The task wasn't originally supposed to land on Colonel Edward Elric's desk. In fact, it was supposed to be something that was delegated out to one of his hand-picked, brand new subordinates, but somehow managed to find its way into his hands regardless. Ed had cracked under the wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights stares his staff had given him when he'd mentioned it. He couldn't simply make one of them do it alone - no matter that he really did have the authority, he just didn't have the heart - and he had a sneaking suspicion that a certain bastardly someone had anticipated that. Despite his very new rank, or perhaps because of said promotion, he had to comply.

He had been shown his office for the first time the morning that assignment landed on his freshly-polished oak desk, in fact. And he had been told that he didn't have a say in the matter. Which he didn't, really, once he thought about it. He was still reeling from the fact that they'd actually ended up back in Amestris again after four years in that alternate world across a very greedy Gate (which should have been destroyed, come to think of it). That had been what, a week ago? Mustang moved so damn fast - Ed had barely opened his eyes in the hospital when he was informed that the "bastard Colonel" was now the "bastard Minister of Defense" under Amestris' new rule. Government reconstruction or some such; the title did give Mustang more power than any other military subordinate. He still had to answer to both Parliament and the Prime Minister.

Well. That was fine and dandy; Mustang pretty much got what he wanted. Edward had also technically gotten his wish - Alphonse had his body back, and they'd both returned to Amestris (almost) whole and (mostly) well - but it wasn't the same thing. Unlike Mustang, Ed's life ambition had not been to gain power through alchemy, regardless of Mustang's claims to want to use that power for something damned noble (bastard). That sounded too much like his father for his tastes; he'd much rather spend the rest of his life with a more peaceful - and useful - practice of alchemy. Maybe somewhere where the military - or Parliament, for that matter - couldn't reach him. The country sounded nice right about now.

Oh no, but he'd had the damned bad luck of the Gate dumping both him and his brother back into the heart of Central City. In front of the old main military headquarters, irony of ironies, and in front of a huge group of national alchemists and other higher-ups. In a place where nobody could deny that some sort of taboo alchemy was responsible for both his return and the return of his younger brother. Someone had it out for him in the Gate, Ed was convinced.

And Mustang had it out for him too, already prepared with work for him as if the bastard had anticipated their return long before it happened. Once Edward and his brother were both released from the hospital after a day spent under the doctors' microscopes - Ed forced them to order their release on his insistence that he was "fine, damn it" - and under the military's microscopes for three more days of questioning, Ed realized that Mustang's inference to his renewed military conscription was actually official. Al hadn't yet been forced into a contract, but Ed had a sinking suspicion that Mustang had a few more cards up his sleeve to put his brother's talents under his ever-growing fiery thumb as well.

The Elric brothers were back to make history, it seemed. And Ed was rather irritated that not only had he been roped back into the military and stuck under Mustang's thumb without missing a beat, but he had also hardly been given a chance to get his automail back. The last set of automail that Winry had equipped him with had taken a lot of damage in a rather bad scuffle over the uranium bomb that Huskisson had taken across the Gate with him; never mind the fact that it hadn't been properly serviced in years. He'd gone back to the prosthetics that his father had designed, but that was more suited to a simple rocket scientist's line of work. The technology from the alternate world was nothing in comparison to the pristinely high quality of Rockbell automail for an alchemist, especially one with a military rank. His request to be given at least enough time to track down Winry Rockbell and obtain new automail had been delayed; he'd been told he could call after her, but he was not to leave Central until the investigation after the Elrics' return was complete. Nobody had picked up at the Rockbell's place in Rizembul when Ed had called, which offhandedly surprised him, but he put all thoughts regarding the issue to the back of his mind. He couldn't do anything about it anyway.

Well, damn. No wonder his head was spinning; all that bad luck that had landed both Elrics back to their homeland successfully, and not a week later he'd already been questioned half to death about something that - for once - wasn't his fault, stuffed into a starched-stiff uniform with way too many flashy rank bars that entitled him to a staff that didn't even know him, tossed into a cell of an office, and told to play the good host to the emissaries from Xing, all with shoddy prosthetics and a serious headache. Oh, and if he didn't do as he was told, Mustang had strongly implied that Alphonse Elric might very well be joining him in the dog pen. He hadn't said that directly, of course - Mustang and direct didn't belong in the same sentence, unless it was used in a negative context - but he hadn't needed to.

Fucking conniving asshole.

Ed sighed as he glared down at the accursed file of mission details. There had been an espionage problem, and Xing was the primary culprit on three counts in which the spies had been caught. They were after alchemy-related secrets of some sort, though the files had not indicated what exactly they were looking for, other than that the jeopardized information was located in the Central Library. The emissaries from Xing were on a mission to smooth the situation over in a more diplomatic manner, ensuring that the two countries wouldn't resort to arms over the mess. This meant that Edward's role had gone from being a colonel to a diplomat in one fucking day. Never mind the fact that he'd barely been a colonel for a week, if that.

Typically, Ed knew he would never have to play the role of a diplomat, but he figured out rather quickly why he had been singled out for the task. Most of the diplomats under Parliament had little knowledge of science, much less alchemy, and were more interested in politics. The situation needed someone who was knowledgeable on the subject in question, but also someone who might not necessarily be able to offer up important state secrets. Edward was a renowned national alchemist, thus his reputation would appease the Xing emissaries' desire for any surface knowledge of alchemy. At the same time, Ed had also been gone for a number of years, and in theory, had not been studying alchemy during that time, and so he would be a safe choice for someone who would not only avoid giving away state secrets, but would also be unable to. All in theory, of course, and Mustang knew that.

Ed was not in the mood for this, not yet. Maybe he shouldn't have checked himself out of the hospital so soon - he still wasn't sure what the Gate might have taken this time through, after all, and he could be the walking dead for all he knew. What if the Gate still had a price on his head?

His hand closed around the stack of papers sitting on his desk. Damn it all. With a resigned sigh, he flopped down into the leather office chair - at least there were a few perks to his new position - and began thumbing through the file, looking for any particular cultural or political notes he should have regarding Xing's relationship with Amestris during the years he'd been absent. Research was still his forte; he was able to do at least that much on the other side of the Gate. There were also documents on Xing's cultural practices, and any other important information he would need to have on how to deal with the emissaries properly and respectfully.

Ed had barely made it to the second page of the stack when he heard a timid knock at his door.

"Come in," Ed called, not looking up from the file.

"Excuse the intrusion, Colonel Elric, sir. I have the research notes you requested," his young assistant informed him once he'd timidly opened the door.

"Just stick it on my desk, Murray," Ed replied. Murray nodded and approached his desk, quietly placed the file on Ed's desk, and turned and walked (rather quickly) out the door. Ed sniffed; he wasn't that frightening, was he?

He sighed, wondering if Mustang had gone through the same process when he'd first received the same title Ed now had. He was going to have to teach his staff how to be more assertive, quite frankly, and he needed to begin building some semblance of trust. He felt like he was walking on damn eggshells, even in his own office. He knew he could likely trust his underlings - they had been hand-picked by Mustang, apparently - but they had yet to start trusting Edward back. Maybe he should have asked if Russell Tringham was still in the military; if the once-impostor was of a lower rank, perhaps he could be moved to Ed's office. But even so, Russell wouldn't let him live down his newly acquired legend status - which, apparently, was at least one step ahead of a famed status.

Damn it, it wasn't his fault he'd practically become legend during his years as a national alchemist under Bradley's rule, and that his legend had become even more... legendary upon his return. Hell, he hadn't even come back by choice - one moment, he and Al had just been celebrating the fact that they'd managed to smuggle Noa out of German territory with little trouble (Ed didn't count getting himself stabbed in the thigh during a stupid scuffle with stupid road bandits as trouble, even if Alphonse did; besides, that had already - mostly - healed) and the next moment they'd found themselves staring at the Gate, which ultimately landed them back in Amestris with little to no warning.

They hadn't even done anything wrong this time, unless the Gate somehow sided with Nazi racial policy enforcement. Doubtful, but Ed couldn't help but entertain the thought. From what he could tell in terms of the types of questions being asked during his brief interview with Mustang over the issue, something had gone incredibly amiss at a demonstration serving as the requirement for one national alchemist's certification renewal. Whatever the alchemist had been attempting to do, it couldn't have been a very good thing. It was certainly illegal by most standards; not quite on par with raising the dead, but close enough. And in the end, it became glaringly obvious that for once, the Elrics had nothing to do with the Gate's reappearance, which was why Ed suspected they had been so quickly released from immediate supervision.

Except for the "house arrest" bit. That was something Ed planned to speak with Mustang about, especially if he was to go on this so-called mission. Bad prosthetics and the inability to go outside Central if necessary? Not good, for someone who wanted to appear as a strong - and yet amiable - host, and still had to make sure nothing happened to the Xingian guests while they were in town. Whoever had chosen him as the middleman probably wanted to start a war with Xing at this rate.

Ed stared blankly at a sheet of paper he was holding up, and realized that he hadn't even been paying attention to what he was reading. With a frustrated grunt, he flipped back a page or two and tried reading again.

In order to keep the peace - which was what Ed knew he'd actually been ordered to do here - he would take the apology from Xing with grace, smile and nod, and somehow let them know (inoffensively) that they hoped no further situations would arise. And at that point in Ed's orders, he'd decided the whole situation was bullshit. Seriously, who had made the decision to appoint Edward Elric - once famed for his quick temper - as the host?

Edward was convinced that Xing still wanted something. This Prince Ling they were sending as their ambassador supposedly was there to make the apology, but from his profile, he looked more like a troublemaker than a proper diplomatic envoy. He had been imprisoned in his own country at least once, though the charge and sentence weren't stated. Several members of his family dabbled in Xing's forms of alchemy, which there weren't many notes on in the report, piquing Ed's curiosity. But as he read further into Ling's file, his gaze narrowed. From some of the reports, it looked like someone in Xing's royal line really was after information regarding human alchemy, at which Ed scowled and snapped the folder shut. The damned idiots obviously didn't know what they were messing with. The only things that such taboo practices brought were more empty promises of power, and along with that a toll from the Gate that cost more than anyone rational should be willing to pay for it.

No wonder Mustang had kept a secret supply of brandy in his desk. Had he really dealt with this kind of bullshit during his years as a Colonel?

Groaning and rubbing his face with his good hand, Ed decided that maybe he should go take a break, run to the store for some good hard liquor, and see if there were any good automail mechanics in Central that he might go to until he heard back from Winry. His automail had saved his life in more situations than he'd care count in his previous years as a national alchemist; he had no doubt that if he encountered such dangerous situations again, he'd need all the safeguards he could get to protect himself. And he thought he should probably get a sparring session in with Alphonse in the meantime as well; it wouldn't hurt.

--

Despite the fact that he was not technically part of the military, Alphonse had opted to stay in a modest apartment in Central rather than moving back to the Elrics' hometown of Rizembul. Their home wasn't there anymore, Rockbell residence aside - he always felt at least a little guilty imposing on them despite their continued insistence that he was perfectly welcome - and he found that he would much rather stay somewhere where he could keep both eyes on his older brother as often as possible. Especially since Ed was forced to stay in Central for the time being, and Alphonse knew there were other eyes on him as well.

It wasn't an easy task, making sure Edward didn't get himself into trouble. Hell, they'd only somehow found themselves back in Amestris what, a week ago? And it was only a matter of days after they'd come back when Ed had nearly started a fight in the hospital with Mustang. Forget the fact that Mustang was a rather important member of the new Parliament, if Al understood the new system well enough - it seemed enough like England's for him to be able to make comparisons. Edward was under the watchful eyes of other wary Parliament members, and any misbehavior could be oh so easily misread. Al had been the one who had to step between the two arguing alchemists, hoping that he could quell his brother's anger with some rationality.

Needless to say, it had worked. Barely. Alphonse was relieved to find that Mustang was willing to act his age once in a while, even if Edward wasn't.

But once they had both been released from the hospital with no further questions, it had been harder to keep an eye on Ed as he was whisked away by the military. Alphonse had nearly followed him, but knew damn well that his brother would give the military hell - and would likely try to kill Mustang for certain, Ministry be damned - if Al signed any kind of contract with them. It didn't matter that the military was no longer authorized to deploy national alchemists as weapons in times of aggressive war. They were to be used as defense only, should any neighborly aggression rear its ugly head, and only with Parliament approval.

At least, that was what Al had understood from reading up on what he could find at the public library on Amestris' new laws. A lot had changed in the years that they'd been on the other side of the Gate, and Al couldn't help but wonder how exactly they'd been able to get back without trying, especially since Mustang had promised he was going to destroy it once they'd gone across the last time.

He'd have to ask his brother about that later; he wasn't authorized to see the reports from their return, and apparently Ed wasn't, either. Yet. But it was apparent that something had gone terribly awry at a national alchemist's demonstration during the recertification process. Ed had probably figured as much out already, too, if not more.

Al sighed, looking around his new apartment. It was small - only one room with a wrought-iron stove that sat to the side and could provide both heat and a cooking surface, a coat rack, and a ridiculously tiny chest of drawers. That didn't matter, though; he had hardly any clothing save for what he wore, and an extra outfit that Ed had insisted he pick up from a nearby tailor. There was a public washroom at the end of his hall, and a common kitchen on the first floor of the building. It wasn't much, but it was what he could afford for the time being without pulling too hard on Ed's government stipend. He would survive until he found his own job in the city.

Suddenly, Al heard a small commotion outside his door, and before he could peek his head into the hallway to see what was going on, his door slammed open and nearly smacked him in the face. Glaring down at the intruder - down, the first clue - he sighed when he saw a rather irritated-looking scowl etched deeply into his older brother's face. For a moment, they stood in Al's doorway, staring at each other with narrowed eyes, until Al finally caved and nodded for his brother to enter.

"You shouldn't scare my landlady off, Brother," Al admonished as he quietly shut his door, hoping fervently that the older lady who owned the building wouldn't throw him out for his brother's actions. "This was the third place I checked for a room; don't ruin it for me."

Ed crossed his arms and plopped himself down on the edge of Al's small bed, which creaked slightly in protest under his weight. He said nothing as he just stared out the window, gold eyes smoldering, and a sour expression still on his face. Something was bothering him.

"Ed?"

"I hate Mustang," Ed muttered.

Al raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something I don't know." And then he braced himself for a rant.

Which he got. "First thing I see when I get back home is that bastard's smirking face, and without so much as a proper greeting, he's already ordering me around like he still owns me. We've been questioned like we're common criminals when - for fucking once - we didn't do anything wrong, and once he's decided he's had enough of that, he gives me a raise and hands me a bunch of far-too-green gophers who are absolutely useless, sticks me on a case that I was told was extremely important to fucking national security and that if I screwed it up I was going to be publically tarred and feathered, all without so much as a moment to catch my breath now that I'm actually back home. Goddamn that son of a bitch!"

Al winced as Ed's voice rose in volume, looking nervously back at his door to make sure nobody else was going to barge in and give him an earful about the noise level.

"Brother..."

Ed sighed with a mumbled apology. "Look. Would you mind letting me work this out the good, old-fashioned way? For once?"

And then Al sighed again. Ed looked him in the eye with an expression that told him he might get destructive if Al said no.

"If it makes you happy," Al said, placating. Maybe he could beat some sense into his brother in the meantime. "Just... not for too long, okay? I don't want you to get too tired out while you work on your case."

And he didn't want Ed's leg wound to get irritated again, but he wasn't about to say that. It was, for the most part, healed - and Ed hated to be reminded of the fact that he'd slipped up - but Al knew that the injury had been deep enough to leave some remnant muscle pain once in a while. He often wondered if the thigh bone had been hit; Ed still limped a little when the weather changed, and couldn't seem to sit still for long periods of time.

Then again, Ed never really had been able to sit still for long.

Ed shot him a glare at the comment, but then he also sighed. In some ways, his brother hadn't changed at all. He was still stubborn as hell, and far preferred action over words. Following his brother out the door, they headed for a nearby park that they now frequented for such ventures. It was an unusually quiet spot for such a busy city; not many citizens seemed to enjoy the longer walking paths it provided. Or maybe it was the poor choices on the greenery - some alchemist had done a horrific job of cross-breeding shade trees, and had ended up creating a gnarled, twisted breed of rather atrocious and frightening-looking vegetation. At any rate, Alphonse was grateful that they'd discovered this park; their sudden return had brought them a lot of unwanted attention (especially for Ed, who still hated the press), and it was pleasant not to have half a dozen eyes staring at them with questions they didn't want to answer while they were essentially trying to pulverize each other.

Once they'd reached their usual clearing, both brothers tossed their jackets aside and stretched briefly before they fell into defensive stances across from each other. Not much had changed in their usual sparring sessions, either; while Ed had most certainly grown taller the last few years, Al still had the advantage of height, even in his own body. Of course, the matter didn't seem to sit well with Edward much once Al outgrew him - again - but at least fewer people made cracks about Ed's height. Al had his father's height, and he knew he was rather tall compared to the average Amestrian male. Ed shouldn't get so irritable over it - hell, Ed had even gained almost an inch on Roy Mustang, much to Ed's fiendish delight. (Al wasn't about to point out the fact that this was only the case when Ed wore his boots, in which Ed had placed arch support pads that did lend him a little extra height.)

Before Al's thoughts could progress further, he realized that he saw the muscles in Ed's flesh thigh contract ever so slightly just before his brother sprang at him. Ed tended to strike first, trying - unsuccessfully - to gain the element of surprise over his younger brother. It didn't work this time, either; Al stepped back to avoid Ed's leg sweep, never letting his gaze leave his opponent. He could have taken Ed's leg out pretty quickly, but he knew it was unfair - Ed still had a healing injury there, and it only would have made Ed even more irate.

Ed spun around into a low front stance, charging forward without much pause and feinting with his metal hand. Al simply stepped backwards and let Ed come towards him, moving his head out of the feint and blocking the real punch when it came towards his face. Al was out of range of the snap kick that followed.

Predictable. Al wondered if Ed noticed that he hadn't taken a single swing yet, and was purely staying on the defensive. Ed probably would be angry once he realized it, but Al sincerely didn't want to hurt his brother. True, Ed was the one with the metal prosthetics, but Al knew that he was the better fighter, and Ed's leg still bothered him. He could tell as much by the occasionally stilted movements of the kicks, or the fact that Ed wasn't getting as much spring out of his jumps as he typically did. But that didn't keep him from staying on the offensive.

Suddenly, Ed jumped back into a low crouch, and with a short growl he sent a flying kick aimed at Al's head. Stupid brother, Al thought with a silent sigh. Ed was going to hurt himself on the landing; he had entirely planned on the kick connecting, and it wasn't going to. Al grabbed his foot and - using Ed's airborne momentum - swung his brother into the ground and pinned him there. Ed struggled for a minute, until he realized that he wasn't going to be able to squirm out of Al's iron grip.

"Damn it," he grumbled, scowling. Then, he sighed. "Yield."

Al let his brother up with a cocky smirk. That hadn't taken long, for once. "Feel better now?"

Ed glared at him, but couldn't hold the stare for long enough. "Yeah, I guess so." Then he smirked back. "You're a damn brute, Alphonse, even without the armor." Rotating his right shoulder, he frowned as the movements proved to be a little jerkier than they should have been. "Stupid, shitty prosthetics," he muttered. "There really is nothing like automail."

Al's eyes widened in realization. "Ah! Brother, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to damage it!" he exclaimed crouching down by his older brother to look at the port.

"It's not your fault, Al; I think it would've gotten messed up from something as simple as lifting boxes," Ed said. "Besides, this should be enough to force Mustang to let me at least track down my automail mechanic, wherever she's run off to."

Ah, so that's what this was about. "You broke it on purpose, you idiot!" Al accused.

"I did not! You're the one that slammed this arm into the ground!" Ed snapped back.

"But you just said it wasn't my fault!"

"Well, I changed my mind, then! If it's your fault, then it's not mine, and Mustang can't blame me for it and will actually listen when I insist that I get it fixed!"

Al growled in frustration. "Geez, Ed, you're impossible!" he exclaimed. "I should just go ahead and tell Mustang exactly what happened - you forced me into a fight so that you could break it and have an excuse not to do your job!"

"If it wasn't going to hold up in a simple sparring session, then it sure as hell wasn't going to last an actual fight if one comes up on this case," Ed said, picking his ear with his prosthetic pinky. The shoulder sparked a little again, causing the hand to jerk and jab harder into Ed's ear. "Ow, dammit! See what I mean?"

Al scrubbed his face with his hand, frustrated, especially since he knew that Ed actually did have a surprisingly logical point. "You dumbass. You absolute dumbass."

He offered a hand to his brother anyway. Some things just never changed.

--

"Absolutely not."

Ed sputtered; he hadn't expected Mustang to be so stubborn. "B-But Mustang-"

"That's Minister of Defense Mustang or Sir to you, Fullmetal. And I said absolutely not. You're in the middle of an investigation, Colonel, and I will not tolerate you leaving on a whimsical hunt for your old sweetheart." Ed began to protest, but Mustang cut him off as he picked up a stack of papers and noisily tapped the edge of the pile on the desk, straightening it before he set it back down. "If you were so worried about breaking your prosthetics, then why the hell did you agree to a sparring match with your brother in the first place?"

Ed gritted his teeth and looked away, fists clenched. "I needed the practice, Sir," he ground out. "I would at least like to be able to defend myself should the need arise on this case."

"That's what your subordinates are for," Mustang replied coolly. "You don't think you've got them to sit around and look pretty all day, do you?" Ed scowled, and Mustang continued. "And if you get into a fight with the Xing emissaries, I swear to God that you'll be in such deep shit so fast, you won't even know what hit you. Besides, if you're that worried about your prosthetics, then perhaps you should look around Central for an automail mechanic. It's a big city, Fullmetal, and I'm sure we have plenty of shops to offer. You aren't the only amputee in Amestris."

Mustang did have a point there, but then again, Mustang wasn't an amputee nor did he wear automail, thus he wouldn't understand how much of a difference a good automail mechanic made. Winry Rockbell was the best damn automail mechanic Ed knew, though Paninya's guardian in Rush Valley wasn't bad either. It was a damn shame that neither automail mechanic set up shop in Central.

"This isn't like the old days, Fullmetal. You're not free to roam about as you wish; Amestrian citizens are not so comfortable having military-commissioned alchemists running around as they see fit. That was one of the conditions under our new contract with Parliament, and I won't be bending rules for you just because you think you're entitled." Ed tensed, narrowing his eyes irritably at the Minister. Mustang sighed and added, "Once General Hakuro is satisfied with the results of his investigation into your return from the Gate, and after you've peacefully heard out the Xing emissaries and sent them back home, I will then consider granting you leave. Then you can do as you wish."

"So you're saying that once I finish getting harassed for something I didn't do, and after I finish a peacemaking job that you forced upon me - you know damn well I've never been suited for keeping peace - then I can go fix my automail properly?"

"If you insist on seeing it that way, yes."

"This is a joke," Ed muttered irritably.

"This is life, Fullmetal. Look at it this way - you're finding a rather convenient escape from what could have been a hefty legal suit against you for your history of taboo alchemy, and you're able to rebuild your reputation in the meantime. You are in no position to complain."

Ed muttered a bastard under his breath, knowing full well that Mustang likely heard him. He knew he was pushing the boundaries, but damn it, couldn't anyone see his side of the situation here? Unfortunately, Mustang was right - he was stuck, and it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Alphonse could have been dragged back into the fray. Once again, he would have to thank Mustang later for protecting him and his brother, but he wasn't in the mood to do that just yet.

"Is that all?" Mustang asked. Ed simply nodded, avoiding eye contact as if it would burn him. "Then you are dismissed, Colonel Elric."

Edward left Mustang's office in a frustrated, gloomy state of mind, but when his eyes fell on a stack of one of Central's daily newspapers on his way back to the barracks, he picked one up and flipped through to the advertisement section. Hopefully, there was a local automail mechanic or two who would place their ads in the paper. He really didn't have time to hold out hope that Winry would magically pop up in Central; she didn't even know he was back, nor did he expect her to, reasonably. No time for being bitchy or overly picky; at this point, just about any competent automail mechanic would do. Anything but crappy, broken prosthetics.

Ah, there - four mechanics had put ads in the newspaper, and all were within a short walking distance of the military complex. Maybe this wouldn't be quite so bad after all; it would save him a rather awkward reunion with Winry, at the very least. Ed folded the newspaper under his arm, planning to make phone calls the next morning. It was a start.

--

Alphonse was surprised to hear that his brother had actually agreed to see a local automail mechanic. Then again, Edward really had no choice, aside from sneaking out of Central - which would only get him in more trouble in the end. Ed probably knew that as well; they were no longer children, and couldn't as easily get away with those kinds of maneuvers as they once had. It would only make them look more suspicious to the Parliament-assigned investigators.

Still, Alphonse couldn't help but worry about the fact that the Rockbells had been impossible to get in contact with. He was sorely tempted to take the next train to Risenbul himself to see what the situation was, but he didn't want to leave his brother with nobody to safely vent to just yet. Schezka had become closer to Winry when they'd last seen the two of them; perhaps she would know where to look? If Alphonse could get past security far enough to see her, that was.

Well, maybe he could. He was an Elric, after all. And if he needed to, he could always call his brother and ask him to supply an escort. Even if the Edward was also under sharp scrutiny, it didn't mean that he couldn't command at least some measure of respect from those around him. It wasn't every day that renowned national alchemists could find ways to suddenly make themselves disappear entirely, and then magically reappear four years later without any overtly apparent Gate tolls. Apparently, that magic trick brought at least a little positive attention along with the vast amounts of negative press that seemed to dog the brothers in recent days.

Then there was the matter of Hakuro's seeing-eye-dog watching him wherever he went. Although Al hadn't actually seen the person keeping an eye on him, he could feel a sharp gaze boring into the back of his head every time he left his apartment. It made him at least a little uncomfortable, even though he knew it was likely part of the investigation. He understood why everyone was so concerned about the Elrics' use of alchemy, but if they'd been watching this closely for over a week now, they should know by this point that neither Elric had even tried using it. Al wasn't sure he could anymore, not at this point; it had been so long since he'd tried that he knew he would be incredibly rusty.

Not to mention the fact that he now knew how alchemic transmutations were powered. That thought also kept him from using alchemy, and he knew it was the driving force behind his brother's abstinence from the art as well. They had come to a common conclusion - alchemy was only to be used in the utmost emergency, and only then. Alphonse sincerely hoped he would never have to get to that point.

A sudden curt knock on his door startled Alphonse from his thoughts, and he opened it to see his older brother, who had an unusually cheery expression.

He couldn't help it; he sighed.

"What did you do this time, Brother?"

Edward beamed, ignoring the verbal barb. "I will be getting my new set of automail in two days," he stated proudly. "Two days! Winry would have told me three, and would have charged me twice as much for the same materials that this guy's using."

"I'm glad you found someone competent enough for your tastes," Al said, truthfully surprised that Ed had actually agreed to go to someone besides the Rockbells for new automail. But on a second thought, Al realized that it might be Ed's attempt to put off seeing Winry again for as long as possible. He stepped aside and motioned his brother inside. "So did this new mechanic explain to you what kind of automail he was making you after you got measured?"

"I told him about the old design I had and he picked up on it surprisingly fast," Ed noted as he plopped himself down at the foot of Al's bed. "Makes me wonder if Winry's design went public. The steel will be lighter, but more durable, the guy said."

Al nodded; the weight of the older automail had put a lot of strain on Edward's skeletal structure, according to Winry. She had never told Edward that directly because of his sensitivity to his smaller stature in his preteens, but she had mentioned it to Al. The lighter metal would help him move easier, like the prosthetics did, but would offer strength and support that his current fake limbs didn't.

But no matter the situation, not even automail could beat the way that one's own limbs could move. Al was a little frustrated that they had yet to accomplish that part of their original goal to gain their bodies back - he'd gotten his, but Edward's limbs had never returned, not even after Wrath's death four years ago. His brother never seemed to bring it up, which only made Al suspicious that something else had happened that he didn't know about, something that fit snugly in the four-year gap in his memory.

 

"It'll be so nice to have my automail back," Ed murmured happily, stretching his arms over his head with only a slight pause as the damaged prosthetic shoulder gave him some trouble before he leaned back on Al's bed.

 

"Hm," Al grunted in agreement, even if he didn't entirely agree. Ed deserved to have his actual limbs back, after all they'd been through - not even automail could top that. Perhaps that was where he would direct the focus of his research: why it was that Edward didn't gain his limbs back. Ed couldn't know that, of course.

 

As soon as their traveling rights were restored, Al fully intended to leave Central to do some research in private.

 

"Hey, Brother, it's getting a little late - why don't we go get something to eat?" Al offered, trying to divert the one-sided conversation.

 

"Sounds good - but let's not go back to the base; rations there kinda suck. I'm starving!" Ed sat back up and got to his feet.

 

That was another thing that hadn't entirely changed; Al's older brother still could eat enough food for ten men, and yet he still stayed lean. Al wasn't so lucky in that regard; his metabolism couldn't handle as much consumption as Ed's without noticeable consequences.

 

The brothers left the small apartment house and headed towards one of their favorite nearby pubs. There were plenty of tables in the darker corners there, and it was nice that they still could slide in under the general radar at that place despite the fact that their return had made the news more than once.

 

Al couldn't help but wonder if coming back "home" was really worth it.

 

--

 

Ed walked down the street with his hands deep in the pockets of the loose pair of trousers he wore, button-up shirt unbuttoned and untucked; he was immensely glad to be free for the morning from his usual military attire. The starch that the laundry service used on the cloth made it stiff and itchy, and Ed was quickly reminded of why it was he hated the stupid uniforms so much in the first place. That, and the fact that he felt like a walking target when he went out in that get-up. It wasn't like the military had regained favor among the people overnight, no matter what kind of changes the government had gone through.

 

Laying low was likely the wise choice in this situation, Ed decided about halfway to the automail mechanic's shop. There had been a time when hiding his identity as the famous Fullmetal Alchemist would sting his pride, but he had grown up in a time where blending in sometimes was the best defense. He had a feeling that this was one of those times. Nobody remembered what he looked like, right? As long as he kept his prosthetics properly covered, he wouldn't stand out. And besides, Al was no longer confined to a bulky suit of armor, which also aided in his disguise as the average Central citizen.

 

The mechanic Ed chose from the newspaper had set up shop in a nice, two-story building with a proud wooden sign stating “Lucas Automail” hanging over the main door. The sign was new, as was the paint on the exterior, but the building's style gave away its older foundation. Ed guessed that the mechanic either had recently remodeled, or was new in town. He was willing to bet that the guy was new. From what he had discussed with the mechanic in his initial appointment, it seemed that the man was almost desperate for customers to build his repertoire. Perhaps if the automail was as high-quality as Edward was hoping it would be, he would give a good word out under his name.

 

Well, he was about to find that much out. His fitting appointment would take place the following morning, barring any obstacles that his current assignment might throw his way.

 

Speaking of the devils, the Xing emissaries were supposed to arrive that afternoon. Edward had taken the final opportunity to parade around in something other than a military uniform, and he was going to enjoy his walk, damn it. This was one more chance to pester Alphonse and grab a lunch that wasn't slopped on his plate by the military cafeteria ladies before he headed back to the dorms to change and meet his charges.

 

He wondered what they would think of Amestris sending them a one-armed, one-legged escort, and then stifled that thought with a wry snicker. Oh, the fun he could have with Mustang, showing off his crappy prosthetics to the guests, making himself out to be a cripple…

 

Mustang's words from the briefing came back to him at that moment. Deep shit, huh? But then there were the unspoken threats that hung above his head should he screw this up, the least of which dealt with his current travel restriction. Mustang was warning him - Alphonse could get caught up in this, if he wasn't careful. He couldn't let that happen. That wasn't Mustang's fault, either; it had to be Hakuro, the over-achieving son of a bitch.

 

The thought put a scowl on Ed's face as he knocked on the door to Al's apartment.

 

“What is it now?” his brother sighed when he opened the door.

 

Edward blinked, startled. He hadn't been paying attention. Damn it, he was going to work on keeping his expression neutral in front of the guests.

 

“Lunch?” He managed to say it rather neutrally, much to his relief. “Last chance for me to eat outside the military cantina before I get ensnared in the national parade of fools.”

 

Alphonse sighed again.

 

“What, did you eat already?”

 

“I haven't,” Alphonse replied. “But you're not very good company when you're pouting like that, Brother.”

 

Edward scowled. “I don't pout.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Alphonse pulled his coat on at the door as Edward waited for him outside, and then turned to walk outside once he'd locked the door. “Where to?”

 

Ed grinned. There was one place that still had the best stew on this side of Amestris: the pub down the street. They also happened to have some of the best beer Edward had tasted since they'd returned. Then again, there weren't many Amestrian blends that could match up to a good German brew. Mustang wouldn't mind him having a little alcohol before he met with the Xing emissaries, would he? It would make him more amiable.

 

On second thought, perhaps he could have done without the headache. Of course, that second thought didn't come until long after his third - fourth? - beer had worn off, and he was alternating between shaking hands and bowing until he thought his oversized head was going to roll off his shoulders when he awkwardly greeted the Xing emissaries mere hours later.

 

Xing had sent three emissaries - and Ed sensed a fourth one standing a little further back in the shadows. A bodyguard, perhaps? The main party consisted of a wrinkly-faced, slanted-eyed old man, a younger man with the same kind of eyes and long black hair pulled into a low ponytail, and a young girl whose similar black hair had been pulled into twin buns on either side of her head. The older man was the only one of the three who appeared to be dressed formally, which came as a bit of a surprise. Weren't these guys supposed to be royalty? Edward had initially bowed when he'd met them - as was customary in their home country, he had read in the stack of required reading from Mustang - but they had stuck out their hands in greeting instead. When Edward reached to take their hands, they bowed in return at the same time, and Edward had to resist squawking in confusion.

 

Instead, he laughed nervously. “I guess we have all done our homework,” he said amicably.

 

The young man chuckled as well, but his seemed more genuine. “Pleased to meet you, Colonel Edward Elric,” he said in heavily-accented Amestrian. “I am Ling Yiao, of the Xing royal family. This is my advisor Wu,” the old man bowed, “and my younger sister, Princess Mei. We humbly thank you for your hospitality.”

 

So the younger man was the prince, which hadn't surprised Edward in the least. He was much more unkempt and suspicious-looking than Ed had imagined he would be, however. Recovering his composure, Ed resisted the urge to rub the back of his head sheepishly, scrambling to recall how it was that Mustang wanted him to behave as an ambassador. There was something he'd written in the files about Xingian greetings, and for the life of him, Edward couldn't remember what it was.

 

Shit.

 

He plastered a forced smile on his face. “Please accept the humble offerings of our country,” he said, straining. Hopefully that didn't sound too terribly weak. Xingians respected a general level of humility, didn't they? Was that what he'd read?

 

The Xingian prince smiled appreciatively, and Edward hoped it was a good sign that he was on the right track. But on a closer look, there was something hidden in that smile; something Ed didn't like. He felt the beginnings of a cold sweat breaking out down his spine, and he suppressed a shudder as he turned back to the guests and motioned for them to follow him to their lodgings in the military complex.

 

He somehow managed to keep up small talk in the government-assigned auto - and driver - on their way back to the military base. Prince Ling seemed to be incredibly interested in Amestris' line of alchemy, though his slightly strained vocabulary made it somewhat difficult for Edward at times to explain some of the more scientific aspects of alchemic practice. But the more Ed spoke with Ling, the less he believed that the gap in the vocabulary had to do with the language translation, and more with Ling's lack of knowledge in the subject. Xing had its own brand of alchemy, which Ed recalled that he once had the ambition to add to his scholarly repertoire.

 

Which led him to the conclusion that Ling was neither a scientist nor an alchemist. Ling was almost too interested in Amestrian alchemy for someone with his lack of knowledge; perhaps he was looking for something of alchemic nature from Amestris, and was hoping to find information on it from Edward. Or maybe he was trying to get a leg up on his siblings; Mei, even though she was a child, seemed to understand basic alchemic principles better than her older brother. Perhaps the natural affinity for alchemy had skipped a few members of the royal line.

 

Ah. This should be interesting.

 

Edward was going to slide that observation into his report when all was said and done. If his suspicions were correct, the only aspect of alchemy that Amestris was infamous for - rather than simply famous - was the taboo aspect of human alchemy. And if that was something Ling was after, perhaps the Xing spies really had been tied to the government. He was going to need to tread carefully should the subject arise, as he was possibly one of the few left in Amestris that knew the truth behind human alchemy. Ling would never get a chance to know.

 

Mustang would need to know this as soon as Edward found a way to obtain more solid evidence to support his suspicions.

 

“Colonel Elric?”

 

Edward turned his attention back to his charges with a quick smile and apology, and once he saw that they had arrived at the military base, he proceeded to lead the Xing emissaries to the barracks that had been specially set aside and prepared as guest quarters. There would be a special dinner that evening with several members of Parliament - Ed was grateful that he wasn't going to have to be the political jockey in this situation after all - as well as key members of the military involved in the espionage case. After that, Edward was to entertain their guests for as long as they wished; this was the condition he had agreed to in order to get the next morning off for his automail appointment the next morning.

 

God, it would feel so good to have real automail again, Ed decided as his damaged prosthetic shoulder sent uncomfortable tingles across his back. Ling - as much of an enthusiastic bimbo as he appeared to be at times during their brief conversation in the auto - was obviously a fighter. Ed didn't miss the toned muscles in the Xing prince's arms, nor the way Ling carried himself when he walked. There was the slim possibility that these guests would behave poorly, and Edward knew as a fighter that Ling had probably picked up on the fact that he had two artificial limbs - and that at least one of them had a mechanical problem.

 

Shuddering, Ed desperately hoped that nothing would come of the situation until he was ready to handle it.

 

Until morning. It became a mantra, one that Edward was careful not to let slip from his mouth as he kept the terse smile in place during the tour of the military base. Ling continued to smile back in a disconcertingly deceptive manner that left Ed feeling extremely uneasy. Until morning.

 

Damn you, Mustang.

 

--

 

“Do you think I am unfair?”

 

Hawkeye looked up from her post at the Minister's door, one eyebrow raised in query. Standing up straighter, she straightened her jacket and took a calculating breath before she answered.

 

“If you're regarding the matter with Colonel Elric, Sir, you are doing what is in your power to help him out; whether he chooses to see that is up to him,” she replied evenly.

 

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his plush office seat, twiddling his gloved thumbs before his face. He had yet to break the habit of wearing gloves constantly, even if they didn't always have the flame signet stitched into them. He'd had to begrudgingly use plain gloves while in his office, as the outward image of an alchemic circle on his gloves were too reminiscent of a leader who wished to impose a powerful iron fist on his subordinates. At least, that was what Parliament had told him, in not so many words. He didn't necessarily agree, but that was no longer up to his discretion under the new rule.

 

“Perhaps I pushed him too hard into this mission before he was ready,” he said, words almost muffled behind his hands. “Alphonse confirmed that his prosthetics were indeed broken; maybe I should have let him get those fixed, first.”

 

“Sir, with all due respect, the timing was improper,” Hawkeye reminded him sternly. “There was not enough time before the Xing guests arrived for him to track down Winry Rockbell, and you needed to give Elric something worthwhile to do while stuck in Central. You did all you could.”

 

Roy sighed, leaning back into his chair. “I know, but it doesn't help much. I feel like I've left him with his back wide open. Fullmetal hasn't used alchemy since he was last seen here four years ago; have you read that part of the investigation yet?”

 

Hawkeye nodded. “I did, Sir.”

 

“He's out of practice, and if he needs to defend himself-”

 

“Minister, Elric is now the rank of a Colonel. He has subordinates to help him with that.”

 

“Rookie subordinates,” Roy muttered.

 

The corner of Hawkeye's mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “You chose them yourself, Sir.”

 

Roy took a deep breath.

 

“Try not to over-think this too much, Sir. If you think it would be wise, perhaps you could keep further tabs on Elric's whereabouts while our Xing guests are still in town.”

 

Roy nodded. “Fullmetal has an appointment in the morning with his automail mechanic; Falman has graciously offered to take over his duties overseeing the Xing emissaries until his return in the early afternoon.”

 

Hawkeye shot Roy an amused look; she understood the meaning behind that statement. Falman had been rather… pressed to make such a generous offer.

 

“That was rather kind of him,” Hawkeye said, playing along.

 

Roy smirked. “Well, it'll give him something interesting to do, at any rate.”

 

There were a few moments of quiet, though those were common within the Minister's office during work hours. He shuffled several stacks of papers around on his desk, pulling one of them closer with a slight grimace. Xing wasn't the only problem that Amestris currently faced that might involve the military. While the country had stabilized a great deal since Parliament gained the reigns, Amestris still had its fair share of domestic problems. Some of the military's past actions still did not settle well in several regions, causing a great deal of domestic tension.

 

One such region - which had been rebuilding well up until the invasion from the other side of the Gate that he'd had to destroy on the Elric brothers' insistence - was Lior, where many of the Ishbalan refugee groups had settled once Parliament had lifted the restrictions on where they could live and travel. It had been decided - wisely - by Parliament that there was no reason for the Ishbalites to be singled out and targeted anymore, as they clearly did not pose a threat. However, the fact that many of them had been able to move into Lior had put some further strain on the situation there.

 

Apparently, not even all of Lior's people were as accepting of the laws as the government was.

 

Roy had to admit that Fullmetal's return had come at a rather bad time. The people of Lior were still at least a little angry with him in general for starting things down the path that they'd gone. Of course, Roy had not mentioned this issue to Fullmetal just yet; he had hoped to get the situation under control before anyone from Lior heard about the Elric brothers' return and decided to make something of it.

 

Maybe putting Fullmetal in such an open position as a diplomatic host with little backup hadn't been such a good idea…

 

“Sir?”

 

Roy hesitated a moment before he said, “See about finding the good Colonel a few good men who can keep an eye on him, Hawkeye. Don't let him know he's being watched, though.”

 

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him again, but when Roy shook his head, her expression relaxed and she nodded in understanding. This had nothing to do with Hakuro's investigation, and if that was the case, there was likely trouble brewing that could potentially involve Fullmetal. Even if Hawkeye didn't understand all that right away, she would catch on fairly quickly. He had chosen his subordinates wisely.

 

“It will be done,” Hawkeye said, and then she dismissed herself.

 

--

 

Edward arrived at his appointment ten minutes early, clad in sports shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt underneath a long jacket and loose-fitting pants to conceal the prosthetics. He'd learned a long time before that most people reacted strangely to someone with missing limbs, and he while it didn't tend to bother him, he had been told that it was important that he lie low on this appointment. After all, he was hosting the Xing guests; if someone was after them, there was always the chance that they would strike at him first.

 

The mechanic, Caleb Lucas, greeted Edward by his first name as he entered the shop. Ed had opted not to give his last name out, just in case there might be a problem. He hadn't even mentioned his line of business, but the mechanic had never asked. Lucas didn't seem like the type likely to pry. Lucas was in his early thirties, most likely, and had light hair and eyes a shade of brown that almost looked reddish in some light. It would not surprise Ed if he learned that Lucas had some Ishbalan blood in his heritage.

 

On his first visit, Ed had been only to the main room, which had several chairs that served as a waiting area in the front, and then a counter - and behind that, a few larger chairs for measuring. He hadn't been to the back, which was where Lucas led him to this time. Ed was a little surprised to find that the mechanic's back rooms in his shop were rather clear of debris and pieces. While the Rockbells had never been explicitly messy with their shop, Ed had never failed to notice the fact that parts and pieces were all over the house, enough to be called clutter in several rooms. This place seemed almost devoid of any sort of indication that the mechanic even had the materials necessary to make automail. Unless, of course, the man stored it upstairs - this was a two-story building, after all.

 

“Right this way, Edward,” Lucas said with a gesture into one of the back rooms. There was a hospital-style bed at the side of the room that had been propped up, and Ed caught sight of what looked like his finished automail limbs on a rolling table next to it. There was another chair with broad arm and leg rests that sat several feet away from the bed. Lucas motioned to the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

 

“Thank you,” Ed replied, as removed his jacket and loose pants, leaving him only in his sports shorts and t-shirt.

 

He pulled the t-shirt off as well, folding it with the jacket and pants, and then began working on the complex shoulder strap that held his prosthetics to the port. Unfortunately, once his automail had broken again in Germany, he wasn't able to fashion prosthetics that fit the port correctly and had had to resort once again to the strap. Once the prosthetic arm was off, it went on a pile of folded clothes on the floor next to the chair. Hopefully, Lucas wouldn't mind.

 

The back of the chair was cool against his bare back, sending a small shudder down his spine as he removed his prosthetic leg. It was a stiff chair, meant for keeping him upright long enough for the mechanic to attach the automail; it reminded Ed of the chair that Winry and Pinako made him sit in when they performed this same procedure.

 

It had been a while since they'd done it last, he realized, a strange feeling filling his chest as he thought of it. He almost felt guilty for not having them take care of his automail for him as they'd always done, but it wasn't his fault he couldn't get a hold of them. This was important, and it needed to be done now. Once he was free to track Winry down, Ed fully planned on having her inspect the new automail set for him to make sure it was up to her standards.

 

“Well, Edward, I'm ready when you are.”

 

Ed blinked, finally noticing that Lucas had set up the new automail arm and leg on a rolling table. Damn, it was so nice to see a set of brand new automail after these last few years. He just wasn't looking forward to the pain he knew would come with reattaching the nerves within the ports. He hadn't felt that pain in a few years, but the recollection of it never quite faded from his memory regardless of the time that had passed.

 

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” Ed replied with a wry smile.

 

“I'm sure you already know, but this is going to hurt quite a bit,” Lucas said in warning, grimacing apologetically.

 

“Oh trust me, I know.” Ed snorted. “I've spent the last eleven years of my life putting up with it here and there.”

 

Lucas' grimace deepened. “Ouch. That long, huh? I'm surprised you were allowed to get automail at such a young age.”

 

“It probably wasn't the best of ideas, but what can I say? I was a persistent kid.”

 

Lucas chuckled as he made a few quick, last-minute adjustments to the arm before he began attaching it to the port. Once he was done with the preliminary attachments, he moved on to the leg. The nerves would be connected last. This time, though, he knew he had to be prepared to be hit with the same kind of pain twice; Lucas was the only one here, and he would have to flip both switches separately.

 

“So, which one first - the arm or the leg?” Lucas asked light-heartedly.

 

“Leg, definitely.” Hopefully, the pain in his leg would have faded with the pain in his arm taking over so that he could at least walk to the bed on his own.

 

“All right, then. Are you ready?” Lucas cast Ed a serious look.

 

Ed simply grinned. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

 

Lucas looked back at the switch just above the knee joint on the automail, and counted down from three before he tugged it. Fire suddenly coursed up Ed's leg, traveling up his spine until it hit his jaw and seared into the backs of his eyelids. Grunting through clenched teeth, he took several deep breaths through his nose, trying to clear the spots out of his eyes. When he could see again, he looked up to see Lucas' surprised face.

 

“Round two?” he said, voice shaking only slightly.

 

Lucas' jaw just about dropped to the floor. “I have never seen anyone not cry out from that before. Man, you're a tank,” Lucas said in awe.

 

Ed grunted and offered him a half-smile. “Comes with practice,” he lied.

 

The arm's switch produced much of the same pain, though this time Ed had braced himself against it more properly, and barely even grunted. As soon as Lucas had pulled the switch, he had quickly helped Ed to his feet and moved him over to the bed. Even before Ed's vision had cleared this time, Lucas made quick work of the plates covering the attachments.

 

“Stay as long as you need,” Lucas offered. “I'll go get you some water; I'll be right back.”

 

Ed closed his eyes, listening to his own ragged breath as it evened out, waiting for the pain to subside. This was his least favorite part of having automail; fortunately, he didn't have to mess with it often. He had finally reached his full height - thankfully, he was taller than everyone had expected he would become, and it amused him to no end that he had finally passed even that bastard Mustang up - and wouldn't need to replace the automail when he'd outgrown it. As long as he didn't break the limbs entirely, he might be able to make this set last a very long time.

 

It was a comforting thought, and it brought a smile to his face as Lucas came back in with the promised glass of water.

 

“Thank you,” Ed said as he took the water, his voice far more even than it had been the last time he'd spoken.

 

“I'm impressed, Edward - that's some stamina,” Lucas commented with a grin. “There aren't many who are tough enough to take that in as much stride as you have.”

 

The water felt good on his throat; even though he hadn't screamed, his throat still felt dry and tight from clenching his teeth so hard. He would be ready to stand normally in a matter of minutes, once his hand stopped shaking.

 

“It still hurts like a bitch,” Ed said, sitting up entirely, “but I guess I'm fortunate that my pain tolerance is better than most.”

 

“That is fortunate,” Lucas said kindly. “I'll be in the front of the shop when you're ready to settle payment. Feel free to test out your automail first, of course, and don't feel rushed.”

 

Ed thanked him again, and once again found himself alone, and laid back against the raised back of the bed, working on breathing techniques Izumi had taught him all those years ago. A few moments later, Ed got impatient - he never really had been good at waiting long periods of time - and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Testing his weight on his good leg, he was glad to notice that his knee didn't buckle under him, or that his leg didn't shake. Placing his weight on the automail leg, he was surprised at how comfortable and natural it felt.

 

Of course, he'd just spent several years with rather shoddy prosthetics - any automail was bound to feel like an improvement.

 

But this was a well-made set of automail, Ed realized as he stretched his metal arm across his chest and did some squats. Not only did it feel comfortable and right, it felt extremely light - it didn't pull on his shoulders or his hips or back, and it wasn't difficult to move around. It didn't feel flimsy, despite the fact that it was practically weightless. Testing out his theory, Ed transmuted the blade from the back of his metal arm - he hadn't done that in an extremely long time, either, and the alchemic energy felt strange to him - and tried tapping it on the bedpost. Yes, it was just as nice as he was hoping it would be. Either the technology had greatly improved in recent years, or this guy was simply talented in his art.

 

He was going to make sure to leave a hefty tip for Lucas. This was good work.

 

Picking up his folded t-shirt, he pulled it on over his head, almost groaning in pleasure as he felt the gears in the shoulder and elbow move smoothly without catching. He snagged the rest of his clothes and prosthetics and went back out to the main room to find Lucas sweeping the floor near the counter. Lucas looked up with an amused grin on his face.

 

“I should have known - ready to leave already?” he said good-naturedly.

 

Ed smiled back. “I guess your automail wasn't tough enough to keep me down for long,” he said, tilting his nose upward in an air of false snobbery.

 

“I'll have to try harder next time, then,” Lucas replied, playing along.

 

Setting his clothing and prosthetics down on the counter - and flashing Lucas an apologetic look as he did so - he dug into the pocket of his jacket to find the voucher he'd pulled from the office to pull funds from his stipend to pay for his automail. Lucas was about to find out that his newest customer was a renowned national alchemist; hopefully, he wouldn't mind too terribly much.

 

“Sorry about the trouble, but all I have are vouchers - I'm not really allowed to carry actual cash around with me,” Ed said apologetically as he found the voucher deep in his pocket. He began tugging on the watch as well so that he could verify the voucher. Lucas' grin turned to an expression of confused curiosity, but Ed ignored it as he continued. The poor guy probably hadn't been expecting military personnel. “You see… ah…”

 

“Ah, that helps explain how you were so tolerant to the pain,” Lucas said. “You're military, aren't you.”

 

It wasn't a question, and it wasn't said unkindly. Ed let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. “I am.” He pulled out the watch, and handed it to Lucas with the voucher. “I'm also a national alchemist,” he added almost sheepishly. “You'll need to verify that you saw my watch before they will redeem your voucher.”

 

Lucas took both the voucher and the watch into his hands, and his expression froze as he read the name on the paper. Ed had been expecting as much, but he felt a growing sense of dread boiling in his stomach when Lucas' grip on the watch tightened and his face suddenly darkened.

 

“You're the fucking Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric,” Lucas snarled.

 

And then all hell broke loose.

 

--

 

.to be continued.

 

--

 

I've actually had this posted at FFnet for a while, and decided I might as well post it here as well. Any and all feedback is lovely and craved like crazy!