Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Crossfire ❯ part two ( Chapter 2 )

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.

Same warnings apply as in the first chapter: violence, language.

--

part two

 

Something was entirely wrong in this situation, General Hakuro decided as he read through his stack of papers a second time. He had been the one in charge of investigating the bizarre return of the Elric brothers from wherever it was that they had gone. Of course, it had been on his own insistence that Parliament needed to look into the issue, and it had also been his own hand that had put himself in charge of the investigation. If his suspicions were correct, then there had been a rather unfortunate plan in play long before the Elrics had seen Amestrian daylight.

 

There was still one important question that neither Edward nor Alphonse had been helpful in answering, and that was where it was that they had returned from. Some suspected that they had died and had gone on to the afterlife; others claimed the existence of an alternate dimension that the brothers had been transported to during that strange invasion all those years ago. There were even theories of time travel and curses placing them in a prison far away. As much as Hakuro was loath to admit it, the theory that seemed to hold the most water was the one about the alternate dimension. Edward and Alphonse were wearing clothes in a fashion that - while not outlandishly different from Amestrian style - was clearly foreign. Their patterns of speech were slightly altered and had a strange accent to them that nobody could place. Of course, the accent had faded after a short period of being back in Amestris, but Hakuro had made a note of it early on in the investigation.

 

Was it even possible that an alternate dimension could exist? Hakuro wasn't an alchemist - hell, he wasn't even a scientist - so he was unable to determine if that was even possible without having to speak to someone with superior alchemic knowledge. Like Mustang. Unfortunately, Hakuro knew he couldn't afford to do that; Mustang had been Elric's superior before, and the two of them had some sort of connection that Mustang was likely to protect as much as he was able. It irritated Hakuro to no end, which was why he had not been giving his reports to Mustang before he sent them on to Parliament. But without Mustang's help, he really could only go on speculation on many issues that had come up during this case.

 

As far as he could tell, the only facts he had were that the Elric brothers had been brought back from wherever the hell they'd gone via alchemic means, and that the alchemist responsible - a nationally certified alchemist, at that - had vanished without a trace. Hakuro had asked Edward and Alphonse multiple times where they had gone, and they had been rather evasive about their responses to that question. Then he had asked them if they had been trying to return from wherever it was that they'd gone - both had been insistent that they hadn't. In fact, Edward had even said that he had not practiced alchemy since the last time he had been in Amestris, nor had he even tried to practice it. Both brothers had claimed that they did not recognize the name of the alchemist who had brought them back, and when asked about what they thought might have happened to him, they had both looked uncomfortable when they'd given equally vague replies.

 

The alchemist was likely consumed in the transmutation, as part of the equivalent exchange law of alchemy.

 

Why had that alchemist - who clearly had never met either Elric, at least not to the brothers' knowledge - targeted them specifically? What was he aiming for? As a national alchemist, he should have known that the reaction would likely cost him his own life. Was he acting under his own scientific ambition, or had somebody put him up to the task?

 

There were far too many questions in this investigation, and not nearly enough answers. Hakuro was not about to allow Edward or Alphonse out of Central until they at least gave him more clear answers about what they knew of alchemy, and where they had come back from. His first instinct had been to court-martial Edward - who had technically been AWOL, now that he wasn't obviously dead - but Mustang had been there to block that, and instead gave the young man a promotion. After that, Edward had been extremely tight-lipped, even while he had been drugged to the gills in the hospital while they were running tests. That move on Mustang's part had infuriated Hakuro, but he couldn't do much about it.

 

Hakuro needed answers. He needed them to ensure that no other alchemists were trying something so risky; Parliament didn't like risk these days, not with outside countries pressuring them for secrets and land. He needed these answers in order to make sure that there weren't others performing taboo alchemy. There had been enough trouble as a result of previous acts of illegal alchemy, and Amestris really couldn't afford to have more problems. The world was a frightening place anymore.

 

As angry as Hakuro was that the Elric brothers were not providing him with the answers he sought, he had to admit that they likely weren't at fault for their own return, especially after what he had so far uncovered. There was another force at work here that Hakuro had not yet found. He had a strange feeling that his best hunch was the one that the national alchemist who had disappeared wasn't acting alone, and that whoever his partners were, they were after something that had to do with the Elric brothers.

 

Hakuro made a note to go have another talk with Alphonse, at the very least. Perhaps while Edward was distracted with their guests from Xing, Alphonse might be more willing to open up a little more if Hakuro approached the situation with a different attitude. He wasn't going to get his answers by forcing them out of the brothers, but Alphonse seemed to be the type who would listen to negotiation.

 

Taking out a piece of parchment, Hakuro hand-wrote a note for Alphonse for a meeting, and made sure he handed it off directly to his secretary with explicit instructions before he headed home for that evening for dinner with his family.

 

Patience, he told himself - if he was patient, the answers would become clearer in time.

 

--

 

Edward had not been aware of the existence of the basement in the building until he had been thrown into the door that covered the steps leading down to it. The door splintered upon impact, pushing a sharp breath out of his mouth as his back slammed against the wall of the stairwell behind the door. The rest of the sudden realization vanished with the appearance of stars blotting out Ed's vision as his head cracked against one of the stairs.

 

“You had to fucking come back,” Ed heard Lucas say, and while his voice sounded distant, all small nuances of the kind, polite man he'd met days earlier were gone. “And you had to walk into my shop, of all places. You absolute son of a bitch.”

 

Ed's head felt like a twenty-ton weight as he tried to pick it up off the stairs, grunting with the effort it took just to get to his knees. His stomach lurched at the motion, and part of him whispered concussion over and over in the back of his mind. The feeling of being lifted up by the back of his jacket didn't help, either; he barely had a moment to collect himself before he was being shoved further down the stairwell.

 

He was being herded like cattle. Hell no - oh hell no. Barely managing to stay upright on his feet, he waited for Lucas' hand to brush against his back once more before he whipped around - damn but he was dizzy - and snatched at Lucas' arm, catching him by the wrist. Wobbling only a little on the steps, he used gravity to pull Lucas towards him, and stepped aside as the automail mechanic stumbled past him, apparently surprised that Ed had managed the move. Blinking stars out of his vision, Ed put up a defensive stance until he saw that Lucas was nearly at the bottom of the stairs, and he was off-balance.

 

Even if it made Ed feel like a damn coward, he turned and started running back up the stairs. If there was one thing that Edward had learned in his eleven years of constant struggle, it was that flight sometimes became the best option. He wasn't going to do well here, not in unfamiliar territory and with a concussion.

 

A wall of bright blue light cut off his escape, forming into a wall once the light faded. Alchemy.

 

Fuck. How could he not have seen this coming?

 

He clasped his hands together and smacked them palm-first against the wall, almost surprised to see that it worked. The alchemic energy felt foreign as it flowed through his hands and into the material of the make-shift wall, and it took all the focus he could muster to keep the faces of people on the other side of the Gate from coming to mind as he drained their energy.

 

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

 

But even as the blockade dissipated, he didn't have time to step through his small opening. A hand closed around the back of his shirt, and he was flung forward into the wall with a force that left his nose throbbing. This time, he was the one being flung down the stairs, and he barely had enough sense left to soften the landing with a tight roll. As quickly as he dared, he got to his knees, trying to ignore the way that the world whirled and tilted about him.

 

Trying to take stock of the situation, it became painfully clear that Lucas knew him from somewhere. He didn't recognize the man at all, nor had Lucas shown any indication of recognition until he'd mentioned his name.

 

His reputation. Somewhere down the line of all those years hunting down the Philosopher's Stone, he had managed to garner himself a rather decent reputation; it had never occurred to him that he might have given himself a bad name in a few places. Sure, it made perfect sense, but he couldn't think of a single place where he'd managed to screw up so badly that someone would want to try to kill him outright years after the fact.

 

Lucas was approaching - he had to think faster. Or move faster. Neither course of action seemed to be going well.

 

“I'm going to extract payment for the wrongs you've done to my people,” Lucas said, voice low and deadly sharp.

 

His people. That started the gears turning in Edward's mind - where had he done something so monumental as to affect an entire population of people? Surely, the Ishbalites weren't still in trouble under the new government-

 

That didn't matter, though, because Lucas wasn't from Ishbal. Right eyes. Wrong accent, wrong skin tone. Then where...?

 

Ed didn't have time to finish that thought as Lucas came after him, arm pulled back for a punch. Dodging to the side, Ed wobbled as he fought to get to his feet. Lucas spun around and aimed at his ankles with a leg sweep, and Ed stepped backwards, clapping his hands together. If he could just delay Lucas long enough to try to reason with him, maybe-

 

He backed into a table - metal, steel by the feel of it - and pressed a hand to it. The blue light from the alchemic reaction (god, that feels weird - don't think don'tthinkdon't-) filled the room as metal hands shot out from the side of the table, grabbing at Lucas. The mechanic dodged the first two attempts to grab at him, but a third hand snatched at his leg and caught it in a tight metal grip. When Lucas realized that he was caught, he snarled in Ed's direction.

 

“Now that I have your attention,” Ed said, voice tight, “I want to make it infinitely clear that whatever it was I've done to royally piss you off, I can assure you that I didn't mean to harm anyone by it.”

 

“You son of a bitch-”

 

The metal hand gave his leg a hearty squeeze, interrupting him.

 

Ed cleared his throat. “Since you're in such a mood for talking, maybe you could explain to me why the fuck you are trying to kill me.”

 

For a moment, Lucas said nothing, looking increasingly angry by the millisecond. Ed was growing a little concerned that maybe he'd missed something important, that he really had done something so heinous that it would turn what seemed to be a decent man into a sudden homicidal maniac of a alchemist-mechanic.

 

“You can't tell me you don't know what happened after you left Lior, can you?” Lucas said, so angrily that spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.

 

Ed faltered, feeling the blood drain from his face. Lior - Lucas was originally from Lior. The accent- Fuck, how did I not hear that?

 

“God, you're such a damned coward, not to even want to know what your heresy has caused there. Lior is in shambles, Fullmetal Alchemist. It's a bloody goddamned mess! Many have fled the city, the buildings are falling to pieces, and the government has been sent out to 'suppress' our cries for help on at least three occasions. My family is starving - the only reason I am here in Central is because this is the only place where I can make enough money to keep them alive.”

 

Ed didn't know what to say to that; truthfully, he had heard of the trouble in Lior, but that wasn't really his own fault. The priest Cornello had been duping the people with his alchemy, and was on the verge of using that ability to hurt people with it - Ed couldn't let him get away with something like that! Roze would have been dead, and Ed had no doubt that she wouldn't have been the only casualty.

 

“That is a lie,” Edward hissed. “Cornello was going to kill-”

 

“The people there have no hope in anything anymore, and it's because of the seeds of doubt you planted when you told them that Leto did not exist with your phony demonstrations. Leto is angry with us, and it's because of you, you goddamned heretic!”

 

Ed didn't even have time to let the last of Lucas' words sink in before the steel hands shattered, several of the shards impacting his legs as they scattered outward. A handful of them bit into the muscle of his previously injured thigh, and he hissed as he tried to move to the side. Clapping his hands again - weird alchemic energy vibes be damned - he slammed his flesh hand against the table again.

 

The metal hand missed its mark, but instead of dodging to the side like he had before, Lucas charged at Ed before he had the chance to send another one in Lucas' direction. Ed ducked a left hook, head throbbing in painful reminder of the injury it had received earlier. Spinning low, Ed moved into a low back stance, hoping to at least defend himself long enough to get an opening.

 

Instead, something hard cracked into his side, and he swore he felt something give just before the world turned gray at the edges. Color returned only after he was on the ground, head pounding, coughing and gagging and realizing that he could not breathe.

 

“You never should have come here, Fullmetal,” Lucas was saying, though his voice only half-registered in Ed's mind around the blood rushing in his ears. “I can't blame only you for what happened in Lior, so I'll be sure to leave a message for your boss. You still work for Mustang, right?” Ed could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment, but he couldn't get the breath to form the words. “Doesn't matter - I know he's still protecting you, at any rate. He'll come. By damn, he'll come to rescue his kicked puppy, and if he doesn't, this should be more than enough of a message.”

 

A rough hand grabbed his metal shoulder and turned him over to his back. The world stopped tilting just long enough for Ed to see a long-bladed knife stabbing downward, and couldn't move before its blade bit deeply into his flesh shoulder. His throat closed when he tried to scream.

 

“Hold still - this needs to be as clear as possible.”

 

Before Ed's mind could register what was happening, pain blossomed in his chest, and the gray edges closed in on the rest of his vision once more.

 

--

 

Roy Mustang massaged his temples with his fingertips, eyes stinging with grit. He hadn't slept much the previous night, not with the amount of paperwork he had to do. Hawkeye had stayed with him - for his protection and to provide some semblance of company, she'd said, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was really there to make sure he didn't shirk his duties.

 

The situation in Lior was giving him a headache. He had been informed that there might be another uprising on the horizon, whatnot with the racial tension there and the fact that even Parliament had had to employ force in order to suppress some of the other more violent protests. This one might be closer to home, however, and thus Mustang had been instructed by Parliament to arrange to keep tabs on anyone traveling to Central from Lior. He had in his hands a list of residents that were originally from Lior, and had ended up in Central for a variety of reasons, none of which sounded even remotely suspicious. Mustang began to wonder how much of that report had been fueled by rumor and paranoia.

 

The last hour in his office had been spent staring at the paper, the names blending into one another as Mustang's vision swam from exhaustion. Wasn't there a meeting that evening he had to attend? What time was it, anyway? He glanced at his pocket watch, and saw that it was nearing two in the afternoon.

 

Falman hadn't checked in yet, which meant that Elric still hadn't returned from his appointment with the automail mechanic. And he hadn't yet had lunch; the revelation of which made his stomach growl. Food would help.

 

“Hawkeye,” he said suddenly, and she snapped to attention.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Since you probably won't be letting me out of my office until my evening appointment, would you mind finding some sandwiches somewhere?”

 

She blinked at him for a moment. “I'm sure I could come up with something, Sir,” she said, apparently realizing that she hadn't had lunch yet, either. “Would you like coffee with that?”

 

Roy smirked. Ah, what he would do without his trusty Hawkeye, he didn't know. “Please.” For the love of God, please!

 

“You'd better be here when I get back,” she said, grinning.

 

His smirk widened, and then she turned to leave. Even just the prospect of food and caffeine helped him concentrate a little more, and this time, he looked down at the paper with a determined glare. This job wasn't going to get the best of him, dammit; not when he'd worked so hard to get to this point. There would be no more distractions. The sooner he got this under control, the sooner Hawkeye would let him leave the office alive. That, and he could replace his scotch supply that she must have found.

 

Work first, play later.

 

Most of those who had traveled from Lior to Central were in the capital for work. With the tension mounting in Lior, many had left the city and few returned, leaving a nasty dent in the work economy. Many businesses had closed and moved elsewhere to look for a better customer base, and a large number of such businesses had reopened in Central. Roy felt as though keeping tabs on such honest-looking people would make him appear paranoid, which would only cause further trouble should anyone find out that they were being watched. And yet, Roy couldn't seem to remove them from his list of Liorians to suspect; any one of the people from Lior could have a reason to cause trouble.

 

The headache returned. This was indeed a large mess, one that Roy wasn't sure he was up to handling at the moment.

 

“Sir - I hope ham and cheese is okay with you,” Hawkeye said, cutting into Roy's thoughts. He looked up to see her proffering a plate with a sandwich of that exact description sitting on it.

 

He bit back on the comment that would have said any sandwich would be fine, as long as it was edible. Instead, he took the plate with a calm smile and said, “Thank you.”

 

The coffee was black and bitter, just the way he liked it. Hawkeye stood by the window, watching out over the courtyard of the newer Parliamentary buildings as Roy ate; he watched her out of the corner of his vision. She looked slightly anxious, as if she was waiting for someone to walk across the yard below.

 

“Looking for someone in particular?” Roy asked suddenly. She stiffened, then turned and blinked at him.

 

“Colonel Elric has not checked in yet,” she replied.

 

Ah, so that troubled her as well. “I have a feeling he's dragging his feet to get back here,” Roy replied dismissively. “It's not like he is enjoying the task given to him.”

 

Hawkeye sighed, then pinned Roy with a sharp glance. “I know, but I also think that he's beyond the age of putting off the inevitable for so long.”

 

She was toying with him, the damn woman. “Are you implying something?”

 

“Of course not, Sir,” she said stoically, though her eyes said differently. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

 

“If you're that concerned about Fullmetal's whereabouts, maybe you should phone Alphonse. That would be the most logical place for Elric to be if he finished his appointment earlier than scheduled,” Roy said, turning back to the stack of papers. “In fact, I would like for you to send a message along to our good boy Alphonse, and remind him to send his errant brother on his way should he stop by there.”

 

“Is that an order, Sir?”

 

Roy smirked again.

 

Hawkeye picked up the phone and dialed.

 

“Alphonse? This is General Hawkeye-”

 

Roy tuned out the rest of the conversation as he turned back to the list of names. Perhaps it would be wise to crosscheck any sort of identification that could be found on each of the persons listed, and he made a quick mental note to have Hawkeye send one of his subordinates to retrieve the information for him.

 

“Thank you for your time, Alphonse,” Hawkeye was saying. “I'm sorry to bother you.”

 

As soon as Hawkeye placed the phone back into the cradle, Roy was surprised to see Hawkeye's brows furrow in thought, and so he didn't even get the chance to open his mouth to ask for the identification papers.

 

“Caleb Lucas...” she muttered. “Sir, was there a Caleb Lucas on that list of yours? The name sounds terribly familiar.”

 

Roy recalled seeing the name on the list, and matched Hawkeye's frown with one of his own. “He is,” he replied, then as Hawkeye's frown deepened, he suddenly became suspicious. “What are you thinking, General?”

 

“Alphonse has not seen his brother today, but he gave me the name and address of the mechanic Colonel Elric has been seeing.”

 

“Caleb Lucas?”

 

Hawkeye nodded. “I hate to sound paranoid, Sir, but-”

 

If this Caleb Lucas learns that he is equipping the Fullmetal Alchemist with automail, there might be serious trouble, Roy finished silently. He looked back at the list of names and occupations, finding Caleb Lucas' name quickly.

 

“He is listed here as an automail mechanic; it doesn't sound terribly suspicious to me.”

 

“The Fullmetal Alchemist is a name that most people in Lior are loathe to hear, Sir. The least we could do is check in on him.”

 

Roy sighed; he too had a bad feeling that things could get messy if Elric's name got back to Liorian citizens, especially those living in Central. “I understand your concern, General. Assemble a small team - make sure to include a few of Elric's men - and have them ready in fifteen minutes. We'll go check on Elric.” He looked at his watch - it was already nearing four in the afternoon, far later than Elric should have been. Perhaps it would be best to expedite the small detail. “Make that ten.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Hawkeye said with a crisp salute before she snatched the phone back out of its cradle.

 

The more Roy thought about the situation, the less he liked it. Elric had become far more responsible about checking in this past week, especially since he understood the implications of his peacekeeping mission. He should have checked in by now, especially if there were complications concerning the automail attachments. Roy felt a pang of guilt for not having been more concerned about Elric's tardiness, and the guilt began to pool in a tight ball at the pit of his stomach. Something was terribly wrong, here.

 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pair of his ignition gloves. Hawkeye wasn't going to like this decision, but he was going to join them.

 

--

 

Alphonse bit his lip as he placed the phone back into the cradle once he'd finished speaking with General Hawkeye. The fact that his brother hadn't returned yet - it had been nearly six hours since his appointment began - was troubling as hell. He wanted so badly to believe that Ed had simply gone for some kind of walk to test out his new limbs before heading back, but the part of him that knew better told him to worry. Edward likely would have stopped by Al's place first to show off the new automail.

 

He couldn't do anything about it at the moment, anyway, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead, he'd given Hawkeye the name and location of the automail mechanic that Edward had gone to see, hoping that she would be able to track him down on her own.

 

Al sighed, glaring down at the note that was now crumpled in his hands. As much as he wanted to go out looking for his errant older brother, he couldn't so simply ignore Hakuro's... request for an audience. Al wasn't a fool; he immediately had read between the lines of the message well enough to understand that he would not only get himself in a great deal of trouble should he fail to appear, but he also knew that Edward would take a huge hit for it.

 

It wasn't a secret to Alphonse that Mustang had blocked Hakuro from proceeding with Edward's court martial. Nobody had said anything of the sort directly to his face, but it was something that simply went unsaid. Even if it wasn't their fault that they'd been brought back to Amestris, there were going to be questions. Mustang had once again taken the role of silent guardian, regardless of whether Ed actually wanted his help. Truth be told, Alphonse was extremely grateful to have Mustang pulling for them, even if he knew that Mustang was likely reaping other benefits from the unspoken alliance.

 

The note from Hakuro had contained a simple, concise request for a private supper that evening. There had been no mention of questions, Edward, or even a demand. Just a place, time, and a polite request to attend. And damned if Edward hadn't chosen to go missing on the one night that Alphonse felt the most uncomfortable canceling plans to look for him.

 

Stupid brother, Alphonse nearly muttered aloud.

 

He needed to get a nicer suit for dinner, and hoped that he could stick Ed's disappearance on the back-burners of his mind long enough to keep both himself and his brother out of trouble during “casual” dinner conversation. Hakuro was a shrewd man, and Alphonse wasn't about to give him any sort of foothold upon which he could build a case against them. After what they'd done for Hakuro, Alphonse had initially been surprised at how quickly the older man put through a demand for a court martial on Edward once they'd returned. Even though Al's memory of Hakuro was mostly through what he'd managed to extract in gilded tales from Edward during their travels in Europe, he had a feeling that the man had changed since their first encounter with him.

 

That was another thing that infuriated him at times; he knew that a lot of things had happened in the four year gap he had in his memory, and while Edward had been rather generous in filling in most of the information Alphonse asked him for - the vast majority that Al hadn't figured out from his travels during the two years they had been separated - there were times that Edward hadn't seemed to be telling him the entire truth.

 

Alphonse felt like he was being blindsided sometimes, and it made him want to tear his hair out. This was one of those situations; he hoped desperately that Hakuro didn't ask him questions that he would answer in such a way that he put them under suspicion simply because he was ignorant.

 

After dinner was over, he was going to give Mustang's office a call. If they hadn't found his brother by then, he was going to go find Edward on his own, and then make sure his brother got an earful.

 

Stupid, stupid older brother.

 

--

 

Hawkeye did not like Roy's decision at all, but even against her likely better judgement, Roy stood firm upon his insistence to join the small “check-on-Elric” detail. The small knot of anxiety that had formed in the pit of Roy's stomach had grown, pulling on his insides and making him feel almost sick with worry. Damned if Fullmetal was old and experienced enough to take care of himself; Roy wasn't going to let the fact that he'd kept Fullmetal in the dark hurt the younger alchemist. He managed to maintain a stoic face, but by the way Hawkeye kept sending him worried looks, he had a feeling that she could tell he was tense. He needed to calm the hell down, and take this one step at a time.

 

Maybe he was wrong - perhaps he would find Elric sprawled out on a couch, dozing off a round of painkillers to stave off the pain of the nerve attachments. Elric would be flustered to realize that he had overslept, and Roy would pounce on his embarrassment like a dog on meat. Or - if there was actually an altercation between Elric and the mechanic - perhaps he would find Elric smirking, sitting on his enemy triumphantly and mockingly scolding Roy for showing up too late to join in on the fun.

 

At least, that was what Roy hoped he'd find. A good snarking match with Fullmetal was a far better outcome than seeing him, say, dead. Fullmetal was smart and strong; he should have been able to handle any problems that might have come up. Roy and his small back-up team had driven over as soon as Hawkeye learned that Elric's new automail mechanic was from Lior, just in case Elric hadn't realized it himself and had run into a problem.

 

The poor bastard had run into a great deal of bad luck, if that was the case. Caleb Lucas was the only Liorian automail mechanic in Central.

 

From the outside, Lucas Automail looked like an average two-story building, though when Roy pressed a hand against the closed door, he could immediately feel the displaced energy from several alchemic reactions. Roy's heart felt like it was throbbing from inside his throat, and he quickly motioned for Hawkeye and the others to be prepared. Something had happened here.

 

Hawkeye slowly opened the door. Roy's first concern that Fullmetal had been taken entirely by surprise were quelled when he saw the utter destruction inside. The main counter had been splintered in several places, bookshelves were toppled, and tools and books were strewn across the room as if a hurricane had thrown them. There was no sign of either Elric or the mechanic.

 

Hawkeye nodded over her shoulder to the other accompanying soldiers - Breda and Havoc, of Roy's band, and Murray and Daniels of Fullmetal's subordinates - and stepped over the debris to enter the shop. Roy followed her closely, gloved fingers poised just in case. He motioned to Daniels to have him watch the car, and stationed Breda at the shop's entrance. The three remaining soldiers followed him as he picked his way through the shop, fingers still in position and ready for action.

 

The shop was too quiet, and had clearly been so for some time. Roy felt his stomach twist just a little in worry - Fullmetal's appointment had been a few hours ago, and if they hadn't heard back from him with the shop looking this bad, it could spell trouble for the colonel. Guilt soon followed; perhaps he really should have listened to Elric's appeal to the traveling restrictions so that he could have contacted Winry Rockbell instead. But again, the mechanic likely would have found another way to get to Elric, if the now-legendary alchemist had indeed been the target.

 

There was a door at the back of the shop that hung open, half off its hinges. The fight had moved to wherever that door opened to - a staircase, Roy discovered once he was close enough. The staircase led downward into a dimly lit corridor, which Roy followed cautiously. He couldn't hear anything coming from the stairs, which felt wrong.

 

Where was Fullmetal?

 

With Murray stationed at the splintered door, Roy had Havoc and Hawkeye follow him down the narrow, dimly-lit stairwell. It wasn't quite wide enough to allow for the comfortable passage of more than one individual at a time. Hopefully, that wouldn't be necessary, though it would prove favorable for cutting off any attempted escapes by the mechanic. The stairs wound downward a quarter-flight at a time; Roy had counted four sections of stairs when the stairwell finally ended at an open concrete room filled with what one might expect to find in the basement of any automail shop. Scrap metal, spare parts, tools, and the like were scattered across the floor and workbenches, of which there were several. Much of the material had been clearly displaced by force. What struck Roy as odd for a mere mechanic, however, was the fact that a vast number of alchemic arrays were graffitied on the walls and floor of the basement.

 

So, this mechanic was also an alchemist, it would appear. A well-read one at that. No wonder Elric had trouble with the guy. Maybe Elric was a little too rusty, and that thought send another pang of guilt through Roy's stomach for not listening and letting him train more.

 

Roy cut off the thought, and instead focused on his current task: making sure that this alchemist-mechanic wasn't hiding behind some workbench, waiting to ambush their party. He heard nothing except for the faint hiss of his own controlled breathing, and the quiet footsteps of his party as they followed behind him. As far as he could tell, nobody else was there.

 

That notion was destroyed the moment he passed a workbench near the far wall and found a larger open space at the back of the room. Roy's heart froze in his chest; in the middle of that open space, Edward Elric - the Fullmetal Alchemist - lay sprawled on his back, his bared chest smeared with blood, the smooth wooden handle of a long-bladed knife sticking up from his flesh left shoulder like a beacon, metal arm stretched to one side above a transmutation circle as if bound by an invisible force. His metal leg stayed rigid, an identical circle on the floor under it as well. He had been stripped to a pair of sport shorts, which were now ruined with blood and a few stray slashes through the cloth. It looked like he had been wearing a shirt at some point, but only tattered, bloody scraps remained, hanging pathetically around Fullmetal's torso. Fullmetal had been dressed as though he was there on a planned appointment to get his automail attached, not to fight. So he hadn't known anything, not until he had shown up.

 

"Fullmetal!" Dropping his hand, Roy quickly closed the distance between the two of them and knelt in a growing pool of blood beside Elric's still body, trying hard to ignore the lukewarm liquid that seeped through the cloth of his uniform trousers at the knees.

 

Half of Elric's face was smeared with blood and his lips were tinged blue; Roy tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth and pressed two fingers to the younger man's neck to check for a pulse. It was there - faint - but Elric wasn't breathing, at least not properly. Roy had to wonder if the blade in Fullmetal's shoulder had hit his lung, or if he had broken ribs.

 

"Havoc! Call the medics, now!" Roy shouted over his shoulder, not quite managing to mask the panic in his voice. Havoc gulped and saluted before he whirled and ran back up the stairs. Turning back to his charge, Roy patted Fullmetal's cold cheek harshly. "Fullmetal - wake up!" When he didn't get an immediate response, he repeated the action, and suddenly Fullmetal's eyelids flew wide open in panic and he gasped painfully. Roy released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Get a grip!"

 

Elric blinked slowly and seemed to have trouble focusing as he looked blearily up at Roy. A thin, grim snarl tugged at the corner of his blue lips.

 

"Y-You idiot," he said, voice thick and hoarse from overuse - Roy realized he'd probably been screaming, and stifled the curse he wanted to utter.

 

"Don't talk," Roy ordered, trying to assess Elric's injuries.

 

There were several wounds on the younger man's chest that became the obvious source of the blood smeared everywhere, but while they looked gory, they weren't life-threatening. The shoulder wound was of more concern in Roy's mind at this point; if Elric was having trouble breathing, then there was a chance that the blade had indeed scraped his lung. Even if it hadn't something else was likely impairing his ability to breathe. He would need serious medical attention, and soon.

 

Taking a closer look at the transmutation circle under Fullmetal's automail arm, Roy realized that it was for the concrete rather than the arm itself - the bastard had transmuted a section of it into a strong magnet and had used it as a restraint. There was a similar one under Fullmetal's left leg as well, likely for the same purpose. The magnets would have to be released first. Roy pulled out a piece of chalk to draw a circle to reverse the transmutation.

 

"D-Don't," Elric said, making Roy pause.

 

"Fullmetal, the magnets have to go." But before Roy could reach towards the circle, Elric pulled his pinned arm up with surprising speed and grabbed Roy's wrist.

 

"D-Damn it, you… idiot," Fullmetal hissed breathlessly, making Roy raise an eyebrow. "B-Bomb - the bastard… turned it into… a bomb; I w-wasn't… his prim-...primary target." He coughed harshly, wincing from the movement. Blood spotted on his clenched teeth, and Roy knew they didn't have time for arguing. Then Fullmetal placed his hand over his chest, trying to wipe the smeared blood away. What the hell?

 

The kid wasn't making any sense, unless… Roy's train of thought died the moment he saw the wounds in Fullmetal's chest - they had been deliberately carved there as a clear message:

 

FUCK YOU, ROY MUSTANG.

 

God. Fullmetal was being used as bait. Whoever had gone after him had a higher goal in mind, and knew the relationship between the Elric brothers and himself well enough to know that he would personally come after Fullmetal should the going get rough. There would need to be a more serious investigation launched into this case - it had gone from a simple suspect of upheaval to a potential assassin problem.

 

"Shit." Roy scrubbed his only clean hand over his face. "Just the arm?" he asked sternly, trying to get Elric's glassy gaze to focus on him to make sure he had a lucid answer. He needed to know if there were any other traps laying around.

 

It took the kid a moment to focus, but when he did, his golden eyes were dead serious when he slowly shook his head. "L-Leg, too," he said quietly. "You shouldn't… have been the one… to come after me."

 

"Too late for that now," Roy muttered. "Someone had to come save your sorry ass."

 

Fullmetal grunted, as much of a laugh as Roy would get out of him for his poor attempt at humor. After that, Fullmetal was quiet, giving Roy a chance to think the situation through. The bastard had somehow either transmuted the automail into a bomb that would be triggered by the magnet's release, or it had been a bomb in the first place. Either way, Roy had nearly blown them both up. God, if Fullmetal hadn't stopped him…

 

Couldn't go there. Not now. Roy would have to remove the arm and leg, even if he really didn't want to - Fullmetal was in enough pain as it was. This was going to be tricky, trying to remove the arm and leg without jostling him too much and without setting off the bombs. The logical voice in the back of Roy's mind told him that he should have someone else doing this instead; it wouldn't do for the head of the military to blow himself up by accident. But part of him guiltily reminded him that he was partially responsible for dragging Fullmetal into this.

 

Roy shot him an apologetic glance as he reached for the plated shoulder, fingers feeling gently for a release for the arm. Careful not to move the automail too much, he finally found the catch, and shooting another warning glance down at Fullmetal, he braced one hand on the automail and gave the younger man's shoulder a quick tug. A pained cry escaped Fullmetal's clenched teeth, but at least there hadn't been an explosion. Moving down to Fullmetal's leg, he pulled the catch there as well, and managed to get the leg free without moving the automail. Fullmetal hissed again as the movement jarred the blade in his shoulder.

 

"Sorry," Roy offered lamely.

 

"Asshole," Fullmetal said with a bloody smirk, but it quickly faded into a dazed expression. He was losing too much blood-

 

Shit. "Stay with me, Fullmetal," Roy insisted, grabbing Elric's cold cheeks in his hands and forcing him to look at him. He was going into shock. Shit, shit, shit!

 

"…M'tired."

 

"Hang on just a little longer, and you can sleep all you want," Roy said, but Fullmetal's eyes slid closed anyway. "Fullmetal! Edward!" He harshly patted Elric's cut cheek, and Fullmetal's eyes slowly opened again, staring at a point somewhere beyond Roy.

 

"Al?" he whispered.

 

"He'll be here soon," Roy said, even though it was a lie. Alphonse likely didn't even know something had gone wrong yet; he would have to give the boy a call once Fullmetal was on his way to the hospital. "Don't sleep yet."

 

"Sir, the medics are still fifteen minutes out," Hawkeye said quietly from behind.

 

Roy swore again; that was going to take far too long. He looked over his shoulder and pinned Hawkeye a sharp glance. "Get the car ready."

 

"Yes, sir," she replied quietly, and turned to motion to Breda.

 

Roy looked back down at Fullmetal, biting his lip. He was going to have to pull the blade free; it was still pinning Elric to the floor, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

 

"This is going to hurt," he said softly in warning as he placed one hand on Fullmetal's flesh shoulder. Roy had to force his other hand from shaking as he gripped the handle of the knife with the other. Elric whimpered softly as the blade shifted ever so slightly with the movement, and suddenly Hawkeye was beside them both, holding Elric's shoulders down as she gave Roy a determined nod.

 

To Fullmetal's credit, he barely uttered more than a muffled cry of pain through gritted teeth as Roy jerked the blade free. Blood spurted from the wound, flying in a small arc as Roy tossed the blade aside. Hawkeye had removed her jacket and was pressing it to the wound before Roy could even blink.

 

"He's going into shock," she said quietly.

 

"I know," Roy replied, also pulling off his jacket and spreading it across Fullmetal's bare chest. "We need to get him out of here; we can't wait for the medic. Is the car ready?"

 

"It will be when we get there," Hawkeye said.

 

"Winry?" Fullmetal asked. He'd probably heard Hawkeye's voice and assumed in his delirium that he was somewhere else. "Thought… you'd never come."

 

Hawkeye cast a pitying look down at Fullmetal before she brushed his hair gently from his face. "Don't talk," she murmured.

 

"So bossy," Elric whispered.

 

Roy moved one arm carefully under Fullmetal's neck, and the other behind his flesh knee, careful not to move the automail bombs that were still attached to the floor. Fullmetal moaned as Roy stood, picking the younger alchemist up bridal-style (Fullmetal would hate that term, Roy found himself musing in giddy, panicked humor) and trying to ignore the blood as he clutched Elric to his chest and hurried for the stairs. Elric was heavier than he would have expected without the automail, but then again, the young man was now four years older and had grown more - filled out more - since the last time he'd been on this side of the Gate.

 

The stairwell seemed longer than Roy remembered, and he knew he really should probably get back into better shape. He was nearly panting by the time he got to the main floor of the shop; Riza was right on his heels, and they both nearly knocked Murray over from his post at the top of the stairwell.

 

"Colonel!" Murray exclaimed with wide eyes when he saw Mustang carrying his boss.

 

"Cover us on our way out of the shop," Mustang ordered. "The assailant still hasn't been accounted for; he might still be out there."

 

Murray gulped and nodded, taking a deep breath before he gripped his pistol tightly in both hands and moved in front of Mustang, aiming at the roof across the street on his way out the door. Breda was right behind him. Hawkeye followed behind Mustang, one pistol in each hand as she aimed behind the small procession. Murray paused as Daniels looked directly at him; Mustang could only surmise that they were communicating somehow. Teamwork - it was a good start for Fullmetal's subordinates. The kid would be proud.

 

Daniels started the car, looking at the roof of the automail mechanic's shop once he'd done so. A curt nod, and Murray followed, turning to aim his pistol at the roof as well as he moved across the narrow street on the outside of the shop. He got to the car and quickly opened the door to the back as Breda continued keeping an eye on the roof, pistol trained and ready to fire in case.

 

Mustang waited for a quick hand signal from Breda before he made his way across the street. Without looking, he knew Hawkeye was close behind, covering their retreat. He tried not to run; he wanted to avoid jarring Fullmetal's injuries if he could, but he needed to hurry at the same time. The longer they were in the open, the more opportunities Fullmetal's assailant would have to-

 

The sound of a gunshot registered almost a moment after he felt a heavy blow smash into his shoulder. He staggered the last two feet to the open door, ears ringing as shouts and more gunfire erupted around him. The weight in his arms was taken from him and he was shoved unceremoniously into the back seat of the car, vision blurring.

 

"Minister!" The car door slammed behind him. Someone was pressing something into his shoulder and had hands pressing his head down to his knees, and it hurt and ohgod-

 

"Go, Daniels! Now! Gogogo!"

 

Mustang hissed as his back and shoulders slammed backwards into the seat behind him, the faint sound of tires squealing as the car lurched forward. Several sharp pings of ricocheting bullets peppered the side of the car briefly before they were clear of the line of fire.

 

"Minister? Shit, Mustang's bleeding!"

 

"How fast can you get us to the hospital?"

 

"Ten minutes-"

 

"Not fast enough! Goddamnit, drive faster, boy!"

 

"Roy, can you hear me? Roy?"

 

"Damn it, Daniels! Stop driving like a grandma - this is not the time!"

 

"Shit!"

 

Mustang blinked, trying desperately to focus around the bright lights spotting his vision. Fullmetal needed him to stay focused, sharp. Pain flared from his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Hawkeye was kneeling on the floor of the car in front of him, delicate fingers examining his shoulder. Blood coated her hands, but Roy wasn't sure if it was all Fullmetal's, or if it was his.

 

"Are you with us, Sir?" she asked softly, once she realized he was watching her with some semblance of lucidity.

 

He hesitated a moment before nodding once. Riza's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she turned her attention back to his shoulder. Dammit, I've been shot, it finally occurred to him. Taking stock, he realized that he was half-slumped against the car door, and that Murray was sitting diagonally in the other end of the benched back seat with Elric propped up against him. Murray was pale as he kept one arm wrapped around Elric's shoulders, the other around the boy's head. But even in comparison, Elric's face was sheet-white, lips still tinged that unsettling color of purple-blue, Riza's uniform jacket still draped across his chest. Blood was smeared everywhere in the back of the car as if it was the scene of a gruesome murder.

 

"Ch-Check on Fullmetal," Roy said, voice shaking.

 

Riza nodded, and then she wadded up what Roy could only guess was Murray's jacket - the kid was no longer wearing one at this point - and pressed it harshly against the wound. Roy hissed as pain flared from his shoulder and spread across his collar bone and down his arm.

 

"Hold that there, Sir," Riza ordered firmly before she shifted along the floor of the car to get to Fullmetal.

 

Roy watched through half-lidded eyes as Riza had Murray shift so that she could more easily work, and she hissed as she gently pulled the jacket down to expose Elric's bloody chest. Murray let out a soft, sympathetic moan when he saw the damage. The cuts were still bleeding, albeit sluggishly, and the wound in Elric's shoulder oozed blood at an alarming rate. The edges of that wound had become red and inflamed; Riza noted the change as well, as she frowned when she leaned in to get a closer look. She pressed an ear against Elric's chest, ignoring the fact that she was getting the young man's blood all over half of her face. Her eyes widened.

 

"How much further?" Riza demanded.

 

"Three blocks," Daniels replied uneasily, voice shrill with panic. "That is, as long as we don't encounter further traffic."

 

"Gun it; Elric isn't breathing."

 

"Damn it!"

 

More curses came from the front seat - Breda's voice - but they were muffled by the time they reached Roy's ears. The car spun, but Roy no longer could tell which direction was up as black swarmed across his vision. He tried to fight unconsciousness, but lost as the blackness took over his mind as well.

--

 

Roy jerked awake, eyes widening and not registering the sound of his own gasp until after he'd shot upright in the bed, dull pain blossoming in his shoulder from the movement. Hissing, he placed one hand over the throbbing appendage, grasping desperately for a recollection to remind him why it hurt, and why the hell he wasn't in his own bed and why his shoulder was hurting so damn much and why his stomach was lurching.

 

White walls - crisp sheets - soft cotton pants - bandages binding his shoulder - stinging in the crook of his elbow, confirmed to be an IV line with a short glance...

 

Hospital. Gunshot wound. Fullmetal not breathing. Fullmetal...?

 

... Shit.

 

“Sir?”

 

Hawkeye's voice, accompanied by the scrape of chair legs against the ground. He blinked, finally seeing the room and realizing that he wasn't alone. There were two shadows underneath the door to his room - guards, presumably - and then there was Hawkeye. Hawkeye had been sitting in a chair near the window, and was now standing beside his bed, looking down at him with a worried expression.

 

“Sir? Are you all right?” she asked, fingertips gently brushing the back of his hand.

 

She looked exhausted, but relieved when he managed to nod. Clearing his throat painfully - Hawkeye turned to grab him a plastic cup off the nightstand and fill it with water - he frowned and opened his mouth to ask questions.

 

“Not now,” Hawkeye said sternly, poking Roy's lips with the straw. He drank greedily. “You've only been out half a day, and you're damned lucky that you didn't need surgery to get the bullet out of your shoulder.”

 

Roy pulled away from the straw and opened his mouth to ask more questions anyway, but this time his stomach lurched again and interrupted him. Hawkeye apparently knew the nauseous look when she saw it, and grabbed an empty plastic bowl off the counter and held it under Roy's chin just before he hurled up the entire glass of water he'd just finished drinking.

 

“Maybe I shouldn't have let you drink that so quickly,” Hawkeye murmured once he'd finished. “The doctor did say that the painkillers might make you sick to your stomach.”

 

Roy could only groan in reply, glaring up at the IV bags holding the drugs. No wonder his shoulder didn't hurt as badly as it could have, though he could do without the nausea. He needed to be sharp - to know that his men were okay, that Fullmetal hadn't...

 

“Fullmetal?” he managed to croak after a moment.

 

Hawkeye hesitated as she moved across the room to clean out the bowl. “I'm sorry, Sir...”

 

Roy felt the color drain from his face, and he almost didn't hear the rest of what Hawkeye was saying.

 

“... supposed to be out of surgery an hour ago, but I haven't heard from his physician yet.”

 

Surgery. They wouldn't be doing surgery on a dead man, which meant-

 

“...He's alive?” He was almost surprised at how drained his own voice sounded.

 

Hawkeye nodded, but still didn't look back in Mustang's direction. “Yes, he is.” For the time being - Roy heard the unspoken words almost as clearly as if they'd been said aloud.

 

“How... how bad is it?”

 

This time, Hawkeye turned to face him. “I... I don't know, Sir, but it's pretty bad.”

 

Roy wasn't sure if it was the drugs, or his own emotions getting out of hand, but he was certain he felt the weird, wet stinging behind his eyelids. His jaw hurt where his teeth ground together. Damn it.

 

“You should get some sleep, Sir,” Hawkeye said, hands smoothing the blankets covering him. “I will be sure to let you know anything as soon as there is anything to tell.”

 

“But-”

 

“That's an order, Sir.” Hawkeye glared at him sternly. “Your doctor has already given me temporary authority here. With all due respect, Sir, worrying yourself sick will not help Fullmetal recover.”

 

Roy had half a mind to retort that he was not worrying, and damn the doctor's orders, he was still in charge here. But the drugs spoke for him, lulling him gently back to the dark before he could open his mouth.

 

Hawkeye's fault.

 

He shot her one last glare before he drifted away again.

 

--

 

The hospital room was cold, colder than what Alphonse thought was comfortable. Part of him knew that he was imagining it out of his own fear, but it was at least a little chilly in there to the nurses when they came in, wasn't it? Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his front, rubbing his shoulders and hoping for warmth from the friction.

 

Turning an eye to the only bed in the room, Al watched as his brother slept, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically to the tune of the machines he was hooked up to. An IV line ran from Ed's flesh elbow, keeping him unconscious. Al found himself staring where Ed's new automail limbs should have been, knowing that his brother would be unhappy to feel so immobile again once - not if - he awoke. Al bit his lip so hard he drew blood, and forced himself to watch out the window for a while.

 

Minutes ticked by, and a nurse came in to check Ed's vitals. Al moved away long enough to give the nurse room, ignoring the pitying looks she sent his way once she'd finished and began walking out of the room. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself, but he couldn't help it.

 

Al turned to watch his brother's impassive face, wincing at how pale and sunken it looked in his drug-induced rest. The doctors had said they didn't want him awake yet; otherwise there would be complications with the breathing tube they'd shoved down his throat. Once his lungs were repaired enough to let him breathe on his own, they said, Edward would be allowed to wake up and have the tube removed.

 

Shivering again, Al rubbed his hands together for warmth before he reached over to Edward's face and brushed an errant lock of long, blond hair out of his brother's closed eyes. Grasping his brother's only hand in his own, Al pressed it to his forehead, trying desperately not to let the tears forming behind his eyelids fall.

 

It had been close, this time - too damn close. Edward hadn't been breathing when they'd brought him in, and during their attempt to get him breathing again, his heart had stopped. They had brought him back, but they were wary throughout the entire surgery as they worked desperately to repair the rent in his lungs from a broken rib, and to keep the lung inflated so that it wouldn't collapse again. The concussion had only complicated the surgery further, making it last two hours longer than they had anticipated.

 

Al whimpered softly, squeezing his brother's hand harder. He needed to stop thinking about in terms of what could have been. His brother was alive, still breathing, heart still beating. The doctors had been optimistic that he would recover, given time and plenty of rest. But Alphonse couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't been there with his brother, protecting and watching his back.

 

Wasn't he the one who had damaged Ed's prosthetics in the first place?

 

Not this cycle again.

 

He had to take his focus off of the could-have's; blaming himself wasn't going to help his brother recover. Edward needed him, and Al wasn't going to let him down.

 

Al looked up again at Edward's face, trying to imagine the glittering gold eyes that burned beneath the closed, bruised-looking eyelids, and a smirk twisting the lips that were currently crushed around the breathing tube. Ed would hate him moping around like this, hovering like a “damn mother hen,” as he'd probably put it.

 

“You really are a handful, Brother,” Al murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I turn my back on you for one minute and look at what you go do to yourself!”

 

In Al's mind, Ed protested, insisting that it wasn't his fault he walked face-first into a trap. Al couldn't help but chuckle at the expression he saw in his mind on his brother's face, but it faded when it was slowly replaced with the still, dead expression Ed wore in reality.

 

“I'm going to find who did this to you,” Al said in a shaking, determined whisper. “I will find him, and I will show him that he chose the wrong family to mess with.”

 

A forced cough from across the room made Al jump in his seat, his ears burning with sudden embarrassment - how long had the other person been listening?

 

“Alphonse Elric, why am I not surprised to see you here?”

 

Al shot to his feet as soon as his eyes and ears finally talked to his brain and he realized who the voice and figure at the door belonged to.

 

“Minister!” he exclaimed. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you!”

 

Mustang smirked, though Alphonse didn't miss the lines of pain around the older man's lips. Followed closely by Hawkeye, Mustang made his way into the room, standing as tall as he could manage with his arm in a sling. Alphonse offered his chair with a gesture, and before Mustang could refuse the offer, Hawkeye had ushered him into it.

 

“How is he?” Mustang asked once he'd been settled. “Any change?”

 

Alphonse sighed, finding himself staring at his brother. “None, though the doctor says it's to be expected. They don't want Brother to awaken for another day, possibly two.”

 

He looked back at Mustang, almost surprised to see an air of grief in the way Mustang leaned forward on his unrestricted elbow and regarded Edward with a worried frown. His free hand reached out to press against Ed's cheek, almost as if he wanted to verify for himself that the young man in the hospital bed was indeed alive. It occurred to Alphonse then that this was the first time Mustang had seen Ed since the day they'd both been brought to the hospital.

 

“He's so pale,” Mustang murmured, as if speaking to himself.

 

Al chewed on his bottom lip. At first, he'd been angry with the man for being so obstinate when it came to Ed's repairs, but watching how Mustang beat himself up over the same issue gave Al an odd sort of relief, if not pity towards the older alchemist. For the first time, Al noticed how much older Mustang looked, seeing the early signs of worry lines around the Minister's eyes and lips and across his forehead. He looked tired, really and truly exhausted.

 

Mustang had only been trying to protect them with the restrictions he'd placed on them, Al realized. He'd been telling his brother the same for as long in order to keep him from doing anything stupid, but Al hadn't really believed what he'd said until now.

 

“Edward is strong, Mustang,” Al said, placing a comforting hand on the Minister's shoulder. “He'll pull through this.”

 

Mustang smiled wearily. “It still doesn't make it any easier to watch him in the process,” he said quietly. “But thank you.”

 

Hawkeye took that moment to direct Mustang back to his own hospital room. She turned after she got a nurse moving Mustang in the right direction, and then turned and matched Al's gaze with a serious expression.

 

“Get some rest, Alphonse,” she said.

 

Al smiled and nodded. She tossed him a crisp salute, then turned and left the room. She was right - he really could feel the last several days of keeping vigil over his brother in the grit in his eyes and the bone-tired weariness that came with every movement he made, but he was determined to be here for his brother when he finally awoke.

 

The doctors unhooked the drugs and removed the breathing tube two days later, and left it out once they saw that Edward was breathing on his own again. They placed a mask over his mouth to feed him oxygen while he slept, just in case. Alphonse waited four hours, noting with growing alarm that Edward wasn't waking up. The next nurse that walked in the door nearly stepped back in alarm when Al practically jumped her with questions; she took a deep breath and told him that Ed's body likely was trying to process the rest of the drugs out of his system before he would wake up. Even though she used a placating tone, Alphonse let the nurse's theory calm him. Panicking wouldn't help his brother heal. The doctor left Ed on painkillers in the meantime.

 

Around lunchtime on the day after the doctor removed the breathing tube, Alphonse noticed a little color returning to his brother's cheeks. Alphonse sat by the bed and watched, hoping it was a sign of Ed's return to the world of the living. Another hour, and Ed's eyes started to move beneath the eyelids; thirty minutes later, his lashes fluttered and his eyes slowly opened.

 

“Brother!” Alphonse exclaimed. “Oh, thank God...”

 

Ed's half-lidded eyes wandered about the room before they settled on Alphonse, and then he frowned, moving his arm slightly to try to push himself up.

 

“Lay still, Brother,” Al said softly, placing a hand on Ed's arm. “They've still got you hooked up to an IV. How are you feeling?”

 

“Where-” Ed croaked, ignoring Al's question. Al winced at how dry Ed's throat sounded, and moved to pull the mask off of his face long enough to let him drink something.

 

“Hospital,” he replied, bringing over a glass of water with a straw sticking out from the top. “Do you remember what happened?”

 

Ed's brows furrowed in concentration, even when Al placed the straw on Ed's lips and let him drink as much as he could handle. He couldn't handle much, and pulled away from the glass after he'd drained half of it, still frowning.

 

“Lucas,” Ed said in a low voice. “Damn it.” He swallowed, looking around the room again, as if actually looking for something. Mustang, most likely.

 

Al placed the water on the tray next to the bed. “Minister Mustang visited earlier this morning to check in on you. I'm supposed to give him a call once you're awake,” he said. “They released him from the hospital yesterday, though he's still off-duty until the doctors clear him.”

 

“What?” Ed's eyes went wide, and suddenly he was trying to sit up. “That stupid bastard- unghhh...” He slumped back against the pillow with a groan of pain, his flesh hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

“I told you to lay still, Brother,” Al said with a sigh. “You had a concussion, so it's no surprise that you still have a headache. And you're not supposed to be moving around anyway, especially not with your other injuries. You managed to break a rib, and it hit your lung - they had to do surgery. You're lucky to be alive.”

 

Ed's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, and he only seemed to half-hear what Al was saying. “Damn it, that hurts,” he said weakly, moving his hand from his nose to feel around his side.

 

“Don't touch the sutures,” Al said, putting his hand back on Edward's. “They're in your back; the doctor doesn't want you pulling them loose.”

 

Ed scowled, but complied anyway. “This sucks.”

 

“You never were a good patient,” Al said with a wry smile. “Hang on, let me go get the doctor. Don't do anything stupid, okay?”

 

“I don't feel up to mischief anyway,” Ed replied seriously.

 

Al frowned - it was as much of an admission of serious pain as he would get from his brother - but he turned to get a nurse anyway. When he returned with the doctor instead, Edward was already out again. The doctor moved aside the sheets and tested Ed's vitals before he moved to pull away the bandages around his torso. Al had to turn away; he couldn't stand seeing the message - plain as day, now that it was healing - that the automail mechanic had etched into Edward's chest.

 

“The drugs are likely making him sleepy,” the doctor explained. “He'll be pretty drowsy yet, but I'm glad to hear that he did wake fully. It's a good sign.”

 

Al exhaled in relief. “How long will he need to be here?” he asked.

 

“He'll need to stay another several days, at least until we remove the stitches,” the doctor replied, examining the sutures as he spoke. “I want to make sure he doesn't develop any other lung conditions in the meantime. We tend to keep an eye on pneumothorax patients for complications for a full week after surgery. I also want to keep him on the oxygen mask while he's asleep until we release him. Did he drink anything?”

 

“He was able to handle a half-glass of water,” Al said, “but that was about all.”

 

“If he was able to keep it down, that's also a good sign,” the doctor said. “That means the drugs aren't making him sick to his stomach.”

 

“He's still hurting, though.”

 

“Did he say so?”

 

Al snorted. “My brother is never one to directly admit he's in a lot of pain, but the fact that he said anything makes me worry.”

 

The doctor seemed to make a silent note of that bit of information, and then said, “I'll see what we can do about that.”

 

“Thank you,” Al said.

 

He waited in silence as the doctor finished his examination, and then began redressing the wounds and incisions. Once he was finished, he placed the mask back over Ed's mouth and nose, and then turned back to Alphonse.

 

“Your brother is healing well,” he announced brightly. “Give him a few days, and he'll seem more like his old self, I'm sure. Let me know if he wakes up again; I'd like to ask him a few questions just to be sure the head injury is healing well enough, but go ahead and let him sleep for now. He needs the rest.”

 

Al nodded and thanked him again as the doctor washed his hands, and then sat down by the bed once the doctor was gone.

 

“You idiot,” Al murmured affectionately as he brushed the bangs out of his brother's sleeping face. “I'm glad you're okay.”

 

--

 

If Roy had realized that checking himself out of the hospital apparently gave General Hakuro the right to come visit him in his own damn home, he would have stayed at least another day or two. Honestly, did the man have no sense of leave me the hell alone without Mustang having to point it out to him directly? His shoulder hurt, his painkillers were giving him a stomachache, and he just wanted to lay down and drown in a bottle of good scotch.

 

Not that the alcohol would help his stomach any, but by the time he got to that point, he really wouldn't give a damn.

 

“Minister Mustang,” Hakuro greeted with a bow as he entered Roy's living room.

 

“General,” Roy said flatly. “To what occasion do I owe this honor?”

 

Hakuro wasn't stupid, and did catch the subtle angered nuance in Roy's tone - he managed to look at least a little sheepish. “Is this a bad time?”

 

Well. Really, it wasn't a bad time in terms of Roy's recently-vacated schedule. Roy was more irritated and crabby and not in the mood to put up with the political headaches he knew Hakuro was more than capable of providing. That part wasn't Hakuro's fault. Perhaps he'd at least see what the man wanted, and if Roy decided he didn't want to talk about it, he would bow out with a physical complaint of some kind, and have Hawkeye escort the man out of his quarters.

 

“Have a seat, General.” Roy gestured to the empty seat in the sitting area, across the coffee table from him. Hakuro sat. “What can I do for you?”

 

Hakuro regarded him seriously, though he seemed to hesitate a moment before he spoke. “I want to discuss what happened at Lucas Automail, Minister,” he said gravely.

 

Ah. Hakuro wanted to know how Roy had managed to get himself shot in such a public spot, and why he'd been there in the first place. This was going to be a headache, but he knew that Hakuro was in charge of the report at this point. Roy sighed and then took a sip of the water Hawkeye had left for him on the table.

 

“Honestly?” he said after a moment. “I'm not entirely sure of the full circumstances. From all appearances, Caleb Lucas attacked Colonel Elric during his automail appointment and critically injured him, and then either Lucas or one of his cohorts shot at the rescue party while trying to get Elric to the hospital.”

 

“Are you sure those shots were aimed at only you?” Hakuro asked.

 

Roy hesitated. No, he wasn't certain that he was the only target on the scene. “It's uncertain; the message Lucas carved into Elric's chest was clearly aimed at me, but it does appear that the attack had initially been aimed at Elric alone. Lucas might have been trying to finish the job.”

 

Hakuro looked down at his hands. “You know the press is going to make this look like an assassination attempt,” he said. “The questions they've been asking me have led me to believe they intend to indicate our guests from Xing as the suspects behind the attack.”

 

Roy choked on his sip of water. “What?” he exclaimed after he'd cleared his throat. “That isn't what happened at all! Caleb Lucas is a refugee from Lior - this does not have a damn thing to do with Xing or its espionage problem!”

 

“You know how sensitive Parliament is to ethnic tension, Mustang,” Hakuro said neutrally. “There are many in Parliament who would rather this not explode into another Ishbal. Besides, it was a logical conclusion for them to come to with the information they have. Colonel Elric was the one playing host to the Xing emissaries, and now he's in the hospital in critical condition. Not to mention the fact that the Minister of Defense took a bullet in the same fight. Of course they're going to come to that kind of a conclusion.”

 

Hakuro had a point, one that Roy was almost loathe to admit. However, should the public decide that the Xing emissaries were the ones at fault, and if something happened to them while they were there...

 

“You do know that if the Xing emissaries are harmed that there could be full-scale war, Hakuro,” Roy said. “We can't afford for that to happen, regardless of the fact that they were spying on us.”

 

Hakuro nodded slowly. “We will have to have the Xing emissaries escorted out of the country as soon as possible, then.”

 

“That would likely be the best course of action,” Roy agreed, massaging his temples with his fingertips, fighting off a growing headache. “It will have to be done quietly, and before the public catches wind of it. Especially if the press has already released their very misinformed version of the story. We will also need to have an address ready for the press, just in case things get sketchy.”

 

“I'll have the speech writer get on that,” Hakuro offered.

 

Roy nodded gratefully; he wouldn't have the time - or likely the energy - to deal with that part as well, and part of him was grateful that Hakuro was stepping up to the task for him. Although the man could be nosy as hell, he was quite a handy ally.

 

Hakuro didn't seem to be finished speaking yet, however. “Minister, there is also another issue I'd like to speak with you about...”

 

Ah, there it was. The real headache. Roy knew then that he'd been too quick to assume that the General really wasn't going to bring this up after his brief display of teamwork. “General, I know you want to find out how the Elric brothers ended back up in Amestris so suddenly after having gone missing for all those years.”

 

If Hakuro was trying to look as though he hadn't been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak, he failed horribly. Straightening in a flustered flurry, he cleared his throat. “It has been a matter of general concern, yes.”

 

Roy resisted the urge to groan and complain of a sudden headache, but it would only make the situation look worse than it really was. As far as his own small investigation had gone, he could tell that neither Elric brother actually knew what had happened. There were indications of an outside influence on the situation - someone who clearly knew alchemy and had access to information on human transmutation, which didn't sit well with Mustang. This was something the alchemists should be handling, not a bureaucrat like Hakuro.

 

“I'm sorry, General Hakuro, but I can't really tell you much more than what the Elric brothers have already told you,” he replied. “It seems that the evidence points to the fact that they had nothing to do with their own return.”

 

“Where the hell did they go those four years, huh?” Hakuro pressed, clearly frustrated that his investigation was being parried once again. “If the Elric brothers had nothing to do with it, then why are you still protecting them?”

 

Roy caught Hakuro's fierce gaze with a cold one of his own. “That, my dear General, is something I cannot answer for them. As far as I can tell, they went somewhere that no one else could go. Personal hell, for all we know.”

 

“You didn't answer why.”

 

“Because if I don't, nobody will, and you and your petty assumptions will needlessly put them in danger,” Roy hissed. “If you had left the situation well enough alone, that issue probably would have been at the top of their investigation list once they stopped reeling from all the sudden changes we've managed to throw at them since. Instead, now you've got them thinking that any information they find on the situation will endanger them if they reveal it to us, and we've effectively been shut out of the damn loop.” Roy pressed his fingers into his forehead as he paused. Hakuro wisely said nothing in the meantime. “You do know that this whole situation with Elric began when he stepped into that automail mechanic's shop because he couldn't get a hold of his own mechanic, right? He had shoddy prosthetics and wasn't left with a lot of options, not with the house arrest you threw at him the moment he came back.”

 

Hakuro managed to look effectively cowed as he looked into his hands, folded in his lap; he really hadn't thought about that possibility, Roy suddenly realized with disgust. It made him regret that he'd let Hakuro take over the investigation. That should have been left to Brigadier General Alex Armstrong instead, especially considering he'd been the one to try to smooth the situation over with Lior around the time of the outsider invasion. Come to think of it, that had been the last time Roy had seen Fullmetal before his most recent return. Armstrong was technically under Hakuro's command, which was why Roy had assigned Hakuro the investigation in the first place. He had hoped Hakuro would pass it on to someone like Armstrong instead of keeping it for himself.

 

Suddenly, Hakuro looked up with a determined expression. “I understand what you're saying, Minister. I must apologize for my poor performance in this investigation, and am requesting that you have someone more capable take it over for me.”

 

Roy's jaw nearly dropped. Hakuro was admitting to the fact that he had royally screwed up the investigation thus far? Hah. There had to be some kind of catch, but Roy saw no games in the way Hakuro regarded him. Roy realized he must have said something that impressed Hakuro enough to finally acknowledge his position. Either that, or Hakuro finally saw how far in over his head he was. Now was as good of a time as any to nudge him in the right direction.

 

“General,” Roy said in a placating tone, “you do have more than capable men under you who could handle the investigation. Instead of having me reassign it, why don't you save the face by passing it on to one of them? I would suggest you pass it on to someone who might have a better sense of alchemy.”

 

Hakuro seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before he replied, “I will take your advice into account, Minister.”

 

“Is that all you had to discuss with me?” Roy asked, squirming. His shoulder was starting to ache; he finally got a glimpse at the clock and saw that he'd missed his last dose of painkillers by about half an hour.

 

Hakuro stood. “It is. I'm sorry to have intruded on you like this, Minister,” he said, offering his hand out. “I truly do not wish to be antagonized further, especially since we all have the same goal in mind for Amestris.”

 

One of Roy's eyebrows arched. “And that would be?”

 

“Peace,” Hakuro said.

 

Hakuro did have a point - they really couldn't afford to have the newly-formed government pitting leaders against one another at such an early stage. Roy took his hand with a smile, wincing when Hakuro shook it a little too firmly. It was indeed time for his medication.

 

“Peace,” Roy repeated, proud that he'd kept his voice even.

 

Hakuro released his hand, saluted, and then turned to leave. Roy slumped back into his chair, grimacing as his shoulder twinged in protest. Mere seconds after Roy heard Hakuro close the front door, Hawkeye was there with a fresh glass of water and his pain medication.

 

“You're a life-saver,” Roy muttered as he took the pills and water from Hawkeye.

 

Hawkeye smiled. “I didn't want to interrupt; it sounded like an important conversation.”

 

“Thank you,” Roy said. For your better judgment, he added silently.

 

“Sir,” she replied, understanding.

 

--

 

.tbc.