Summary: "It was a great bargain, honestly," the Deal Alchemist guffawed as Roy's blood simmered. "Worst week of your life erased in exchange for seven days filled with boring paperwork from you? It was practically labeled ON SALE! Too bad," he added with a grin as he leaned forward, "that one of those days you signed away to me was the day you were conceived. In other words, you. Were. Never. Born."

He adjusted his uniform. "To answer your rude inquiry, all I need to tell you is that your former team is having a grand time being miserable. Riza Hawkeye has gone missing. The Elric Brothers are divided. Fullmetal has loyally sided with me…blah, blah, blah. It's quite a list."

Roy's heart sank further as Deal beamed. "Welcome! To a world without Roy…"

Continuity: Brotherhood/manga (AU)

Pairings: Implied/Subtext Royai, Implied Parental!RoyEd, Implied/Subtext Edwin, Brotherly Ed & Al

Rating: Rated T or R-13

Warnings: Ed-level swearing, Killing by Fire, Violence, Mentions of blood, Brainwashing Overload, Mind Manipulation, Abuse of Mind-controlled Person, Character Deaths, Lots and Lots of Emotional Hurt, Suffering

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is owned by Hiromu Arakawa, not me. This is a fanfic (technically a doujinshi), but I earned no profit from this.

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WORLD WITHOUT ROY

BY MANALFEDZ

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Chapter One: Rumpelstilzchen (Rumpelstiltskin)

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The prettiest Maid was brought to King's court-

To spin gold from hay, as Father's report;

Weeping, she sat at King's spinning-wheel-

Where cam Wizard-dwarf, who 'spinned' out his deal…

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DAY ONE

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MILITARY TIME: 1500 HOURS

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"Maes Hughes is going to die tonight."

Chills slithered like a snake down Roy's spine, sliding from one vertebra to the next. He gripped the phone, the handle groaning under his panic-clenched fingers, and wondered why he was the unlucky person someone would alarm like this. "Whom am I speaking to?" he barked, managing to disguise his unease through the use of a sharp tone befitting of his rank. "Is that a threat?"

Heavy breathing from the other end of the line.

"An anonymous tip," the person whispered, sounding like someone who guzzled desert sand. Static crackled. "…From an anonymous friend. Hurry." Then the person hung up before Roy could say more.

Forehead creased, Roy placed the phone down and up again, dialing a new number.

"Yes, hello," he said, drumming his index finger on his desk. "I'm Colonel Roy Mustang, stationed at East Area Military Headquarters. Could you kindly tell me the military code accompanying the phone call my line last received?"

"Sir," a female voice acquiesced all the way from Central Command. There was the tip-tap from a typewriter heard in the background. Then a shifting of papers and a gasp.

"What is it?" He pressed his ear, listening carefully.

"There's no military code, sir," the woman responded in a professional tone. "It's an illegal transmission."

Someone had hacked into the (almost) unhackable military line? He grimaced as he sat down, relishing the soft padding of his leather chair, as he considered the given new info. "Connect me to the office of Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes. He's in Investigations in Central Command."

More static. Clicks of lines being switched and inserted into new ports.

"Connecting you, si—" The woman's voice was abruptly cut off by the loud beeping reminiscent of a dead line.

"Hello?" Roy placed the phone down, picked it back up, and called the switchboard operator again. Beep beep beep. No change. "Hello?! What's going on?!"

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MILITARY TIME: 1530 HOURS

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"Sir!" Master Sergeant Fuery barged in with a salute, headphones cradling his neck, and glasses slightly askew. "I was able to contact an outside line, sir! The entire Central main military line is down."

"What's the cause?" Roy said as he waved a hand to put Fuery at ease.

"A huge electrical discharge," Fuery reported, back straight. "They're working on placing temporary lines."

Roy put a hand on his chin. How convenient it was that the communications would shut down the moment he called for Hughes. This cemented the fact that the warning was most likely not a lie. Was this the work of Roy's anonymous 'friend'? Did he cut the line to halt attempts of caution or…? But the guy did warn Roy about it so, there might be two parties behind this. One killer, and the other an enemy of the killer looking to stop them. That explained the caution and anonymity.

But why all this…for Maes Hughes? Roy wished there was more context than an obscure forewarning. What a headache.

Roy stood, rubbing his temples. "Fuery, I'll be needing your phone."

"Sir!" Fuery dutifully led him to his desk where the line was set up. "Who'll you be calling sir?"

"Hughes' home."

"Ah." The communications specialist played with the dials and handed Roy the phone. "Here, sir."

The phone rang three times before someone picked up. "Hello? This is Gracia Hughes," a cheery voice introduced herself.

"Gracia," Roy greeted, leaning his hip on the hard edge of the desk. "Does Maes happen to be home?"

"Roy! You know that Maes is at work at this time of the day," Gracia chided lightly. "Why? Is there something wrong?"

Okay, how to break the news gently? "Someone tipped me off about his upcoming death tonight." Gentle. "I tried to call him, but it seems as if the entire Central Command communications is down."

"Is…is that so?" There was a rustling noise that made Roy suspect that Gracia had settled on something soft, like their sofa. Her words displayed that she was obviously trying to take the news in a stride. "He has a scheduled meeting this afternoon. I-I don't know how long it'll last. Am I allowed to barge in?"

Right, Gracia was a civilian. He was proud that the woman had the guts to 'barge in', to put it in her own words, if it meant the difference between life and death of her husband.

It then occurred to Roy that if someone was targeting his best friend, they were likely also targeting his best friend's family. Damn, he was endangering Gracia and Elicia by calling them like this.

"You can't," he said, heart thumping. "Go to the nearest police station. I'll be bringing my whole squad and we'll be there in two hours flat. Don't go within a hundred-meter radius of Central Command, and do not leave your daughter alone. Leave her to a trustworthy neighbor or something. Ask the police to send a warning to Maes. Is that clear?"

A small sob broke out from the other end, but it was quickly stifled and she replied, "Yes. Thank you."

Roy settled the phone back with a clang.

The office had gone quiet when he was talking, but immediately his squad scrambled to prepare for departure: Hawkeye and Havoc had moved to open their gun lockers and pulled out their extra weaponry; Breda picked up the phone Roy had just set down to call the station and book them tickets in order to save time, and Fuery had packed up his tech and radio to help keep them informed on the happenings in Central.

The moment Breda had settled down the phone, it started to ring again, and Roy answered it once more.

"Roy," Gracia said from the other end. "I'm at the police station. I've talked to them and they've already sent three policemen to deliver my message to Central Command."

"Good." Roy allowed some of the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. "We're on our way."

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MILITARY TIME: 1600 HOURS

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They boarded the train without any trouble. Roy's instincts screamed at him to get to Central now now now throughout the whole ride, and the train couldn't seem to go fast enough.

Fuery's radio continued to report Central news. It was mostly about a thief caught red-handed in stealing some jewelry, a mother reunited with her kidnapped daughter, and a new statue of one General Caver placed near Central High.

No other incidents.

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MILITARY TIME: 1800 HOURS

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The moment the train arrived, Roy and his team disembarked and rushed to grab a taxi. The taxi driver looked apprehensive when he saw their weapons but Roy held out a wad of banknotes, making sure the scent dulled whatever sense of self-preservation the man had.

"I'll add an extra thousand cenz if you could get us at Central Command in ten minutes." He promised.

Ten minutes of broken traffic laws, pedestrians with raised middle fingers, and a very happy driver later, they found themselves at the gates of their destination. Roy quickly ran inside to reception.

"Excuse me," he addressed to a petite woman who gazed at him with wide eyes. "Was there any message of caution delivered to one Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes?"

The woman recognized the name, thank goodness. "There were policemen who had also asked for him earlier, sir," she reported quickly, her thumbs twiddling against the other. "They did give me a message, but I wasn't allowed to enter the meeting Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was attending, sir—"

"Where is he?"

"He left a few minutes ago, sir," she said, and then gestured at the line of phones on the wall. "I tried to pass the message to him, but he waved me off and seemed to want to speak to someone, but the phones were nonfunctional at that time. Still is, sir. He was bleeding too," she added fearfully as an afterthought. "I tried to give him first aid, but…he…" she gulped "…he told me not to follow him."

Bleeding? With a frown, Roy inspected the telephones and noticed that one of them was smeared with blood. He gritted his teeth at the sight of red.

"Find additional personnel to assist," he ordered Falman, who quickly turned and hurried to obey. "And tell them to search every public payphone in the area!"

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MILITARY TIME: 1830 HOURS

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Heart thrumming in rapid, rhythmic beats in his chest, Roy sprinted ahead of his companions, while his direct subordinates led different divisions. Just ahead, he caught a faint silhouette of a man in a phone booth…and another silhouette pointing something at the man. For a creepy millisecond, Roy thought it was the familiar outline of Gracia Hughes.

As he drew nearer, however, Roy saw that it was a smirking unfamiliar woman who was aiming a gun at Maes' back.

"Hughes!" Roy cried as adrenaline pushed his legs faster. Gloved hands were already poised to snap—

His best friend's green eyes met his through the glass of the booth. His mouth had formed the word 'ROY—'

BANG.

BANG.

The woman shrieked in triumph, like that of a screeching banshee, as she hurriedly fled from the scene. Anger burned hot in the pit of Roy's stomach as he followed and watched as the murderer climbed a wall.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" Roy snapped his fingers, but the woman swung out of the way with the skill of an experienced gymnast. The orange light lit her face and Roy's eyes gathered some defining features, like the mole under her left eye.

With a final push off the wall, the woman was over the obstacle and out of sight.

Inhale. Exhale. Sweat dotted Roy's forehead as he remembered Maes. He quickly jogged back to the booth, now surrounded by medics and his team.

Maes was bloody and still. A medic was applying pressure to the wounds (by his grim expression, it wasn't doing much good), while another ran to, presumably, call an ambulance.

Roy knelt by Maes' side and pressed two fingers at his neck, where the pulse beat about as loud as the march of an ant. Dark red bloomed like roses on his best friend's uniform that not even a bit of Amestrian blue was visible. Hands shaking, sticky and damp, the colonel regained enough of his wits to grasp that cauterizing the wounds might prove beneficial.

He glanced to his right and saw that there were two holes in the glass of the phone booth, which meant that the bullets had gone straight through the body.

"Get me something sharp!" he commanded an approaching medic with a first aid box. With efficiency, the medic opened the container, rummaged, and pulled out a pair of surgical scissors, handing them to Roy.

Roy began cutting away the fabric around where the medic was putting pressure on the injuries. The moment the last obscuring strip fell, he wiped his ungloved hands with the provided clean towel and slipped on a fresh glove.

"Move out of the way for a moment, " he ordered the medic. "I am going to seal his wounds close." The moment the medic did as he asked, Roy rapidly assessed the damage and ascertained that there were four holes total: two entries and two exits. A probable direct hit to the aorta of the heart.

He snapped, and flames merrily licked the two entry wounds, burning the flesh and temporarily closed them to prevent Maes from losing more blood.

"Hughes! Answer me!" he shouted at the bespectacled man's face. Maes, curse him, didn't so much as twitch. Didn't even stir at the scent of seared skin. "Hang in there!"

The medics flipped Hughes over with caution, and Roy brushed his finger against the side of his throat while the medics cut away the fabric around the two exit wounds. Lub dub…lub dub….went Maes' heart. Blood trickled from the corners of the man's mouth. His eyes were closed and his chest didn't even appear to rise and fall anymore.

Roy snapped again as soon as the way was clear.

The man was growing pale and cold fast. Roy heard the piercing alarm of the sirens and assumed that the ambulance had arrived. The flames shone bright in his eyes as he watched the exit wounds finish searing closed. His heart leapt with a small amount of optimism.

"Come on! You can make it." Roy felt like it was he himself who he was trying to reassure rather than Maes. "Think of your wife!" he choked out. "Think of Elicia!"

The medics wheeled Maes away on a stretcher, the doors closed with an echoing finality, and the ambulance sped off.

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MILITARY TIME: 1930 HOURS

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DEAD ON ARRIVAL.

After he had done everything—EVERYTHING—Maes still died in the end.

…everything…

Roy watched helplessly as the hospital staff draped a white blanket over his best friend. If he watched closely, he could almost imagine that Maes was simply asleep, the position of the folds aiding the illusion of breathing. Roy hasn't even called Gracia yet, and whenever he strayed near a payphone, he just couldn't muster up the courage and tell her that her husband wasn't coming home.

It was an excellent night for rain. The clouds hung gloomy over the atmosphere, casting a dismal air over those present. But the dark clouds dared not start pouring. Lightning was too busy playing hide-and-seek behind them.

He had Falman bring him the profiles of all the military women currently stationed in Central. Thumbing through the papers, he came upon a second lieutenant with short hair. The mole under her left eye practically marked her as guilty.

"Her." He pointed to indicate the picture to his silent team.

"Issue a warrant of arrest for one Maria Ross," he commanded in a thick voice that felt detached from his being. "Search the entire city. Every nook and cranny."

There was justice to be served.

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DAY 2

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MILITARY TIME: 0000 HOURS

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Ross was hiding at her parents' house of all places. Roy regarded it as a personal affront to Hughes' intelligence in investigating. Worst of all, she had the gall to lie, wearing that baffled face and insisting that she hadn't left the house since she'd arrived at five that night. She wasn't a bad actress, had released a startled gasp when she found out about Hughes' death, as if she hadn't been there a few hours before.

Her parents attempted to reason with the officers handcuffing their daughter, trying to provide an alibi about her visitation. When the mother started howling to let Maria, the killer, go, Roy had to step in and face them.

"Enough!" He swept his hand diagonally in the empty space between the couple. "I saw her do it. Stop trying to protect a criminal."

"OUR DAUGHTER IS NOT A CRIMINAL." The father clenched his fists and lunged forward.

Too slow.

Roy sidestepped the attack easily, grabbed the outstretched arm, and flipped the man onto the floor. He growled, "I would advise you not to interfere, or I'll have you brought in as an accomplice."

"Leave him alone!" Maria Ross struggled against her restraints. "I'm innocent! I did not kill—!"

"Colonel Mustang!" Breda bounded up the stairs and went in front of him, a gun in hand. "We have evidence. A .45 caliber gun that discharged two bullets. Same type and caliber that killed the lieutenant colonel."

"Two bullets?!" Maria sputtered in disbelief. (She really was good at acting. Roy almost believed her.) "But…I've only fired one since…"

The last part was mumbled so quietly, but Roy's (and Breda's, apparently) ears caught her words.

"Since what?" he snapped, whipping his head to face her.

Maria Ross flinched and stared at him guiltily. Which was all the damn proof he needed.

"Place her in an interrogation room," he instructed. "I will deal with her personally."

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MILITARY TIME: 0100 HOURS

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"Colonel Mustang, this way please. Would you like additional guards with you?"

"No." Roy waved off the saluting officer. "I'd like to interrogate her alone."

As Roy had foreseen, Ross had dropped her innocent act and was grinning from ear to ear as he closed the door. Her wrists were shackled to the arms of the chair.

"So it was you," Roy growled. It sounded so animalistic, even to his ears. "And you dare deny it—"

"But of course," Ross purred, looking like a cat that had just licked some cream off its paws. "It's human instinct to defend themselves," she added as she cocked her head to the right.

The only other soldier in the room was recording the exchange frantically.

"Why?" Roy banged his fist on the table and inclined toward her. "Why did you do it?" His tone was low, and anyone in his or her right mind should know better than to provoke him any further.

Evidently, Ross wasn't in her right mind. She simply shrugged.

"Answer me!" He grabbed Ross by the collar and pulled her towards himself, chair and all, until their faces were only inches apart. When she didn't answer him, he shook her, making sure that her teeth rattled, until the soldier doing the recording stopped him.

Breathing hard, he let her fall back with a bang of her chair against the floor. He couldn't… couldn't…damn. He'd kill her accidentally if this continued.

He needed out.

Just as he was about to turn the knob, he heard her laugh. And laugh. And laugh and laugh.

"He…he begged me to spare him, you know," she guffawed, as if the entire thing was a joke. "Says he has a wife and a daughter…so…" she snorted, "I shot him twice for good measure. Point-blank, Colonel!"

Roy didn't look back at her.

"And you know what else? What else, what else?" she conveyed with much enthusiasm. "Do you know what else? I tricked him with this."

It wasn't Ross' voice that said the last part, Roy realized. It was Gracia's.

Alarmed, Roy twisted around, expecting Hughes' wife to be sitting…

But it was just Ross.

"Maes, darling," she mimicked expertly, tongue darting out to articulate every inflection.

Slap!

Roy drew back his hand as quickly as he'd struck. He didn't wait for her to recover, just hurried out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

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DAY 3

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"Colonel Mustang."

Roy raised his bent head from his last wave of paperwork sent from East HQ and spotted Major Armstrong standing before his desk. "What is it, Major?" he asked in a tired tone. He hadn't slept at all last night. This morning. Whichever.

Not after personally relaying the heartbreaking news to Gracia and little Elicia.

The major stared at him with his sad blue eyes.

"Come to apologize for your subordinate's actions?" Roy guessed. He tapped the bottom of a finished stack against the desk twice to even out the alignment.

"She didn't do it," Alex replied, shaking his massive head in a grave manner. "She is a kind and generous woman."

Alex Armstrong: a good man. Too bad his emotions controlled him more than logic ever did.

Roy huffed at that. "Could've fooled me. You weren't there, Major."

"I don't need to be present to know it wasn't her, Colonel." Alex looked like he was holding back his tears. "The ability to judge whether or not people are good has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations."

"Clearly, you missed the gene and haven't inherited it," Roy murmured as he scribbled a signature.

"Sir?"

"Are you implying that I was lying when I pointed a finger at her?" Roy said aloud instead of repeating himself, pausing his writing.

The major looked taken aback. "I simply thought you might be confused, sir." The man's mustache twitched. "And that you have mistaken Maria Ross for someone else."

"Even at night," Roy answered, jaw tense, "I wouldn't miss that beauty mark under her left eye."

A knock on the door disrupted their chat.

"Sir?" Hawkeye peeked her head in, face stoic. "They've found another witness to the crime. They said he swore it was Maria Ross he saw. Shall I ask for him to be sent in?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, Lieutenant." Roy nodded once, dismissing her. He turned back to Major Armstrong who couldn't meet his gaze.

"You're also dismissed, Major."

Alex then left without another word.

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DAY 4

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Breda burst in as Roy was speaking with a gray-haired lawyer. The second lieutenant sat opposite the lawyer, the cushion releasing air under his weight, as he handed Roy a piece of paper.

"What is this?" Roy reached for it.

"Sir, I have good reason to believe that Maria Ross is not our person," Breda responded. The lawyer beside him struggled to sit still as a statue, which the second lieutenant appeared to notice. "Relax, man. You look uncomfortable."

Roy skimmed the paper without understanding any of the text. He sighed. "Just explain it to me."

"I talked to her in prison." Breda rested his left elbow on his knee and placed his chin on it. "Asked her questions. She was pretty cool about it. Then it occurred to me that something with the evidence doesn't add up."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Breda nodded. He glanced pointedly at the lawyer. Said lawyer fumbled his way out of the room, saying something about coming back later. "She said she fired one bullet to protect a certain Alphonse Elric during an incident."

"What incident?"

"The collapse of Laboratory Five."

Roy's gaze swiveled to his subordinate. "…Go on."

"She kept going on and on about armors. And then, someone called the prison. A guy named Barry. Barry the Chopper. Ring any bells?"

Roy cocked his head at that. "Nope. So what is special about him?"

"He's an empty armor." Breda scratched his fingernail on the wooden surface of his table. "Like our resident one. He's a serial killer who was put on death row."

'Somebody else did what Fullmetal did?' Roy mused over that as he leaned back. "What next? You went to meet him?"

"He promised he'll cooperate and won't kill us since he wanted to help Ross in her case. So we—me, Havoc, Fuery, and Falman—went. Told Falman to go interrogate him further about our suspect, and boy, was he too glad to comply. He showed Falman the bullet 'wound' on his right palm. There was exactly one."

Roy's lips curled. "Uh-huh."

"Yep," Breda said, popping the 'p'. "So I went and collected data about the incident at Lab Five. Thing is…there isn't a record of it anywhere."

"She was lying," Roy surmised, convinced. "Wouldn't be hard to make up a story. Meet a shady suit of armor on the street; bribe him to get her out of incidents like this one. The murder of Maes Hughes could've been months in the making."

"Or…she was telling the truth," Breda argued. "The paper I gave you…she had filed an ammo requisition form ordering a new bullet very recently, though before this incident. Just one, and I asked for a copy. They haven't even provided a new clip yet. If it was her who did the shooting, her gun should've been missing three bullets. One from before plus two from now. She might be telling the truth that she has no part in this, Colonel."

Maybe it was the grief, maybe it was their mistrust, or maybe it was the weather. Whichever it is, it cracked Roy into two.

"Why is it," he got out through gritted teeth, "…that you people keep defending her?"

Breda blinked. "Sir—"

"I. Saw. Her," Roy bit out. "Clear as day. I interrogated her. She laughed about it and admitted it—"

"That's funny," Breda interjected, straightening his posture. "Because she sure as hell wasn't admitting to it when I visited her—"

"She's playing us! Dividing us."

Breda's features twisted into skepticism. "She says you haven't even talked to her—"

"THERE!" Roy rubbed his face in annoyance. SHE'S OBVIOUSLY LYING!"

"Sit down, Colonel. And there's no need to shout."

"I'll shout because I want to!" Roy glared at his subordinate.

Breda glared back, unimpressed. "She must've taken a lot of drama lessons then to be able to replicate the genuine distress of the accused innocent."

"Yeah, that's right," Roy agreed, finding no fault in the reasoning. "That explains why she mimicked Gracia's voice so perfectly."

The second lieutenant stood up, holding up both hands. "Okay…are we talking about the same person? Because I inquired if Ross met the lieutenant colonel's wife and she said no."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Another lie."

"You seem intent on dismissing everything she says as lies, Colonel."

"WELL, EVERYTHING SHE TOLD YOU WAS A LIE, SECOND LIEUTENANT."

"AND EVERYTHING SHE APPARENTLY ADMITTED TO YOU WAS THE TRUTH—?"

"DON'T SHOUT AT YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER—"

Breda smashed the top of the Colonel's desk with his knuckles. "This isn't about you. She pleaded with her eyes, Colonel. Her eyes. I can fucking read people pretty damn well, sir. That's why you requested me, remember?"

"I'm starting to regret it," Roy snarled. Then snarled some more when he saw Breda's reaction. "Don't look at me like that. If you don't trust me on this, then what about when I become Fuhrer?"

"This isn't you." His subordinate gawped at him with widened eyes. "This isn't you. Who are you and what have you done with the colonel?"

"Get out, Breda."

"No. Not until you see sense. Ross is—"

"Maria Ross will be publicly executed a week from now." Roy sneered. "I'm not saying this again. Get. Out."

Breda kicked the desk defiantly before he exited.

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"What is this?"

His entire team had lined up before him, sans Hawkeye who had taken her place by his side loyally. Each had a piece of paper sandwiched between their hands. Striding forward, Breda slammed his paper down in front of Roy.

"I'm requesting for a transfer," he said stiffly. "Please sign it…sir."

"Wow. This early." Roy tsked as he brandished a pen. "And you're giving up on me? How sad."

"Right." Breda scowled at him. "I wanted no place in your team. You're starting to show your true colors, Colonel, and I don't wanna be a part of your command."

"Fine." Roy signed his name with flourish on the line. Then he grabbed Havoc's (who wasn't even chewing on a cigarette, for once) and signed that too. Then he grabbed Falman's and signed that too. Then he fucking snatched Fuery's and signed that, too, making sure the tip scratched the paper.

"There." He swiped the paper to the side and let it flutter, watching Fuery scramble to catch it. "Be free."

"You're letting us go just like that?" Breda snapped his fingers. "I thought I was doing good to the country by serving under the command of a patriotic man." He seized his signed transfer request, the paper crinkling in his harsh grip. "I was wrong. You're a monster in disguise. A monster."

The second lieutenant stomped out. Havoc and Falman didn't even speak; they averted their eyes and followed their friend.

"Goodbye, Colonel." With a bow of his head, Fuery walked away.

Hawkeye also departed, plainly done with her silent moral support.

Roy watched the door close behind her in silence, feeling empty.

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DAY 5

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The first four days, he had been running solely on caffeine. So he decided to run on alcohol for the fifth.

"That's quite enough, Roy-boy." Madame Christmas tugged the fifth bottle of whisky and glass from his grip.

"S'not," Roy slurred, tucking his head into his arms as the scent of alcohol assaulted his nose. He probably looked really pathetic. Thank goodness the bar was closed just for him. "S'all that Roses' fault."

He belatedly registered that he'd uttered the wrong name. He didn't fucking care.

He heard his adoptive mother circle the bar and sit beside him. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "I talked with your team, Roy-boy."

"Oh? Wha' did they say?" he mumbled, tilting his head up a little.

"They just want what's best for you, Roy." The hand massaged his shoulder. Damn, he missed his mother. This was the reason he'd visited. Good whisky, good mom. "They're afraid for you. They weren't just your subordinates, they are your friends. It would be good judgment to trust them."

"But how about me?" Roy sounded a whine. "I'm telling the truth!"

Madame hummed. "What does that adjutant of yours have to say about your actions?"

"The L-l-lieutenant hasn't been saying much lately," Roy stuttered. "Silent as silence, my lieutenant. But I don't…I don't understand. Why do the others believe that damn witch—?"

"Roy," Madame Christmas admonished, retracting her hand. "Such harsh words. I didn't raise you up to call people witches, killer or not. Your real mother would've had a small heart attack if she heard that from you."

Roy froze for a moment, before slowly shifting his eyes from the very interesting table finish to the Madame.

"From what I have understood about her personality from my late brother's stories, anyway." Madame Christmas bobbed her head.

Her late brother. Roy's father. Father. Shfather.

Roy blinked as his sight blurred. Then blurred some more as his brain fogged up. "What…do you think happened…to them?"

His eyelids drooped. Sense of hearing dulled.

"…I wish I could tell you, Roy-boy…But given the circumstances, it would be better not to. For your own sake."

Her tone was sad. So sad.

Roy's mind was out before she even finished the sentence.

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DAY 6

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HOLY—

MARIA 'MURDERER' ROSS ESCAPED.

Highlighted in red, uppercased, those words blared bright behind Roy's eyes. The radio was broadcasting the news, alerting the citizens of Central about the killer on the loose. Commands were issued to catch her, and if she fought back, kill on sight.

Kill on sight. Kill on sight.

The words flitted about like a broken record.

Riza Hawkeye wasn't in the office so late at night, so the Flame Alchemist took matters into his own hands.

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Where would Ross hide?

The cold, night air buffeted against his back, cooling his skin, numbing the nape of his neck. The ends of his long coat flapped in the wind's direction. Roy crouched atop a building, near an alleyway, listening to the radio transmitter for reports.

"Clear on Nicolas Street. Over."

"No sign of her on Cobblestone Way. Over."

"Wait! We saw something—oh, just an alley cat. Over."

"The stout armor with the wig has been sighted nearby the Lion Fountain! I repeat: the stout armor with the wig has been sighted nearby the Lion Fountain! The prisoner might be close. Over."

Roy frowned. Stout armor? Wig? Must be Barry the Chopper. So…his former team was likely behind this, if they accepted the help of the so-called armor. And if he knew anything about his team, it was how they operated. Barry was nothing more than a flimsy distraction. Keeping the soldiers on a wild goose chase, that was the key.

Traitors.

Just then, his sharp eyes caught movement from the end of the alleyway he was keeping surveillance over. Dark silhouettes scuttled towards the alley beneath him. They stopped near a trash bin, and by the moonlight, Roy beheld the murderer and her rescuer. It wasn't whom he expected.

As he scaled down the uneven wall, he called out, "I wasn't aware that you're in the habit of assisting criminals, Fullmetal."

His youngest subordinate was quick to react, clapping his hands and extending his armblade. He stepped forward, keeping himself in front of a frightened Ross.

"Colonel," Fullmetal said, eyes blazing. "So it's true."

"You dare raise a blade against your commanding officer?" Roy questioned, keeping the level of his voice low. "Give Ross to me." He raised a hand, palm up. "And nobody will die tonight."

"No one will be dying." Fullmetal gnashed his teeth. "Not under my watch."

"I'll even forgive you for your actions," Roy said, sweetening the offer, ignoring what the blond said. "That woman is the reason why Hughes won't be able to return to his family. You deny them justice?"

A growl emanated from Fullmetal. Hackles raised. "Justice, my ass! This is revenge you're instigating, you fucker!" He spat at Roy's feet. "And, fuck you, Hughes was also important to me. But Ross wouldn't have done it!"

"It's true," Ross pleaded, clasping her hands together. "Please, Colonel! I respect the lieute—"

"Shut up!" Roy exclaimed, features flickering with disgust. "Your admittance of your guilt is already part of the records—"

"Part of the records?!" Ross sputtered. "B-but I never admitted anything to you!"

"Your team was right, bastard!" Fullmetal yelled at him. "You're being irrational!"

"Former."

"What?" Fullmetal said, confused, as he shielded Ross.

"They transferred, Fullmetal. They're just my former team now. And you'll be my former subordinate, too, once I have you court-martialed for failing to obey my orders like a good military dog should. Now hand over that murderer behind you!"

"You know very well that I am not a pup that barks on command, Mustang!" The joints of the automail arm clacked with obvious frustration. "Especially not when the one holding the leash is an absolute BASTARD who abuses his power to blame innocent people!"

"Fine." Mustang raised his chin and glared at him, narrowing his eyes. "You've made your decision."

He pinpointed the space between Ross and Fullmetal (who belatedly realized he was dead serious) and generated an explosion, one that rocked the earth beneath them, producing distance between his subordinate and Maria. With another snap coming from his right fingers, he roasted Maria alive.

Screams filled the night.

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Heavy, metal footsteps.

Roy saw Alphonse round the corner, quickly analyze the scene, and then kneel beside his injured brother, who was sprawled on the ground.

Fullmetal sported a scorched-through coat, showing his back seared with first-degree burns. The end of his braid was frizzy, smoking a little due to the heat from the first blast.

"Uh, n-no…" Fullmetal flattened his hands on the ground and pushed himself up…but his arms shook and he was forced down again, disturbing the dust and dirt.

"Brother, t-take it easy." Alphonse's voice wavered as he held out his gauntlets for his brother to grab on. Fullmetal latched like a dehydrated man begging for water.

"I f-f-failed, Al. Ow."

"So you're in this too, Alphonse?" Roy faced the armor, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't blame him, Colonel," said a voice behind him.

Roy spun to see Havoc climbing out of the trash bin.

Dressed in black from head to toe, with a rifle slung over on his shoulder, and the faintest scent of nicotine. Undeniably, Havoc.

"Yes, you dragged them into this," Roy declared. "Helping Ross escape. Helping a murderer escape. What's wrong with you?"

Havoc didn't answer. He simply stooped near Ross' corpse, which was charred black, only a few pieces of flesh hanging on.

A sigh. "You really did it, didn't you?"

Roy huffed, turning towards Fullmetal and began walking. "Stand up, Full—"

"D-don't come closer…"

"Who are you to be giving me orders?"

With a creak of his metal head, Alphonse stared at Roy with those red soulfire eyes. "Don't come closer, Colonel," he warned in an icy, echoing tone.

Roy's legs halted their advance.

"Bastard." Fullmetal's feet finally supported him. "After I put so much of my trust in you…"

"Then why didn't you trust me concerning the murder of Hughes?" The corners of Roy's mouth stretched downwards. "Why?! Why can't you people believe me?! Why did you let yourselves be manipulated by this..-this-woman? You all treat her like a saint when I know, she isn't! Huh, Havoc? Fullmetal?!"

"A w-woman like R-Ross-" Fullmetal exhaled "-who looked after my safety…would—wouldn't hurt me by killing someone she knew was important to me." He was shaking violently.

"Hmph. She could have been looking out for you because she wanted something from you."

"You don't get it—"

"Or maybe she just wanted your trust so you wouldn't suspect her motives in the first place."

Fullmetal took out his pocket watch and struck it at Roy's feet. "I quit, Mustang. You don't have to court-martial me. My brother and I can travel on our own from now on."

"Do it," Roy challenged. "See if I give a damn."

Fullmetal marched forward despite his injuries and Al's protests. "Fuck you." He leaned in close and grabbed Mustang's collar, twisting it around his knuckles. "From the moment Lieutenant Colonel Hughes died, you have dug your own grave. You're like a father who doesn't care about the children beneath him. Your best friend would've been disappointed in you."

Mustang backhanded him hard, making Fullmetal's head turn sharply to the right, and forcing him to release Roy. "What a disobedient dog. You're more trouble than you're worth, Fullmetal."

Al made an angry noise. He would've probably started going after Roy, if the military search team hadn't arrived at that very moment. Havoc ran away like a coward.

"Colonel Mustang, sir!" The leader of the team saluted.

"Soldiers," Roy addressed. "Take the former Fullmetal Alchemist to a hospital. And take Maria Ross' corpse to the morgue."

"Sir!"

As they dragged the brothers away, Fullmetal gave one final farewell. Three scathing words:

"I hate you!"

Roy felt drained. He picked up the silver pocket watch and headed home.

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DAY 7

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He didn't have the energy to go to work that morning. Figured that it would be better if no one were present when he finally went in.

When he entered his office late that evening, the door closed by itself behind him and the back of his neck prickled with static electricity. The click of a gun safety echoed through the office.

"You know, I can't imagine a world without you, sir."

Roy resolutely maintained his stare at the window. "Lieutenant, what do you think you're doing?"

"Following your orders," she said evenly. The firm quality of her voice reverberated deep from her gut. "You…you told me to shoot you when you've strayed from the right path."

Roy angled his head down a bit, mulling over her statement, not understanding her implications. He had killed before, hadn't he? And he had killed now. And Ross was a murderer. So how were things different?

Hawkeye continued. "But I know you, Colonel." His rank sounded so absolute when she was the one who would say it, respecting the title and the person it pertained to, even at a time as low as this.

But then, the faintest rattle originated from behind him. Her hands were shaking, Roy knew. He didn't need to see it to confirm it.

"This is all part of your plan." She hesitated. "Correct?"

Now he was confused. For Roy had no ongoing plans aside from becoming Fuhrer. "Plan?"

"PLAN!" Hawkeye shouted, losing her temper and almost making Roy flinch. "YOU DIDN'T REALLY KILL ANYONE."

"…I…"

A small heartbeat of silence.

"L-l-look, C-colonel." She inhaled sharply. "There is only one thing keeping me from pulling the trigger: the question of whether or not you truly killed Lieutenant Maria Ross."

Whether he killed her or not? "Y-you heard the news. You most likely talked to my former subordinates. You might've talked to Fullmetal—"

"The only statement I'll accept is the one coming from you."

He couldn't face her when she used that cross tone against him.

"The body you burned wasn't Ross," Hawkeye detailed, elaborating a nonexistent scheme. "You and Edward only put up an act to throw off suspicion. Maria Ross isn't dead. She is being sent off to a safe haven. So you can find out what had truly happened yourself. That was your plan, isn't it?" Her voice had cracked by the end.

The imported carpet had never looked so interesting before.

"Isn't it?" The gun shook harder in her grip.

His shoulders slumped in a way a disheartened person would. Why would Hawkeye condemn him because of this? "…What happens after you kill me?"

A choked sound. "…Then there is nothing left for me to live for. My body will rot and the secrets of Flame Alchemy will perish with me."

He had to ask. "…And if I say, 'Yes, I saved Ross?'" …But for what reason would he save her?

The clipped response was full of steadfast resolve. "You live. I don't."

Because they both knew that what Roy had said was a lie.

"And…" Roy's eyes strayed to the farthermost corner of the office, "…if I say nothing at all?"

He could feel that her gaze was intent on him, scrutinizing his smallest movements. "I have no proof."

So Roy said nothing and sustained his faux unperturbed posture.

"I see." Hawkeye clicked the safety off and holstered her gun. "I have seen enough, sir."

"Seen enough for what, Lieutenant."

"The office is empty." A note of solemnness accompanied her blunt announcement. "As you can see, I am your last piece standing."

Roy looked up from the carpet then, sensing that the immediate storm had passed, and marched over to the far side of his desk. And—was the office really this spacious before?

Hawkeye stepped forward and stopped on the other side of his desk across from him, handing him a handheld mirror. "Have you seen yourself lately, sir?"

Wordlessly, his fingers clutched the handle, the grooves of which imprinted on his skin due to the tightness of his grip, and then gazed upon his face. Pupils constricted, eyebrows furrowed, mouth permanently set in a thin line, with the edges pointing downward. He looked like a demon with constipation, but he didn't dare tell Hawkeye what he thought.

"This is—was the others' last impression of you," she enlightened him, jerking her head toward the mirror. "Sir."

"They'll come around."

Hawkeye slammed her hands on the desk, making Roy jump. "No. They. Won't. Sir."

She straightened up again, resuming her former position, and acting like she hadn't just lost her cool a second ago. Astounding how she did that. "Did you ever care about them? Breda?"

No reaction. Riza continued with the names.

"Havoc?"

"Falman? Fuery?"

No reaction.

"Edward?"

Nothing. Roy felt nothing.

"You really have strayed," Hawkeye deemed, staring at him with a suspicious shine in her eyes.

"Then why didn't you shoot me?"

"Because I believe that you were telling the truth." Hawkeye pressed her lips, taking a deep breath before expounding on her opinion. "But you went to the extreme. You used my father's work for the wrong purposes. When you snapped and finally killed Hughes' murderer, did you even stop—" the intensity of her glare had almost dissolved him, "—and think how it would affect me?"

"I—"

"Sir."

Roy studied her, the puzzle clicking into place, and finally fully understood what this was about. "…No."

Hawkeye didn't stray her eyes from him. She simply pulled a form out of nowhere and Roy recognized that they were resignation papers.

"They were right. The colonel in front of me is not Roy Mustang…" She swallowed like there was a giant lump stuck in her throat. "…But a monster. I am as guilty as you, because I have supported you like this."

The papers crinkled in her hand.

"…then execute me," Roy murmured.

She mutely placed the papers in front of Roy. "…Be grateful that I haven't. I said that I would follow you to the depths of hell, sir, and I have done so in the most disgusting way I never thought possible."

Hawkeye clicked her heels and gave a salute to her superior. "I have followed but I won't stay. I was too late. And I should have acted earlier." She lowered her hand and bowed her head slightly. Bangs obscured her sherry eyes, reminding Roy of a hawk's head hiding behind the feathers of its wing. "Farewell, sir. You'll never see me again."

She pivoted and strode away, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. "I'm sorry," she whispered in a fragile voice, "for failing you."

Roy could only imagine what her face looked like. His hand adducted toward her, wanting to stop her departure, and tried to make his voice work.

"L-lieutenant!" he managed, his other hand gripping the back of his chair. "Don't—"

"If you dare follow me," Hawkeye said in a steady manner, still facing the door. "We'll face hell. Together."

The slam of the door was like an alarm that splashed him in cold water.

He gasped, pausing for a moment. The gravity of the situation smashed his lungs like a cannonball. A freezing hand bound his heart. He felt like a thousand years had passed; he felt like a day had stopped.

"Lieutenant!"

Forcing his legs to work, he rushed from his office, hoping to catch her.

"Lieutenant!"

He fled the Command, running out onto Central's streets when he had finished combing through the hallways and he couldn't locate her. Panting hard, he called for her. Her rank resonated throughout the quietude of the night as he marked off areas where she could've been.

"Lieutenant!"

He sought her in her temporary residence…

"Riza!"

…every dark alley…

"Riza!"

His house in Central.

"Riza! Riza! RIZA!"

There was one last destination that came to mind, but it was the place she had sworn never to return to. Roy coughed as air tried to fill his lungs, shuddering. Filled with determination, he dashed to the abandoned Hawkeye manor, everything blurring as his tunnel vision narrowed.

Lady Luck must've pitied him, for when he arrived, she was there on the front lawn, staring at the decaying house.

Roy stumbled his way toward her, winded. "R-Riza—"

"Did you really kill Ross?" She didn't even turn to appraise him with her glare. Too ashamed of him.

Roy gritted his teeth, then he answered with the truth. "I did."

"With my father's alchemy?"

"I did."

"In the name of revenge, and not of justice?"

He took a quick breath, in and out. "I did."

Riza still didn't turn, but she held out her right arm to the side, showing one of her guns to Roy. "You say, 'I did,' but whose fault is it really…that you were driven to the brink of this madness?"

She turned off the safety and finally faced him, yet her eyes were shut tight. "Sir," she said as Roy swallowed. "There's only one bullet in the gun. Shall we let it decide…who will bite the dust for this tragedy?"

"What? Ri—"

Riza did not permit his interruption. "Close your eyes. Now." Her tone left no room for argument. So Roy did as she asked, accepting his fate.

All he heard was a loud click.

"That was the first shot…pointed at me," she said.

Another click.

"No bullet. Pointed at you."

With a jolt, Roy comprehended she was leaving the decision to chance. One of them would die, and he didn't know where the bullet's location was in the cylinder—

Click.

"At me."

Click.

"At you."

Heart hammering and with two shots left, Roy wondered if Riza would still kill herself after she is done with him. His hands shook in cold sweat, as he fervently hoped not.

Click.

"At me."

There are six holes in a cylinder, which meant that the last shot would be his execution. The final verdict was at hand. Roy bowed his head, hearing the loud beating of his heart in his ears, acceptance in his stature.

He could almost distinguish the sound of a trigger being pulled—

BANG!

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The eighth day since Maes Hughes died.

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Hair ruffled. Uniform wrinkled in twenty places. Heavier than usual eyebags.

This wasn't the image of a dignified military officer, but Roy didn't care as he got off the train. His palm slid down his face, the action slightly hindered as he touched the rough texture of the unchecked stubble on his chin.

He ignored the peace in his East HQ office. Ignored the lack of action, of life. He only dimly acknowledged how he missed the scent of a hastily put out cigarette. Or how he missed the meaty smell of bacon sandwiches that usually wafted from the second desk at his right. Or how he'd strain to hear the pitter-patter of nuts and bolts, as a piece of technology was being reconstructed and improved. Or how he'd seek to listen to the piece of random trivia that would spew forth to break the dull monotony.

He entered his inner office and pulled out folders, searching through profile after profile of alchemists who could probably help him with his problem. His numb hand strayed a little too far as he reached for a new stack across the desk, and knocked off the frame bearing the picture of him and his team. Glass shattered, but he merely disregarded it.

He operated like a puppet with strings pulled by an external force. He stood, he walked, he sat, etcetera. Stiff and numb. Stiff and numb, but he didn't think, didn't thi—

He felt desperate as the mountain of paper amassed higher and higher with every rejected profile of alchemists studying damn chimeras, damn biology, fucking water, bullshit energy, earthquakes, contracts…

He stopped before he pitched the last one to the side. Contracts?

His fingers ghosted over the cover, before he opened the file and read the name: Theofil Vertrag. Formerly known as the Deal Alchemist. Three years in prison. Released. Updated by Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

Ah, Roy recalled. The one who committed forgery and credit plagiarism. The one he had to act on in order to prove to all who were present that he and his people weren't to be trifled with.

Only the truly desperate would crawl to a kick-out like Vertrag.

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Seeking out the address in the file, he was mildly surprised to discover that it was the huge, rundown house he had passed by three times. The man he had come for answered him on his second knock.

"Oh," Vertag said flatly, lips curling. "It's you."

The man's red hair hung over his eyes in disarray and he hunched over like he had back pain. "You look like shit." Pot kettle black. "What are you doing here? Come to mock my bankrupt condition, Mustang?"

"I need your help," Roy rasped before he changed his mind. "I'll help you get back your certification if you have a contract that will undo the last seven days of my life."

Vertrag barked out a laugh. "Is this about the controversial act you did? It's all over the papers, you know?"

"Yes," Roy replied unflinchingly.

"Huh." Vertag inserted his index finger at the corner of his mouth, studying him. "You must be delusional to think I would help you. All my research was forged remember?"

"But you continued it anyway, didn't you?" Roy guessed.

"Of course," he answered. "I would be a fool not to. And I've got really good results this time! Three years in prison helped me clear my mind." He chuckled.

"I'll give you temporary access to your early research materials again," Roy offered, face scrunching. "Please."

Vertrag licked his lips. "Louder."

Roy stared at him for a beat, and then acquiesced. "Please."

"Apologize."

Expecting this, Roy breathed out. "I won't. You were at fault before. I'm sorry, but I won't apologize for something you have done wrong."

"Yeah, you're right."

The Colonel reeled back in surprise. He had expected denial, not affirmation.

A sigh. "I really did take advantage of Fullmetal. And hey! My time at prison helped me think rationally about my work without pressure and fear of being kicked out of the program! That's a plus."

"You seem…optimistic about this."

"Heh, you have no idea." Vertrag smiled brightly. "Alright, I'll help you. How soon can we get temporary clearance on my research?"

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Roy had the materials delivered an hour later. Vertrag was rubbing his hands together when they arrived.

"Awww, I missed them!" he gushed. "My babies! My masterpieces!"

He dug around as Roy watched.

"Here it is!" Vertrag pulled out a red folder underneath. "My early design for reversing time!"

He smacked it down on his table. "'Course I just need to adjust a few things." A pen seemed to appear in his hands out of nothing and he twirled it once before he started scribbling and redrawing.

Roy observed how the Deal Alchemist added symbols, measured the triangles with the ballpen cap, and dotted the i's of his elegant script.

"There." Vertrag marveled at his modified array. "I've been working on this particular one for some time. I assume you'll want a demonstration to certify my credibility, right?"

Roy nodded. "Of course."

Vertrag pulled out a tiny cage from under his table and set it on the top. Inside was a white rat with a bulging stomach. It was busy nibbling on a piece of crusty bread.

"Sweet Corduroy," Vertrag cooed. "I found her in my Corduroy pants," he told Roy. "She's been living in this dump for years, ahaha. Can you believe that? She even got herself pregnant. C'mere, Corduroy," he coaxed.

Corduroy the rat meekly exited her cage. In a flash, Vertrag had her in his grip, dropped her on the array, and activated it. Roy noticed that the Deal Alchemist's fingertips began whirling into spirals as it kept touching the edge of the circle. Like a clock.

"Tick tock." Vertrag's hand completed one revolution and between one blink and the next, the circle was crowded with furless rat babies. Roy's eyes widened, fascinated.

"Tick tock." Another revolution, and the baby rats had grown. Corduroy looked old and wrinkled, shivering in her own skin.

"Tick—"

"Stop," Roy said, not wanting to witness the mother rat die.

Vertrag stopped. "Okay then. I'll make it young once more!"

"What—"

Deal spiraled his hand counter-clockwise three times. The young spawn grew smaller before entering the womb. The mother rat grew healthier, and then its stomach shrank.

"There." Vertrag looked very proud of himself. "Now I don't have to worry about extra mouths to feed."

Roy realized he had been holding his breath. "What happened to the offspring?"

"Gone from existence." Vertrag waved a hand. "I'm worried about little Corduroy. She's pretty, see? I don't want any other rats having her."

"Ah," Roy responded, trying to not to be judgmental. "I'm impressed. Your arrays could actually reverse the natural flow of things."

"Nope," Deal disagreed, shaking his head. "It still can't reverse cold death."

Roy's hopes shattered like icicles. He wheezed out a laugh. "But what about Ross?" And Hughes?

Vertrag snorted. "That's warm death! It didn't occur more than a week ago, right?"

"The difference is in the number of days?" He gave him a skeptic look. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive."

"Then…let's get to business."

"Wow, you must be really desperate if you're willing to be my first human experiment," Vertrag said.

"There's really no other option" was Roy's response.

The redhead snatched a clean piece of paper. "Okay. So I need something in exchange from you to make this work."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"I need seven days of your life involving boring paperwork," Vertrag stated, gesturing at Roy. "In exchange for undoing the entire last week."

Roy's expression must've conveyed bewilderment because Deal elaborated further.

"It's base material for the array." He coughed. "Equivalent Exchange. You need to sacrifice something from your life to convert as energy to make time flow back."

Sacrifice days from his life, huh? The colonel mused over this. "What did the rat sacrifice?"

Vertrag shrugged. "I forced it to cast away some of her babes."

That…explained a lot of things.

"Okay, but why paperwork?" Roy questioned.

Vertrag shrugged some more. "Thought yah might not like boring paperwork. Easiest days to give. What do you say?"

He extended a hand. He looked sincere.

Roy shook on it.

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"So where could I tattoo an array on you?"

"Anywhere," Roy shrugged.

The redhead circled him once, humming. "The more blood underneath the array," he explained, circling like a vulture, "the stronger the deal is, and the more severe the consequences when either party breaks it."

Roy pondered this. Technically speaking, what his array would entail was only a simple exchange of days. "Place it on my wrist." He pointed at the exact location he desired it. "Above my artery." So he would see it everyday, and it would remind him of what he had done, help keep him from straying from the right path.

"Oh? Aren't you worried that others might see it when you go back a week from now?"

"I could hide it easily."

"Right then," Vertrag agreed.

The tattooing was a quick process and Roy managed to stay still despite the pain. Then the Deal Alchemist drew up the contract: the partner array to Roy's which was penned on parchment. He dropped his own blood on the paper, the excess of which splattered, before he took out his pen and signed his name on the north of the circle.

"If you would just sign…here." Vertrag's index finger tapped beneath the array and handed Roy his writing tool.

This was it. The solution to all his problems.

His fingers carefully inscribed the loop-de-loops and zigzags of 'Roy Mustang', and ended the tail of the letter 'g' with an upward flourish.

"What now?" Roy asked tiredly after emblazoning his name in neat cursive, handing back the pen.

"Now," Vertrag grinned. "You get what you signed for."

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I'll spin all the gold, if you give me First child-

In confusions' agreement, she cried & he smiled;

—Dr. O. Drew Larson, Poet, 1992, Rumpelstiltskin

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: #FirstFanfic

A very special thanks to my amazing, BADASS artists yanumii, kataraang0, and fmaquotesandmore for being so supportive and patient. And whose awesome works I'll link here as the chapters progress. You're the best! I wouldn't have any other :)

Thank you, Batsutousai, for being my beta reader. I apologize for making you suffer through my writing, but I really appreciate your fact-checking, grammar-checking, spelling checking, etcetera~ You really helped me out of a tight spot. Just...thank you :)

To my readers, enjoy my thirty-cups-of-coffee-induced work. Brace yourselves for the ride!