The first five days were the worst. Mustang had to be questioned, give an interview to the press, and then testify against Dunglar at the tribunal. Of course, Ed and Riza both had to be present for all of it. The man hadn't been working alone, no surprises there, and until his accomplices were rooted out, the lieutenant general was in ever-present danger. Ed had been running on nothing but coffee and fumes by the time investigations finally caught the second traitorous general, who admitted under interrogation that there were no more active threats among the brass.

Strangely enough, it wasn't Drachma but Creta that decided to exploit the weakness in the current Amestrian political climate to their advantage. The Amestrian embassy delegation was recalled immediately, and the threat of a new war was all but a visible miasma floating in the air with how Ed was about ready to choke on it.

Luckily, by the start of the next week the tensions were finally low enough that Riza decided to let him go. Ed had protested at first, unwilling to leave them, but Mustang took a good, long look at him and ordered him to "get some fucking sleep, Fullmetal. You're no help to anyone with those monstrous eye-bags". Ed sighed and admitted that he probably wasn't looking very threatening anymore.

After a whole week of catnaps on the spare cot in the supply room, the archives and the HQ dorms, taking off the stiff military regulation uniform and hitting the bed felt like pure heaven. When he woke up to find that Winry had crawled into his arms while he slept, Ed felt like the happiest man in the world. That is, until he remembered that it was a Monday, and he hasn't been to school in a week.

He groaned and tried to untangle himself from Winry without waking her, but that was a fruitless effort.

She kissed him first thing, hungry and desperate, and he forgot everything, melting into her embrace. Finally, she sighed into his mouth and poked him in the ribs.

"You need to go, Ed."

"I know." He made no move to get up. Winry smiled at him with sleepy mischief and Ed had just enough of a warning to jump away before she could push him off the bed entirely. Groaning regretfully, he abandoned the blankets and wandered to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, he looked at the clock above the kitchen table and realized that he'd miss the first period entirely, even if he hurried. He decided not to give a shit and went to wake Alphonse. He took a water bottle with.

They spend the next half hour having an all-out water fight. Winry sided with Al, the traitor. Ed complained to them about Mustang's smug face all through breakfast, stealing glances at Winry's amused blue eyes and poking Al in the flat stomach every time it looked like he was about to stop eating.

Ed never wanted that morning to end.

Like all good things in Ed's life, however, it wasn't meant to last, so he pulled on the first vaguely clean pair of pants and a t-shirt, grabbed his bag and ran.

He arrived, sweaty and panting, just as the bell signifying the start of second period pierced the air. He climbed the staircase, begging his aching leg and thighs to move, and looked over the notice board.

As he found the schedule and turned to go find his classmates, he suddenly found himself face to face with Mrs. Clemens. Her arms were crossed, and she was looking at him with an expression of genuine anger. On some level, he hadn't expected to ever see it, so was startled enough to allow her to take him by the shirt and drag him to the teachers' room.

He's only visited it once before. There were quite a few filing cabinets and a comfy-looking couch near the wall, but the woman pushed him into a stiff-backed chair facing a desk and sat across from him. Ed suddenly felt like he was about to be court-marshalled.

"You disappeared, Elric. None of your contact information is worth a cenz. I called your apartment building four times, and they told me you haven't been back since last Thursday! Where were you?!"

Ed opened his mouth to answer, but the look on Mrs. Clemens' face told him that she wasn't done.

"You missed a full week of classes, no warning, no explanation, not even a call to let me know you're still alive! Do you have any idea what kind of hot water you put me into? What in the world could be so important?"

He looked down to his lap. He really should have at least tried to call her, but the truth of the matter was, if he only had five minutes to use the phone, he was going to use them to talk to Winry or Al every time.

Now that her indignation was at least partially spent, Mrs. Clemens looked more tired than anything.

"I was at work. I'm really sorry for the trouble."

"For a whole week? Really?"

"Yea."

He was staring at his hands so he missed her reaction, but when she suddenly moved to take them into hers, her face was terribly serious.

"Edward, I'm not a useless piece of furniture, you know. I work here for a reason. My job is to look after you students, to serve as your support network. In other words, when something happens and you can't make it to school, you call me. If you're feeling unwell and need to leave, you talk to me. If you have any kind of problem that can interfere with your studies, you talk. To. Me. Even if it has nothing to do with school, when you're in trouble, I'm the one you should ask for help. That's what I'm here for."

She squeezed his hands, but didn't let go, even though Ed was sure his palms were cool and gross with drying sweat.

"The school hires people like me exactly because they want the students to have someone in the building that they can trust to keep their secrets and help them, no matter what."

She sighed and leaned closer. Her eyes were shining, and Ed suddenly realized that she had actually been worried. He felt even guiltier. That she looked a bit like Gracia wasn't helping either.

"Now, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you tell me what exactly happened. Spill."

Ed thought about it and realized he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He got up from the chair, ignoring her protests, checked the corridor (it was empty) and locked the door from the inside. Mrs. Clemens realized he wasn't trying to leave and watched him in confusion.

"I was at HQ. Have you seen the papers?"

She frowned.

"Are you talking about the furer?"

"Yea. It was a disaster."

"But what could you have done to help? You're just one boy…" Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm a lieutenant colonel. There was plenty of work for me." Ed was lying a little, of course. The only real work he'd had to do was stand by Mustang's side and be visible, but she didn't need to know that.

"You're a what?"

"A Lieutenant Colonel, as of three months ago."

She stared.

"How in the world…"

"That's not important."

"Oh, I think it is. Talk, Edward."

"Truth, alright, alright! How much do you know about the state alchemist program?" He started pacing.

"…Not much. Are you saying…"

"That I am one. Yea."

There was a pause. Mrs. Clemens's face was a mask of disbelief.

"I thought you just… made a mistake, enlisted for the money and wanted to leave before they get their claws into you, but… How long have you been in the military?"

"Four years now. Since I was twelve."

"Twelve…" her eyes closed, and then Ed saw it dawn. "Fullmetal? The youngest state alchemist in history? That's you?"

Ed nodded.

"God… I thought your name sounded familiar. I thought your father might have been someone famous…"

"My useless excuse for a father had a different last name!" Ed hissed though his teeth. Even after everything, mentioning Hohenheim was still bound to make him mad. Then he remembered who he was talking to. "Sorry. Just… can you not talk about him?"

"Did… did your father… do something? Was that why…"

It took Ed far too long to get her meaning, and then his face went red, from embarrassment and anger in equal measures.

"No, what the fu… I mean, why would you think that?" Many people had tried to talk to him about his father, but no one had accused the old fart of beating on him before. That was new.

"Well, I'm guessing you didn't sign up just for giggles. You must have needed to get away from something, or…"

"You're wrong." It wasn't about getting away. It was about getting back.

Mrs. Clemens made him sit and wait for a bit while she sorted out her thoughts.

"It's not that you don't want to tell me… You think you can't. Am I right?"

Ed didn't reply.

"Alright. You've been suspended for two days. If it were purely up to me, I would've made it longer. You look exhausted. Go home Edward. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow, I'll prepare your make-up package."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

"Edward… Please, just call me next time. I promise I'll hear you out."

Ed slept all through the evening, and then he and Winry were up all night doing their own… catching up. By the time Ed dragged himself out of bed again, it was early afternoon. Resisting the urge to laze about some more, he walked to the school and took his papers from the receptionist. The woman, whose name he still haven't bothered to ask, looked at him with disapproval, and Ed felt like a kid caught with a cookie before dinner. Frankly, it was hilarious.

When he got back, he stopped at the phone to dial HQ. Mustang was in a meeting with other generals, but Havoc updated him that, no, nobody else got killed yet, and no, there was no need for him to come back. He also asked him "how was school, kid", to which Ed replied with a very satisfied "fuck you" and hung up.

He finished the homework in one evening, and then cooked dinner for once. He was very proud when Al didn't leave a single bite on his plate. Winry even kissed him on the cheek. She never did that.

The next couple of weeks were mostly peaceful. Ed caught up on his sleep, did his laundry, went back to school, listened to the reprimands of his teachers with a poker face and pretended not to hear the whispers that followed him in the corridors. It seemed, he's become some sort of a class-skipping legend already. Ha, if only they knew. He'd actually skipped whole years.

His classmates, he discovered, were a different bag of crazy. The girl he complemented on the first day, Milly, took the seat to the right of him when he came back, and hissed at anyone who so much as looked at him funny. A darker-skinned kid, Joe (Ed couldn't remember his last name), asked him to come and play football after school, and even though Ed had had to decline 'cause playing football with a metal foot wasn't a great idea, he made sure not to be an asshole about it.

However, a few people had seemingly decided that Ed must be a delinquent, and started avoiding him. Ed was unbothered. It wasn't as if he was going to school to make friends, and even as a famous state alchemist, he was rather used to being treated like garbage, even by people he liked.

Then, there was Jayme Cougher. Turned out, the guy was something of a bully. He wasn't dumb enough to attack Ed outright, his military background apparently was an effective deterrent, but he was always trying to start shit. Making disparaging comments, getting in Ed's way, talking down to him and Milly, who glared and usually left in a huff if she could. Ed ignored the little shit with all the patience of a man who'd slummed it with a homunculus and two chimeras. He was actually kind of enjoying the look on the kid's face when he realized none of his taunts were having any affect.

Mrs. Clemens' art classes had finally started, and to her credit, the woman treated him no different from any other student, if you don't count frowning when all his art projects somehow grew inappropriate horns and spikes. Ed was having fun though.

He and Al were finally back to their training routine, now that Al's body had recovered enough. That gave Ed something to occupy his evenings. Ed also started on training himself out of the habit of clapping his hands at the first sign of danger. That could become a serious liability. He even visited the shooting range a few times on the weekends. He was getting pretty good with his aim, but had no illusions of ever coming close beating to Hawkeye's standing record.

Finally, at the start of October a call from the HQ came just as he was heading out to class. They've chosen a new furer. The name was unfamiliar. He had to attend the inauguration, of course.

"When is it?"

"Next Friday, ten a.m."

Mrs. Clemens nodded and made a note in her journal.

"Alright. I'll mark it as an excused absence. Thank you for informing me in advance, Edward."

She smiled at him, and Ed felt a bit better about the position he put her in. Just a bit though.

The day of the inauguration had, in the usual way of October days, dawned windy and wet. Ed put on the uniform and left for the HQ long before the ceremony was scheduled to start. When he go there, Mustang's team was already getting into position.

The ceremony was long, and involved a lot of standing at attention, which Ed probably failed miserably. Mustang kept covertly rolling his eyes at him, but since it was a very grand occasion, could not exactly leave his place to reprimand him. Ed had to hold back a smug grin a few times.

The new furer's name was Dunkel. He looked to be in his fifties. Ed figured he was one of the generals who never agreed to the homunculi's offer and was sent to some provincial HQ, since he's never met him before. The man gave a rousing speech that had sounded like "blablabla country blalala glory blabla justice" to Ed, so he still had no idea what to expect of the guy. By the end of it, none of Ed's worries became any lighter. There was, after all, no guarantee that the new furer would be any more agreeable then Grumman. Frankly, with how fast the man had grabbed the seat, Ed very much doubted it.

Afterwards, Ed lingered to speak with Mustang, and the bastard promised to try and carefully figure out Dunkel's intentions. Ed quietly decided not to show his face at HQ for as long as possible. Maybe if he disappeared for a bit, Mustang would slip the old man his resignation papers while his attention is elsewhere, and he'd never have to actually talk to him. A man can dream.

There was another spot of trouble waiting for Ed the next day at school. Mrs. Clemens caught his eye in the corridor after physics and Ed, sighing, shuffled over to her classroom.

"Is there any particular reason you've decided that you can pick and choose which classes you will attend and which you won't?" she asked with an exasperated kind of frown.

Ed had to think for a second before he remembered.

"Oh. Right. You mean physical education."

"Well? Explanation, please."

Ed was of two minds about it. He really didn't want to drag the woman any deeper into his shit then he had to. The only way around was through, though, so he decided a half-truth was in order.

"How do you go about getting out of PE? Forever, I mean? Or for a year would be enough, I suppose…"

The woman's was getting mad now.

"But why wouldn't you just go? I don't see what the problem is. You were in the army, don't tell me you've never had any kind of physical training before. It's just another class. It's not even that hard!"

"No, it probably isn't, but there are a few reasons why I'd really prefer to avoid it."

"Well? What are they?"

Ed closed the door. Mrs. Clemens, remembering their last closed-door-conversation, sighed and leaned on a desk.

"Don't tell me, more military secrets?"

"Welllll… not quite. First off, I'm pretty heavily scarred. I can usually hide it under my clothes, but in PE something might easily go wrong. I really don't want to have to explain my old wounds to a PE teacher, or anyone else."

"It can't be that bad, surely…" she looked at him, concerned again. "Is it?"

"I did say heavily. My right shoulder looks like it's been mauled by a pair of bears, and it's not even the worst one."

Mrs. Clemens stared at his shirt, obviously trying to imagine what that would look like. Ed rolled his eyes at her.

"And the second reason?" she finally asked.

"I have an automail leg."

After she got over her astonishment, more at the fact that he managed not to inform the school somehow then at his metal limb, Mrs. Clemens explained that there was, indeed, a process for avoiding PE, and it included getting a waiver from a clinic. She didn't knew what the exact requirements for it were, but seemed sure that having a prosthetic leg ("honestly, Edward!") would be quite sufficient.

Trouble was, the military hospital didn't hand out these kinds of waivers. Not the exact document needed for a school, at least. It was just another dumb piece of bureaucracy that Ed would have to deal with, somehow.

Ed really didn't want to go to a civilian doctor. He'd probably have to fill out all sorts of forms, get about a hundred shots and actually talk to them. He's never had to talk to a doctor in his life, but judging by Dr. Knox, they weren't the friendliest bunch. And did he mention they might try to give him shots? It was going to be pure torture, he just knew it.

When he complained about it to Winry at dinner, she just laughed at him.

"Doctors can be perfectly nice, you idiot. Mom and dad were doctors, and they were very nice, weren't they? I'm a doctor too, in a sense…"

"Wait a second…" Ed almost choked. "Can you write me a waiver?"

"No, dumbass. I'm not a pediatrician, I'm an automail surgeon, and I don't even have my full license yet!"

"You don't? How come you were working alongside Granny then?"

"That was under her supervision. I'm not technically allowed to perform surgery, start to finish, without another qualified surgeon in the room."

"Huh. I didn't realize. What do you need to do to get a license?"

"I need to finish my automail engineer apprenticeship first, then I'll go to a medical university and get a surgeon's diploma. Then I'll need to perform a successful procedure with at least three qualified surgeons for witnesses, and I'm good."

For all that he's decided a long time ago that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Winry, Ed suddenly realized that, until that moment, he's had no idea what that would actually be like.

"So… You'll have to go back to Rush Valley at some point, then?" he asked, disappointed. Here he was, imagining that they will never have to part ways again.

"Yea. Not for very long, though," she added quickly. "I was almost done with it by the time everything went to hell. Maybe six month, at most."

That wasn't as bad as he was expecting.

"Ok. I suppose you can keep the ring, then."

"Whaaaaat?!"

When Al finally came home, he saw Winry sitting calmly at the table, drinking her tea, while Ed, still snickering, was at the sink, trying to get the sauce stains out of his white shirt. He shrugged at the usual mayhem and left them to it. Hopefully, Winry didn't just dump the whole pot on Ed's head this time. Cooking for himself would be a bother.