Author's Note: I'm still deciding if I want to keep chapters long or shorter like the previous one. Also, I think I'm going to try and shoot for regular updates at the beginning of every month or so, perhaps a second in the middle of a month if I'm feeling ambitious. Fair?

He had been dismissed. Sent back to the tiny room he had awoken in and left alone for hours. At least he thought it had been hours and the ache in his feet agreed. There was no clock to indicate the time, nor were there any windows—most likely a precaution set by the Crow should Roy feel inclined to escape from the top of the six story complex with a next to useless leg. As he wasn't predisposed to committing suicide by falling anyway, the most he could do in his drab room was think.

His hands were still bound so finding a way out of his fifteen by fifteen box without alchemy was going to be tricky—improbable, considering his current state. Flinging himself as gently as he could onto the mattress, he huffed and clenched his teeth, disregarding the slight pain in his cheeks where they had been swollen from before. Riza would know what to do. Probably. She always had a plan, no matter the situation, and she invariably kept her cool during times like these; he couldn't exactly say the same for himself, especially right now.

Damn it!

He could feel himself growing increasingly agitated—not for the first time today—and wished there was someone here he could at least talk to, bounce ideas off of, plot with, something. He hadn't created his unit back home for nothing. Of course, there wouldn't be anyone he could have a decent conversation with unless he got out of this damn fortress anyway and he was back at square one again, tearing at his hair and chewing the insides of his bruised cheeks.

Though it alleviated the silence, rattling the chains around his wrists only made him more anxious, and after staring at the smooth metal for who knows how long, he began to sink further and further into the recesses of his mind, digging through memories for anything that might help him escape. He leaned back, resting his head against the plain headboard, his chin drooping lower and lower.

"When you begin to misunderstand, doubt, even fear your worth, widen your mind. Let its defilement of itself be cleansed by the cadence of air flowing throughout your body, your deep concentration on your surroundings, and let your mind achieve purity."

Roy let his mind stumble upon the calming words from the Ishvalan monks during the daily meditation hour at the temples, and, though he couldn't exactly guess why, felt it embrace the lesson wholeheartedly. His brow relaxed and the chains felt lighter on his hands.

"Once you have achieved mindful insight, only then will you be able to begin the process of cleansing. One—recognize that you are suffering. You cannot move on if you refuse to acknowledge your despair. Two—identify the cause. What seems to be may not be. Three—determine a cure. Renounce your despair and understand. Four—find the cure. You may search your whole life before attaining complete release."

He frowned, remembering the talk he'd had with one of the teachers at the temple—although meditation would probably help cool his temper, he didn't exactly see how it was going to help him escape. He also did not have his whole life to wait before he figured this out. He sighed dejectedly and pushed the memories from post-reformed Ishval to the rim of his brain, but continued to delve into his head for anything else.

"Oh look, the State Alchemist tests must be soon, 'cause Colonel Jackass decided to actually come out and practice this year!"

Roy snorted, his eyes still closed. Fullmetal was definitely not going to be of any help, even if his lighthearted humor was exactly what Roy needed right now. He hoped the kid was doing alright. And staying out of this debacle.

A glint streaked across his eyelids and he cracked them open, unsure of whether or not he actually had the brain capacity to truly solve the issue at hand. He was exhausted and still recovering from Macer's brutal injuries—he was going to kill that bastard if he ever got out of here—exasperated at the impossibility of everything that had happened so far except that it had, and generally feeling downright miserable. He felt like throwing a goddamn tantrum at the futility of everything, except he was thirty-four and that was no doubt unacceptable, especially if he wanted to prove to Father Dear he was a formidable adversary and someone he would regret ever trifling with. If Riza were here, she'd berate him for being so self-pitying and to please get your sorry ass up and maybe do something useful, sir, but she wasn't and he was going to have to start getting used to her absence if he never did anything about his current position.

Sighing heavily once more, he figured that he might as well do something other than sitting languidly in bed; if thinking about escape wasn't going to help, getting back in shape might. Getting up from the bed, he laid down carefully on the floor, his knees drawn up at an angle and pushed himself into a sit-up position. His capture had thrown off his entire exercise routine—he didn't even want to think about how much mass he had lost during Macer's visit—and he had felt extraordinarily weak just walking to and from his…awkward reunion dinner with his father. Formidable adversary, indeed.

Roy still hadn't come to terms with that revelation. How convenient was it for someone like the Crow, a complete outsider, to declare himself the missing parent of one of the most prominent military officers in Amestris? Was he really that easy to manipulate, that transparent to read? The Crow—Alexander Mustang, he had called himself—had not been fazed, irked, or even bothered by Roy's violent outburst at the admission; he had simply brushed him aside like he hadn't expected anything else and brought the hammer down, refusing to argue, compromise, or concede. There had been no emotion in his countenance, merely plain indifference. If he really was his father, why didn't he even care?

I wish I loved you.

Roy hadn't seen that one coming. Yet it felt like it…fit, in a pathetic sort of way. All his life, he had silently resented his father for dying (with no real cause, it seemed)—he admitted it was rather childish to hold that kind of grudge against a dead man, but it did nothing to abate that absorbing feeling of abandonment. Now that he had unexpectedly turned up alive and was planning to overturn everything he had fought and stood for, well, Roy regretted he hadn't thrown the Crow's words back at him.

I wish I loved you too.

Ania spared a pitiful glance at the blonde woman passed out on the floor in front of her—a look which quickly turned to disdain and disappointment. To be honest, she had expected more of a confrontation with Riza Hawkeye that included at least some swearing and a few violent outbursts from all three parties, but strangely, Macer had behaved himself and Riza had remained somewhat calm and cool throughout the entire, very short, encounter. At least, until she had passed out. Ania quickly decided Miss Hawkeye would prove a difficult captive in Aerugo; Roy, on the other hand, had been a little more malleable than she had assumed, considering the sudden reappearance of his father and the ultimatum she knew he had prepared for her unsuspecting brother.

Macer was still bouncing on the couch, his glee hardly contained. "The Crow is gonna love this. When are we gonna tell him?"

Ania ignored him and stepped over Riza, still deciding on how to go about this search-turned-kidnapping. Leaving without Miss Hawkeye was definitely not an option, but taking her back to the Crow would prove arduous, especially since they did not have the luxury of drugs to keep her unconscious during the transportation. She had been too much in a hurry to reach Eastern Command and she berated herself for not coming prepared.

Crouching down, she pursed her lips at the shoulder injury Macer had inflicted. "Always the showoff, aren't you?" she muttered. With practiced fingers, she plucked the small knife from Riza's relaxed muscle, tossed it back to Macer, and pressed her hand to the wound. Ania winced at her flesh shredding off her bone, but seeing it knit together again on Riza's skin, she quirked her lips. What a disturbing wake-up call you'll have, Hawkeye. Sorry I can't be there to witness it.

A phone was ringing again somewhere in the small kitchen, its shrill tone jolting Ania from her attention to Riza.

"Gonna get that, boss?" Macer bounded off the couch and crouched by Riza's still form, fingers wiggling over his knife in her shoulder. Blood was beginning to dry on her collar, looking almost black in the hazy lamplight. He looked absolutely ecstatic.

"Don't touch that," Ania snapped. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to keep up pretenses that Miss Hawkeye was not, in fact, in the process of being kidnapped, and would answer her phone under normal circumstances. "And don't interrupt me." She gingerly picked up the phone, her gloved hand flicking a few fingers out in warning, and turned her back on Macer. "Hello?" Her voice rapidly appropriated Riza's low, but strikingly feminine timbre, a far cry from Ania's own androgynous accent.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye. Major General Ranford. I tried calling earlier, though it appears you now have the courtesy to answer a direct call from your superior."

Ania's frown deepened. She felt insulted—even though it technically wasn't her this Major General Ranford was spouting to—and almost had a mind to throw the phone back into its receiver, pretenses be damned.

"I've some notes I'd like to finalize with you concerning the schedule for our trip to Central." At this, she felt her mood lighten considerably. So Riza Hawkeye had been preparing for a visit to Central? At a time like this? Ania could almost feel the gears in her head cranking up a few speeds.

"Of course, sir. Though perhaps it would be better to discuss the plans in person?" Ania imitated, the words sliding easily from her lips.

Major General Ranford paused. "I suppose that would be best, considering this isn't a very secure line."

Ania grinned in the darkened kitchen and almost forgave the imbecile on the other end. He had bought it.

With his boss's back turned, Macer chose this moment to let out a high-pitched shriek of wicked satisfaction, his delight unable to be contained the more he pranced around Riza's slumped body.

"What's that?"

Ania cursed and spun around, fingers curling into claws as she recognized another of Macer's inconsistent fits into slight insanity. "Get out!" She hissed as quietly as she could. Unfortunately, the phone was too sensitive and Major General Ranford didn't hesitate.

"Lieutenant Colonel. What in the hell is going on?"

Ania immediately jumped into the first answer her stuttering mind offered. "There's an intruder. Excuse me, sir."

"An intruder? Good god, sold—"

She flung the phone as hard as she could into a corner of the kitchen and almost tackled Macer, taking care not to step on Sleeping Beauty passed out on the floor. Ania was furious now. She and Macer went tumbling into the couch—Macer still cackling—and she managed to catch his warbling throat in a hold, her fingers trembling with irritation.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Macer crowed, gasping for breath in between chortles, his mind elsewhere.

"Shut the hell up!" Ania twitched her fingers, her invisible hold on him tightening. "We have one chance at this, and you are making it impossible!" Couldn't Father ever give her a competent partner for once?

"Lieutenant Colonel! Answer me goddamnit!"

Ania could hear Major General Ranford's yell from across the room, but she had no intention of answering him. Instead, she slapped Macer across his crazed face and growled, stomped over Riza, and cut the connection. "I have to do everything myself," she huffed, her face pink from the small exertion, and loomed over Macer, his eyes bulging from Ania's chokehold around his neck. "Listen to me, you senseless lunatic. You've left me with no choice."

Macer only licked his lips in response, his face slowly turning a light shade of purple.

"I suppose I'm going to regret this later, but you are going to take Miss Hawkeye back to Aerugo and my father." She loosened her grip.

He still didn't reply, but it appeared the fit had passed as he didn't look as deranged.

"Get her there as quickly as possible. Treat her however you see fit. Though my father will expect her in one piece and alive in perfect health when she is delivered to him. God help you should you decide to…defile her," Ania scowled, still irked by Macer's ill-timed outburst and the opportunities he had cost them. "You know her worth."

"You trust me that much, boss?" said Macer, finally, any hint of the maniacal fit evaporating.

"No," she immediately said, silently making a note to permanently maim Macer once this was all over. "But you leave me no choice," she repeated, still weighing her options, and studied the woman on the floor thoughtfully. "Miss Hawkeye is due for a visit to Central sometime soon. And that is one convenience Father will be most pleased about." Ania spread her hand, completely freeing Macer from her hold. "It's been a while since I've been to Central."

He cocked his head in realization and grinned again. "You're not going to—"

"Oh yes."

Ania looked back to her partner and her body began to metamorphose from the head down. Black hair rippled into blonde strands, her immaculate pantsuit thickened into Amestris's standard military uniform, and again her voice adopted the harsh, yet smooth inflection. Riza Hawkeye sneered down at Macer in the dim light, brown eyes gleaming.

"It's been a long time since I went hunting."

Author's Note: Please review! :)