Chapter 38

It took time to get Ed calmed down enough to let go of him. Enfield considered resorting to the needle or hitting the emergency response button more than once. But Ed was already on some kind of medication, and he had no idea if giving him more could put him at risk. And it wasn't a true emergency. He could handle this, it just...it went on longer than seemed healthy, and if it wasn't going to resolve without some form of intervention, the sooner that intervention came, the better.

He switched to a full restraining grip and got the opposite of what he was striving for. Clearly, the medication wasn't very strong, or Ed's agitated state had rendered it useless. What was a sort of unfocused struggle turned into full-blown fight to escape.

Enfield held on tighter, but changed up his tactics, turning his captive so they faced each other, keeping the potentially hazardous automail arm pinned but letting the other arm go free. With his lips up close, his words were unavoidable, and in this forced bear hug he clearly and firmly delivered his assurances and instructions. Ed's head smacked against his face a few times, but by staying very close, there was no way for him to get any force behind that move. It was hard to tell if it was intentional; but with the way his free arm was pushing and flailing instead of punching and clawing, Ed's focus was obviously on getting away, not on attacking. Enfield just tipped the top of his head even closer. An ear is far more tender that a skull; the next sideways head-bash probably caused the kid to hurt himself pretty good. Ed made a dropping move then, probably in surprise at the pain, trying to duck down and away, and Enfield followed smoothly, bringing him right back up as soon as the downward travel stopped. Detain, contain, and refrain from harming your subject, rang an old phrase from his MP training. He'd advanced out of the MP's because he was damned good at it. Using his prisoner's center of gravity against him, it was possible to keep this under control as long as it took, physically.

But it was wearing on Ed's mental state fast, and total defeat was the wrong goal here. He had to remind himself that he might be perceived as an enemy, or just about anything, really, depending on where Ed's head was at. They were just about through with the major scuffle, it was time to work on getting his senses working again. Once he was able to take in his actual surroundings, all this would resolve itself. Before that could happen, Ed needed some help understanding that he was being cared for and protected, despite how this physical encounter must feel to him.

"Let me help you, Ed. You're hurting yourself now, you know I can't let you go until I know you're going to be all right. You hurt me, too, you know that? You don't like hurting people. I know you don't. You're a good guy, Ed. What you're doing there, it's gonna be painful. Let's stop before you do some real damage."

That seemed to get through a bit; Ed managed to stop struggling, upper body swelling against his embrace with each labored breath, the air used to vocalize his distress instead. He went from being silent but for his grunts of effort and strain, to deep primal noises of distress and presumably attempts at verbal protest. His cries ramped up quickly to full, incomprehensible volume. If this was communication on anything more than a raw, animalistic level of expressing the need to be set free, it was not making the transition from brain to mouth.

It wasn't pretty to hear, and he began to wonder if it was truly physically safer than fighting. Edward was completely unintelligible, so loud that he was drowning out all or part of what was being said to him, and his whole body quaked to the point where it was uncertain whether it might be the beginning of some sort of seizure. Maintaining that secure bear hug, it was difficult for Enfield to estimate how long to ride out the episode before seeking help. As long as Ed was getting enough air and accepting captivity, how far was too far when it came to wild, insane behavior? If it wasn't for the uncertainty about the previous medication, this would be an easy call since the shot was the usually the safest route to go. Ed choked a little, throwing a pause in his outburst, and Enfield dove at the opportunity to take up his dialogue again. He took the risk of loosening up his force against the automail to pat Ed's back, an unspoken but universally understood kindness to help him stop coughing.

Experience and patience won out. The more he spoke, the less disturbing the responses became. Ed slowly became more aware of himself and his inability to express what he was feeling when he tried to force it out too hard. It looked like they finally found some light at the end of the tunnel. Which was in line with his expectations; a kid like this, no matter how manic, was well within his ability to control. He seemed unharmed, and that was the main thing.

Ed came to understand, through the slow penetration of touch and sound, that he was being embraced by someone familiar who was trying to help him. Fear and dark confusion aside, it seemed as though he'd been in an emergency situation and lost it, and he couldn't get his brain to kick over and bring him back up to speed with the particulars. It felt as though he was still in the midst of some terrifying event, but he couldn't grasp his situation. This was his room, and this was Enfield, he knew the guy, he could smell him and he seemed right. His voice had been really loud, yelling in fact, but it wasn't a panicked or angry yell, and now that they weren't struggling, he was quieter and kind of warm. All soldier, this guy. Ed couldn't feature him spending the time to be this compassionate if something awful was actually happening; he'd be taking action to resolve the problem. His kindly behavior just added to the confusion.

"That's it. Breathe, man, you're getting all red in the face. I want you to keep listening to me. Okay? You're fine now. Everything is all right. You know I'm just here to help you. All right?"

Ed gasped, succumbing to another series of jarring, barking coughs that finally cleared his throat. Enfield was moving, and although he was still close, he had released the bear hug, and Ed started to stress with the loss of the protective support.

He jerked back when something touched his lips only to find it was his water cup, held by the sympathetically clucking Corporal. As much as he disliked being babied, there was no denying how shaky and insecure it felt to be suddenly let go of like that, and the drink provided the relief he needed to fully get control of his actions.

"Easy, now, sorry if I startled you. You know I'm not trying to hurt you. Good. Go slow. Finish that and I'll get you more."

Idiot, I know you're not trying to hurt me... The sharp retort died in his mouth. Enfield had a no-nonsense way of dealing with his episodes most of the time, and he was being gentle and far less physical than in the past. Rather than holding him in the usual jailor's hold, Enfield's arm had moved around his shoulders, more in support than restraint. He really did seem to be worried. It struck him as completely sincere.

Ed's hair fell forward, covering his downcast eyes. Fighting with Enfield didn't make any sense. He wasn't really sure what just happened, or what he had done to put his guard on full alert, but whatever it was, it was pretty physical. He couldn't detect any personal injury, just an ache from his own blunder banging his ear and head. And this man was an expert at hand-to-hand combat, he remembered that from some past conversation with Havoc, so it was unlikely that he'd been able to do anything to hurt him – which was a relief.

He might have made some embarrassingly lame effort to try, though. There was a struggle between them, that much he figured out, and the Corporal was sure being nice about it.

"Thanks," he panted, the hydration allowing his voice to soften, testing to see if it was safe to loosen up and relax a little.

"You bet. No problem. Let's go back over here and sit you down, huh? It'll be a little bit longer before your medication wears off." It seemed like Ed was hesitant, so he tried encouraging him. "I'll help you if you want me to. Get settled and then you'll probably be able to tell me what's bothering you, okay? Sounds like you need to get some things off your chest."

"No. No, I..." Ed frowned and shook his head while complying, immediately setting out to do exactly as he was asked. To Enfield it looked like some of Ed's classic confused and erratic behavior; but in fact, Ed was only denying the need to speak out. He was fine with going back to the bed to rest and gather his thoughts. He wasn't exactly sure whether it was a good idea to ask what just happened, and although a glance around the room brought back the peculiar fact that Al really had left, it felt unreal, like a dream, and he had a hard time understanding what made his brain fill up with such static. It seemed to be okay that Al left without him. That alone was stunning in its utter nonsense.

"Take your time. You got a little shaken up there, that's all. It's a lot to take in all at once." Enfield allowed himself a slight smile, and it was genuine. He was very relieved to be past the risk of a renewed altercation.

"Yeah." He shook his head, still wrestling to make sense of the scattered bits of information and not looking up. A firm hand was warm on his shoulder, anchoring, and he was glad that his only source of human contact hadn't gone back to his former position standing guard across the room. Enfield didn't seem conflicted or confused. Maybe there was no reason to be alarmed. He remembered now that the orderly had escorted his brother out and he'd accepted the reason for it at the time, although he worried that he may not have been sharp enough to screen the plan sufficiently before giving his approval, especially since he knew almost nothing of the details now. "Al had to go, didn't he? It's safer for him, right? He's safer now."

"That's right, you're absolutely right. He's nice and secure now. And we'll be following along so you can join him soon enough; until then, you've got me here, nobody gets in that door unless I let 'em, so don't you worry. Everybody's safe." Enfield watched Ed worm around, like the confusion was making him physically uncomfortable. He kept a hand on him to reduce the time it would take to move or restrain him, if need be. He looked a little nauseous.

"Where? What place? Is it…is it…" he wasn't even sure what to ask about the new location. He felt safe enough here, and Al did, too, so it was hard to think of just up and moving with no warning. "But we'll be able to come back here later, right? It's not for good, is it?"

"I'm sure this move is for the best. I don't know all the details, Ed, but if you guys want to come back here after the alert, we'll just ask and see what they say, okay? I'm pretty sure this is temporary. The Colonel went to a lot of trouble to set this place up so if you wouldn't be allowed to come back, there'd have to be some really legitimate reason."

Enfield caught himself doing it again – talking to Ed like he was capable of understanding things like a sane person. Ed didn't react; so it was hard to tell if he was accepting or rejecting the reassurance.

Maybe it was too complex, or it just didn't get through the first time.

"Maybe I can explain it to you a little better…"

"No. I got it. I got it. It just…" Ed stomach churned and he squeezed his middle tight with both arms, to steady himself against the emotional brew that was trying to rise up again. The world felt risky and uncertain, and with Al out of sight there was no real proof that anything was 'all right.' If only the Major, or Havoc, or even Mustang were there to provide their assurance that this move was one hundred percent the right thing to do. If this uncertainty went on too long, it would become unbearable. Worry easily turned to panic when it came to Alphonse's safety, and that panic would take over his brain and even his body eventually. He might lose the mental discipline to resume focus on his important plans. "Soon. You said we'd go soon, right?"

"That's what Corporal Thompkins told us, remember?"

"I don't like that guy. I never liked that guy."

"Sorry you feel that way, but he is a good man. Al's in capable hands, you'll see. You okay now? You seem to be breathing easier. You aren't hurting anywhere, are you?" Enfield noted that Ed's ear was still red, so he expected to hear something about that, at least.

"No," Ed gave his automatic reply, because the question was really whether he had any new pain, anything above and beyond the usual amount he tolerated daily, and there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. So 'no' wasn't a lie, not technically. The pain in his ear didn't make the bottom of the scale compared to his leg, and he didn't consciously notice it was still there when he gave his answer.

"If you're sure. You look a little pale."

"It's...I want to see the Colonel. I need to talk to him." He did feel pale, inside. That wasn't good. He needed to feel strong and in control. This situation was so off-balance, so hard to grasp. How they could be separated like this, and on top of it, not knowing where Al was staying – again. It was Mustang's orders to keep them apart months ago, and he was doing it now, even though he knew how awful that was for them both. To get a grasp, to make sense of it...he needed an explanation.

Enfield kept his expression neutral and told a reassuring white lie.

"Colonel's really busy with the base on alert, Ed. You know that. But I'll make sure to pass on the request. Just don't expect him anytime soon. Okay?"

Ed's head wandered, not really in a nod or a shake. It wasn't okay but it was outside of his ability to do anything about it. Enfield was in the dark about some of this, he'd said so himself, possibly without realizing it. Wisps of a familiar trapped and helpless feeling threatened to turn his bowels to jelly.

"Not gonna be sick, are you?"

A little startled that it was that obvious, Ed shook his head quickly, then turned slightly away. Was it the look on his face? He didn't like being over-analyzed, especially when he was taking care to sit where he was told and not make any trouble.

Enfield felt like that move was a sort of dismissal; Ed had probably gotten his fill of being supervised too closely.

"Fair enough. If you're sure you're not feeling bad, I'll stop bugging you. Okay if I take a seat over here for a while? You can rest up while we wait."

Ed nodded again, stiffly, gnawing at his lower lip, wanting to protest but reluctant to get into a discussion about his feelings of insecurity. The forewarning only increased the suspense of waiting for that hand to lift and leave him all alone. His guts were a little more twisted, and the anxiety was coming back with a vengeance, but he managed to keep his hands from flying up to stop Enfield from moving away. It was a matter of regaining control, and with everything going on, he couldn't allow his weaknesses to win out again.

It would be okay, if he just toughed it out. Once he had Al back in his sight, once Havoc and Armstrong came back, it would be okay no matter where they were. It would be frightening but as long as it didn't turn into panic and steal away his ability to think, it would all be okay. Just to be sure, he decided to keep his head down and track the Corporal's movements in the room by listening. That way, he wouldn't be able to catch sight of Al's empty bed, and risk adding to that awful feeling in his stomach again.

Just like this, as long as Enfield moved from time to time so he could tell he was still there, just barely, he could stand to wait.

Xxxx

"You've been warned, Colonel, and I'm not going to cover for you if you keep disobeying." Riza glared down her nose at the unruly patient messing with the tubes he had been instructed to leave alone.

"I can't get up with all this crap hanging all over me," he grunted, fumbling to get enough play in the lines to move freely.

"You're not getting up. If it wasn't for the medication you'd be in too much pain to even consider it. You just got here, behave yourself and follow Dr. Gansworth's orders."

"He's not my superior, damn it. It's the other way around."

"That's not necessarily true when you're a patient, and you know it."

A low moan, issued from the other side of the curtain, froze them instantly.

"Oh, shit," he muttered under his breath.

"See there?" she hissed. "We're bothering Havoc."

"I hope not. Look and see if he's awake."

Riza hesitated before peering around the sagging cotton drape, careful not to rattle the beaded chains that held it aloft. The bed was dimly visible on the unlit side of the room, its occupant flat on his back, strapped, collared, padded and wedged to prevent the slightest potentially damaging shift in his immobilized spine.

On closer inspection, Second Lieutenant Havoc was completely motionless but for his respiration, pale and somewhat gray in complexion. He was supposed to be sedated well enough that talking wouldn't bother him, but it still came as a shock to see the boyish daredevil shrouded in such fragile silence.

Hovering with breath held for a few moments, she watched for any twitching or change in the speed of the steady rise and fall of his heavily bandaged chest. He didn't show any other sign of movement, so it must have been an errant, unconscious noise. It seemed wrong to keep staring at him; yet when she started to turn away, it felt like it was wrong to leave him alone. She shook it off. He was in deep sleep, and while there was a curtain, she would still be right there across the room. The impression that he would be know on some level that no one was next to him was strictly her imagination. Her obligation was clear. When she reappeared, moving past the curtain again with great care, the Colonel's worried eyes met hers, waiting.

"He's still asleep. Probably just a dream," she said, swallowing her personal distress and trying to soften the guilt written all over his face. "He's being good and doing what you should be doing."

"I need to brief Armstrong. If it'll make you feel better, I'll use a wheelchair to get there, but there are things he needs to know while he's in my seat."

Before she managed to launch into her argument, the door slowly began to crack open. Just as quickly, she did an about-face to intercept the unknown visitor, her focus switching abruptly to protecting her charges.

"I understand you want to talk to me," intoned the deep, melodic baritone, greatly subdued in deference to the need for quiet on the ward.

Perfect timing, Hawkeye sighed, stepping up to receive the proffered identification. She was on the verge of asking about sedation or restraints for Mustang, something that would put everyone at a disadvantage – but in a choice between that and letting him further aggravate such serious injury, it was fast becoming her only option.

It occurred to her, as it often did, that she was quite fond of the gentle giant filling the doorway, humbly saving the day once again.

"What are you doing here, Major? You need to direct operations from my office. Fuery should have the communications up, and Central...what do they know so far?"

"Sir. We've fully executed "Y" level sweeps and at this point everything checks out. There's been no movement in the vicinity; no indication that anyone outside of our patrol is aware that anything occurred at all." Armstrong was painfully impressed with the Colonel's businesslike expression. He looked awful, much as he tried to pretend that he was fine. Sweat trickled down from his temples, while his hands trembled gently, as if from a chill; and nowhere in memory had the man ever been even remotely this pale. The dark circles forming under his eyes had a decidedly green cast. On the whole, his visage was as distressing as it was distracting, and he could not afford to dwell on it further. The Lieutenant was entirely capable of looking after him, and his concern was not needed as a practical matter. "Since there hasn't been a pressing need to confer with Central, I have not."

"Is anyone checking inside the warehouse for evidence? We need to figure out if this was the homunculus' home territory. It might be the best lead so far in figuring out where this "Envy" is that Ed described. I can't be 100% sure, but I don't believe that Envy is the same person that attacked us."

"We've still got people there, Sir, but as of yet they haven't found much. The men are in constant communication via the long-range wireless set, so we will know right away if they do. The building is indeed vacant and there was no sign of recent habitation. As far as anything unusual, just charred flooring and a fair share of blood from the two of you. And precisely as you described, there was no dead body. No noticeable activity in any of the neighboring area, either. She may have been operating alone. My preliminary conjecture is that she was stalking Lt. Havoc and wasn't expecting him to have the 'big guns' along to complicate things. My crew is cleaning up as they go and they've been instructed to leave it as it would have been before you arrived. If the female homunculus had companions, they'll be looking for her eventually, and the less they know the better."

"Maybe they'll come by to file a 'missing persons' report," Mustang snipped with a frown, shifting restlessly in creeping discomfort. "Sounds like you're covering all the bases."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye briefed me and I tried to apply your orders and philosophy as best I could, sir. Things are under control at the moment, you should start concentrating on your own recovery."

"What about the boys, Major. How did they react when you had to leave?"

"Edward has been incredibly lucid this week, there wasn't any sort of emotional outburst or uncontrolled behavior – but for that same reason, it was difficult to reassure him that this was just a drill. But Enfield is with them, and the mild sedative Dr. Gansworth sent over worked wonders. When last I saw them they were quite cooperative. They haven't used the call button. No word of any problems. "

"Huh." Mustang shook his head, surprised but in a good way. "So that's one good thing, at least."

"There, you see? You've nothing to concern yourself with for the time being, Colonel. You need to rest," Hawkeye chimed in.

"I second that, sir. Strategically, this is best time for you to recuperate."

The starch seemed to go out of the fallen officer's sails. He let a tiny spark of relief nestle into his troubled gut, and it took over before he knew it, sapping his stubborn will and spiriting away the last of his energy. They eased him back and down, and unless someone was messing around dimming the room lights, he had to accept that his body was about to comply with their wishes any minute, whether his mind wanted to or not.

And he really did not want to.

"Watch over everyone, Major. Take care of them...and yourself...and..."

Hawkeye grit her teeth as he went limp, waiting with a worried lump in her throat until the Colonel's chest began to rise and fall again. He didn't go down, this man; he didn't fall without fighting back up. She'd seen him injured, exhausted, mourning and in despair. But never this badly hurt. Never this helpless, so much so that he voluntarily relinquished his perch of power, even temporarily.

Sometimes, with the horrible, unimaginable skill he had for annihilation, it was too easy to think of him as indestructible; as if the greater his talent for slaughter, the more his own risk of mortality fell in reverse proportion.

"It's all right, Lieutenant," Armstrong said in somber support. "It's the very best thing for him right now."

His deep, subdued voice was so expressive of his gallant, caring nature that it brought the stinging temptation of tears to her bright blue eyes. It was always unspoken but understood that he would let her lean on him, and he would comfort her like a gentleman if she let it all out.

And as always, that was out of the question, of course. She cleared her throat and stood up straight, like a proper soldier. This was her watch, and the mission she solemnly pledged to risk her life for. As long as he drew breath, she was honor-bound to watch over him without pause, without wavering.

"Yes, Major. It is, thanks to your help. Please, I have the situation here under control now. I know you're needed in the command center."

"Quite. Glad to be of service. Carry on, Lieutenant." Armstrong resisted the urge to ask about Havoc. The staff at the nurse's desk gave him information on the status of both men on the way in; their assessment of Mustang's condition was accurate, so he didn't feel the need to verify Havoc's. Lieutenant Hawkeye's silence on the subject, no doubt in deference to the Colonel's need for rest, was good enough. If something was amiss, she would have pulled him aside to tell him. With a nod and a sympathetic smile, he returned her salute and left without another word.

The door whispered shut and she was alone with her fallen comrades, the room echoing with sound of hissing oxygen regulators, pipping electronic monitors, and the rattle of her own troubled heart.

Xxxxxx

Gansworth completed his notes, double-checked the board and nearly crashed into the orderly when he spun to check for his bag.

"Gosh, sorry! You OK, sir?"

"Don't apologize. My fault entirely." He realigned his glasses with the habitual tap only to yank them off to gain access to his irritated eyes, rubbing them a little longer than necessary in worried thought. Edward might come off the medication early; as he grew stronger, his ability to fight off sedation improved as well. Not a positive development, clinically speaking. Even Alphonse had some variations in his reaction to tranquilizers these days. The dosage was never certain to get the same precise result each and every time.

But before he made it to his bag, the red light began flashing on the message panel. He was senior on duty and as such his responsibility overseeing operations of the ER took priority. That light could only mean that there were incoming wounded.

"What do we know, Corporal Sikorsky?" he asked, instantly realizing why the man had appeared beside him so abruptly.

"Minor to moderate injuries, sir, from what I gather. Two men from the motor pool were mounting a large piece of armament; somehow a hoist broke loose and it fell. The wagon's bringing them in."

"I'd better have a look myself. Have the assistant ER chief stand by. If there's nothing too serious or complicated I'll be handing if off. I need to get over to the main building to take care of some business. Bring my bag, will you?"

Sikorsky tagged along, observing the slight sag to the usually stick-straight posture, and wondering why his superior wasn't moving along at his signature brisk pace, particularly since he just finished saying he was in a hurry.

"Pardon, but will you be seeing the Elric brothers while you're there? I finally got that sinus mask out of Central Supply."

"It's been so long I'd given up on it. If you get a chance to put it with my bag before I leave, fine; otherwise just leave it in my box," he said over his shoulder, long legs never breaking stride.

"Can I get you anything, sir? Water, or something to eat? You seem kind of tired."

Gansworth shook his head and made the left, shoving through the swinging double-doors leading to the triage deck.

The wagon rolled briskly in reverse before shrieking in protest at the application of the parking brake. The doors flew open, parting to reveal a bloody mess far worse than he had been expecting.

Shades of Bell's unfortunate incident. Someone was a little too optimistic in describing the smaller man's injuries as moderate. The corpsman had his hands full trying to stem the bleeding from the femoral artery; the larger patient, despite the unmistakable compound fracture of the ulna in his left arm, was trying to assist the medics in keeping his comrade alive.

"Set that bag aside. Move! Move!" Gansworth barked, propelling Sikorsky forward into action, motioning at the approaching personnel to finesse their direction while he selected the sterile trays with the appropriate tools and supplies for what promised to be more than just a few minutes' delay.

He dismissed that frustrated thought immediately, because distraction was an element of risk this patient could ill afford. Before he knew it, he was up to his elbows in blood and concentrating exclusively on executing the precise repairs necessary to preserve the man's life. He fell into his optimal zone, going deep into flow, absorbed in the speed and accuracy honed from years of experience, every bit of it necessary to mend such raggedly gashed flesh in a way that would preserve life and allow for healing with esthetically acceptable results.

Sikorsky routinely admired the older man's skills, even more impressive now since he seemed right dead on his feet. After mopping his brow and taking away the declined cup of water, there wasn't much more to be done to assist him except to watch silently as the minutes ticked by, waiting for him to finish up so he could transfer custody of the bag.

"Thank you. Once I finish changing," he trailed off, glancing glumly at the bloody sleeve as he peeled off his shirt; putting the scrubs on over it was not a timesaver after all. He'd have to get a spare from his locker, yet another delay. Oh well. What was I saying? Oh, yes- "I'll be making a call at the main building. I expect that it won't require more than half an hour, forty-five minutes. When I return I'll be needing the results of the tertiary work-ups for Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Havoc. Follow up. See that it's ready by the time I get back. Tell the lab that one hour from now is their absolute deadline."

"Right." Sikorsky held open the top to the dirty linen bin just in time for the shirt to sail in, indulging in a good look, hopefully without being obvious. Gansworth was thin but you wouldn't have realized just how thin until you saw him shirtless. Thin guys were usually pretty active and this guy bordered on hyperactive if you judged by his productivity; but damned if his personality wasn't downright droll.

"Carry on," Gansworth said, waving a hand to dismiss the salute. All this worrying about the Elrics was counter-productive. It wasn't his style. Anything but analytical thought leading to a course of action was a waste of his overdrawn energies. The emotional soft spot was draining without being beneficial; those poor boys deserved flawless care, not another doting quasi-parental figure. Still, he couldn't stop fretting until finally, dressed and somewhat straightened up, he had his bag in hand and nothing stood on the horizon to stop him.

With minor annoyance, he realized that he'd failed to sign out officially, something he was normally quite diligent about. But he was already hitting the exit, and the orderly and ER staff were well aware of his destination; the log could be updated when he returned.

Good enough would have to do. Though he couldn't help being mildly annoyed at his mistake, he couldn't justify the delay to rectify it. Today was not about perfection.

It was about getting everyone through it alive and well.

xxxxxx

"You've got to be the biggest moron of all," Envy chuckled, forming straps of hair from his Medusa-like coif to wrap around Al and bind him up tight. They'd made it all the way to the wooded edge of the base without a single close call. Possession of the passwords, the mask, the IDs and the full cooperation of the victim was all it took.

Al tried questioning the direction of travel as soon as it became clear that they were heading away from the heart of the compound, but the stinking mask squeezed down over his mouth until speech was impossible. With each step he weighed the uneasiness in his gut against the presumed legitimacy of his marching orders. Unfortunately, by the time it felt so wrong that he had to protest, they were too far away from the inhabited areas where his wordless resistance might be noticed.

When he tried to use his throat to make noise to indicate his distress, it became suddenly and terrifyingly clear – something strange and clammy circled his neck and gave just enough of a squeeze to emphasize the point without a single word. Something had him, not someone, and this creature held him captive in such a way that it would be child's play to strangle him and snuff out his life.

He carried on, following directions now because he had no other choice. Overpowered to a ridiculous degree and rendered mute, unable to sound any alarm, each step brought a fresh rush of panic as they trod along.

Branches scraped his body and the scent of evergreen and damp earth filled his head. They were well off-base now, and the sounds he'd become so familiar with had all rapidly faded behind.

Suddenly, the tentacle or whatever it was yanked roughly away from around his neck, sending him spinning like a human top to crash to the ground as it unfurled.

The mask no longer stuck and fell with a sickening plop, collapsing from its perfect semblance of flesh into a semi-transparent puddle of yellowish goo.

He was able to see his captor clearly for the first time.

"Is that it?" Envy wrinkled his nose in consternation, expecting a good reaction as he revealed his normal, hard-bellied form. "You're just gonna lie there? Don't you get it? It's me, dipshit. I'm the guy that owns your big brother's fucking soul. And I'm about to teach you everything he knows."

Al opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The magnitude of the situation exploded in his awareness. Unable to gather his wits, his emotional instability brought him to a highly pressurized standstill. Reactions piled one upon another, until his head was so bursting with cries for help, demands for release, rage for his brother's injustice, and disbelief that any of this was real, that he couldn't begin to express any one thought or emotion.

"You'll have to do better than that," Envy spat, snagging him by the collar and dragging him along angrily. "The silent treatment is about the dumbest move you could make right now."

Trees flashed by, and Al realized, through all the turmoil, that he knew where they were. It confirmed his suspicion and validated his worst fears, accelerating his fiercely pounding heart. They were going back to that place. It was happening all over again.

His voice finally returned.

"Y-you don't have to do this! Why? I don't understand. They'll come for me, I know they will. They'll see that I'm missing, and..."

"Nope. Nope. You've got it all wrong. I'm making sure that I eliminate all the risky players, and tell the living all the right stories as I go. By the time anyone figures out that you're gone, I'll be finished with you. This isn't like last time, fuckface. What I have in mind for you isn't going to take long at all."

Al swallowed and tried to think, tried to see some way to get free. Envy hauled him along as if he were nothing, at minimum he was crazy strong. At least he hadn't said anything about Edward. Maybe this was something that was going to be settled between the two of them.

He gasped as he finally absorbed the meaning of the statement about eliminating risky players and Envy snorted in amusement.

"Oooh. Having unpleasant thoughts now, are we?"

Unpleasant, indeed. Envy's shape-shifting had created an amazing resemblance to Thompkins to facilitate this abduction. That probably meant that the good-natured orderly was one of the risky players that he had eliminated.

If only he had his alchemy. Or a weapon, or even a rock or a stick, something to try and fight back with.

But now they were standing in a clearing, and nothing like that was in reach.

Just a sheer wall of rock, with a pair of shiny new rings embedded in the face. He had been correct. This was exactly where he thought they would end up.

"Don't act stupid, boy. You should know this place. We're here."

Rage froze at the familiar voice before leaning forward and up, trembling. The gap was just large enough to see their approach. Mama was dragging along a human, a human with a puzzlingly familiar, almost homunculus-like smell. It didn't have golden eyes and it seemed bigger than the way Mama had described "Daddy".

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to come out or not. Anxiety rose even higher; if he was supposed to come out and didn't, Mama could get angry and violent again. And if he came out but he was supposed to stay put, it would be the very same result.

But if his presence was expected, there was no sign of it. Mama seemed very busy and preoccupied. Uncomfortable, but not enough to expose himself unnecessarily, Rage waited, silently watching.

Even from his hiding place, the scent of the big stranger's fear was overwhelming.

Looming ominously as they came to a standstill, the natural rock wall evoked just enough memory for Al to regret how little he knew about Ed's ordeal. Had he been hauled here on the very same premise, and was it his response to the freak's demands that sealed his fate? Was it just his turn this time, at least a relief that his brother was no longer in the creature's deadly sights?

"Okay you fucking genius, first things first. Make with some of that amazing child-prodigy alchemy, and it better be your best."

"What?"

Envy glared; Al recoiled, waving his hands.

"I mean...that's what you want me to do?"

Envy face-palmed and snarled.

"I know you're a moronic ape, but you obviously heard me, so why the hell are you even asking? Just do it!"

"I'll try.. but I don't know if I can."

"You think this is a request? You think you have a choice if you wanna live? Fucking do as you're told! And make it good!"

"That's not it! I will try, I will!" he said, pressed his palms together desperately. His brother used his alchemy to hurt people when he had no other options, but this was unfamiliar territory for someone whose role always seemed to key in on provide defense. If he could manage to generate the reaction, he should definitely create something to attack the monster with. But what kind of assault should he try? The uncertainty stopped him cold. You cannot transform without specific focus. The danger was too great.

"Now what? Praying? You've decided to die instead?"

Al grimaced and chose a barrage of barbed wire, to try and ensnare the enemy long enough to launch a full-scale attack. He smacked the ground with both palms, willing raw materials from the soil that once imprisoned him to rise to his defense.

He felt it as a hollow ache. What once gave him an overabundant, almost uncomfortable feeling of power now left him high and dry and empty.

"Let me guess. Unless you've decided to worship me, you're useless after all."

"No. Wait, let me do it again. It's been a really long time since I've even tried..."

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"

"Just give me another chance. It's been forbidden, I haven't even tried in months and months!"

"Well, aren't you the obedient little shit. Keep at it, then. But I can see this is probably pointless. Guess your brother's going to have to come out and play again, after all."

"No! You can't do that! He can't do alchemy either. He can barely talk most days! Let me work on my skills! Give me some time to practice!"

Envy chuckled.

"Are you saying that the pipsqueak can't get his alchemy up anymore?"

"That's right! He's totally unable to..."

"Liar!" Envy shrieked, flushing with sudden fury. "Stop fucking lying to me and stop fucking wasting my time!"

Al dove sideways to avoid the homunculus' strike, stretching for a fist-sized chunk of rock in desperate hope of defending himself and stopping the threat then and there.

Instead, he found himself face down with an inhuman bundle of the beast's tentacle-like appendages gripping everywhere, lifting and slamming him repeatedly into the dirt like it was child's play. It went on until he offered no resistance, and dark patches were beginning to take shape on the ground, blood and urine marking the spot where he momentarily lost consciousness.

"Oh, my, where are my manners? Let's find you someplace cozy to stay while I go run the rest of my errands."

Woozy, stunned and stiffened with pain, Al wanted to argue, to distract him and try to get him to wait but his battered body wouldn't respond.

He couldn't even manage token resistance when Envy bound his wrists to suspend him from the wall.

While his body stretched out with its own weight, hanging heavily without motion, his mind raced frantically. As terrifying as it was to be brutalized and helplessly captive, the monster's other errand was an even greater fear. It was so easy to fall prey to someone with such unbelievable shape-shifting abilities. All the weeks and months of tedious passwords and heightened alert only served to give them a false sense of security. It was clear that Envy could have snagged them at any time, and that he had the means and ability to walk in and take Edward now as well.

"What's that?" Envy sneered, stepping back.

But Al's attempts at speech were mere groans deep in his throat.

"I don't have time for this."

Envy slapped a swath of hair across the gibbering mouth and snapped it off, forming a proper gag to muffle any chance that his prisoner might have of attracting attention. Al kicked at first, but then he was still.

"Get yourself together, pig. Get a grip before we get back. You don't want the pipsqueak to think you're completely pathetic and useless, do you? Even though, I'm pretty sure you are."

His worst fears confirmed, Al's eyes teared up and turned the image of Envy's departure into a watercolor of despair. He was going to kidnap Edward, and Edward could not possible survive another session such as this.

xxxxxx

Alex spread his massive hands across the polished wood of the Colonel's desk. It felt cold and unfriendly, as if it recognized that he didn't belong there. In truth, he didn't mind being tapped for the temporary responsibility. He only hoped that his able service came as a comfort to his commander in this hour of need, and not the opposite. He was fully aware that people considered him an eccentric, and perhaps he was a bit. But when it came to his duties, he was dead serious, and none was more serious than this.

It was unnerving to witness Mustang's condition. As subordinates deeply committed to his support and protection, it was as if each and every man in his command had taken damage as well. That was a factor to take into consideration when it came to overseeing the operations. That, and the loss of such a valuable resource in battle, put things in perspective. This was not just minding the store. He had to be alert, and use the men with the greatest analytical skills in planning to prepare for the worst. In the absence of the leader in which all had placed their faith, the temporary leader would have to call upon the men to have greater faith in one another.

The radio crackled with more reports of nothing found, nothing out of the ordinary save for the spilt blood and charred flooring. The away team was winding down, perhaps half an hour away from packing up and returning to base.

Perhaps if everyone returned with no further incident, he could take up a temporary station in the Elric's room to direct operations from there for a bit. With Havoc laid up, his presence, however brief, was more important than ever. Maybe he should go ahead and take just a few minutes to check in anyway. A quick drop by to touch base and make sure they were all fine. He could take a portable radio set and leave it on in the storage room down the hall; it was mostly empty, and it wouldn't hurt to leave the door ajar. That way, the call-in tones would be audible enough to hear them in the Elric's room even with their door shut, yet not loud enough to alarm the unsuspecting occupants.

The intercom buzzed with the start of the security patrol check-ins, and he realized that for the time being, he was stuck right here, like it or not.

He chalked up the sudden chill from his sixth sense to frustration and switched on the intercom, chastising himself to get on with business.

Xxxxx

Gansworth swept his hand down the front of his coat, brushing it off nervously while a segment of his mind critiqued his decision to wear it. He switched the bag to the opposite hand without breaking stride to brush off the other side. He was late, far later than he had hoped, and he felt more strongly that ever that something might be wrong.

With false patience, he complied with the security checks, once upon leaving the infirmary, once not ten stride away from same, and again upon entry to the main building. All of it slowed his progress, but there was nothing for it. Botch one password, and he'd be held up forever.

The halls were remarkably empty once he got inside. He could have sworn that there were supposed to be two men stationed somewhere in this section of the corridors at all times.

"Hey! Who goes there?"

Gansworth jumped slightly. It seemed impossible, but he must have missed seeing this guard, who all but materialized behind him.

He relaxed a little once he recognized the familiar face, his concern immediately shifting back to his need for haste to get to his call.

Oddly, instead of the usual respectful return of his identification and confirmation that he could indeed carry on, he found he had to ask for it back.

"Hmm...nope. Don't think so."

Three beats to realization. One...what the hell? Two...what's going on here, he can't mean that I failed the ID check. Three...shit, what if this isn't really...

"The look on your face is priceless. That's one I'm going to remember," grinned the guard. The doctor was already in reverse, taking a sharp step backward, about to turn to flee. Pretty quick thinking, but not quick enough.

Whatever the black objects were that somehow came whipping out from the now-distorting man's head, they were incredibly painful on the receiving end. They cut deeply into his wrists, wrapped fiercely around his head to seal his mouth, and encircled his neck to lift him easily and swiftly, yanking him into the storage room already littered with a bloody pile of earlier prey.

The door whispered shut, sealing away any hope of outside intervention.

Envy's fetid breath was strong in his face; the few precious tastes of air he managed to struggle into his lungs were burning and rancid. Manipulated like a marionette, his inability to let go of the bag was reversed. Envy tugged it away and proceeded to carefully prepare for the next stage, divesting the uselessly struggling doctor of his coat and accoutrements and setting them out of way. No point in dirtying things you'd have to clean up afterward.

"I'm glad you showed up when you did. This is a big help. More than you know. I wish we had time to play, but I really don't."

The world was graying around the edges; the fresh wounds and the damage inflicted from steadily increasing compression paled in comparison to the searing pain from his oxygen-starved lungs. His captive body bucked in a desperate, uncontrollable fit; yet he stoically controlled the associated frantic thoughts, stopping them dead in their tracks. There was no point in trying to figure a way out of this. The creature exerted the force necessary to immobilize him while sealing his nose and mouth tight with very little effort, with vigor to spare for simultaneously forms of assault. It brought Edward's puzzling pantheon of injuries into a new, completely understandable light. As far as a chance for escape, or even mitigating the damage for some small hope of mere survival, there would to be none short of a miracle.

The coiled thing around his neck and face released pressure without warning. A sharp edge materialized along its length, and it casually sliced through the tender flesh as it drew away, stinging and raw. He computed the effects; that alone would be enough, as deep as it felt to be, to end his life in a short amount of time. The wrists were cut but not in depth; it seemed the intent there had only been to secure him from struggling and to preserve his grip on the bag until they were safely out of sight.

Released, he dropped to the ground, gasping for air and bleeding. The thing was looking back at him now with his own mirror-image face, smirking. Shock was setting in and when it reached out he couldn't help but flinch back, even though the creature merely stole the glasses sitting sideways on his nose and put them on with a flourish.

I know who he wants. I know what he'll do. I have to alert someone before it's too late.

He opened his mouth to scream while taking his best shot at creating a physical commotion, by tremendous effort actually getting to his feet. Mortifying, really, to be thrashing and screaming – exactly the opposite of the end he'd always envisioned. He could handle the thought of a clean break in the form of a sudden, single-moment event, like a gunshot or explosion; or, barring unnatural causes, a peaceful, silent departure in a sterile hospital bed. Perhaps it was the ultimate vanity, but his own lack of decorum, unavoidable though it was, felt utterly embarrassing and humiliating. After striving life-long to perform with grace regardless of the pressure, to face death in such an undignified manner...was as devastating as the very concept of fatality.

The first scream was his last, cut off almost as soon as it started. Envy crammed a fist into the annoying open mouth, jammed it in as far at it would go and lifted, momentarily suspending his victim in the air while the thin face reddened and he began gagged up what would surely was his last meal. It was interesting to see how the insertion of his hand caused the gash on the cheek to split even further, but the wretched mess took the fun out of the game. Envy jerked out and struck so quickly he connected in mid-air, dispatching of his victim with a paralyzing sucker punch that sent him flying.

No more noise now. No more fight. No more problem.

He flipped the barely trembling body further up on top of the pile, certain that the life would drain out quietly now. He wiped off his puke-slimed hand on the skinny doctor's shirt, using the bottom hem to avoid the blood rapidly saturating it all around the neck. After examination, he polished the fresh blood off the right lens of the glasses as well. It looked like he'd met his goal; soon he would be able to step out of this room toting the MD bag and wearing the white coat, Poindexter eyeglasses, and original ID badge, all innocently neat and tidy. He wiped the grin off his face and made sure his expression matched the one the doctor was wearing in the hallway before things got interesting. There wasn't anything amusing about this guy, from what he'd seen.

"Thanks for the assist, doc. You're a peach."

xxxxx

Enfield shifted around to keep Ed in plain sight while listening to the movement in the hallway. He thought he heard people earlier, but they went the other way. Now someone was approaching again, and this time he sensed they were going to have company. With luck, it was time to get moving. Waiting was really wearing on Ed. For the most part, he'd shut down, but he was far from winding down.

A knock confirmed the feeling in his gut, and he slid back the bar to open the door expectantly.

"Have you seen Al?" Ed blurted the minute he recognized Gansworth's face through the doorway.

Envy kept a professional stance and followed the protocol for the well-armed soldier's identification process, as if he'd done it a hundred times. Waiting to address Ed until he was fully cleared to enter was a show of confidence, lulling them into his web without revealing any rush or impatience. It gave him time to read the atmosphere of the room while considering his best response.

"Your brother is fine. I just checked him over. He's getting tired of waiting for you, though."

"Let's go then! Hurry up!"

"Hold on, there, Ed. Let Dr. Gansworth have a chance to speak." Enfield's brow creased as he noticed something odd; the doctor was tracking in a small patch of something brownish-red from the bottom of one of his shoes.

Almost like blood. Gross. After getting the message that the doc was delayed patching up a seriously injured soldier in emergency, it was conceivable but totally not cool if that was human blood. Someone needed a refresher in sanitation.

Although, it wasn't really fair to judge him, as thin as the doctor was being spread, between the medical emergencies, the Colonel and Havoc's condition, and the sudden change in the Elrics' quarters. He looked a little ragged. In fact, the back of his head looked as though he forgot to finish combing his hair. For a fastidious guy like the doctor, that had to mean he was being stretched to the limit.

"Yes, Edward, let's not have any foolishness. Your brother is waiting and you need to come along and join him. But there are precautions to take, you know. Just like we took for your brother," Envy said, trying for the right inflection. That teensy bit miffed attitude, like he had observed when the stiff asked for his ID back. That proper way of talking. He nailed it, for sure. Humans were so transparent, a piece of cake to imitate, so easy to fool.

"It's okay, Ed. I'll be right behind you. Nothing's going to happen, but if it does, you can trust me to take care of it," Enfield promised.

Envy waffled for a moment. Ed was nodding to this Enfield asshole like he really did trust him. So maybe the doctor get-up wasn't the best; maybe Enfield was the better image to duplicate to assure cooperation.

A hammering knock at the door made them both jump.

Shit, Envy thought, restricting his facial expression to mildly curious. What now?

Enfield opened the door with caution. It was Mitchell, and the man's face immediately reminded him that they were getting low on personnel to watch over the boys. His own recommendation had sent Mitchell to the bottom of the list, but it hadn't removed him entirely.

"Major Armstrong says it takes two to watch these guys," Mitchell said, swaggering in with a doubting look. "Somebody go AWOL? Where's the other kid?"

"He's already been relocated."

"Where? By who? What the hell?" Mitchell at least had the uncharacteristic good grace to continue in low tones to prevent Ed from hearing his questions.

"The Colonel's orders. He decided that this room isn't secure enough. Hey, wait. What gives? If they just put you on watch, why don't you know the situation?"

"Guess one hand doesn't know what the other is doing. I got my shit straight from Armstrong. Sounds just like Mustang to keep trying to run the show from bed. Where's this new location at, anyway? And is this one walking yet, or do we gotta carry him?"

"He'll walk."

"Sure. Has he got sweatpants so we can double-layer him, or a diaper or something? It's not busy in the hallway right now, but he might let loose if he gets scared."

"Mitch? That's enough. Just shut the hell up. Doc's waiting to give us our instructions."

Envy frowned inwardly while wearing that boring, borrowed expression. What the hell was he supposed to do with two extra chunks of useless meat?

He rummaged in the bag and considered his options. He could just knock Ed out with a hypodermic, kill the two men and stuff them in with the rest of the dead...but the odds of getting caught, with the commotion and exposure, might create a whole new set of problems. He needed to get Ed out, without fanfare, to get him to Alphonse without throwing him into one of his drooling fits. Ed probably wouldn't last very long as it was, lucid though he appeared, but he should be able to keep it together long enough to determine, once and for all, which if either of them still had the chops to qualify as a valuable sacrifice. Even if they made it away safely, he planned to have a big enough lead on them to make certain decisions about keeping his prisoners.

He lifted the filled syringe up to look at the contents in the light. It was a pretty safe assumption that the doctor had this all ready to go in his pocket for this particular visit. More than once, he'd seen them stick the midget with one of these and drop him in no time flat. He had no clue how much was enough to just calm Ed and not knock him out for hours.

Ed gasped. The last thing he was prepared for was to be incapacitated, not with all that was happening. It was as if they knew that he had something planned, and they were trying to make it as difficult as possible.

"No! I don't want that, I'm in control, can't you tell?"

"Oh! No, no, you've got it all wrong, this isn't anything like that. As a matter of fact, I'm all out of your tranquilizers. Quite the oversight, eh? So I need one of you two men to run back to my office and get it for me."

Enfield went for his pocket and produced a syringe identical to the one the doctor held. As far as he knew, they were both Ed's usual tranquilizer. Same blue cap. Same transparent, gold-colored liquid.

"It's all right, I have one on me."

Envy's mind raced as he took the offered item and examined it in his hand next to the one he already had, noting they were a perfect match. So annoying. Well, he'd try to push on with his ploy, and if it flopped, he'd have to get rid of this guy the good old-fashioned way.

"This is exactly the same as what I already have," Envy said with exaggerated patience. "And as I said, there is a different medication that I intended to bring, and I forgot it. Let's not be waving these in front of the patient when we know it upsets him."

"Sorry, sir," Enfield said, still confused.

"I'd appreciate it if you gentlemen would just follow orders. I don't think either one of you is qualified to tell me how to do my job."

"Yes, sir." Enfield could have sworn he heard Mitchell snicker. When it came to getting in trouble for attitude, this was a first for him, but Mitch caught this kind of reprimand fairly often.

"Now. As I said, I left the item I need in my desk. Right in the top drawer. Which one of you wants to go?"

The two men looked at each other and Mitchell piped up first, eating up his rare role as the better soldier.

"I'll be glad to go, sir, but I haven't been in your office. How do I find it?"

Enfield sighed in relief. Mitchell was willing to go, that was great. The man was not that good with Ed on his best days, in his opinion, and this was a very stressful situation. "I can tell you. Go in through the emergency and hang a left at the..."

"Oh, good," Envy smiled, glad for the perfect opening to get rid of the heavily-armed, attentive, over-efficient one. "Since you know the way, I want you to go. Fetch it for me now. Hurry along."

"But, sir, he..."

"You know the way, correct? You have your instructions. Go."

"Yes, sir," Enfield saluted reluctantly.

"We'll be waiting." Except we won't, Envy smiled inwardly. We'll be gone, and you'll wait here, and you won't know where to look for us. And you won't know who it's okay to ask about our whereabouts, and who it's a secret from. So you might be waiting a long time before someone stumbles across you who has the security level to realize that there is no secret relocation, and sets off the alert to look for the missing boys.

"Right."

Ed watched them silently, without moving, as if his life depended on it. They were ignoring him. That was good. That meant they weren't that worried about his behavior; which in turn should mean that a shot wouldn't be necessary. He was completely focused on making sure they didn't medicate him; so much so, that he missed the significance of Enfield's departure.

Envy waited all of ten seconds after Enfield left before delighting Mitchell with the news of a sudden change of plan. That he had forgotten about the consequences of arriving late for the rendezvous with Alphonse. Rather than set off needless alarms, they should go ahead and move out now, and get word back to Enfield on their location later.

As anxious as he was about changing rooms, Ed was even more anxious to get moving to join his brother, and overhearing that conversation made him feel both relieved and scared.

Mitchell grinned as he thought of Enfield's reluctance in leaving, gathering Ed's bag and nodding in triumph. He'd get the credit for the move, even though he arrived at the last minute and did almost none of the prep. Timing, he thought wryly. Timing was everything in this man's army; he'd enjoy rubbing this in when Albert came around complaining about it later.

The annoying little blond shit was actually quaking, visibly undone at the concept of a well-chaperoned walk down the hallway.

How someone like this punk warranted free digs and 'round the clock ass kissing was still beyond him, former hotshot alchemist or not.

With the troublesome corporal gone, Envy knew he had it in the bag. This guy Mitchell was made to order.

"Set the bag aside for now. Get him in there and make sure he relieves himself pronto," the phony doctor said, thumbing in the direction of the bathroom. A big, dark urine leak down the front of those blue uniform pants would be a dead giveaway that something was amiss. It was fortunate that it took a sound beating before Al soiled his.

Distracted, Ed struggled with Mitchell, protesting that he didn't need to go, all the while being manhandled and half-stripped. Had he been able to think clearly, he would have realized that Gansworth would never have stood there, watching, almost egging Mitchell on, enjoying his discomfort, snorting in amusement as Ed slapped the hand away from his privates.

"You heard him. Pull it out and take care of business or I will."

"Shut it, you asshole!" Ed snarled back, but the pitch of his voice was high and nervous. Trying to urinate with someone mocking him made it nearly impossible, but to keep Mitchell off of him, he strained in an effort to comply. As always, when there was a conflict, it was difficult to tell if he was accurately interpreting everything that he saw and heard. As strange as this was, he half-suspected that some of this was just going on his head.

As fun as this was to watch the power struggle over milking out each spastic little spurt of pee, Envy knew they needed to be long gone before Enfield came back looking for them.

"Give the poor fellow a chance to finish on his own," Envy ordered in false kindness, nodding to acknowledge the guard's excellent effort.

Mitchell was his kind of guy, bullying Ed without a shred of guilt or sympathy, eating up the opportunity to make him squirm. Still, that didn't make him anything more than a mere means to an end. But he still had one more function before he was truly expendable.

"I'm done, you jerk, get your hands off me!"

"That will have to be good enough. Time to get him dressed, Corporal. We need to go."

"How much of his stuff are we taking? Just the bag?"

"Leave the bag, we'll have someone bring it later. We have to move forward if we're going to be on schedule. Put these on him."

Confused by the rush, Ed fought down the urge to insist that they wait to let him grab the scraps of his old red cloak and Al's cloth out of his bag. Mitchell wouldn't understand and Gansworth didn't seem to be any paying attention, he was so focused on the time. On top of his anxiety about the situation, the illogical pain of staying somewhere strange and leaving his only meaningful possessions behind clouded his thinking and left him wide open for what came next.

While Mitchell finished roughly stripping off all his clothes without preamble in preparation for suiting him up in blues as Al had been, Envy intervened.

"Corporal, I need to make sure you can handle this guy. Show me how you'd get one of these in him when he's not cooperating." Envy held up the full syringe, just out of Ed's line of sight.

"That's...that's his usual stuff, right?" Mitchell asked, still a little confused about the whole syringe deal.

Morons are so convenient, Envy grinned.

"Yes, of course. I was going to use something else but since I forgot it, that will just have to wait until later. We need to hurry. Let's not give anyone a chance to argue." Envy cocked his head in Ed's direction while wearing a serious expression, laughing inwardly as Mitchell fell for it hook, line, and sinker, nodding back conspiratorially.

So...was the stuff the doctor forgot a tranquillizer, just some other kind? He didn't really get it, but it was easy enough to see what was expected of him. "No problem."

"Excellent. Let's see you handle it."

"Sure. Easy. I put him in a hold like this..."

"Hey! Ouch, what the hell?" Arm bent painfully up behind his back instead having it inserted in the shirt sleeve as he was expecting, Ed twisted and caught sight of the Doctor passing the syringe. He'd missed the conversation entirely, lost in his own inner turmoil. "Don't! What is that?"

"Can you give him about a third of it?"

"You sure that you want me to do it? I mean, I'll do my best, but...I always give him the whole damned thing."

"Yes. I want you to do it. This is a test so try to get it right. No more than a third. We want him on his feet."

"You're hurting me! Stop it! I don't deserve this, I haven't done anything wrong! I've been cooperating! I can get dressed by myself, just get off me so we can hurry up and go!"

But Mitchell didn't care if it hurt, and it made his task that much easier.

"I hope he quiets down right away," Envy offered conversationally. It wouldn't do for a doctor to ask a layman if what they gave him these days would work quickly.

If it wasn't for the time constraints, he could do this for hours. It was exciting to have a lackey who appreciated the opportunity to take Ed's clothes, manhandle him and discuss him as if he weren't there. In this familiar environment, it didn't send him over the edge, and his discomfort was so provocative to watch. A nice slap of humiliation to ice the cake. They could do more, so much more, and all at a nice, torturous, leisurely pace.

This was the first opportunity he'd had to see the total picture up close since their little trek into the woods. Edward was scarred, disfigured, completely transformed inside and out from the short time they'd spent together. Like so much living clay, his master had remodeled him according to his whim with ridiculous ease. And there was room for improvement still. An annoying percentage of flesh appeared to have healed so well that it looked normal.

"Yeah, it usually hits pretty fast. I'll just hang on to him for a couple of minutes until he settles down. Shots piss him off pretty good. Don't wanna to give him a chance to flip out."

Ed cursed and tried his best to bite the shoulder pressed to his, not quite able to twist far enough to reach. He wanted this jerk to stop distracting and provoking him; this harsh treatment defied explanation, and he had far more important problems to worry about.

The strength sapped away from his protests, and with it, much of the confusion cleared away as well. With the weight of the sedative came a gentle calming of his frantic, disorganized thinking. He didn't feel like he was going to lose consciousness after all. He forgot, in his distress, just how good Dr. Gansworth had always been to him, and how much he could be trusted. It probably was going to be all right. This was all designed to get him back with Al, and to keep them both safe.

"You wanna hang on to him now, sir? He'll be easy to handle for a while."

"Er...no...just finish getting him dressed. Hurry it up." Ed hadn't pulled his usual sixth sense thing, and Envy didn't plan to push his luck and get any closer than he had to until the right moment. So far, there was no sign that Ed, in his confused state, had any inkling that the man across the room in the white coat was not Doctor Daddy.

The first hallway would be the worst of it, but with Mitchell physically escorting the pipsqueak, he'd be free to dispose of any unconvinced challengers should they appear...he knew now, from his excursion with Alphonse, that his options were better though the kitchen exit, and beyond that, few soldiers kept watch between the dumpsters and the hedges.

He'd disposed of the two watchmen lurking in the hedge area and a luckless man hauling out trash on the way back in from taking Alphonse. Mitchell just had to assist long enough to get Ed to the back corridor. At that point, sealing Ed's mouth with the mask and moving at top speed should be enough to get them off base unnoticed, even if he started to sense something and resist.

Mitchell was not the brightest bulb, and Envy used that fully to his advantage. His wonderment and admiration at the lifelike masking and presumably fake ID was the height of stupidity, considering the situation and what sort of infiltrator the guards were supposed to be watching out for. Here was the evidence that would have sent Enfield into red alert; but that only would have meant an end to Enfield's life, insignificant but for the complication it would add to Edward's extraction.

"What is this mask made of?" Ed slurred, breath catching, as the doctor slapped it on his face on the way out the door. "It smells..."

Envy adjusted the mask immediately, pinching off the air from Ed's nasal passages. No air through the nose meant no smell, no complaints. Mitchell didn't notice. Now Ed's ability to get enough oxygen to maintain consciousness was severely reduced, the lower portion of the mask allowing precious little air flow. While his brain swooned in refusal to associate that microsecond of horrid odor with the current events, it further fell victim to decreased oxygen. He struggled to seize the natural conclusion and understand it. On a purely organic level, his whole body tried first to fight, then lacking resources, turned to flight. The only flight available was unconsciousness, but Ed fought to stay awake, to try and grasp his situation.

"Be quiet," Mitchell ordered, yanking Ed's arm across his shoulder and grabbing his waist to lift and support him, assisting the good doctor with the ruse of transporting the clearly ill soldier.

It had to be a dream. The floor was pudding under his feet, his vision was crazily distorted by the heavy thing on his face and nothing looked or felt real. He'd had dreams like this before. They didn't last long, or at least they didn't seem to, and they always ended the same way. Pretty soon, his head would be severed from his body with one slash, and before his disconnected yet still sentient parts hit the ground he would wake up, sometimes screaming, sometimes not. It was never a dream with specifics. Just hazy images and sharp impressions of abduction full of pain, fear and that smell. The detailed dreams were much, much worse. He was pretty used to this one. He could handle it fairly well, so long as he realized it was a dream once it got started, although this one started differently. Funny how all of the elements he incorrectly thought were reality fit together so cleverly here. This dream had made him wet himself more than once, so dreaming that they would make him relieve himself when it started was sort of amusing.

Envy's plan worked like a charm, right up to and including the detour into the kitchen staff's bathroom to dispose of Mitchell, leaving him wedged in a latched toilet stall staring sightlessly at the fluorescent lights. Ed had dropped dizzily to the floor near the sinks and when Envy reclaimed him, he didn't fully understand that someone was now missing from his dream.

But by the time they were outside, his senses were trying to shake him awake again.

Envy made the adjustment to let Ed breathe normally through his nose. With increased oxygen came increased awareness, and an insanely strong odor that could mean only one thing.

It was impossible to accept the picture his senses thrust upon him. He prayed that his intuition was wrong. Scar tissue on his back pulsed in unconscious awareness of the nearby threat, yet he held off believing until there was no other answer. This just had to be a harsher version of that miserable dream.

"You!" he tried to shout to test his stage of REM, sheer panic filling every pore as his nose reported the presence of his sworn enemy. His voice sounded awake and alive, to his own ears. His skin reported the temperature, the humidity. Everything tactile rang true. The odor of homunculus was so pungent it made him gag. "Oh, no. No. Please. It can't be. You can't be..."

"Yep. It's me," Envy grinned, loving the moment, tossing aside his glasses and sealing up the mask to prevent any further noise from his captive. With a glance left and right, he shed the glaring white coat before bolting across the open space unseen, lugging his precious prize with ridiculous ease.

xxxxxx

It was quiet. Almost as terrifyingly quiet as his life had been underground. But instead of wishing for it to end, he prayed for the opposite. Because if the thing returned as it had promised, it would have Ed back in its clutches.

Al could swear something moved, something he kept catching just out of the corner of his eye. It gave him the impression that it was a small animal or bird of some sort. After his experience with the rat, the idea that it was only a dumb creature wasn't completely reassuring.

The relief he'd experienced at first when the feeling returned to his arms had already been replaced with worry about the pain and potential damage of being suspended by them for any length of time. He would need his arms to work perfectly, better than they ever had, if he were to have any prayer of pulling off some long-shot escape plan. Worse, his brain was still muddy from the brutal assault, and try as he might, he was no closer to thinking up any such clever plan.

Branches began to crash in the near distance and he gathered up his courage to face what surely approached.

Gagged as he was, there was no way to shout out to get a sense of how his brother was doing. He struggled fruitlessly against his bonds when the sounds of travel stopped and the general disturbance of fighting began. He recognized Ed's voice, but not the words, because there weren't any. Guttural grunts of effort gave way to cries of pain and fear until they peaked with gut-wrenching screams.

Al jerked and twisted, desperate to get loose, but it was useless effort. His brother's voice had gone alarmingly silent, and then they were moving again, bodies coming closer, crashing through foliage, increasingly accompanied by Ed's whining, labored breath.

When they appeared in the clearing Al stopped fighting to stare, paying close attention. Ed was spattered in red, hauled along by the nape of his neck with ease even though he didn't appear to be supporting his own weight at all. Another reminder of the enemy's tremendous strength, even though the homunculus didn't look all that big.

The pair scuffled closer across the pale dirt, the hunter proud of his fallen prey, coming straight to the ring on the wall not far away. It was as if there was a handle on the back of Ed's neck when Envy lifted him up high with one hand, bringing him clear up off of his feet, and somehow snapped him into the second ring and tether he'd prepared on the weathered rock.

"I gotcha. See there? That was too easy. Foolish humans."

Ed sensed this was the goal as soon as he felt the first wire burning a path through the flesh and muscle in the back of his neck. Barely held together by the combined after-effects of months of medical and psychiatric care, recovery in a secure hiding place that protected his precious younger brother, and the support of a dedicated team risking their lives to defend, heal and comfort him, he fought like a demon to endure it. There was no question that he had overestimated his own stage of recovery. He saw instantly how ridiculous it must have seemed to others when he swore he was well and strong once more; but it didn't matter how far he still needed to go to be ready to leave that nest. He had no option that would somehow return them safely to it to await his eventual full readiness. The hour of judgment was here.

He had no choice but to take his best shot at flying free now that Envy had stripped away every layer of protection he'd been clinging to so desperately. The odds were so insanely loaded in the enemy's favor it made him want to vomit. The situation at hand was hopeless enough, let alone facing it while bearing the massive weight of memories from their last encounter. Deprived of support to hold the lines of defense, the dark, delirious mass came crushing in with brute force, unimpeded. In his fragile, fledgling sanity, he'd never faced a tenth of what this felt like. It was nearly impossible to function. It felt beyond his ability to survive this in one mind, even if not another bad thing happened. Even if it turned out to be a dream, and he woke up safe and whole, tucked in next to Alphonse, the damage from unleashed dark water was absolute. His very core was already tearing into shreds along the fault line.

This feeling of being ripped up into multiple minds was familiar; but the depth of it was beyond his comprehension. They say that people cannot multitask; but they didn't take into consideration that someone might be forced to multi-exist.

The battle for control of his body raged between his desperately terrified survival instincts; his deranged, flashback maddened fighter; and his panic-stricken victim blindly struggling at the very thought of being restrained. At a stalemate, his body could only express the state of extreme stress and focus inward.

Not at all tempted by a shot at taking control, other elements of his psyche strove to bury themselves deep again, to get away from the unbearable events no doubt about to unfold. His inner child hugged its knees and rocked furiously, eyes pressed shut so hard they made patterns of black and red flash in his visual senses. Its thoughts were piercing as a baby's cry, begging for a swift end. Hurry, hurry, let it be over, please don't make me see any of those things ever again.

His guilt-ridden conscience begged for final release, while his black sheep sense of personal failure readily rolled over to accept the punishment of a return trip to victimization. A weary core of long-suffering persistence was getting ready to throw in the towel; in all the cataclysmic confusion of this psychological implosion, merely being steadfast was a waste of effort.

It left his logical mind spinning furiously, unable to get any factual information from ears roaring with schizophrenic voices and eyes rolled up and locked from use by hysterical seizure. His loyal heart burned with fear and frustration at the knowledge that Alphonse had probably gone through this first. Yet his steely resolution to be the one to take the life of the monster still shook him from head to toe.

One thing that was evident to the entire conflagration – turmoil of this intensity could not be maintained for any length of time. His physical body was already beginning to give in to fatigue and stress; his lung was searing from some inner malfunction, and if it failed, this struggle would be over in no time flat. The control fighters slowly began to let go; the defeatists hoped they had prevailed by giving up entirely, to speed the final end; while the remnants of his functioning brain poised for an opening, to be able to see something, do something, to try and reassemble into some form of workable thought process.

Only sheer terror, and determination to end Envy's life, persevered to dominate the lot.

xxxxxx

It vexed Envy to no end to see the pipsqueak writhing already, eyes wide open while rolled up in his head, showing only the whites, webbed with delicate, bulging red and purple veins.

He hadn't done a thing but prepare him with the embedded restraints. Yet Ed was long gone already, torturing himself somewhere in his own neverland, leaving Envy out in the cold.

Removing the sibling's gag was an impulse he was quickly starting to regret. Al's annoying, pleading voice, trying to soothe and get Ed's attention, only added to his frustration. He ignored the attempt at interference and dug his fingers into the ridiculous starched white uniform shirt to tear it away, flinging the scraps to the ground next to the discarded, blood-spattered blue coat. The clown-like pants, heavy, skirted and noisy with buttons, went next. He frowned at the decidedly civilian automail leg, then noticed the arm was the same sort. They were diluting his boy, with this lame doll-like junk. That shit had to stop.

The sight of the scar tissue riding the heaving rib bones made him grit his jagged teeth. This was all wrong. Nothing was as he had spent so long aching for. Why? He had his prey helpless, anything he wanted to do could be done at will. This was the goal, wasn't it?

Those bastards had cheated him. All that time he'd given them to get Fullmetal back on his feet, and this drooling mess was all they could accomplish?

He raked his fingertips down, from the jutting collarbones, across old mutilations, along furrows between clearly visible ribs. He couldn't detect a reaction. Edward was deep in his own head, probably reliving a past Envy was admittedly guilty of over-contemplating himself at times. It had turned into his own favorite personal fantasy. But in it, Edward's expression was nothing like this, and his behavior all came as a result of direct, hyper-alert response to his owner's handling. Ed wasn't paying attention to him now, at all.

Looking up and down at the ruined remains, he began to wonder. His body would electrify at the thought of getting this near to his prey. That feeling...that glorious, agonizingly intense desire...was like nothing else, ever, in his entire existence. But now...it wasn't like it was before. The disappointment was so bitter.

Yet this was Ed. Right here. Just as he planned. How could this be going so wrong, when all his plotting and planning had gone so right?

He lunged up and bit Ed on the lip in frustrated desperation. Licked him, slapped him, kissed him, spat on his face. The eyes never rolled down. In an inspired moment, he scruffed his face hard against the undulating flesh and bit down hard, taking a chunk of that tasty flesh right off the concave belly. It was sweet, a heavenly delicacy, that he chased by sucking on the blood that began to spill. Surely, this would get his attention. Envy congratulated himself on his self-restraint in only taking a small bite. He could easily have fallen into a feeding frenzy. But his moment of pleasure was just that.

He stepped back to chew, and observe as closely as possible. Nothing changed in the manner of Edward's face or body movements. The agony of the past precluded his prized possession from feeling anything right in front of him in the present.

Al was cursing at him vigorously now. Envy disregarded him. How annoying to be getting so much feedback from the wrong brother.

That was it. That was the problem. The realization came all at once, and it made perfect sense.

What he loved, desired, coveted, even needed from Fullmetal, was not his body. It was not his blood. Not even the music of his screams. Though he did thoroughly enjoy all of those individual elements.

It was his attention. His full, complete, undivided attention. The world was never fuller than when he had the boy trapped and unable to think for even a split second about anybody or anything else but the one who possessed him. It didn't matter how he got that attention, although torture was the only thing he could think of that would exact every bit of it against Edward's will.

That made so much sense. And it explained why torturing the younger brother felt almost...boring.

Best of all, it gave him some ideas about making this thing work out after all. He hadn't lost the feeling, time hadn't cooled his desire...it was all still there, strong as ever.

But to seize Edward's precious attention again, he'd have to change tactics, for sure.

He tried his best imitation of human sympathy. His hands softened, and he reached up to stroke the contorted face gently. As battered as he looked, the flesh was quite soft. It felt interesting. And it made his stomach growl.

"Hey, now, shorty, take it easy. I'm not gonna do anything to you. Got it? Calm down. Calm down," he cooed in his best imitation of the pathetic mothers who tried to soothe their babies, unaware of their imminent end.

Al took a deep breath and gathered up his wits.

"Are you kidding? That won't do any good. Let me help him. Maybe I can get him to calm down. You're just going to frighten him more."

"Shut up! I'll take care of this, punk. Don't interfere."

"You've already taken care of enough! Why do you think he's ended up this way?"

"For crying out loud. I barely touched him!"

"You idiot! You've hung him up there by his neck! Don't you realize what that means to him? No one's been able to touch the back of his neck since you 'took care' of him last time. He can't stand it. It makes him crazy. And now look what you've done!"

"Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense. No wonder."

Envy's casual response infuriated Al. The monster resumed petting his brother's cheek and talking to him kindly, as if that would do any good while he was hanging in the air like a side of beef.

Watching the monster string Ed up had been the final straw. Everything in life up until now sent them bulling forward into the future, whether in hope or in desperate struggle to prevail. Each sunrise meant the possibility of a new course, new challenges, growing in experience that would somehow help them arrive at the answers they sought. They blindly believed that with enough genuine effort one could expect a result with a positive outcome.

But after everything that happened, after all his brother had been through, it suddenly became clear to Al that he was wrong about so many things he thought that he'd learned through these trials. It wasn't about right and wrong, or about moving forward; it was all about suffering and sacrifice, and nothing made that more apparent than the scene playing out before him.

His abject terror at the possibility of being tortured in the same manner as Edward downgraded to despair for them both. His soul hardened against the quivering urge of self-preservation. They had lost; the path they blazed had come to a dead end. There was no winning against these things, not in such laughable physical and mental condition.

Thoughts at a crossroad, the pain of meeting Ed's wildly rolling eyes pushed him away from the option of giving up and letting the inevitable take place without a fight. It was hard to think while hearing Ed's brain-rattling screams, but his mind spun ever faster, as if making up for his body's inability to act. He had a germ of an idea, and the more he turned it over, the more it grew. They fought so hard to get their bodies back, without ever considering if the result would be a life worth living. The armor had been traded for flesh, but it was no better than trading a cow for a handful of beans. It had left them at a dead end no matter how they twisted and turned.

But if it wasn't possible to go forward, maybe there was a way to go back and start over. Or at least, a way to find an opening to slip out of this abduction. And it began with his success, finally, working to get the words out of his mouth.

"What is it you really want?" Al yelled as hard as his dry lungs would allow. "What do you really want?"

Envy, morphing again until he looked like his strange self, formed a gag by transforming a length of hair and muffled the smaller, squalling pipsqueak with it. It looked like Ed wouldn't be settling down right away. Begging was nicer than screaming, sometimes. Al was about to become entertaining – finally.

"I really want to see how much I can play with you. I want to try plucking your eyeballs out of their sockets and jamming them back in to see how long it takes before they pop out of you head for good. Well, that's just a little dalliance for starters. Do you want me to go on?"

Ed was arching so hard away from the wall and the restraints that Al feared his very bones would snap. It was imperative to keep Envy busy and engaged so Brother could have a chance to calm down, if that was at all possible. His brain was finally warming up, producing ideas, swirling with facts and angles. Everyone has a price. There was something else a homunculus might regard as valuable.

"Not the Philosopher's stone? You're not interested in that?"

Envy's eyes narrowed. A bluff, obviously. But no harm in playing along.

"You don't have a stone, boy. Otherwise, that turd wouldn't still be in automail."

Al's desperate improv found its direction.

"I can trade my body back and give you mine. Just let us go back and get it, and you can have it. Take it and then let us go. We're no good to you this way. We can't fight. He can't function at all when he sees you. All you care about is what's in it for you anyway, right?"

"That's ridiculous. You can't just go get it. You spent it."

"No. No, listen. I can't go anywhere…I mean, I can't perform alchemy anymore. I think its because of this body. But look, look…I can still trade it back with Ed's abilities! If you let me work with Ed, so I can get him to do the transmutation, we can go back to the Gate. And I'll give this body back and get you the stone, I swear."

"I thought you said he couldn't do alchemy."

"I lied. You knew that already. You said it yourself."

Envy stroked his chin, considering. He might be telling the truth. It might be the case that Ed was near a final breaking point if this kept up; it was hugely disappointing that Ed was nearly out of his mind again already. That in itself was no fun at all, and completely unacceptable.

He could let them go back and get the stone for him. Al might be returned in armor or he might simply have to trade away his ability to ever return. That was pretty irrelevant. As an opponent, Al was no threat even in his hulking metal form. And he might come back able to perform his role as a sacrifice, something he could not do as things stood now. So as far as dealing with Al was concerned, the proposal was pretty good.

But Edward's role…that was another matter. He'd have to pay the price for taking Al back, and it was a big risk. His ability to open the Gate again on the Day might be lost. And if Al didn't come back with his former abilities, the two sacrifices that started out as his responsibility would both be rendered useless. And Father would make him suffer for it.

"I don't know. I haven't been to the Gate the way you two have, boy. Don't you think this is too risky for your brother? He's lost a lot already. You might get lucky and he'll just lose the other leg. But if it's the other arm, or the wrong vital organ…you're playing pretty fast and loose with his life, don't you think? Just to save your sorry ass from a little pain?"

"I can…I can make it work! That guy at the Gate, he doesn't just do whatever. He talks to you and you make a deal. I'd never let anything that terrible happen to Ed! I'll make sure he comes out all right, no matter what."

"I dunno. So what, exactly, would you expect me to do?"

"Just…just take us down from here and let me take care of him. Give me a little time to help Ed get his bearings. He's almost gone already, look at him! You wait much longer to decide and it won't matter. He'll be so insane that it'll be impossible to explain it to him. It's now or never, we have to do it now!"

"How sure are you about this?"

Al cringed. There was no point in lying.

"I'm not. I mean, I just now thought of it. It's not like I've been running around going 'shit, how I hate being able to eat and sleep and breathe, sure wish I could go back to being trapped in that tin can again.' But you won, all right? I can see that you've won and to the victor go the spoils. So that's why I asked what you want. Because I figure that maybe, if I give you a real prize, you might let us go. We're no threat to anyone anymore. We were already beaten and we stopped fighting months ago; this, this thing I'm offering, it's the only possible benefit I can think of to offer. What else are we good for, anyway?"

"Well," Envy smiled darkly, "I expect that all Elrics might have the same delicious flavor. With Edward, it's a little bit complicated. But you? I was looking forward to gnawing on your bones after you'd provided me with some entertainment. So it's not like giving your body away is completely irrelevant to me."

Al's arms jerked against the restraints involuntarily; as much as he was trying to stay calm and talk his way through this, he wouldn't be able to maintain control forever, and hanging for so long was really taking its toll physically.

If Envy would let them free, he would get Ed to take them to the Gate. And whatever he had to do, however he had to sell his soul, he would trade everything – his body, his eternal life, whatever – to make sure that Ed came back no worse than he departed. He would make sure that Ed went back to a protected location; the base medical center came to mind. With luck, although he was pretty sure it was asking too much, maybe they could reverse the deal once the homunculus was gone. But in the meanwhile Al would be in the armor, trading back his entire body – and against an entire body, he would trade that plus the stone for Ed's limbs and repair of all the scars, physical and mental, that haunted him to this day.

But even if they became trapped at the Gate and neither could return, it was still a better fate than being tormented to death by inches. The monster didn't deserve another minute of satisfaction from causing Ed more pain.

"You realize that I'm more than capable of slaughtering you both in an instant if you're lying to me again. I tell you what. I'm thinking of allowing it. But you know what else? If you're lying? First thing I do is slice you right here…" Envy lashed out and whipped Al just below the crotch, slashing through into the skin in a horizontal line. "You lose both your legs and maybe more, depending on how low you're hanging. Though, from what I've seen of you humans, I might be lucky to get the tip, scared as you are."

Al swallowed hard. Stay cool, this is the last chance you have to get Ed out of here with any hope of recovery at all.

"If I'm lying, you can take it all. I'm not, I'm telling the truth. If I could think of a lie to get out of this I would. But we're out of tricks. I told you, you won. We lost. Just, come on. I can't believe we're that good to eat. I mean, how something tastes, that feeling doesn't even last. You must realize that the stone is worth more than a full belly for a few hours."

Envy had his own third alternative in this scenario. Alphonse, the little twerp, was absolutely the best candidate to bring Ed back into the here and now. And once Ed was more approachable, he might be able to interact with him again. And at that point, Alphonse would be an incredible bargaining chip. Edward would do anything for Al.

That meant he would easily do anything for his owner, to prevent any harm from coming to his little baby brother.

It was a total win-win. Ed's mind was deteriorating quickly and without intervention in would likely be gone forever anyway. That was the biggest problem, the one he had to reluctantly admit that he needed help with. Once Ed was off the critical list, Al was fair game and totally expendable. Getting Al to go get the stone was still a possibility if the boy was just lying to get relief for his brother. So many options, and Alphonse was playing right along. What a moron.

Ears and eyes finally starting to function, Ed tried to follow the burbles of conversation without any success at all. It was hard enough to see; the world was monochromatic, black and red, and his brain was behaving as though he was touching a live wire while his heart was trying its best to beat hard enough to burst wide open. The teeming mass of mixed mental energy was smashing together in a sloppy attempt at a truce; it occurred to him that it might be the sedative that made that much even possible. There was no natural calm to be mined from within; but once the adrenaline began to wane, the medication pulled him back down from those hysterical heights.

The primary struggle was to get and keep control. The situation was a thousand fold beyond his ability to cope with, in the midst of it all he was nervously aware that it was a miracle that he wasn't blown into standby or unconsciousness yet. Planning, reasoning, making final peace with imminent death…there was no way he was even remotely capable doing any of those things right now, but those were the strengths being demanded from him in order for Al to survive.

His will to fight linked with the determination to destroy the enemy to save his brother; the fatalistic element assured him that there was no need to take his own safety into consideration; they would be satisfied with allowing one last mission, if at the end it would truly be the end.

His incredible strength of character seized the moment where his will was his own, under his control; and he just managed to create a silent mantra, so that in the absence of the ability to think and comprehend anything complex, he could repeat it in his mind and maintain a point of focus beyond the horror of being back in this situation with Alphonse.

The only way to save him is to destroy the monster. You must destroy the monster. Destroy the monster. You must destroy it, and to do so you must...kill it. You will have to kill. Cold-blooded murder is the only way. You must kill. Kill. Kill!

"All right. I'll let you down and you come and take care of shorty. You try and run away and I'll feed him your balls before I start lobbing off his appendages, too. Get it?"

"I get it. I told you, I give up. You won. I'll give you everything, do anything you want. Just, please. Just, please, think about it. Once you have what you want, you could let us go."

Envy yanked Al in front of Ed and pointed.

"So open the clip and catch him before he falls."

Al was confused; it wasn't apparent how Ed was hung up, exactly, but his back was coated in blood. He couldn't see where a rope was at all.

"Idiot. The back of his neck. It's the same as last time."

"But…I don't know the details about that." Gingerly, trying not to cause Ed any more pain, Al's hand fished until he found the clip, and realization dawned on him.

Ed's back was lashed with wires, in and out through the skin lacing across his upper back and culminating in a tight criss-cross pattern of multiple strands covering the base of his neck – creating a study, solid set of loops capable of supporting the suspended weight of his entire body; the same body weight that would make impossible to get free once fully suspended.

The same as last time…that piece of the puzzle finally justified Ed's extreme reaction to having the back of his neck touched. It completely explained the strange pattern of raised scars on his neck and upper back. Mustang had to know more about this than he said; after all, he found Ed; so did the doctor. Curse them for not coming clean, no matter that they probably thought they were sparing him by concealing brutal details.

He pushed the thoughts away away; he didn't have time for the luxury of feeling hatred for Envy and outrage at his own comrades. It was amazing that Ed had not gone irreversibly insane from his first captivity; now here he was enduring a repeat of that cruel method of rendering him helpless. Seeing the terrible damage to such sensitive flesh up close choked him with nausea and fear that he might not be able to get through to him after all.

"Here. Moron. Weakling. Hold him!" Impatient that Al couldn't immediately figure out how to lift Ed's weight and undo the clip at the same time, Envy reached back and released the catch.

Al went to the ground with Ed, trying to get him to meet his eyes.

But Ed's head fell forward, leaving Al with an even better view of how raggedly some of the skin had been torn around the wires from that brief bit of suspension. He gasped and fought it until the last second, when he turned his head to vomit in a sob of frustration. This was no time to be weak and let emotion overcome him. He blinked hard to get the tears to clear away for good. Ed's suffering was agonizing to witness, but if he didn't get his shit together, there would be much, much worse to come.

He spat and wiped him mouth on his shoulder, unwilling to take either hand off Edward.

He could almost swear Ed said something, so he ducked down while lifting up on his brother's armpits, to see if he could catch it again.

Through all the inner turmoil and the loud, singular mantra, Ed heard the sounds of his brother in distress. It sounded as if he was starting to cry. He sensed more than saw that he was sick, and his own stomach roiled in feverish sympathy. Al had to be mobile and he had to have the wits to follow orders. The mantra was important but it had one additional, non-negotiable requirement – Al had to survive.

Ed sensed Envy's presence as well. So it would be a battle, straight up. He reaffirmed that he wouldn't try to reason with it, or outsmart it. Trying to trick him was too risky; trickery was the monster's bread and butter, it was unlikely that anyone could beat him at his own game.

The only advantage Ed could think of was his own weakness, his own misplaced compassion. When he was being tortured before, Envy never tired of mocking him for his pathetic desire to be fair. He reminded him endlessly that it was his refusal to punish the guilty before seeing all the evidence that left him wide open for anything the inhumans cared to do to him.

An all out assault, without warning, was the only hope he had of attaining victory. Followed by unwavering attack without mercy, to the death. Envy would never suspect that he was capable of it.

But Al had to be out of the way. He was defenseless without alchemy and the strength of his armor. And Envy would be certain to take advantage of that. Getting Al out of the way was a sticky wicket. It seemed that there was no way to protect him from the extreme ferocity of battle necessary to kill that beast. The initial phase of the fight would have to be waged to get Al safely away.

"Al," he whispered hoarsely. His mind was still clear, but there was no telling how long that might last. Al had to pay attention. Everything rode on his brother's ability to cooperate. "It's going to be okay."

Al was quiet for a moment. It seemed that he might have heard Ed say something, but it was likely just wishful thinking. He began talking incessantly to get Ed's attention.

Envy was too close to consider throwing Ed over his shoulder and running for it. His plans still narrowed down to bargaining for the return of the stone from the Gate. But to do that, he had to get Ed to wake up in some semblance of sanity.

"Ed. Come on Ed, we're free. We've got something to do, I need your help. We're going to be okay, I've talked it out with him. There isn't going to be any more pain. The worst is over. We…we're free, all right? We just have something we have to do. Please, Ed. I promise, we'll be fine. But you have to help me. You have to listen."

Ed's head began to lift and he managed to say Al's name before doubling back over. Al looked up at Envy, half-panicked that the impatient demon might call it right then and there. But the creep was perched on a stone, watching with interest, seemingly amused at his expression.

"That's a great look you're wearing, kid. I haven't seen one like it since the first time you little big bro and I played this game." Memory touched off when he used the word "kid," Envy looked around, annoyed. Rage wasn't anywhere to be seen, but he could feel his presence. He was pretending not to hear for some reason, not coming out like he was supposed to. This was the perfect time for him to join in. Once Alphonse got Ed talking, the next step would be to introduce him to his offspring. Then there might be time to play some more. They might be able to retrieve a stone from the other side, but the more Envy thought, the more highly he doubted it. No, this ploy was just to get Ed calm enough to do some bonding with his child and to make him understand his situation. Al wouldn't abandon Ed, so there was no real risk in leaving him loose. And Ed wasn't going anywhere in his condition.

As long as Al thought he had a deal, he'd stay right here and serve his purpose. At least, until it was time to relocate in the tunnels. Mindful of the time lapse, Envy checked the angle of the sun. They wouldn't be able to stay here too much longer. He wasn't sure now that exposing them in this place was such a good idea, since it didn't look like he needed to leave either of them for the soldiers to discover and resume their protective custody until the fated Day. Still, they needed to get a little further into the game before he made that decision.

Envy turned, hands on his hip, huffing in frustration. Would he have to go drag the little bastard out?

"Rage! Come out, now! I'm not going to ask you again!"

A shadow moved slightly, then lengthened as it slowly stood upright.

With their captor distracted, Ed straightened back up unseen. To Al's surprise, he looked him in the eye and nodded. "You're all right, Al. Just do as I say. We've got to get you out of here."

Al's mouth hung open for a split-second. "Y-yeah. Ed, I have a plan..."

"No. We do this my way. Help me up, now! This may be our only chance."

"Come on!" he shouted again. Rage was about to join them, and he'd been looking forward to this for so long. Envy began to turn back to his captives, excited, impatient for Ed to be lucid enough for this to be entertaining.

The loud report of a massive alchemic reaction hit his ears a split-second before the barrage of rock and earth covered him like a wave.

"Run, Al," Ed gasped. The moment he found the balance and took a deep breath, he bent forward to pound the ground again and again, transmuting the raw material of the earth into crushing force, sharp objects and burning chemicals. The barrage was ceaseless, and his aim was deadly true. He hit the mark over and over, crushing, slicing, hammering, but still he detected Envy's strong life force. Luck was not going to go easy on them, and he hadn't expected it to. This would be neither quick nor simple. He had to get Al to safety now. Without Alchemy, Al was a sitting duck. He would be at risk and in the way.

And if he staying in visual range, he would be an eye witness to his brother's last act in this world, and that act would be murder. It was not how Ed wanted to be remembered.

But Al stood his ground. "Not unless you run, too!"

"I will! Go that way. I'll catch up!"

"Hell, no! Not without you!"

"You idiot." Ed grimly surveyed the area. The earthen pile was starting to move. He transmuted the entire surface of the mound into a huge sheet of solid granite, hoping it would hold the demon just long enough.

He was shocked at the even greater clarity of mind that possessed him. It seemed impossible to be so controlled and powerful in the midst of this debilitating nightmare, but he wasn't going to question it. He had to keep thinking and move. "Then we'll both run." He grabbed Al's arm and pulled him along, ignoring the tearing pain in his leg and upper body. The damned flimsy automail was a handicap in battle, but it was faster to run with. If he had to, he'd knock Al over the head and force him to hide. There wasn't much time.

There, not far away, were the familiar landmarks. An answer from the past was coming back to him, a wave of déjà vu so strong it shook his bowels. The tallest tree. The flat-topped rocks. He changed course slightly and yanked Al to turn his path.

"No, Ed, the base is this way!"

"Too obvious. Just come on, damn it!"

Al went along, still stunned at Ed's sudden revival. He sounded in complete control, and so positive, as if knew that he had the right plan. Was he actually faking it, when he strung up like that? As amazing as Ed was, it just couldn't be possible.

"If only I could fight too," Al said, running and trying to think. "Damn it, I need my alchemy!"

Ed doubled his effort, increasing the pace. A deep base rumble, punctuated by massive cracking sounds, signaled their enemy's increasingly successful efforts to get free.

He slid around a knoll covered in scrub bushes, spotting the depression just south of the tallest pin oak.

The spot. It worked once. Envy never knew where Al was hidden before. It was the only thing he could think of on such short notice.

He jerked his brother to a halt. Al was going to be pissed, but there was no other way.

"Stop, Al! We're here."

xxxx

Enfield's errand took quite some time, what with medication not being where he was told it was, and the disagreement among the staff as to just what, exactly, he had been sent to retrieve. Then, having to sign forms and check out through the clerk in order to pick up the controlled substance. Gansworth hadn't signed out, that alone added another good ten minutes to the process. If that Sikorsky fellow hadn't overheard and confirmed the doctor's whereabouts and specific patients, he'd be coming back empty-handed.

He grumbled in frustration when no one answered his knock. Digging for the key, he cursed the stupidity of the situation. It had already occurred to him, as he returned, that he wasn't sure just how long he was expected to wait if they left during the delay. The room was silent and empty. He set down his gear and heaved an uncomfortable sigh. Damned Mitchell, he was removed from the rotation for good reason, and his ham-fisted behavior was just part of it. It wasn't good to have him watching the boys without someone they had more trust in. This sucked, plain and simple, and he sure didn't feel comfortable about any part of it.

He considered trying to call out from the phone in the observation room, but of course, since they were supposed to be doing all this in secret, using the phone line was out. It was just...if he knew where they were located he'd feel a lot better, even if he couldn't go there yet.

He sat and drummed his fingers on the tabletop, realizing that a delay at this point might be purposeful. They would probably wait to call for him until ample time had been allowed for him to return. The goal was to make the move without alerting anyone to the change. They'd want avoid going back and forth, so they'd wait to be sure that it only took one trip to come back to collect him.

He settled in to listen alertly for the occasional traffic in the hallway through the closed and barred door.

xxxxx

Down the hall from that barred door, barely able to move, swimming in pain and despair and sticky with his own blood, Dr. Gansworth slowly found awareness. His cramping back reported the lumps and angles of human bodies under him; his nose ascertained that death had claimed some if not all of them, which explained their total lack of complaint about his rude choice of resting place. The odor was not strong yet, so their passing was very recent, indeed.

The darkness was broken solely by the sharp edge of light at the threshold, where the gap between the closed door and the floor let in just enough that his eyes, once he could drag them open, helped him better understand his situation despite the lack of glasses.

His glasses were gone. It seemed his coat had been removed, as well.

Memory came back in a dull roar, but somehow the terror that colored it was just a footnote. His assailant meant for him to die here, and his current bout of consciousness was probably unforeseen. Whatever action he took now, it would likely be his last. Given the amount of blood loss, and how horrible he felt, there was no point in deluding himself otherwise. The end was nigh, even if he tried to be still and conserve energy by waiting and hoping for rescue.

He contemplated the door, imagining the height of the knob and his ability to reach. Thinking was slow and difficult, but he dogged the problem at hand, and tried to consider all of the angles. He tried lifting a hand and after considerable effort, managed to drag it sideways a few inches, but that was all. His fingers didn't seem to open and close, although he couldn't be sure without seeing them. That eliminated the possibility of working the latch. Given the situation, he surmised that it was locked anyway.

He could try to make noise and get someone's attention. That, too, was not a very viable option. His vocal chords were unresponsive, although he was pretty sure they weren't damaged at all. There were a number of reasons why that might be the case, clinically speaking, but in the practical sense, none of that mattered.

He considered other ways to create noise, like crawling close enough to kick the door, but if no one happened to be in the corridor at that time, it would be for naught. In his condition, one or two kicks might use up the last of his precious consciousness, yet go unheard.

The light glinted off the edge of the pool of blood that had formed below the heaped bodies; he saw it when he angled his head to look for the best way to slide down to the floor.

It hit him. It wasn't brilliant, but it had a high probability of success could he manage it. On his back, arched over the pile, head mostly in the direction of the door, he made the decision to try and slide down.

It would do no good tumble off, it was vital to control his speed and angle as much as possible. Slowly, using his still-cooperative legs and hips to worm along, he managed to stay flat on his back all the way down, deliberately ignoring the sensation of various distinctive body parts as they passed under him. He ended up in the right position to touch down into the midst of the thickening red liquid. Rocked by pain, he gasped as he pushed until his shoulder came down flat against the floor.

Dizzy from that effort, it took everything he had to prepare for the next. His arms were too hard to lift with any control, and if he didn't move in just the right way, it would defeat his purpose. So using both feet to push awkwardly against the fresh corpses, he used his shoulder as a plow to force the fresh, congealing pool of blood towards the gap under the door.

It seemed to be working. It was hard to see, but it felt as if he might be moving an amount sufficient to cause it flow under the door and into the corridor. He was resolute in ignoring the somewhat disgusting sensation of it globbing up under his head, his hair gathering and smearing it along like a mop of sorts. It was thickening but still a proper liquid; from experience he estimated the flow characteristics, and blessed the tiny crumb of luck that the quantity (high enough) and viscosity (low enough) seemed to be in his favor. If could just get his shoulder right up to the gap, there would be no where else for the fluid to go. It would have to ooze out in plain sight, and his plan would have an excellent possibility alerting a passerby that something was amiss.

The infiltrator had to be discovered as soon as possible. He had no illusion that his life could be saved, but if Edward and Alphonse were to have any prayer of survival, people had to be aware of their situation as soon as possible. It could be hours before the smell of the bodies grew strong enough to alert someone in the hallway, so if this small act made a difference, if it increased the boys' chances in any way, at least his life could conclude in the same noble vein as he had lived it.

First his head, then his shoulder touched something solid, finally. For a few moments there at the end, he didn't know if he could get that far, but he managed to make one last effort and get right up against the cold, flat surface. His legs had gone numb at the very last and he assumed they were now useless, although that was immaterial at this point. The light was nearly extinguished, blocked by his body from penetrating into the small room. It glinted red into the corner of his right eye from under the gap, rendering everything else pitch black in contrast. The glare caused his vision to lock in an unblinking, watering stare.

He was surprised at his own flash of wry humor at the thought of the poor person who would eventually have to try to open that door. They would have to push hard enough to shove his body aside, and he wouldn't be able to apologize. They would just have to take it on faith that he was sorry for being in the way. He sincerely hoped that they got here soon, for the boys' sake, and so that the blood didn't dry enough to adhere his body to the floor. That would really add to the challenge of getting in.

His eyes closed with the feeling of finality and his heart stumbled. He was doubly relieved that he had done a good job patching up the Colonel. But even though Mustang would recover to watch over the boys, how he wished he knew who would step in to help with their psychological rehabilitation. He hoped it was a mental health professional who knew their stuff, but also someone who genuinely cared for them. Someone who would take everything about them into account; someone balanced and able to give them as much hope and care as they did guidance and diligent behavior modification.

In his heart he doubted that his replacement could ever care for them as deeply as he had; but as much as he ached to stay and be the one to guide them, it was bitterly evident that his tour of duty was over.

It was time to concede the battle. The last of his strength was ebbing away.

A stillness, far more peaceful then he ever would have imagined, stole over his mind and body, covering over him like a heavy blanket. With it, an incredible feeling of well-being welled up from within, spreading out from his heart until it embraced his body from head to toe. Released from his struggle, every bit of the pain disappeared. Illogically, it suddenly felt like absolutely everything was perfect.

It was a wonderful, joyful experience; for the few seconds that it lasted, he felt free in a way he would had never believed possible. It was a comfortable, fearless transition into the dark nothing of unconsciousness.

In the slight shadow caused by the angle of the hallway in relation to the lighting at the storage room's entrance, a curved swath of deep, rusty red began to creep out and across the well-worn linoleum.

xxxx

Rage hid, breath held, balled up tight. His parents were fighting. This was no place for a kid to be.

The debris that flew hit him time and again, but he held fast and took it, retreating just slightly. It seemed to last forever.

Then the strangest sound nearly deafened him.

When it stopped, he hazarded a look out from between his fingers. There, where normal wilderness used to be, there was a huge solid object.

Mama was nowhere to be seen. Where the forest beyond the destruction resumed its normal appearance, two figures were disappearing into it. He was sure they were the people Mama had pinned to the wall. One of them was probably Daddy. Rage was really, really glad he was gone.

He skittered across the huge slab of stone, reaching the top to scan the distance. Mama would chase them if she could. Where had she gone?

He sat and used his senses, confused. He always knew when Mama left before, and he didn't think she had.

Beneath me. Mama is beneath me!

Rage jumped up and ran in frantic circles, lifting his feet high and fast as if he were treading on hot coals.

"Mama! Come out! Mama!"

It was hard to detect her at all. What had they done to her? He stopped and fell to his knees, pounding the unyielding stone.

The slab shivered under his hands. Did he do that? He hit the surface again. A deep rumbling resonated in response.

Their stones were communicating. Mama was all right, but her force was disrupted. With each impact on the huge slab, the resonance re-triggered. Each time, it grew stronger. She was recovering her strength somewhere below. Rage was thrilled to know it was going to be all right; but an uneasiness grew the closer Mama got to her normal power.

Somehow, she'd have to get back up from beneath the slab. It might not be safe to be on top of it when she emerged.

The next resonance shook the entire slab. First one crack appeared, then two. Rage stumbled back and considered running, but everything grew quiet. He felt compelled to continue pushing force through the slab, but his sense of self-preservation strongly disagreed.

One more, he thought nervously. One more time should be enough, then Mama won't need me to get free.

His hands were still pushing down when the shattering rock flew up and hit him in so many places it felt like he was being ripped to shreds.

The sky and the ground traded places again and again as he rolled for what seemed like forever before coming to rest, still too close to the exploding ground. He had been right; Mama had recovered sufficiently to fight out on her own. Her anger was apparent in the excessive force that sent dirt, rocks, and boulders alike flying at deadly speed in all directions.

Rage took hit after hit, until the fragments large and small completely obliterated him from sight. Not that Envy was looking for him. No, Mama was rampaging, and Rage was the farthest thing from her mind.

Everything hurt, and it would take some time to heal enough to get free. They'd sort of traded places, but that was all right. Now they were both safe.

But he couldn't say the same for those two humans.

xxxxxx

Enfield sighed and stretched again impatiently. This was getting ridiculous. He stood and glared at the door before shaking his head and moving on. He couldn't hear anyone in the hallway until he started for the restroom; but he thought he heard something. Maybe not. Just in case, he planned to relieve himself quickly once since it took him out of hearing range. He was slow, then, opening the door, paying more attention elsewhere with his ears than in front of him with his eyes.

So it took a beat for the scene to register when the flip of the light switch revealed it to him.

A used syringe sat on the counter, partially full. Ed's clothes were strewn around the floor. The doctor's bag and stethoscope were carelessly stashed next to the toilet. Ed's bag was there, too.

He shifted into full alert mode. Did they have to leave before they planned to? Dr. Gansworth would definitely have taken his bag; he wouldn't forget something so important. Why was it in the bathroom, and on the floor of all places?

He backed out quickly, scanning the room with a new perspective for anything out of place as he waffled over using the emergency button. A trip to the cabinet to confirmed his growing suspicion; none of Ed's belongings went with them. Not even the kit for the daily automail maintenance.

Those smears on the floor the Doc tracked in. Squatting, he pushed a fingernail across one. Definitely blood.

Almost simultaneously, sounds out in the hallway turned into shouts and a new alarm began to wail; without the boys to protect, he made the executive decision to abandon his post and raced to investigate.

He threw open the door to a familiar face, one he had just seen minutes before. He received no return look of recognition; warily, he watched the ashen-faced orderly, walking up unsteadily, distracted by the men and activity at the doorway of the storage room further down the corridor.

"I hope I'm wrong," Sikorsky mumbled, eyes wide and watering. He'd been in such a hurry, to come check on his boss after the strange way he sent Enfield for those meds. He'd ridden the guys at the lab and got all the reports ready early, just as Dr. Gansworth ordered, and they sat until his promised return was long overdue. He was worried about his superior, because he was never late like this without sending any word about the delay, and because he was so obviously exhausted. Because he was under so much strain and never gave himself a break. Because he never let anyone else bear his burdens, and he'd been bearing them for so long.

But never, in his wildest imagination, was he afraid that his boss might have become a victim of foul play.

He noticed Enfield watching and he shook himself out of it. He didn't know anything yet. It was just a feeling he had when he spotted the blood, a horrible feeling. It was dark in the room, and the guards he had alerted were trying to be careful getting the door open.

"I'm looking for Dr. Gansworth," he said, throat so tight it hurt. "Is he here?"

"No."

The orderly's face registered the word as a painful blow.

"When..." he swallowed hard, preparing for the worst. "When did you see him last?"

"He was here about an hour after shift change."

"For how long."

"Not long," Enfield said, getting hesitant. Gansworth took Edward. Someone looking for Edward might try to find him by looking for Gansworth."Why?"

But Sikorsky just shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd held out a faint hope that the doctor's well-known reputation for being overly dedicated to the Elrics' recovery was the explanation for his tardiness. If Dr. G was anywhere else and able, he'd have reported in that he was going to be late, without fail. Sikorsky's sixth sense was dead on ninety percent of the time, and this time, the terrible premonition seemed to be right again.

From the sound of it, the men working the door were nearly in. The hubbub in the hallway was growing. It would only be a matter of moments before he knew for sure.

"I hate it when I'm right."

"What?" Enfield asked, shaking his head. "What do you mean? What happened down there?"

Sikorsky's head swiveled and he was gone, transformed into a model of speed and efficiency. The door was finally open, and his services were needed.

Enfield stepped out as well, shouting out as he saw Fahlman coming at a dead run.

"Somebody tell me what's going on," Enfield said, holding open the door as the Warrent Officer skidded to a halt.

"Where the hell are they?" Fahlman shouted, goggling at the empty room and fully aware that it was the only reason Enfield would wave him in without checking his identification.

"Do you have clearance..."

"Clearance? Why aren't they here? Acting Colonel Armstrong sent me to check on them"

"They're all moved. Al left with..."

"Al left! He left? Why would you let him leave? Where's Ed?"

"Al left with Thompkins! Dr. Gansworth gave the orders to move them both. He and Mitchell took Ed a couple of hours ago!"

"Shit. You might as well know. Mitchell is dead. They just found him in one of the latrines. That's why I'm here checking up." Fahlman took two quick steps back into the hallway and yelled to the Sargent helping with the casualties. "Who've you got? Any medical personnel?"

"Gansworth and Thompkins, sir."

"Damn it!"

"Dr. Gansworth sent me to..."

"It doesn't matter. Maintain your post. Close up and keep track of anyone that tries to get in here. Detain anybody that's the least bit suspicious and use the button."

Fahlman reversed course and set out to find Major Armstrong, running at top speed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mustang threw back the covers and Lt. Hawkeye grabbed his hand. She heard the second change in alarm, upgrading the status of the alert yet again, and she knew damned good and well what he intended to do.

"Unhand me, that's an order!"

"No, sir!" she barked back. "You leave that alone!"

They struggled briefly, but this was more than just an impulse on his part.

"Then I'll walk out with the damned thing dragging behind me!"

He threw his bare legs over the edge of the bed and sat up; he fought the momentarily dizziness and steeled against the pain. She knew as well as he did that serious shit was going down. He had no time for her mother hen act on top of it all.

"Pants. Now."

"Colonel..."

"I have never been more serious in my life, Lieutenant. Every minute may count. I have to go see Armstrong."

"Then let me get a wheelchair. Colonel, you..."

"Enough! Get my clothes or I'll walk out of here without them."

"This isn't wise, Colonel."

"It's an order, lieutenant."

Despite her better judgment, she acquiesced.

Shirt and jacket open but on, in pants and boots but taking no time for socks, he lumbered out. She frowned when she realized she'd missed how he managed to ditch the IV.

It was nothing like the expression that the Major wore when he saw his unruly superior darkening his doorway.

"Well?"

Armstrong swallowed down his protest about the Colonel's condition. He didn't even consider hiding the truth. "The Elric brothers are both missing. The base has been compromised. They are reported to have been removed from their quarters by staff to an unknown location elsewhere on base. But that doesn't appear to be the case."

"Damn it! What's your plan?"

"We're combing the base, Colonel, but so far all we've found are numerous casualties. None of them able to talk."

"How did they get past security?"

"It wasn't by force. At least, not at the perimeter or the gate. It may well be that one or more of them were already on the inside."

"Has anyone interrogated Gansworth? He..."

"One of the casualties," the Major interrupted solemnly, "was the good doctor himself. He was said to be the one to escort Edward from the safe room. But it appears that it may not have been the case."

"Where were they..."

The radio receiver crackled, and Armstrong thumbed the control abruptly, making the small box rock forward.

"There's some kind of disturbance in the Section 5 perimeter. Sounds like an earthquake and a lightning storm put together."

"Fullmetal." Mustang said grimly. "That sounds like alchemy!"

"Wait, we don't know that..."

"Pull together a party, let's move out! There's no time to lose!"

"Colonel, you're in no condition, and they could be right here still. We haven't finished sweeping the base..."

"My flame alchemy is the only thing that can defeat those monsters. I know what I'm talking about. If we get there and I'm wrong, if those boys are just asleep in some meeting room, I'll apologize then. Let's go!"

xxxxxxx

The roar of moving earth was so deafening; it drowned out his screams completely. His voice didn't register, even in his own ears. No doubt Ed couldn't hear him at all as he tumbled back down into the pit of intolerable darkness. He could only imagine the smells and sensation when he was in this dank earthen grave the first time. Now this was the full sensual experience; his nails ripped as he clawed fruitlessly, the soil raining down, refusing to support his bid to climb free.

"I'll die if you do this! I'll die this time, for real! I have to breathe air now, my body will be crushed!, I'll die, I'll die! Ed, please, NO!" He doesn't hear me! He can't hear me! He's not thinking straight, he doesn't understand!

"Trust me, Al, this will work again, there's no time for any other options! You have to be quiet and wait here! I'll be back as soon as I can!"

With those heart-stopping words pronouncing his fate, the light and the majority of his ability to think rationally all came to an end in an alchemic avalanche of dirt, covering the sky, smothering the outside world.

Mercifully, Al fainted with the first blanketing of earth, sparing him the balance of the experience of his re-internment.

When the ground was smooth and unremarkable again, Ed staggered back, eyes rolling wildly. His drunken pace wasn't nearly fast enough. It was time to confront the enemy again, and it had to be far enough away that Al wouldn't be discovered if his best effort failed to bring the bastard down.

But he'd barely managed more than a minute of stumbling trot when his heart froze.

"Game over, pipsqueak," Envy growled, emerging from the next stand of trees. "I saw everything."

"So what?" Ed screamed, guts twisting in realization. If Envy was telling the truth, Al was as good as the homunculus' prisoner now. He was trapped, easy prey. "He's useless to you. It's me you want."

"No, ho ho, no. That's actually funny. He's the best leverage against you that anyone could hope for. And I just love the way he gets all boo-hoo when I hurt you, too. That's what I call entertainment. Now listen to me, you little bitch. You'd better do as I say. You're both mine now. And you've both got hell to pay for causing me all this trouble."

Deep in the fragile, damaged chest, Ed's laboring heart transitioned from frozen shock to red hot fury. The full panorama of the evils that Envy had subjected him to began to flicker in his mind, and for the hundredth time he imagined what Al would endure as the next victim. It flashed through his head in a matter of seconds, although it was well beyond his ability to bear the thought a moment longer than that.

He erupted in an adrenaline-fueled, inhuman shriek so loud and out of control that it shut his tormentor up instantly. His inner mantra returned with such force that it was all his head could hold, and it drilled the message into his brain. It eclipsed the entire world and everything in it, from the inside out.

Kill.

Envy stopped in his tracks, his senses warning him that he had miscalculated somehow.

Before he could move, an explosion of rocks ten times that of the last assault flew up, forcing him to dodge and move with all his skills, yet it still wasn't good enough.

The entire hillside behind him was rolling, charging down on him like a mighty ocean wave.

Ed's hands were clapping and slamming without pausing, hammering energy into a geological storm of natural artillery.

"You can't keep that up!" Envy yelled, leaping and dodging faster but still taking damage, working hard to heal and regenerate quickly enough. As tough as it was to bear the brunt of the kid's last assault, this was much, much more. This was the real deal, something he never thought the little blondie was remotely capable of. This was meant to erase him from existence. It would never work, of course, but if Ed kept it up, he might die trying. "Your lung will burst! You'll have a fucking heart attack this time, you idiot weakling!"

Ed's only reply was to convert pitch from the closest trees into caustic liquid projectiles, blasting the last of the smugness from the oversized mouth with melting acid.

"You can't have my little brother!"

"Okay, shit, forget it then! I don't even fucking want him! I swear, I'll let him go!"

Doesn't want him? A fragment of Ed's mind, one hundred percent focused on destroying his tormentor, split off in different direction as it took in those unexpected words. His determination never flagged from the fight, but he was suddenly forced to grapple on two fronts, the dangerous battlefield and the inner tumble of unstable mental processes. Flashbacks and fears roiled up through the crack in his armor, and as he tried to push them away, the force of the negative emotions increased, taking on lives of their own, with strange and powerful shapes. Now he had to wrestle with them as well, trying to push them back to wherever they came from. This was too important to fuck up - he had to win both battles at all costs. Pain was erupting everywhere, and he understood how thoroughly he was destroying his own body to win this fight. It mattered not - he would win at all costs, and that meant Al...was finally going to be free.

Al was free of the sins his big brother had forced upon him. Al was free. Free.

His hands hit the ground again and as the pain of the impact shot up into his shoulder, something deep inside was cracking as well. This struggle wore away at his last lines of emotional defense. Something vital and solid and never before opened was giving way, and releasing things that weren't meant to see the light of day. In the most insane of his days, this had never happened. It made sense to him though, in some facet of his fractured awareness. This was a voluntary release, and when he was ill and confused, he wouldn't have had the ability to pull it off. It was lousy timing, it wasn't going to help with the battle his body was waging – but it was happening right now nonetheless.

He sensed it as a broken seal, as if his soul was a container, an embattled, ugly, damaged container than could spare the energy to hold in its contents no longer.

It was okay. The pain in his upper torso was going nova and the feeling in his arm was unreliable; it took concentration in every bit of his life force to keep generating the attack. His body was wringing out the throttle to the limit; pushing to throw all he had to finish the job. There was no energy to spare to resist the jailbreak in his psyche.

It felt strange to feel the dark prisoners crawling out. Maybe he saw them, he wasn't sure, the world was visually confused right now anyway, what with transmuting with all his might to destroy everything directly in front of him over and over to make sure the homunculus truly died. A lot of debris was flying around, he was starting to bleed significantly from wounds that multiplied with each of the countless impacts, his face nearly a mask of red; but even through that mess, it seemed that he could actually see the ethereal shapes escaping from within. As Envy had shrieked while reneging on his desire to keep Al, he didn't want them anyway, and it was cleansing to let them go. The bloody masses of guilt, the cold lumps of worthlessness and the long, insidious tentacles of pain and self-hatred came slithering out, like guts from a gaping abdominal wound that piled all around his feet, unaffected by his constant movement and the violent reshaping of the landscape.

As the crack within grew larger, the lighter-than-air prisoners escaped, too. They were a flash of beauty rising up and away before they could be seen properly. He wished he could have paused to watch them and say goodbye. The love and hope he nurtured, in denial of the evidence that he was undeserving of such comfort, had kept him going through the worst of it all. After everything he'd done, after repeating the mistakes and proving his failure to be a good man at every lost opportunity to redeem his soul, he had been clinging to these little hopes that he wasn't truly a bad person, that someday he would get everything straightened away and be able to love and be loved by the people he cared for the most without feeling dishonest. It was time to abandon that, too. Everything could go now. His arm and shoulders burned and ached, his chest was beginning to hurt in a way he had never experienced before, yet he knew instantly that this was his heart reaching its limit.

The portion of his brain diligently focused on his task had a hard time getting the message across. There was no sense of Envy's life force now. He didn't stop, because it was hard to know when to stop, and the rest of his mind wasn't ready to listen yet anyway; but as he sent smaller and smaller slices of stone through the softened ground to till the tiny pieces of the dead beast into the soil, there was nothing left of his enemy that could be identified. It seemed that he had won; he could break off the brutal effort whenever he wanted to.

If his mind would pay attention it would realize that his body was on the brink of using up the last of the energy it needed if he were to have any chance of survival. It wasn't complete ignorance that kept him from terminating his pointless destruction. There were parts of his mind that knew and they were good with it; they wanted it to end this way and they wouldn't stop it for anything. This was, after all, supposed to be his last, and greatest, act of redemption.

I did it. He's dead. I have finally paid back my debt to this world. Now my existence here is essentially erased. My good and evil have canceled each other out once and for all. I have returned the balance sheet to zero.

But from out of nowhere, the finality of his victory was snatched away. As always, there was one more detail. One more problem. One more impossible, Herculean effort to be made.

No, you idiot – stop. Stop now before you make the worst mistake of all. You promised Al. You have to show them where he is first. He's going to be so angry with you if you don't hurry and alert someone to dig him back up!

The thought of Al's situation jarred the majority of his disunited thought processes into unified attention. The hallucinations faded, and the strange sense of moving objects and animated beings occupying his body vanished. He was able to stop, and in the ensuing, eerie silence, he heard how awful his own labored breath was. He sounded like he was dying, and it hit him hard that he was no longer sure that he'd be able to hang on. The pain and the weariness brought him crashing all the way to the mangled ground. He thought he was through with the tests of loyalty and endurance, but no. Al wasn't free. His damned mind had fooled him and nearly blown Al's chance at surviving. Now he had to figure out how to get help, because there was no way he'd be able to perform the careful alchemy necessary to dig him up. What an idiot, wasting all that effort after the monster was already annihilated. His body didn't respond when he tried to push back up. An attempt at a crawl caused the automail limbs to contract erratically, but everything else remained still, leaden and riddled with pain.

Even with fear as the motivation, his head wouldn't lift enough to turn to locate the source of approaching footfalls. Every cell in his body froze. The concept of Envy dashing up to stand over him was too much to bear. He knew he was supposed to try and rise up and fight, or at least go down with a defiant look on his face, but he just couldn't.

Standby, his old friend, was suddenly there, taking his hand, getting ready to pull him back into the fold. It had been a hell of a try, but in the long run Standby was almost smug. Ed never should have left the comfort of his benevolent care. He could have stayed comfortably in oblivion for all the good he'd ended up doing. As always, Ed's tremendous efforts had been detrimental to the world, and no one looking back at his deeds could ever say anything else.

"He's here. Hurry!" Fahlman hissed back to the corpsman. Ed was face-down, straining for breath, covered in his own blood and pale as a ghost.

The corpsman was shocked at the nasty tangle of wires protruding from the thin, bare body. Wincing in sympathy, he had to turn Ed onto his back to work on his survival regardless. The feedback from the stethoscope was even more distressing.

"This is serious. We have to get him to the base right away."

"Fullmetal. Ed. Can you hear me?," Mustang manged to say, winded and leaning heavy on the Major as they caught up. "Stay with me, kid."

The Colonel's bandages bloomed with patches of crimson, but the stubborn soul refused to release command. Ed saw only the eyes, and it gave him a rush of desparate hope. He could make his final report, and leave this world knowing that Al was surely in better hands than his own.

"It's you...sir. It's true, then...I did. I..." Ed's voice was barely detectable. Ignoring his own discomfort, Mustang leaned in closer. "...killed."

"You what, Ed?"

"I killed. I killed. I killed!" Each repetition of the word increased its impact. He meant it as a status report at first, but it took on new life as he uttered the words, burrowing into his heart. It was true. He had taken a life. He had purposely killed. He had murdered, enemy or not. An act that could not be undone.

What the words lacked in physical volume, the expression made up for it in explosive impact. Mustang knew that feeling when the fevered, unfocused eyes rolled up to meet his, wide with horrified shock and disbelief. It hammered hard an old welt buried in his soul, one so deeply imbedded that he had nearly come to accept as a part of his birthright. The first time he took a life with his bare hands to fulfill his duty, it shattered his naive self-image and forever erased the last delusion of any sort of personal innocence or nobility of cause.

Dirty hands grew you up, plain and simple, never to be a child in heart or soul again.

Somehow, he had hoped that Ed wouldn't have to go through that, not on top of all his countless other sorrows. The arguably inhuman homunculus richly deserved his fate, and only a hero of epic proportion could take on the burden to save humanity from such a demonic beast. The boy deserved to feel proud. He so deserved to feel relieved, and to finally let down his guard and contemplate a future safe from the terrifying shadow of persecution. To rest and recuperate, to heal, to find peace at last.

But this was Ed, the unreasonable, eternal pacifist, the Ed than despite his proven genius, never, ever really understood what sins he might be compelled to commit as a soldier.

Roy knew deep in his heart the irrevocable damage that had just been done, much as it was for him so many years ago, when a Colonel barked in his ear to force him to finish the job of strangling an enemy that had infiltrated behind the lines. Face to face, hand to hand, they'd fought crudely, neither really very good at it, Mustang the almost-Alchemist, wrestling a demolitions expert struggling to set off the explosives strapped around his chest. Fear, not only for himself but for the men next to him in the trench, gave Roy slightly more adrenaline than his opponent. Using alchemic flame he was only starting to master was not an option, the slightest inaccuracy might set off the very cataclysm he fought to prevent. So he managed to prevail in the struggle, unable to risk waiting even though others were closing in to help. The enemy was losing consciousness with his eyes still bugged out, open wide, due to his iron grip around the thin, vein-laced throat.

He was preparing to let go, to disarm and secure the prisoner, but arriving on the scene, his superior officer saw that intent telegraphed on his face.

"Whatever you do, keep that up, Mustang. Finish him."

His hands started to ease their hold anyway. It was natural. It wasn't necessary to kill. This was another human being, so close the smell of his sweat and bitter breath filled the air, alive and no different that any of them, risking his all to obey the orders of his commander.

In his ear, close and loud, the order was given again at double the volume and half the patience. There was no mistake, no room for misinterpretation.

In moments that felt like hours, his hands did as they were told, until the unresisting body grew so heavy and limp he had to bend over and follow it to the ground as it wilted, the stench of the dying man's evacuating bowels setting off points of trivia in the back of his reeling mind about all the things that happened to a human body when its life is stripped away.

Provoked by the ancient memory, he suddenly felt the urge to lift his hands to stare at them, as he had then, to see if they looked the same, to affirm that he could never look at them and not think of what they had done.

But at that moment Ed was paralleling his thoughts, trying to focus on the flesh hand resting palm up on the ground next to him, gaping and gasping his confession instead of celebrating his victory.

"I killed!"

"We all pray that you did, Ed, for the sake of every innocent human being alive. It was the only way. It's the only way you could have saved us. You saved every one of us, because that thing would have killed us all."

"I'm a...I'm a...I'm a killer..." It took so much effort to get the words out, in all the confusion, with so much pain and fatigue. He barely believed this was Mustang talking, so strong was his desire that the words were real. He didn't want to be a murderer and here was the Colonel, giving him exactly the reassurance he hoped was the truth. The Colonel knew everything about war and killing people and shit. If he was telling the truth, there might really have been justification for his actions. He had to do it to protect Al and everyone, but it didn't change the fact that he had taken a life with premeditation and without mercy. Afterward, in the vacuum of the absence of the pall of terror and complex emotion in battle, the bare facts of his plan read like an assassin's plot. Now, with the Colonel's interpretation, maybe it wasn't so unforgivable.

"You haven't killed a person. That was no man. It was a monster. You're no killer, Edward. Everyone knows that."

Ed cringed but it seemed to silence his argument.

"Ed." Mustang hesitated. They had to find Al, but if the boy had been killed in the fighting, asking about him would add tremendous strain to Ed's already tentative fight for life. "What about Al, Edward. Can you tell us anything?"

The obsession with having ended a life shot out of his head like a broken rubber band as Al's pain and suffering came crashing back in and blinded him. Visions of the actual experiences and wild imaginings of much worse rattled him inside and out. Envy had hurt Alphonse, terrified him, put his life at risk. Alphonse would never be the same, the damage was going to go so deep. Al wasn't strong like Ed, wasn't capable of facing such torture and sheer evil. It was important to explain that to the Colonel, so they would be very gentle with Al when they went to fetch him. Being buried again by his brother would probably make Al really angry, too. They needed to be ready, and they had to be understanding and help him as much as possible. Ed fought to get the words out, but his energy was nearly gone. Adrenaline had run out long ago, and now that the present was getting so quiet, the things that he had experienced were starting to shake the very ground below him. Now speaking was looking like the least of his worries. Any moment, he might lose consciousness, or fall away into something else. It had been so long since he'd had fight off Standby or deal with Loud mode, and when the weight of their presence edged into the scene, he scarcely remembered what to do about it.

A mistake. It was a mistake to ask him, Mustang though with a grimace, running his hand carefully back and forth across a part of Ed's forearm he hoped was uninjured to try to get this attention. It was like watching a door swing shut. It was too good to be true that Ed was still able to communicate. He hadn't handled that minor miracle deftly enough, and his poor judgment caused the shutdown they were witnessing with helpless frustration. If only Dr. Gansworth were here. He'd know what to do. Mustang finally had one hundred percent faith that the doctor was genuine in his concern and had no ulterior motive; it was pointless to regret the fact the man had to become a victim before all doubt could be erased.

Envy's filthy stench filled Ed's head and the specter of his cold, invasive touch make every inch of his skin crawl. Envy was dead yet he was still alive in the vivid sensation of being violated by him again. Standby had him by the wires in his neck, yanking impatiently to remind him where he belonged if he wished to have any peace. The wires that still stung and ached and made his stomach turn, wishing desperately that they would disappear, sickened by the prospect of some hospital worker slowly pulling the long strands of foreign metal out of his flesh one by one. At the other end of those wires, Loud mode loomed, champing at the bit to drag him through every aspect of his terror while grinding salt in the wounds. If he fell in that direction, his only hope was to escape to Standby, and if he survived, it could be a long time before he dared to venture back out.

In his haze he sensed movement and flung out an arm, afraid that someone was going to start pulling out the wires now. He'd have to let them at some point but panic over the prospect wrought havoc with his tentative place in space and time.

Standby stopped grappling and instead held wide the door, offering escape. If you come this way, we won't touch it. No one will touch it. We'll wrap you up and hide you and the world will move on by.

Ed tried one last time to pull himself together. Al. None of this was doing his brother any good. He had to tell them to go get Al, to treat him right. He knew now he would be better off taking Standby's offer, there was no way he had the strength to face what had to be done to the wires, much less the rest of his body. But he had to get the information out the Colonel somehow. They needed to get Havoc and Dr. Gansworth to come help Al out of his hiding place.

No more, Edward. Time to go in or you'll pass out without protection, and when you wake up, this door might be closed. There's no mercy out there, Edward. You know that better than anyone. Come now or take the consequences. Loud won't wait much longer if you don't come and hide.

He tried to will the voices into waiting, promising to go after taking care of the one last, most important thing left.

One last thing, just this, just that. You've had your way long enough. Loud is here and the decision has to be made, or one of us will make it for you.

Ed fought back. He realized now that the hand he'd pushed away was Mustang's, and he still had an opportunity to get his thoughts across.

"Al," he gasped, and felt Mustang's hand return to his forearm, gripping gently, assuring him that he was listening.

That was good, because he was pretty sure he was only going to get one shot at this.

"Is it...is it safe?"

Mustang gasped, then caught himself. No. It couldn't be. Ed's mind was working in the past. No way was this the same situation. Al was a flesh-and-blood person. Ed would have taken that it into account and made other choices.

"It's safe, Ed. Please trust me with whatever it is you have to tell me. I'll take good care of Al."

Hawkeye pushed against her superior's broad, sagging back. So focused was he on issue at hand, to the uninitiated it seemed he scarcely noticed his own condition steadily deteriorating. She knew that was a false impression. Mustang's mind worked harder than that; he was acutely aware of his condition, the intricacies of the situation, and the welfare of his men near and far. He sharply sensed her increased support, and the fact that he didn't object spoke volumes. It in no way inferred that he was unaware of anything.

So she knew he was dealing with his own slow loss of strength, and thereby command, on top of the urgent need to take care of Edward's mental and physical devastation, determine Alphonse's disposition, and manage the sweeps that might, in a worst case scenario, flush out more homunculi that would start a round two he would have to be a critical part of, no matter the risk to his own life and limb.

Ed groaned and shook his head before lifting his face again. His eyes were closed and it was as if he squeezed the words out with his last breath.

How he wanted to open his eyes again and look, longing for the Colonel's eyes to show some kind of approval, some sort of absolution to take with him when the tug of war between Standby and Loud resolved and he was submerged out of the reach of his friends.

But pain and fatigue would allow only one function, and he had to make sure his wishes were known.

"The same place. Go to...the place...from before."

Mustang swallowed hard; another corpsman was behind Ed now, assisting the medic as they readied an IV just out of his field of vision. That would probably be the last straw, and they couldn't wait much longer. He had to push ahead.

"Ed," he said, firmly but trying not to be too loud, to keep his tone modulated and free of distress. "Do you mean the place where he was hidden underground?" Don't say buried. And if it's true...please, don't let him realize what he's done. What burial would do to his brother, in a body no longer made of sturdy metal that wouldn't be crushed, a human boy with lungs, who could not survive more than a mere few minutes of oxygen deprivation – only alchemy and insanity could have combined to produce such tragedy.

"Yes. Look for...a branch...with wire...twisted on it. Be careful...when you dig...he...he'll be upset. It's not his fault. He can't..."

By Mustang's estimation, it had been a good twenty minutes at minimum; probably more like thirty or even forty. The only hope was some fluke, some twist of fate. Maybe Ed put him barely below the surface; maybe there was a pocket of air, and if there wasn't too much weight, if it was just a little soil, maybe there was some prayer...

"...he can't help it." Al had gone down fighting and screaming. Ed had to force him to go, herding him with alchemic modeling, lifting the ground until he fell and tumbled into the hole. He was as careful as he could be, but there was no time. Al tried to climb out before Ed could get the first layer of dirt to cover him up and force him back down, so the fall hadn't injured him. But the longer he stayed buried, the more upset he would be when they came to let him out. Ed wished he could be there. He deserved Al's wrath, and these other people would be forced to face it for him.

"We'll go right away. Try not to worry. We'll go get him now."

"Be careful...you'll...have to use alchemy to lift the...lift the dirt...he's down really deep this time. I did it better. I did a better job, but he's...he might be hurt a little...from the fall...so take...you know..."

Mustang's heart fell; he felt the change in Hawkeye's hands on his back. This wasn't the time to contemplate the full, cruel irony...but in trying to save his little brother, it seems that Ed had instead subjected him to certain death in the manner he feared the most.

If Ed pulled through, they would have to make sure that he never, ever found out. The only hope was that he was delusional and only thought that he buried his brother. Maybe his memories were causing him to confuse the past with the present. It didn't sound like it, but...until they had proof one way or the other, a bud of hope still existed.

"I'll take care of things, Fullmetal. Now just try to relax and let the medics do their job. You need to get to the infirmary. That's an order. There's nothing to worry about now."

The emotions were not evident in his gentle command; only reassurance, and a calm that sent a warm and comforting message.

"You'll go...right? You? 'Cause...you're the only one...who understands..."

"Yes, Ed, I..."

"Make sure, too...make sure Havoc takes care of him. Make sure, 'cause...he made a promise...he said...he'll be there for Al. You gotta..."

Mustang hid his reaction; it was his fault that Havoc was out of commission; that, even if they found Al had escaped live burial, he would not be able to do as Ed asked anytime soon. It seemed underhanded to lie to him while he was so badly injured and helpless, and looking to him with such naked trust.

Hawkeye and Armstrong held their breath; they knew the Colonel would struggle with that request, and there was no easy way to respond to it. Ed was in no shape to hear any more bad news, but the Colonel would feel doubly guilty lying to him about Havoc.

"Don't worry, Ed. I promise. You have my word," Mustang said earnestly, stomach turning. Way to screw it all up and then lie about it; but what was important right now was keeping Ed as calm as possible to give him the best shot at survival. "Go with these guys and we'll be there with Al before you know it."

Hawkeye's hands pushed harder into his back; he got the significance. He fully expected her to object once Ed was out of earshot. But this was his mess, and he'd be damned if he didn't see it through. The promise to look for Al in person was genuine.

Ed's eyes opened slowly and he nodded, perhaps in agreement to the Colonel, perhaps not. The IV bit into his flesh and he reacted with a look of surprised disappointment. His eyes focused briefly on some point in the near distance and he grew very still.

The flesh hand moved, barely making it to the blue sleeve before falling away the moment fingertips touched cloth. There was something familiar and sad in his expression, one Roy hadn't seen since Ed began speaking his pain so many months ago. Then, as if someone had cut his puppet strings, he went limp. But for his open eyes, it seemed he was fully unconscious.

"Did you give him a sedative?" Mustang asked, but the men were moving much quicker than before, as if this wasn't what they expected.

"No, sir. Corpsman, take that side. By your leave Colonel..." the medic was poised to move Ed onto the stretcher, anxiously waiting for his approval.

"Of course, move out! Get him to the infirmary right away."

It took mere moments before the stretcher was on its way, the experience corpsmen moving over uneven terrain at a good clip without jarring their passenger.

"Colonel, go with them. You can't stay..." Hawkeye started, but Armstrong finished the statement for her.

"She's one hundred percent correct, Colonel Mustang. You must not risk your well-being any further. I'll take some men and we'll handle this."

"I promised him," Mustang said, rising with difficulty but determined to move forward. "I'm keeping that promise."

"You're bleeding. Look at you. I know you're in pain. You can barely move."

"It's not like I'll be using a shovel," he said bitterly. "Arguments aside, I'm glad you're here, Major. Sounds like we can use you. We'll need to perform alchemy for the...search."

"Disinterment," Hawkeye said grimly. "It's not not necessary for you to be a witness to this. It won't make any difference to Alphonse now. Let us handle this. Let the medics take you back."

"Enough!" Mustang barked, then grabbed at his belly from the sharp pain it caused. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back in that miserable hospital bed you all want me in. I owe the boys this much, at least."

Armstrong was half-carrying his superior, but in the end, he understood, and helped as much as the man would allow at every turn. The blood on the bandages on his mid-section had started to dry and darken, and no new bright red appeared. As it turned out, the Colonel was useful. His recollection of the burial site was very accurate. Without his direction, the search for the thin wire that marked the spot might have taken hours.

"There, I think I see it. Check that bush."

A twist of wire swayed in the gentle breeze, looped over a sharply broken branch. Ed knew what he was talking about after all. Mustang's last thread of hope dissolved. Al was here, somewhere, and without voicing the thought, they all felt a chill that perhaps they were standing on his blithely marked grave.

It was overwhelming. Suddenly, Mustang couldn't decide if he was going to fall down or vomit. He staggered ahead of the Major's protective hold in the direction of a fallen tree, in hopes of sitting on it for a moment to let the lightheaded feeling pass. He had to keep it together, just a little while longer. He had to...

His foot caught on something sticking out of the ground. Armstrong closed in and managed to catch him before he fell, but not without a serious jolt, and he let the Colonel ease down to his hands and knees to ride out the pain.

Panting from the searing fire in his gut, he was about to ask them to wait a minute, to give him time to collect himself again, when something odd caught his ear.

"Sir, this is too much in your condition. Let us handle this..."

"Shhh!" Mustang hushed the worried Major, and let his head dip close to the ground.

It was a hollow sound, distant, rough and grating. It took some concentration, and he held up a hand to maintain quiet, until he heard it again over his own heavy breathing.

His mouth fell open in shock and he had to will it shut to wipe back the saliva.

The thing his boot caught, the object that had thrown him down, seemed to be the source of the noise. It looked remarkably like the end of a pipe. On hands and knees, he scooted back over it, and laid his head down to listen.

Something down deep, at the other end of that pipe, was moving and very much alive.

"Major!" he yelled, sweeping out an arm, grabbing a handful of the gentle giant's trousers to haul himself up with no regard for the pain. "There! He's down there, and he's alive, I can hear him!"

Assumptions. A lot of them. As bad off as the Colonel was, he might very well be growing delusional and imagining things. But going on his faith in Roy Mustang, the Major immediately set upon doing as he was told.

"Lift it off in layers. Be careful. Ed says he's down deep. You don't want to crush him accidentally."

"Leave this to me, sir. Just please, get back."

Layer after careful layer came up and was cast aside. Ed was right, this was much deeper this time, they'd gone down more than a grown man's height.

As much as it was an incredible relief to hear Alphonse moving around and alive, the audible report was growing more and more disturbing.

Al was more than angry, he sounded stark raving mad.

The enlisted men were still trickling in, ordered by Lieutenant Hawkeye to stand watch in a circle all around with backs to them, guarding them with weapons at the ready, keeping a secure perimeter. If any homunculus had been watching and lying in wait to take Alphonse, this would be its perfect opportunity.

"Major, let me try to talk to him," Mustang said, stiffly moving forward. Now that he had to stay still, the weight of his injuries grew tenfold. He had to participate more or risk becoming completely useless.

"No, sir, with all due respect, I must insist that you stay back. If you tumble in, or if young Alphonse is as distraught as he sounds, you could be gravely injured. Once we bring him up and make sure we have him under control, you'll have ample opportunity to have words with him."

Mustang crept forward until the Lieutenant could bear no more and blocked him with her body from getting any closer.

"How did all of you grow to be so damned insubordinate?" he growled, but without much force. It wouldn't be long before he would have to concede control of the situation anyway.

The last layer of dirt rolled back in a final wave of precision alchemy, and the chamber created by Edward to safely house his little brother was open to the world. Alex wasted no time in jumping down to face the raving boy, quickly taking his wrists to prevent any mayhem and grimacing at the condition he'd gotten into. It was completely understandable that being buried alive again had sent him spiraling out of control; but the ends of his fingers, many with obvious fractures, had been torn clear off, the nails ripped away and the tender beds clotted with blood mixed with dirt.

How much of the rest of the damage to his body had been self-inflicted and how much had been perpetrated by the enemy before Ed hid him away, it was impossible to tell.

His vocal chords were shot, so the raspy, animalistic sounds weren't all that loud, despite his incredible effort to make them. Much longer, and they might have spent a great deal more time searching to find him.

The Major patiently transmuted steps, quickly securing him again before he could throw his body at them to escape. He supposed that his words of reassurance did little good, but he tried anyway, and with a few giant strides they were back on the surface.

If Al took any significance, if indeed he even noticed, that it was not Edward who returned to free him, it didn't come out in the raging babble that was finally forming an actual word here and there.

Hawkeye gave the signal and the entourage move en masse, swiftly transporting Alphonse and the Colonel back to the paved road and the vehicles waiting to sweep them back to the security and care of the base hospital.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

It was not like before. It wasn't. He had to get a grip, to calm down, but it wasn't possible. How could Ed do this to him, knowing his fears, knowing how unbearable his memories were, how could he?

The walls were finished walls, damn his brother's detailed alchemy, flat and solid without a way to gain a grip and try to climb up. That was his fault, he shouldn't have tried climbing out while Ed was still there, the walls were soft and easy to scale until he did that. So his brother put an end to that, and now, unless he could find a way to grow much, much taller, he would never reach the dirt above to try and dig up and out.

What was it with Ed, that bastard, deciding everything and forcing his decisions down everyone's throats? He assumed no one else had any value; that his own brother was just useless interference without alchemy. At least he had a brain that worked! At least he had some self-control! At least he knew better than to do stupid, cruel, unforgivable shit like this to someone! You couldn't possibly care about someone and do this to them. That made him a liar and a traitor, too. If he could just get his hands on Edward, he'd have some explaining to do if he didn't want to be beaten to a pulp.

His hands shook as his claustrophobia took hold and sent him into heart-pounding panic to match his rage; soon the cavern was shaking, too, and the sounds of fierce alchemic reaction trumped the roaring in his ears. Ed was fighting, he wanted to fight the monster, too; he wanted to kick Ed's ass; he wanted out, out, out!

"You idiot, damn you, damn youuuuuuu!" he screamed, pounding the wall. "You're gonna die, he's gonna kill you, it's your own fault we're dead! I could kill you!"

The barrage above ground grew deafening; dirt rained down in his eyes, and when he jerked his head down to dig it out far too roughly, it sifted onto his head to spur his anxiety. The smell was just as he imagined, in those endless days of dark and silence. The damp cold. It wasn't any better, being able to breath and feel while prematurely buried. It was just different, awful in a different, more invasive sensual experience.

"How could you do this to me again? This is too much. I can't take it. I can't be down here one more minute!"

Al put everything he had into his effort to bust out. He clawed the wall, beat it with fists, smashed his forehead into it. When he hit his head so hard it half-knocked him out, he fell on his back never stopping, hammering his feet into it. The pain and the panic were relentless, as the dirt peppered his face with each terrifying ground swell. Ed was going to cause a cave-in, and a million times over in his nightmares, he knew what that would feel like. In his heart, in his head, he'd been there in some shape or form every day ever since he was buried the first time. The worms were waiting to come crawling up close, waiting to navigate through the ocean of soil destined to claim him for good this time. They were hungry and anxious to get started, to seek the soft tissues and settle in for the long run, no longer to be denied by impervious metal. Al was nothing more than a carcass about to rot for their dining pleasure.

Ed was insane, he'd never win, he was going to die, and Al couldn't do a thing to help. And once he died, death here was a certainty, cave-in or not. There was no food or water. There wasn't anything Al could do that would change their fates. There was no escape. There was nothing ahead but the suffering of defeat.

The darkness mocked his useless effort; he crawled on his back until the tiny bit of light from the hole above him could be seen, cruelly revealing with a tiny disk of daylight at the other end. If he were twice his height, he could reach it, and try to tear the opening until it was big enough to escape out of; if he were tiny, and could fly, it was an easy portal of escape. Like a man drowning just below the surface of the water, he clearly saw what he needed to reach in order to survive, but he had no way to do the simplest things that would save him. It was the last straw.

He flew up to his feet and ran stumbling and sightless, slamming straight into the wall with his attack. This was all he had left in his brain to try. He used all his force of will and strength in the effort to defeat it. He had to get out. He went back to clawing and kicking and punching. His hands were in so much pain his eyes wept from it, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't be able to bear the experience of dying passively, buried or starving. If a person could beat themselves do death against a wall, if it were at all possible, this was the secondary mission. Escape, or die trying.

The alchemy was so close now. If he'd had any clarity of thought, he would have noticed the nature of it had changed. It was measured and came in low-frequency vibrations. The fierce impact of the battle was no longer shaking his prison.

He was on his knees, barely able to pull back his head before banging it into the wall again. His vision was all black and dark, dark red, a flash of false white light now and then when he hit his head hard enough.

His nose caught the first hint that something had changed. When the shock of light began knifing down all around him, it was the fresh air that stunned him into immobility. The cavern lit up red in his vision and cast away the dark; as if the sky had peeled back the lid to the trap and bathed the world in blood.

Nothing in his brain functioned well enough to tell him what was actually happening, but his animal instincts and adrenaline combined in new vigor; a body exhausted and beaten still fought to get out when the chance presented itself. His shoulders shook in hysteria, a secret kept by the twisted grimace locked on his face and the minimal sound he was capable of making at this point. The ability to string thoughts together was finally crumbling apart beyond all reason. Emotion surged and he was a defenseless puppet, without a filter between reaction and action.

The Major could have saved his breath; Al was not able to comprehend him at all. The important support he provided was in keeping Al from injuring himself on the way to the surface.

Moments after they gained steady ground, Al collapsed. The Lieutenant fired two rounds into the air in the prescribed signal, per part of Mustang's order, but refused to leave him alone until help arrived. The Major couldn't help the Colonel and carry Al at the same time and Al was clearly worse off, but Mustang wasn't in any shape to be left unattended.

The area was soon swarming with soldiers and medics, and it dawned on the Colonel as he hugged his searing belly that he managed to keep part of his promise to Edward, after all. Maybe their luck had turned around on Ed's amazing feat of strength. Maybe Havoc would recover quickly and be able to help Al very soon.

He was only dimly aware that he was limping slowly along under the Major's arm again. That was right, he had refused to be transported by stretcher, and this was the result.

He thanked heaven for Armstrong. He bore so much weight on his broad shoulders, on his mind, and supported under his arm.

Right up until the big galoot pulled delegated rank and told him respectfully to remain silent. There was no fighting it; the Major saw his chance the moment his ability to walk deteriorated, easily lifting him onto a stretcher, and sent the medics off at top speed to deposit him in a waiting transport.

xxxx

He could say a lot about the way things turned out, but Colonel Roy Mustang was not inclined to over-think the outcome. He had time, in his hospital bed, to write page upon page in a notebook, of what went right and what went wrong, what they knew and what they didn't, what were facts and what was still conjecture. The "lessons learned" value of this was priceless. Breda took custody of the notes and the ball was in his court now; he was such an amazing analyst, by the time they got through putting it all together, it seemed like they might yet have a workable game plan should another homunculus rear its ugly head. The yield of all the loss, pain and effort was not equitable, but at least it was something positive, a significant something positive at that.

"You need your rest period, sir," Lieutenant Hawkeye said, no nonsense, tired of his resistance to the medic's orders. He was on limited release for duty. He did not seem to be able to understand the concept of limits where they applied to him. Not if she failed to enforce them.

"I'm fine," he started, but the twitch in her jaws from the clenching of her teeth told him it might be a good idea to do as he was supposed to once in a while. "Um...okay. Five minutes. Put out the 'Do not disturb' then, will you?"

She was pleasantly surprised. "Twenty minutes, minimum," she argued, cheering up a little.

"We'll see."

He waved away her offer to take his arm and assist his move from chair to couch. It was exquisitely painful, and almost worse, the itchy phase of healing was starting, just barely detectable, promising to be a real bitch once it was in full swing. He bore it like a penance. His boys and men were much, much worse off, the living and the dead. Ed, Al, and Havoc...Gansworth, Mitchell, and Thompkins...he shut that line of thought down abruptly. If his mind went in that direction while he was idle, this would become the opposite of rest.

"You should consider..."

"Next time," Mustang sighed, reluctance fading as soon as he was prone, bunching a throw blanket up to his chin. The wounds and the fatigue made him feel chilled to the core, even though the actual room temperature was fine. Funny how exhaustion hid until it found an opportune moment, if you fought it just right.

He knew what she was about to suggest, and she was right. If he took this rest in the infirmary in the extra bed left in their room for that purpose, even if he slept, his presence seemed to be beneficial to the Elrics. It was hard to tell for sure, as medicated and badly injured as they were, but they both seemed to be a little more calm and aware when he was around. It made him feel good to have that sort of effect on them, and he really, really wished he could be there. And Havoc always seemed to appreciated it when his former forth roommate came by. Mustang supposed that it was a good distraction for the sandy-haired marksman; it had to be tough facing the realities of being paralyzed, and not knowing how long it might last. Leaving him in to room in with the boys was a good call all around.

But the truth was, there was no way he could walk that far. He'd really overdone it today. He'd need a wheelchair to get there, and then Hawkeye would be all over his ass, and he might end up off the duty roster again.

Nope, better to seem a bit aloof, or heartless, or whatever her opinion would be, and keep her in the dark.

He barely finished that thought before he was out, breathing deep, less than a minute's time between reaching the prone position and actual sleep.

I don't know who he thinks he's fooling. I should have brought the wheelchair and made him go; next time, I will, she thought with a wry look, adjusting the throw before leaving him to rest with his jury-rigged pride mostly intact.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rage's entire life was one of witness. Witness to death, to cruelty, to evil and massive destruction. Comparatively, despite his mother's abject cruelty, he'd been on the receiving end of just a small percentage of it. Only his mother, and on rare occasion the other homunculi, had ever done anything to him that made him feel fear or pain. Humans were food and entertainment, and that was all. His Momma taught him that, and it was true. He thought he knew, kind of, how their world worked, how it was all structured.

That was until Daddy turned it all inside out.

It was kind of Momma's fault. She definitely started it. But she didn't deserve the way he finished it. She was always fearsome and imposing and threatening, even when she bit back on those natural attributes and made the effort to be civil to her child.

But Daddy was a soulless, stone cold killer. He was the most terrifying beast Rage had ever seen. Why Momma would want to seek him out and provoke him, he couldn't begin to imagine.

As he mourned the loss of his only precious person, Rage crawled on the rubble that held her magical scent. Daddy had reduced her nearly to dust somehow; her essence was everywhere, faint but coating the entire thrashed landscape.

He wormed along on his belly, feeling the essence grow a miniscule amount as he went. It actually transferred to his body from the dirt and rocks, attracted to him like a magnet.

He had nothing else to do but cry and mourn anyway, so he kept crawling, collecting the essence as a precious memento. He had no clue how long the substance would last, but he had no other goal he could think of. His life had been on hold under Mamma's orders, and he had not risked rebellion. He had existed awaiting her orders, and now that she was gone, he was bereft of direction.

He had no concept of how long he spent, dragging his body all over the ground, harvesting the microscopic particles, listening in fear in case those horrible humans returned. They might come back to dig around searching some more, saying more nasty things about Momma, and crowing about how great it was that she had been erased. What terrible, no-good creatures – no wonder they were beneath consideration, good only for their use, just as Momma said.

Something resonated with his stone and he froze in disbelief. It was so faint, he wasn't sure if he felt it – but then, there it was again.

He darted forward in two big, frog-style leaps and started digging, flinging rock and dirt and debris in a mad desire to get to that resonance. His own stone vibrated and the reply, even though it was so faint it was only a whisper, responded in pathetic harmony.

He found the source. A tiny, intact bit of Mamma's essential being, a fragment of her stone that had somehow delayed evaporation.

Rage snatched it up and hugged it to his chest, as tightly as he could bear. It resonated again, and if he wasn't mistaken, just a tiny, tiny bit stronger than before he held it.

Instinct told him not to give up. It was puny and weak and mostly dead, but...his connection might be able to bring it back. This little gem that refused to give up without a struggle, that impossibly still managed to cling to this world for a few more hours..he was convinced that it was because his Momma didn't want to leave him.

He expanded his senses, then, and searched with a new awareness. Maybe, if there were more of these bits, he'd have a better chance of reviving her somehow. He tuned in, and blanketed the area, but no...this was it. This was the one scrap of hope left.

Ignoring his own slowly-healing body, he clutched the treasured soul flat against his chest, to keep it as close as possible to his own stone, and fled. He would protect this at all cost. He would risk begging to the one called Father, he would risk whatever it took if there was any chance it would bring her back.

Crashing through the brush, out of the clearing, an idea stopped him in his tracks. Momma was so weak. Getting their stones close together was vital. Would it help to keep her inside, then? What would happen if he swallowed her, couldn't he spit her back out when he got to safety, and wouldn't that time inside, so very, very close to his stone, be the best hope for revival?

It occurred to him that there were possible outcomes to this that he would not like, but he dismissed the uneasiness. She wouldn't take over his body on purpose, he didn't think so. He wasn't sure if taking her into his body would cause them to merge. He might be okay with that, he wasn't sure, but she might be angry, it was impossible to predict.

And what if it caused the last spark to disappear?

He stared into his hands and couldn't help but cry out. Mamma had to be able to listen, somehow, because there was no one else. Without her, he would be utterly alone, with no place or person to belong to, no one to hear him or tell him what to do.

"Please. Mamma, please please...please don't leave me. I love you, don't leave me here all alone!" Tears blinded him for a moment and he shook them away, terrified to open his hand again to look.

No, it was still okay. He reproached himself for panicking; he had to keep his head and figure out what to do. Squeezing his eyes shut hard to push away the last of the tears, he regained his self-control. The little glow was still there, no weaker; there was still hope.

He forged on, and every so often, he pulled his hand away to check on the tiny, faint speck of red, to consider his options, coming close to swallowing her down time and time again, praying that she survived the trip 'home'.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Standby was starting to ease its grip already. Ed didn't seem to be in a hurry to bolt back into full-blown reality, and that was just as well. His brother was similarly sidelined, with bouts of rage and panic occasionally punctuating his general quiet, when medications wore off and he fought to get free of the precautionary restraints and leave his recovery bed. When he was angry it seemed that he directed it at Edward, although it was more of an assumption from the circumstances, given his complete loss of control at those unfortunate moments. He rather looked more like he was imploding than exploding, and nothing he said made sense. The rare words he managed outside of those fits came randomly, but that wasn't entirely unexpected, as heavily as they kept him sedated most of the time. With his hands in the process of reconstruction, it wouldn't do to have him fidgeting and anxious, and there was, of course, Edward to consider.

The angry brother on the other side of the invisible glass of Standby was far be too painful to deal with unfiltered. Terrible, too, would be the guilt and heartbreak of fully comprehending Havoc's brave attempt to seem nonchalant about learning to use a wheelchair. Ed's own injuries and nightmares aside, he dipped briefly and gently into the unpleasant waters of reality, until the tension mounted and he pulled away instead of testing the boundaries that kept him safely insulated. In Standby, people came, and they went, and they made nice noises. They were very careful when they worked on his wounds and he knew on an instinctual level that when it hurt to have the myriad medical procedures, they didn't mean him any harm. He liked being calm and this was the only place for it. He had fulfilled his function and it was no longer necessary to return if he chose not to. That strong internal drive to be with his brother was still in critical condition; it awakened now and then, and that's when he took the risk to come out and see what was. The situation was grim yet the knowledge that he had completed his task was there, too. Al's hospitalization shook him each time he came out of the haze and tried to absorbed the severity of his condition. He managed to ask to go to him only once, and was gently refused.

Armstrong's massive arm was there to cling to each time, and turning away, like a bad loop, there would be Havoc, smiling like crazy, in a bed or a wheelchair, assuring him that everything was all right. Havoc looked thin and pale and he was not a very good liar. Armstrong would help Ed to approach him, unlike Al, and kept a hand on him while he tried to make contact. Ed, hooking the Major's arm close with his elbow, still not ready to put his murderer's hand on anyone he cared for, would try to put his forehead against his sort of older brother, knowing Havoc would touch him in return, be it just a cautious pat on the head. He managed perhaps ten minutes at a time most days; there was no sense of him being stuck or at risk of backsliding. Loud had only hit him a few times, ugly and hard, but they were no longer shy about medicating him immediately when it did. He couldn't afford to be physically out of control and overexert his healing body.

Armstrong knew that it was hard on Jean when Ed came out of the blue with a few words of halfway normal speech. It was always too brief, and cruel when it stopped. Ed would start to ask if people were all right, or ask why while pointing to the wheelchair; but he always retreated before getting an answer. It seemed that he wasn't ready to hear it. There was no hurry to make the choice to deal with real life full time. For the moment, the terror and pain could just wait.

Winry's visit went well, mostly because her presence didn't register. She replaced the broken, flimsy automail with a soft, nearly non-functional arm, and it didn't bother him. The elbow, thumb and forefinger were the only moving parts, and they moved very slowly and deliberately, capable of exerting only minimal force. It was a safe prosthetic, to keep his body's weight balanced and stay accustomed to using an artificial limb, and make it nearly impossible to misuse or cause self-inflicted damage.

Only once in a great while, when the dark eyes slowly penetrated his distant, directionless stare, did he feel the twinge of a serious urge to come back. The voice made sounds that felt good in his ears. And the strong hand would take his, and place within his fingers a sort of soft, sort of rough material that made them feel empty when it was gone.

Mustang had shared the room with Havoc and the boys while he was bedridden. The excuse was ease of security, but his ulterior motive was to use his downtime to stay involved with the boys' recovery. Without Gansworth's capable guidance, the mix of physicians tending to their wounds and behavior was adequate but not impressive. There was no continuity, no sense of direction in the approach to their care. Of course, it was too early for much more than patching up their bodies.

"A little bit more every day," Major Armstrong said.

Havoc nodded with a sparse smile. This was a long road, and it was daunting and exhausting, just the thought of having to trudge it once more.

But they had a better handle on it this time, maybe. And the progress that had taken Ed so many months after his initial abduction was already showing signs of taking weeks instead. His wounds were still being addressed, yet he hadn't tried to hurt himself, or anyone around him. It seemed that he did backslide at times, but it was backsliding, not a complete reversal of his long, hard-won recovery.

"I keep...I keep talking to both of them, any time I think they might possibly be listening. Eventually, huh? I think it'll start to get through. I guess there's no point in being impatient. It's not like there's much else I'm good for at this point," Havoc tried to keep up the smile, but it fell, so he turned his head and looked out the window. It hid his expression from the Major, but he needn't have bothered.

A large hand closed on his shoulder, rocking the wheelchair forward slightly.

"The neurologist says there's still hope that you'll improve. Don't be so certain that this is the end of the story, Lieutenant."

"Yeah. Of course. You're right," Havoc said, making a pretty good pivot for a rookie and rolling up to Ed's bedside to adjust a kinked drainage tube. The movement drew Ed's wandering eye, so he gave the limp hand a pat and on impulse, held it in his own. It was warm and soft, and when he squeezed gently, it squeezed back.

Armstrong turned to see what Havoc had been looking at. The dark clouds were finally making good on their promise. The rain was just starting, and it looked to be to be a long and productive storm.

With a nod of understanding, he closed both the curtains and the blinds.

End

Thank you for bearing with this long story! As with most things in the manga-anime genre, the end is just a breaking-off point - this thing must surely be reaching the length limit so it was time.

I do apologize for the length between chapters - real life in the form of a new, more mentally demanding job, more work hours and a long commute really put a crimp in production. I might have abandoned it but for the kind encouragement of the comments. Again, thank you so much!