“Wow, Boss, I heard you grew-“

Ed grinned, looking down at himself. “I did grow,” he said proudly.

“But you’re still nowhere near as tall as your brother,” Havoc finished, waiting for the upcoming explosion.

Ed puffed up his chest, standing up as straight as possible, willing his vertebrae to stretch enough to add him just a speck more stature. “I am of perfectly average height,” he insisted, looking up at the man he hadn’t seen in ten years. “What kind of greeting is that, anyway?” he complained. “That would be like me asking if you’ve managed to get a date yet!”

“Actually,” Havoc said smugly, exchanging amused glances with Hawkeye, “I did take Riza out the other day.”

Ed did not see Roy flinch at the words, and asked, “Really? Did you have a nice time?”

“No,” Riza said smoothly. “It was a disaster.”

Havoc seemed unphased, and gave him a slap on the back. “So, you grew, but not that much. I got a date, but still no girlfriend. Things haven’t changed too much while you’ve been gone, have they?”

“Oh not that much” Ed said sarcastically. “We just live in a completely different country now, so it seems.”

Havoc waved his hand dismissively, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Oh yes, there is that, but that’s work. Let’s not discuss work while we’re out, all right?”

“Oh, but it’s not work,” Ed protested. “I thought the military and the government were entirely separate now?” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, kicking his foot up on the low table in front of him. The room they were in was large and square, with a big window leading out to a balcony overlooking the lights of the city.

“If we can’t talk about work,” Roy said lightly, sitting opposite from Ed and mirroring his impulse to put his feet on the table and looking over at General Hawkeye, “May I ask you a question?”

Riza looked at him for a moment, then answered, “I suppose so.”

“Was your disaster of a date on the news broadcast the other day?”

She tried to hide her smile behind her hand, and turned away. “Why? Were you starting to get jealous?”

Roy shrugged. “What if I said yes?” he asked, keeping his voice light, conversational, natural.

“Then I would say you were wasting your time.” She looked up, saw that the conversation in the room was continuing without them, and decided to add, “But, I’ve wanted to tell you: I had a very nice time at that diplomatic banquet last month. Your company at those kinds of events is always a pleasure, especially when we don’t have anything to hide. I haven’t seen you since then, have I?”

Roy shook his head. He would keep this exchange professional, he resolved. “No, I don’t believe so. How do you feel about the government’s move towards friendlier relations with Xing?”

She tapped her chin. “I thought the Xingian diplomats were very cordial. They spoke our language very well; I was impressed with that. However, they seemed very distant, almost as if they were on an entirely different page. I don’t know if it was just a cultural difference, or if they really were hiding something.”

“Everyone’s hiding something,” Roy said seriously.

“To the man who returned from death!” Havoc said, standing up from his seat at the table, raising his half-full glass.

The others reached for theirs as well, but Ed slammed his hand down on the table in protest. “I wasn’t dead!” he said. “Whoever said I was dead?”

“But you have a grave,” Havoc told him, looking down, glass still raised. “Now let me make my toast. To Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, the man who returned from death!” he repeated, with twice the bravado this time, and glasses were clinked.

Wearily, Ed raised his own. “Shouldn’t this be Al’s day?” he continued once he set it down, still protesting. “He’s the one who’s the star of Central these days, isn’t he? Tomorrow’s paper’s gonna have his antics at the State Examinations all over it, I’m sure.”

Al rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Brother, you know this day is for you,” he told him, gesturing towards the three people in military uniforms. “I see these guys every day at work, they hardly needed to make a special appearance here just to say congratulations to me.” Al frowned a little when he saw his brother blush at the attention. Hadn’t Ed been an attention whore? Hadn’t he always been showing off his alchemy to everyone, or his intelligence, or his fighting skills?

Ed sighed. “Well, Al, I wouldn’t be here without you, so we’ve gotta toast you too.”

“To Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist-“

Ed stood, shoving Havoc aside. “Hey, I’m his brother, lemme say the toast,” he said, and Al smiled, seeing that confidence he remembered take hold once more.

“To my little brother, who’s everything I ever hoped he would be and more, who never ceases to delight me, and of whom I could never be prouder.”

Al could feel the grin that lit up his face as the glasses clinked above his head, and could not help but jump up and wrap his arms around his brother, embracing him as tightly as he had when he first encountered him again in the Gate. The others stared at this show of affection, something each one of them never thought they would ever see: both Elrics, in the flesh, and together.

“Such love!” Havoc said finally, breaking the silence with a booming voice, posturing this way and that. “Such brotherly love, makes me want to tear my shirt off and flex my muscles in the Armstrong family way!” he cried, and Riza laughed.

“No one can do Armstrong like Breda,” she said, still laughing, and looking over at Roy, who also seemed greatly amused.

Ed sat down next to his brother, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders.

“That was a good toast, Brother,” Al said, after he had suppressed most of his laugher. “Thank you.”

“I love you too, Al,” Ed answered.

The conversation had traveled from the whereabouts of various military people Ed had known to stories about Al that had made him famous to stories about Al only those who were close to him knew. When Havoc asked Ed to please, share just a little bit about where he had been for six years, Al expected Ed to close everyone off and refuse to say anything, but his brother hesitated just a moment before answering.

“It was somewhere kind of like here, but not really,” he said vaguely, turning his still-full glass in circles on the table. “There’s nothing really exciting to tell. There was no alchemy there, and no automail. Without either one, I’m really pretty boring, aren’t I?”

An Ed without alchemy is just… a foul-mouthed obnoxious brat… who had said that long ago, Al tried to recall. Had it been Havoc, or was it someone else? Was it Colonel Mustang? Brother hadn’t even denied it, he just said he needed to come back to Rizembool to get his arm fixed so he could use his alchemy to fix me… But as soon as he had the memory, it was gone, and Al didn’t know if anything like that had ever actually been said, or if he had imagined it.

Ed was saying something about a job he had once had at a university when Havoc interrupted him. “What were the girls in this other world like, Boss?”

“Eh? The girls? I don’t know, what are all girls like?” Ed asked, puzzled.

“Didya meet any?”

Ed shrugged. “A few. I knew some nice girls,” he answered vaguely.

“Get any dates?”

Ed shrugged again. “No, why would I want to? I was leaving, what would be the point?”

Yes, Ed, what was the point? Do you have any idea how much that other Al must be missing you right now? You must know, if you loved him the way you say you do. Al wondered, not for the first time, how his counterpart was faring on the other side of the Gate.

“I’m not a kid,” Ed was saying stubbornly. “I don’t need to discover the world of women, you’ve got to be kidding if you think you’re going to drag me around to all the bars in Central anyway, I thought I was supposed to be dead?”

I guess Havoc doesn’t know about Brother and Winry. I’m not even sure if General Hawkeye knows. General Mustang probably does, Al mused. Brother probably tells him everything.

“In six years, you never had a date? Not even once? Man, I’m doing better than I thought I was, compared to you!”

Then Winry was squeezing his arm. “Hey, Al, you okay in there?” she asked quietly, while Ed was still arguing stubbornly.

Al shook his head to clear it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I was just… remembering some things.”

“About the other side?” she guessed.

“Partly.”

“I AM NOT A KID,” Ed said loudly, in response to something that neither of them heard, jumping to his feet and shaking the table.

“Well you certainly are acting like one,” Riza said firmly, but her eyes showed more amusement than disapproval.

He folded his arms. “So what?” Ed demanded. “I never said I was mature, I just said I wasn’t a kid.” He smirked. “He keeps giving me this ‘when I was your age’ crap- Lieutenant, you know how old I am?”

Havoc shrugged. “Well, Al claims to be twenty-one, so I guess you’re twenty two, Boss, and really, when I was twenty-two I never would have admitted to never having been on a date.”

“It’s all right, Ed,” Riza assured him, trying to diffuse the situation. “I didn’t date much until I was older either.”

“I don’t claim to be twenty-one, I am twenty-one,” Al argued in a practiced tone. This conversation, it seemed, had been had many a time.

“But Al,” Roy said with mock-seriousness, “Just the other day you said you were seventeen.”

Al shrugged. “Did I?” he said noncommittally. “well, you know, one of the advantages to having two ages is that neither one is a lie.”

Winry nudged him in the side. “Must be convenient,” she said teasingly.

Al raised his eyebrows once, looked around from his brother to Havoc to Roy and to Riza, and said boldly, “For you,” and she gave him a swat on the shoulder. The group broke out in a fresh round of laughter.

“I think someone told me that Roy’s first time was when he was twelve,” Havoc mused, looking up at the ceiling.

The General shot his friend a glare. “No, I was not twelve,” he said defensively. “Wherever did you hear that one?”

Ed snickered. “He was thirteen,” he said, deciding to re-join the conversation. “He told me so. She was his babysitter.”

Riza’s eyes widened. “You needed a babysitter when you were thirteen?” she asked, her eyebrows raised and her lips twitching up at the corners.

“She wasn’t my babysitter then!” Roy sputtered, looking around at the laughing faces. “Don’t laugh,” he instructed them. “She was beautiful.”

Winry shook her head, twisting her dinner napkin in her hands. “That is so wrong!” she exclaimed, causing a round of laughter to spread across the table. She yelped when Al elbowed her in the side. “What?” she demanded defensively. “You said yourself you were eighteen.”

Al snorted. “Fine time you pick to believe me, then,” he said, smiling at her.

“How did we get on this topic?” Ed demanded, looking from face to face.

“I was nineteen,” Riza volunteered. “I, unlike some people, waited until I was at least an adult.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Really? Nineteen? I didn’t know that.”

She gave a little shrug. “You don’t know everything about everyone, Roy,” she said, and there was more laughter.

“Apparently not,” he agreed. His single eye settled on Ed, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. “Well Fullmetal, how old were you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Ed drew back, frowning, and shook his head. “I refuse,” he said, in his most mature voice, “to participate in this conversation.”

“I was seventeen. Shawna with the brown eyes,” Havoc said dreamily, and turned to Winry. “You?”

“Twenty,” she said simply, setting her chin on her hands and letting her gaze slide over to Al. Then she said something under her breath that apparently only Al caught, and he gave a light laugh.

“Well Ed?” Roy pressed. “We’re waiting.”

“I said I’m not answering,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Were you younger than fifteen, or older than fifteen?” he continued, refusing to let the subject drop.

“I heard a few stories about his involvement with the thief of Aquaroya,” Riza said wickedly, feeling slightly guilty about causing him discomfort but reminding herself it was all in fun. “Psiren, wasn’t she called?”

“It was nothing like that!” Ed sputtered, setting his glass down with a clatter. “I captured her, she escaped- I don’t see how that can possibly involve sex!”

Roy tapped his chin. “Well…” he said, letting his voice trail off suggestively.

“Oh shut up!” Ed said, glaring at the man.

Winry folded her arms across her chest, sitting back in the chair. “Well, now I’m really curious, Ed,” she said honestly, still laughing. “Is it a secret, or something?”

His gaze swung over to meet her eyes.

“Come on, Ed,” Roy pressed. “How old were you the first time you slept with a woman?”

The blond remained resolutely silent.

“Eighteen?” came Riza’s guess. Ed steeled his gaze and refused to answer.

“Fourteen?” was Roy’s venture. He shook his head, expression almost horrified.

“Twenty one?” Winry offered, taking into account his reaction to the previous suggestion.

He pushed his chair away from the table, standing up. “Twenty six,” he said, his voice flat, and turned to walk away.

Havoc pushed his own chair back with a scrape, and leaned back to watch Ed leave. “C’mon, Boss, come back!” he called. “We didn’t mean to embarrass you that much!” he said, the conversation, in his perception, still friendly. His eyes widened when the door slammed.

“Shut up!” came the yell from out in the hall.

Roy sighed, setting his glass down as well. “Al,” he said patiently. “Do you want to go get your brother, or should I?”

Al frowned. “I’ll get him,” he said. “That wasn’t very nice,” he added over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“We were just-“ Havoc said, flinching at the second slam of the door, “teasing-“

I ruin everything, Ed thought miserably, staring down at a book he wasn’t reading as he sat on the hotel room couch he intended on sleeping on that night. Havoc was right, they were all just teasing.

He had, of course, let Al coax him back into the room. He would do anything Al asked him to, but his mood never did pick back up. Long before the others were ready to retire for the evening, he had said he was tired, and was going to bed. When Al and Winry returned to the hotel room several hours later, he had pretended he was sleeping and let them turn the lamp off and throw a blanket over him.

I’m not trying to come between Al and Winry, he told himself then, not for the first time, looking over at the closed door to the bedroom. If I haven’t ruined things for them already. He stood up, deciding suddenly that he wanted some air, and grabbed Al’s room key off the coffee table and headed back to the room they had reserved for the evening, pulling the doors to the balcony open with a jerk and letting the chill air assault him as he stepped outside.

This was definitely going to be another sleepless night, just one among many.

Ed suddenly felt eyes on his back, and spun around, looking up to see a dark silhouette on the sloping roof. “What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

“Looking out at the city lights,” came the response. “That’s what you do when you can’t see the stars.”

“Pshh,” Ed said, rolling his eyes. “Nothing is like the night sky in Rizembool. Central’s not that great, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before.”

“Not from above, you haven’t,” Roy protested, crouching down on the roof. “Come see for yourself.”

“I can see fine from here.”

“You have a perfect view of the building next door,” he corrected, laughing. “Come on.”

Ed eyed him hesitantly, contemplating the narrow railing that connected with the wall of the building, halfway between the deck and the edge of the roof. “I’ll fall,” he said doubtfully. “My leg-“

Roy extended a hand. “I wont let you fall,” he said firmly.

Ed stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, then shrugged and took it, climbing slowly onto the rail and letting Roy pull him up onto the roof.

“I’m surprised Miss Rockbell hasn’t talked you into letting her fix you up with new automail,” he said, eyebrows raised. “In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t demanded it.”

Ed groaned. “You know every single person I’ve met up with today has asked me that? Apparently my automail is the first thing everyone thinks of when they remember me!”

“Ed, you’re the Fullmetal Alchemist. It’s part of your title, of course people associate it with you.”

“Do you have any idea how incapacitating surgery like that is?” he continued, with the same frustrated tone. “Believe me, I would love to be able to move normally again, you have no idea how frustrated I get knowing that even though I’m back in a world where automail exists I still get treated like an invalid,” his eyes were darkly accusing here, and Mustang could recall several instances where he was the offending party, “But it would take at least a year to recover, probably even more.”

“You did it before, and you were just a child.”

He sighed. “I know I did. I did it because I thought I had to. But I had Auntie, and Winry, and Al all there to take care of me. Between her business and taking care of the baby, Winry’s really got her hands full, and I’m worried about her. I think she takes on more work than one person can accomplish in a day. Al works in Central for most of the week, so he isn’t always around to help out with the baby, and if I was recovering from surgery I couldn’t ask Winry to take care of me and the baby by herself. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why don’t you ask Al to ask his commanding officer to put him on leave?” Roy suggested.

Ed leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out on the roof. “That’s an idea,” he conceded.

“I’m sorry our teasing made you angry earlier,” Roy said after a few minutes of silence.

“I wasn’t angry, I was embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry we embarrassed you then.” Apologies were much easier in the darkness.

“Don’t worry about it,” came the toneless response.

The older man gestured towards the flickering lights below. “Well?” he demanded, clearly expecting him to be impressed.

Ed scoffed. “You were born in a city, weren’t you?” he said haughtily. “Born and raised in one. You had to have been to think this is anything compared to a clear night of stars.”

Roy shook his head. “I’ve been all over the country, Ed, and to a good part of the rest of the world. I know a good sight when I see one. This,” he said, waving towards the expanse of lights again, “is our greatest accomplishment.”

“Electricity?”

He laughed. “Civilization.”

Ed looked over to him. “Are you drunk?”

Roy lifted the small flask in response, giving it a shake so Ed could hear the liquor slosh from side to side.

He rolled his eyes. “Roy, did it ever occur to you that drinking on the roof might not be the best idea?”

The man smiled in the darkness, glancing over and Ed’s small form stretched out on the sloped surface. “I haven’t really had that much,” he said, “it’s mostly full.” He offered the small container to Ed, who promptly waved it away. “What’s the matter, Fullmetal?” he teased. “You don’t like to drink?” Roy recalled suddenly that Ed had not touched the wine all evening.

Ed gave a short laugh. “Not really. Especially not on the top of an eight story building.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each looking out at the lights of the city and lost in his own thoughts. “What are you doing out here?” Roy asked him suddenly. “I thought you were tired.”

Thankful that Roy could not see him blush in the darkness, he said, “Well, ah, I wanted to make sure Al and Winry get some time alone.”

Roy raised an eyebrow.

“I think Kaiya’s finally learned to sleep the whole night through, and, ah, that means that neither of them will have to keep getting up to check on her, so they could do… something else.”

Roy chuckled softly to himself, and knew Ed was glaring at him even if he couldn’t see it in the low light. He rose to his feet on the sloped roof. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand to the younger man. “You’re clearly unimpressed with this remarkable view-“ he gestured towards the lights “-lets go for a drink.”

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Roy stopped him. “I’m sure they’ll serve you fruit juice without you even asking for it, seeing how you’re so-“

“I”VE GROWN AS YOU CLEARLY HAVE NOT NOTICED,” Ed growled threateningly, refusing Roy’s hand and standing up on his own. “I will NOT drink JUICE from a SIPPY CUP at a BAR,” he added fiercely.

Roy hopped down gracefully from the roof to the railing and the railing to the porch, extending a hand again to Ed, which he again refused. “So that’s a yes, then,” he said smoothly, one charcoal eye gleaming in the dark. “And no one said anything about a sippy cup, calm down,” he added, watching with veiled concern as Ed climbed awkwardly down, landing unsteadily on his feet.

He stood in front of Roy, hands on his hips. “You’re not so tall yourself, Colonel Bastard,” he said fiercely.

Roy was smug. “Ah, but you forget I’m a General now. My rank overpowers my height, which is still considerably taller than yours anyway, I’m afraid.” Ed began to sputter another protest, but Roy simply gave him a slight push at the small of his back, ushering him back into the hotel. “On to that drink,” he said, laughing.

The bar Roy took him to was several blocks from the hotel, one that Roy apparently frequented quite often, seeing how the bartender called him by name. “Two scotch on the rocks,” he ordered promptly, and laughed when Ed stared warily down into the short glass. “Never drank scotch before, Fullmetal?” he teased.

Ed shot him a glare. “Don’t you think,” he said pointedly, “If no one is supposed to recognize me, you had better not call me that?”

Roy simply shrugged. “Edward, then,” he amended. “It’s a habit, you know.”

“I have drunk scotch before,” Ed said, glaring down at the drink, “and it kicked my ass. You’re trying to get me drunk,” he accused.

Raising an eyebrow, he suggested innocently, “Fruit juice?” trying to push his friend to the boiling point.

Ed took a defiant gulp of the golden liquid, like his eyes, Roy thought suddenly, noticing that Ed did not even flinch as he swallowed the fiery drink, as he had expected him to. “You,” the blond said, pointing a finger in the older man’s face, “are one manipulative bastard,” he accused. “You are just waiting for me to throw some kind of temper tantrum over this.” He narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly gleeful. “You missed those explosions of mine!” he realized suddenly, laughing, taking another sip of scotch.

Roy simply gazed at him, unphased, and drained the glass in one long swig, before the ice could even melt. The bartender replaced it without a word.

Ed quirked one eyebrow up, watching with curiosity. “You always drink this much?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” Roy said evenly, taking a slower sip, draining only half the glass.

Ed shook his head, smiling down at his nowhere near empty drink.

Roy was looking at him with that damnable smirk again, making Ed rise even though he was determined not to.

“What?” he all but snapped, and Roy chuckled. “Quit laughing at me!”

The General shook his head. “You surprise me, Edward,” he said, single eye glinting and the smirk growing. “You’re all grown up now, and you’re nothing like I thought you would be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “What did you think I’d be like?”

Roy leaned back in his chair. Now that they were in a well-lit room, and not the darkness of the rooftop, he had no qualms about continuing to tease. “Well, take the conversation over dinner, for one.”

“The one about building bridges with alchemy? Look, I told you before, I’ve been away from alchemy for ten years. Alchemy didn’t work where I was; I had to learn something else. Excuse me if I’m not up to date on the latest theories,” he said defensively, stirring his scotch.

“Oh, not that conversation,” Roy said. “The other one. I never thought you were so shy about things like sex. We’re all adults now, I thought we could have a conversation like that without you leaving the room, but apparently I was wrong.”

Ed banged the glass down on the bar, having emptied it moments before. Roy signaled to the bartender and before Ed could stop him there was a new drink in front of him, and one for Roy as well, causing him to drain the glass he had. Ed glared at him, pointing to the new glass. “First, I am not drinking that,” he said defiantly.

“Ah, you’re a lightweight,” Roy teased. “And second?” he prompted, after watching Ed seethe.

“At least I’m not a lush,” Ed bit back. “Second,” he continued, taking one small sip from the new drink, “I am not shy.”

“You are,” the older man insisted playfully. “I’ve never seen you turn that red.”

Ed frowned. “I just don’t like my personal life being announced to everyone, okay? Is that so hard to understand?”

Roy refused to accept that. “Twenty six is awfully old to be a virgin,” he began tauntingly.

“I WAS NOT A VIRGIN AND WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THIS!” Ed shouted, his face mere inches from Roy’s, scotch hot on his breath, the commotion causing the pair to be momentarily the center of attention. He slumped back down onto the bar stool and glared at the world for a moment before he took another sharp sip of scotch, his cheeks flushing again from alcohol or embarrassment or both, setting the glass down and dropping his forehead onto his hand. “This is why I didn’t want to drink,” he muttered under his breath. “Especially not with you,” he said accusingly, turning to face Roy but not lifting his head, so his bangs fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. “You always provoke me too damn easily. Keep refilling that glass and you’ll get your tantrum, I guarantee you. And then, General Bastard,” he added, lifting his head and shoving his hair out of his face, eyes narrowed, “we’ll both get kicked out of the bar. How do you like that for the latest round of gossip about the mighty Flame Alchemist?”

“Fine, I won’t say another word,” Roy conceded, realizing that Ed seemed to be speaking from experience. Somehow he had no trouble envisioning him getting kicked out of many a bar.

Ed had picked a fork up, snatched it from somewhere behind the bar, Roy guessed, and gestured at him with it. “You and Al might know all about the best way to transmute a bridge,” he said loftily, “But I know how to build a machine that can fly through the sky.”

Roy frowned. “Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked, accepting the change in subject for the sake of a tantrum-free evening.

Ed shrugged. “Some people are crazy I guess. They want to fly around up there with the clouds.”

The General seemed interested. “Really? Aren’t they afraid that their machine will fall out of the sky?”

“I guess not,” Ed said, “although,” he admitted, “I sure would be.” He took one very small sip from his drink. “They’re good for war, too,” he added. “If you have a flying machine, you can fly over your enemy and drop bombs on them.”

Roy shuddered. “That sounds horrible,” he said, and Ed nodded. “That sounds like the way to annihilate the entire world.”

“They nearly did. They called it the Great War.”

“They?”

“They said if there will never be a war so terrible, or so destructive, because if the entire world ever goes to war like that again, it will be the end.” His eyes had a hollow look to them, Roy saw, and he wanted to take back his earlier statement, that Ed had not grown up the way he thought he would. He had grown up exactly the way he thought he would. Older, wiser, and no less abused by the world as he had been as a child.

Ed stared down at his drink for a while before taking another sip. After draining the glass, he held up the fork, waving it in front of Roy’s face. “Check this out,” he instructed, laying his metal hand flat on the bar and pushing the fingers apart with his flesh hand. “Now,” he said seriously, holding up the fork. “Imagine this is a knife.”

Roy cooperatively agreed, and watched with growing amusement as Ed jabbed the fork down into the bar between each finger in a rapid pattern. Then the younger man drained a good portion of the scotch that had miraculously appeared in what was supposed to remain an empty glass, and held up the fork again. “Remember,” he said with the same seriousness, “this is a knife.” He began the same rapid pattern, jabbing the spaces between his fingers, paused, took another sip, and continued, finally missing a space and stabbing a finger.

Roy jumped involuntarily, and Ed grinned up at him.

“Gotcha,” he said, eyes glinting amber in the low light of the bar. He waved the fork around. “And this isn’t even a knife.” He rapped the back of the fork on his false hand, letting the sound of metal on metal carry across the bar, grinning.

“You are drunk,” Roy realized, shaking his head.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Ed replied, leaning his shoulder into Roy’s and smiling charmingly up at him. “That’s the point of going out for a drink, isn’t it? And then I end up in your bed,” he concluded, not blushing at all, and finishing off the third glass of scotch. He slammed the glass down on the bar and laughed at Roy’s gaping expression. “I’m kidding,” he said, snickering deviously. Then he snatched the empty glass away from the bartender. “No more, thanks, I think I’m flagged,” he told the man.

Roy pulled the glass out of Edward’s hand. “Get him another,” he instructed, handing it to the bartender. “I think I like you like this,” he said, smirking.

Ed plopped his chin onto his hand, staring at the golden liquid. “You’re going to drink that one,” he told Roy, “or it isn’t getting drinked- dranken- drunkend,” he insisted, tripping over the words. “I’m about to get ridiculous,” he said seriously, his voice only slightly slurred.

Roy raised an eyebrow. “I think, Ed, that you are ridiculous.”

Ed tipped his head on his hand, turning the world sideways. “’Member when I kissed you at that party?”

Rolling his eye, Roy stared up at the ceiling. “Yes,” he said to the rafters. “How could I forget that?”

“I was so embarrassed. It was like, that moment that every teenager dreams about, only gone horr’bly wrong,” he said, slurring his words just a little bit. “I always thought Winry would be my first kiss, but it was you. And you know, I think I was drinking that night, too, trying to seem grown up or something. Someb’dy let me have champagne. I always do dumb stuff when I drink.”

When he looked down, Ed was staring into the scotch he swore he would not touch.

He pushed the glass over to occupy the space in front of the older man. “Here, you drink this. I don’t want any more. I’ve prob’ly already embarrassed myself enough and don’t even realize it. Like telling you it was a really good kiss. I prob’ly shouldn’t say that, not now. I should have told you right then.”

“I think you did, Ed,” Roy said, his voice low.

He tilted his head farther to the side, watching the bar spin with the movement. “Did I?” he asked. Then he sighed. “That’s good. Then I called you and told you to forget it happened. You didn’t forget though, did you?”

Roy shook his head silently, but Ed seemed to expect some kind of additional response from him. “Do you want to try it again?” he asked finally, his voice even lower, not even sure if he wanted what he was asking, or if it was the question Ed wanted to hear.

Ed picked up the fork again, stabbing it into the bar so hard that it stuck this time. “No,” he snapped, suddenly defensive. “I’m not a dumb kid anymore.” Not looking up, he pressed down on the handle of the fork, watching it spring back to an upright position. His expression softened, and he settled his chin on his hand. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway, would it?” he asked softly, pressing the end of the fork again and following it with his eyes as it flew across the bar and crashed into a row of empty pint glasses. He watched numbly as they rolled across the bar, staring as first one, then a second smashed onto the floor. “Wasn’t me,” he called, feigning innocence when the bartender had spun around to see what had happened.

The man glared at the pair. “That’s going on your tab,” he said crossly. Then he turned to Roy and said, “Sir, I’m not sure you should be letting your son drink so much.”

Roy threw back his head and laughed while Ed grew redder and redder, a vein twitching violently in his forehead. Then he watched with dread as Ed tipped his head back, downing the scotch he had sworn he wouldn’t touch.
He deposited the swaying blond onto the bed, and set to work removing his shoes. Half mumbled, incoherent protests came from under the pillow Ed had shoved over his face, but Roy patiently worked the boots off of first the flesh foot, and then the wooden one.

“Roy?” came the voice from beneath the pillow.

“Yes?” he asked patiently, pulling off the socks next.

“What am I doing here?” He sounded worried, pushing the pillow off his face and half sitting up. “Everything’s spinning…”

“Shhh, Ed, everything’s okay. You just drank too much. You’re going to sleep it off. Here,” he said, pulling him to a sitting position. “Don’t sleep in your clothes, I’ll give you some pajamas.” Roy began to unbutton his shirt, but Ed batted his hand away, scowling.

“I can undress myself,” he mumbled defensively, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, pulling at them in one-handed frustration. “’M not a cripple.”

“I know you’re not,” he said gently, feeling his stomach twist. “But you’re also barely conscious.” His hand closed over Ed’s, pulling it away from his shirt, and he looked up into half open gold eyes. “Don’t worry, you wont even remember this tomorrow.”

“Yes I will,” the younger man said sullenly, but allowed Roy to slide his shirt off his shoulders, and flopped back down on the bed to let him pull his pants off, barely aware of the struggle it took to get them unzipped and over his narrow hips.

“I very much doubt that,” Roy assured him, glancing with concern at the straps that held the wooden leg in place. Almost without realizing it he fingered his eye patch, remembering how the doctor had warned him against sleeping with it on, something about it being bad for circulation to sleep with anything pressing into the skin. He had slept with it on anyway, at first, when he spent his first nights with Riza, but had ended up with painful, raw indentations on his face and forehead. She had assured him that it didn’t bother her to see him without it, and he had abandoned the attempt entirely. “Ed?” he inquired. When there was no response, he repeated himself, a little louder. “Ed?”

“Whaddya want?” he slurred, eyes not even flickering open this time.

He knocked his knuckles lightly against the wooden limb. “You sleep with this on?”

“Huh?” Ed dragged his flesh hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes and finally opening them a crack, looking over at Roy sitting on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over his prosthesis. “No,” he said firmly, sitting up unsteadily. “No, no, defin’ly not,” he repeated, tugging at the buckle with one uncoordinated hand but managing to work it loose, giving the thing a shove and hearing it slide off the bed with a clatter. He grabbed at the blanket and jerked it over his leg and a half, obscuring the reddened stump from sight. “M’sorry I got so drunk,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Sorry I’m gonna pass out in your bed.”

Roy shook his head, feeling a small (very small) stab of guilt. “Well, I should have listened to you when you said you had enough.”

Ed shook his head roughly. “I should have listened to me,” he insisted, falling back once more onto the bed. “Don’t you take advantage of me while I’m drunk, Colonel Bastard,” he added in a slurred voice.

Roy was reaching over to switch off the light, but paused, startled. “I would never-“

“You wait until I’m sober enough to remember everything.”

Roy blinked, smirking, and stood up. “Go to sleep, Ed,” he said softly, turning off the lamp and shaking his head.

Ed woke in the morning to the sight of one General Mustang, dressed casually in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, offering him a glass of water and two white pills. Roy had watched him sleep for a full five minutes, smiling inwardly at the way he clutched the blanket in his flesh hand, holding it to his face in a child-like gesture, his eyebrows drawn together even in his sleep. The first words out of his mouth were an incoherent slur, but he sat up and accepted the water and the aspirin, finishing the glass and setting it on the bedside table. Only then did he fully open his eyes and look around in first confusion and then horror, throwing himself back down into the bed and covering his head with a pillow. “I’m never doing that ever again!” came the muffled cry.

The General laughed softly. “Do you feel sick?” he inquired.

Edward removed the pillow and sat halfway up again and looked down at himself. “Where are my clothes?” he demanded. “Why am I in your bed with no clothes on?”

Roy gestured towards the sloppy pile beside the bed, and said, “Because you passed out before I could give you any pajamas,” and laughed again.

Ed reached over the edge of the bed to collect the pile, shaking out his shirt, and then threw it down, snatching the blanket up over himself. “Don’t watch me get dressed!” he snapped, feeling his cheeks burning. “Go away!”

That damnable smirk spreading across his face again, Roy just shook his head. “Why should I have to go away? This is my room, after all.”

“Well you’re the one who put me here, apparently,” Ed retorted. “Now give me some privacy!”

Roy waved his hand in dismissal, exiting the room, his smirk visible even with his back turned. “Come out when you’re decent, and I’ll take you to breakfast. I don’t know what you’re so shy about, I’ve already seen everything anyway,” he called from the hall.

Damn that Colonel Bastard –General Bastard, he corrected himself mentally- what is he playing at? “I’m not shy!” he shouted at the doorway. “And you didn’t see anything, I’m not stupid, I remember that much!” He was glad Roy was not watching him, because he did not want him to see the flush he knew had crept into his cheeks at the mere suggestion of the man seeing him undressed.

Roy Mustang did not know what to make of the young man upstairs. He didn’t know if Ed even remembered the things he had said to him the night before, and again he felt slightly guilty for making him drink so much when he said he didn’t want to drink at all. But I didn’t make him, he reminded himself. He’s not a kid anymore, he can make his own decisions. I have nothing to feel guilty about.

But still, there was that nagging voice inside him, telling him that even though Ed was an adult, that didn’t mean he had life all figured out. Hell, he had spent ten years in a whole other world, where he said things were completely different than they were in Amestris. Roy never had children, had always told himself that he never wanted children, but he had always thought that he was meant to protect the Elric brothers. Not be their father, not be a substitute parent, hell, he would make a horrible parent, but to… well, to be there for them. And, for the most part, he was. Those boys had next to nobody in the world, and compared to nobody, at least he was somebody, and he tried to take that role seriously.

He remembered the offer he had made Ed, years ago when he was fifteen, the night after the Fuhrer’s birthday party, that if he ever wanted to talk about anything, he would be there, and decided to extend the offer again over breakfast. That way, if Ed wanted to, he could talk about what he had said the night before. And if he didn’t want to, or couldn’t remember, then they were just two friends having breakfast together.

Once inside the diner, Roy listened in awe as Ed ordered fried eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, potatoes, fruit, pancakes, and several cinnamon rolls. He watched the younger man shrug when the waitress asked if he was sure he was going to eat all that, and pounded his stomach. “Yep, I can eat it,” he assured her. She gave him a skeptical look, but moved on to Roy’s ordinary-sized order and a coffee. “Oh!” he interrupted. “Coffee too,” he told her. “And orange juice. A big glass,” he added, and she rolled her eyes as she walked away. Roy was rolling his eye as well. “What?” Ed demanded.

“Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

Ed just shrugged again. “You’re a General now, you can afford to buy me as much breakfast as I can eat.”

Roy just looked at him. “With the way you eat, I’m not sure that I can.” After a moment, he added, “Are you sure you want to eat all that? You’re sure you don’t feel sick from drinking?”

He scowled. “I feel like shit from drinking, thanks for reminding me. But I wont get sick, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Roy ran a hand through his fall of black hair, his fingers skimming over the black straps of his eye patch with a practiced ease, careful-as-always not to disturb it. He took a deep breath, and leaned forward across the table. “Edward, how have things been going for you?” he asked, careful to keep his voice friendly and not overly concerned.

Ed leaned back in the booth of the diner and sighed. “Things have been great. I’m glad to be back,” he said, but the words sounded oddly forced.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked hesitantly.

Ed frowned. “No… not really,” he said, puzzled. “We could talk about the baby,” he suggested. “She’s- she keeps me sane in that house, I swear. I think I’m in love with her.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?” he said, thinking it an odd thing to say.

Ed just shrugged again. “Well… I think about her all the time. Whenever I don’t see her, I miss her. Whenever I do see her,” he paused, and smiled. “I’m happy,” he finished.

Do you think she’s really your daughter? he wanted to ask, but he was sure Ed had been asked that question before, and he had a guess that the answer might be does it really matter?

“I worry about her, though,” he admitted. “I hope she grows up okay. Even with three of us, none of us knows what we’re doing. And I think I might be genetically dispositioned to be a bad father.” Roy opened his mouth to protest that, but Ed kept speaking. “Al always tells me not to say that, but I have to wonder. I guess she’s gonna call Winry mom, of course, and Al dad, since they’re a couple. It’ll just make more sense to her, that way. And she can just call me Ed. And that’s okay,” he added.

Their food arrived then, Ed’s breakfast taking up most of the table, and the conversation was halted as Roy watched in disbelief as the younger man polished off most of what was in front of him, slowing down only when he had half a bowl of fruit salad and a cinnamon roll left. Roy pulled his own roll apart, unwinding it slowly, careful not to get his fingers overly sticky, and ate it section by section. Ed, who had eaten his first two practically whole, began to copy Roy, pulling the roll apart with the fingers of his left hand. Roy noticed then that he had taken the glove off his flesh hand, but not the metal one, and that the metal hand had remained in his lap through the entire meal. Thinking back, he realized that he had done the exact same thing at dinner the night before. Thinking further back, he seemed to recall that Ed had always eaten like that, even when he had had real automail. Odd, he thought.

“What?” Ed demanded when he caught Roy watching him.

“You’re dissecting your roll,” Roy said nonchalantly.

“So’re you,” Ed pointed out. “Another reason,” he said, between bites, “that I worry about Kaiya, is that I remember how the other kids in Rizembool treated me and Al, after dad left. They would whisper about us, mom always told me I was imagining it but I know it was happening, and they would ask us questions we couldn’t answer, and sometimes I’d make things up, like that that Bastard had been struck by lightening and died, and that’s why he didn’t live with us anymore.”

“But that wont happen to her,” Roy protested.

“It will be worse for her!” Ed insisted. “Kids are so mean. Everyone will want to know why she has three parents, why her household isn’t normal. And then there’s all the stories about me, and all the stories about Al, and Al doesn’t even remember which stories are true and which ones aren’t-“

“Fullmetal,” Roy interrupted sharply, the use of Ed’s military name enough to make him pause, “Don’t you worry about Kaiya. Kaiya will get enough love; not every child is lucky enough to grow up with three parents. You worry about yourself. What do you want from life, Edward?”

He shrugged, stirring his fruit around in the bowl. “I have everything I want,” he said finally. “Al’s alive, and human, and whole. That’s all I ever wanted, for fifteen years. Now it’s true.”

Roy looked at him curiously. “So, you’re going to spend the rest of your days staring at your brother with that goofy grin on your face? That might get boring, you know.”

Ed tried to suppress that same expression Roy spoke of, even as he felt it spreading across his face, and looked down. “No it won’t,” he said softly. “I’ll never get tired of seeing Al. And now,” he shrugged again, picking up the last piece of his roll, “now, I have a family. We have a family. I don’t know what more I could want.”

Roy sighed, running his hand through his hair once more. Ed did have a family. Ed had a daughter, biological or otherwise. Who was he to think he could offer him some kind of advice? He, who had ruined the only real relationship he’d ever been in? He, who had ruined his own chances of knowing what it was like to say he was in love with his child?

Chapter Three: Conversations in the Dark

Winry flicked off the light in her workshop, changing the air immediately to soft silvers and greys. She paused for a moment, looking out the clouded glass of the window at the snow-covered sleeping town. There was no movement outside, and the moon was high and chill, small and round in the sky, bouncing dusky silver off the snow and into the room. Sighing, she began to head up the dark staircase into the rest of the house, pausing on the landing before continuing up to the top floor and looking across the living room at the back of the couch. “Ed?” she called quietly. Ed often stayed up late into the night and ended up falling asleep with a book over his face, and she crossed the room, intending to switch off the reading lamp and tell him to go sleep upstairs. “Hey, why don’t you-“

But it wasn’t Ed on the couch at all, it was Al, curled up with a blanket and a book, awake and reading. He shut the volume carefully and sat up half-way, pulling the blanket closer around him. “Hm?” he murmured, raising his eyes to her.

Winry leaned over the back of the couch, letting her long hair fall over her shoulders. “Come to bed, Al, it’s two am,” she said tiredly.

Al shook his head. “I’m sleeping in here tonight.”

Winry raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she asked, startled.

Al looked off to the side, not meeting her eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. “Brother said he would sleep down here, since he falls asleep down here half the time anyway, but I felt bad since he’s been so sore recently. I said he could keep sleeping in my bed and I’d sleep down here, at least tonight,” he hedged, avoiding the real question.

She frowned. “So, all of a sudden you don’t want to share the bed or something?” she asked then, trying to make her voice light but unable to hide her puzzlement. Since the first night they had both been home together, the brothers had both slept intertwined, she had seen them when she passed Al’s room, and thought nothing of it. They had done the same thing when they were kids, in fact, all three of them had been known to fall asleep in a pile, when they were kids.

Al was still looking pointedly away at a picture frame on the far wall. “We just decided… that it might be better… to sleep… apart,” he stuttered out awkwardly.

“Okay,” she said finally, understanding at least that whatever had happened was not going to be shared with her. “Still,” she added, a bit hesitant, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, why so nervous? “Why don’t you just sleep with me?” Her face flushed as soon as she spoke, her words sounding dirty, suddenly, and wrong.

Al just shook his head, pulling the blanket tighter around him and pressing himself into the corner of the couch. “No, I’m fine down here,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t mean-“ she stammered, feeling her flush growing, “-I meant, just sleep, you know, we don’t have to do anything-“ she stopped, mid-sentence, realizing as she spoke what felt so off about her suggestion. It’s not like we haven’t slept in each other’s beds before would have been the rest of her words. She opened her mouth to say- something, anything, some kind of excuse, but there was nothing.

“I don’t want to sleep near you.” His voice was cold.

“Ed told you,” she whispered, feeling her heart clench and sink like lead into the pit of her stomach.

“Did you think he wouldn’t have?” Al hissed. “We’re brothers, do you really think he would hide something like that from me?”

Winry shook her head numbly.

“Do you think I couldn’t tell there was something strange going on the minute we found you in the hospital?” he continued. “We’re-“ he stopped, pausing, teeth clenched. “What are we, Winry? Lovers? Siblings? Friends? Whatever we’re calling it, just how long were you going to wait before talking to me?”

“It just- it just happened one day,” she said softly, slowly. “He just showed up, and it happened so fast, we-“

Al shook his head in disgust, holding up his hand to halt her explanation. “I don’t care,” he said sharply. “I don’t want to hear about how it happened. I know you’ve been in love with him all along; you never denied it and I never asked you to.” His bronze eyes flashed with anger. “But I’m the one who’s been here for you all this time, I’m the one that never let my goals or my work or my job keep us apart for too long, and I’m the one who’s loved you back! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he cried, his eyes bright and his face splotched with redness.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close to her and be his source of comfort like she had been so many times before, but she found herself drawing back in horror of herself. “Al,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Go away,” he said brokenly, his words trampling over her fallen heart. “Go upstairs, go wake Ed up and get yourself pregnant again in my bed, I don’t care, just leave me alone.”

She just stared at him, unmoving, unblinking, unspeaking, for several minutes before she forced herself to walk around the couch and sit down next to him. “That will never happen,” she said quietly. “It’s not something that will ever happen again.”

The look he gave her was full of such condescension and disgust that she felt as if he had physically struck her. “I don’t care,” he repeated. “You can do whatever you want, I’m not keeping you away from him,” he said, and his words stung. He waved his hand between them, gesturing to the invisible-and-fraying bond. “This was never- we were never anything, were we? Not to you.”

Tears began to spring up in her eyes, but his face did not soften. We were never anything? “That’s not true,” she whispered.

“What do you know,” he said, his voice cold, “about truth?”

She stood, opening her mouth to defend herself, then closed it without speaking. “I’m sorry,” she whispered instead. “I’m sorry, Al. I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know.” What else could she say? She felt as if she was standing before God, not Al, not in her own house but in the great hereafter, receiving the final judgment and being found horribly, irreparably lacking.

Bronze eyes stared up at here. “Weren’t you going to bed?” he said pointedly, picking up the book again and opening it to the page he had marked. I’m the one who’s loved you back. The words echoed through her mind as she turned, wordless, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

When she awoke it was pitch black, the clouds having covered the moon, and her heart was pounding. An unfounded sense of fear seized her stomach, and she could not shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. Her first thought was for Kaiya, and she flung herself out of bed, shoving the blankets aside before she was even completely awake and stumbling to the bassinet.

Which was empty.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she flew out of the room what was going on? only to come to a halt in her doorway.

Gold eyes, glinting like a cat’s in the darkness, met hers from the other end of the hall. Ed was pacing slowly up and down the hall, holding Kaiya tightly to his chest.

“Ed?” she whispered.

“I said I would try to wake up,” he whispered back, rocking the baby slightly back and forth as he moved closer to her. “Remember?” When he stopped in front of her doorway the baby’s closed eyes slit open and her tiny face screwed up, gearing up to cry. He looked down, rocking her gently and turning to pace slowly back down the hall. Winry followed after him, trailing only a foot or so behind, and when he turned at the other end she reached for her daughter, taking her into her own arms. She remained silent.

“Did you give her her bottle?” she asked softly in the dark.

Ed nodded. “She would only quiet down if I was moving, I couldn’t get her to go back to sleep. It must have been you she wanted,” he said, shrugging. “I can’t believe she didn’t wake you up,” he added.

She tried to push away the feeling of terror she had awakened with, but it would not subside. “Where’s Al?” she asked next.

Ed raised his eyebrows. “Downstairs,” he said. “On the couch.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, leaning over the railing to peer down into the dark house.

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked, puzzled.

She could make out his form, in the black and grey of the shadows, curled on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I had this terrible feeling that something was missing,” she explained hesitantly, feeling suddenly silly. “It must have been a bad dream.”

Ed touched his finger to Kaiya’s soft cheek, looking down at her for a moment. “Is she sleeping now?” he asked quietly.

Winry rocked her back and forth, nodding slightly. “Did you and Al fight?” she asked in the darkness, and could feel his surprise.

“No,” he said simply.

“I tried to talk to him earlier,” she said, the words tumbling from her and out into the air between them, continuing, “but I just didn’t know what to say, I thought he would be angry, and I was ready for that, but he’s not, he’s just sad, and I don’t know what to do, I feel terrible, and I don’t know what to say,” she repeated, a desperate tone creeping into her voice.

She felt a warm hand on her back, rubbing slowly up and down. “Say you’re sorry,” he said gently. “Say it was a mistake, and we’ll never do it again.”

“A mistake?” she repeated numbly.

He nodded behind her. “It was a mistake, and it didn’t mean anything,” he said firmly, careful to keep his own conflict out of his voice.

A mistake? she screamed inwardly. A mistake?

He’s always said it was a mistake. The very next morning he said he regretted it. He didn’t even spend the night with me, he left to sleep downstairs as soon as we were done. She held her child closer to her chest, watching her tiny form rise and fall with each breath. I knew that, and even then I wasn’t sorry it happened.

“I can’t say that,” she whispered, and she felt his hand leave her back, dropping to his side.

He’s been in love with someone else all along. Someone he’ll never see again. Minutes passed in silence as she started down at her daughter, her beautiful daughter, and listened to Ed breathing behind her. “Do you love him?” he asked finally, the words staying in the air even after he spoke.

“Yes.”

“Then tell him that.”

Al snatched the phone out of his brother’s hand as soon as he picked it up, glaring at him. “Hello?” he said, using his most official voice. “Yes, hold on one moment please,” he said as a response, setting the phone down and opening the downstairs door and calling, “Winry! Customer on the phone!”

They both heard her feet pounding on the stairs before they saw her, and she scooped up the phone, saying brightly, “Winry Rockbell, Rockbell Automail, how can I help you?” She plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs, propping her feet up on the table, chattering excitedly away about her newest services.

Ed narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Her customer might have recognized my voice and alerted the press that the Fullmetal Alchemist is back,” he said sarcastically.

“Brother!” Al said, exasperated. “Take this seriously! There’s already a ton of rumors, we don’t need to do anything else to feed them.”

“I am taking it seriously, but I can’t hide forever. Can I?” he added doubtfully. “I mean, you said there’s already rumors, and I’ve barely left the house since I’ve been back.”

“You were seen in East City. One reporter even claims to have photographed you.”

Ed just shrugged. “It was Roy’s idea to parade me around East City with him, he said it would be fine, and for all I know, it was. I saw that photo: it’s old. I must have been fourteen in the picture. You don’t want me to answer the phone, but you do want me to come to Central with you. Make up your mind, Al!”

His brother sighed elaborately. “That’s different,” he said patiently, having explained himself many times before. “We’re going to see people in Central who already know you’re back, or who we can trust not to tell anyone. Yeah, it’s true that around here you have a lot of fans, but believe me, the rest of the country isn’t like that. It’s better not to fan the flames, okay?”

Ed groaned. “Right, right, you’ve said that before. But Al, when we go to Central, who isn’t going to recognize me? If you’re traveling around with someone who looks like an older version of you, who else could it possibly be?”

“We’ll just be careful, Brother, that’s all,” Al assured him. “Don’t you want to come to Central with me?” he asked suddenly. He had just assumed Ed would want to go with him, he hadn’t thought to ask him.

“Of course,” Ed answered promptly. “Of course, I’d like to be able to see you perform at the examination, too, but I guess that would be too dangerous, right?” He sighed, resigned, and leaned back against the wall, smiling fondly. “My little brother’s so famous,” he said then. “I’d really like to see your alchemy in action. Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist.”

Al shrugged this off. “Eh, you’ve seen my alchemy,” he said off-handedly. “It’s nothing you can’t do, too, I’m sure.”

Ed raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I ever had an occasion to transmute a part of my soul into an inanimate object,” he told his brother.

He looked grave suddenly. “Sometimes I wish I couldn’t,” he said quietly. “It’s a talent that the military likes to take advantage of.”

Winry hung up the phone, glanced at the brothers and went back downstairs, and Ed was glad to have at least one source of tension leave the room again. Things had been very strained between them for the past few days. He knew that Al did not, under any circumstances, want to discuss his involvement with the military, and for the most part Ed respected that. He knew the military and knew, even if Al did not come right out and say it, that he must have been involved with things he wasn’t proud of. But, he reasoned, he must have done a lot of good, too, to have earned the reputation he did.

He switched back to a safe topic of conversation, one that did not involve Winry or the military. “I can’t wait to see Mrs. Hughes,” he said. “Her pies are amazing. You’ve had them, I’m sure?”

Al nodded enthusiastically. His brother’s love of Mrs. Hughes’ pie had become nearly legendary. In fact, everything about Ed had become nearly legendary in his quest for information about his missing years with his brother. His methodical mind was still cataloguing all the differences between the man and the legend, fitting them in there with differences between the legend and the boy he grew up with. The biggest strain was the jump from boy to man, forget the legend he did not remember. “Elysia likes to tell people she remembers seeing you the day she was born. Of course, that’s impossible, but I guess it makes a good story,” he said then, thinking of the enthusiastic ten year old with the penchant for showing him her photo albums.

Both brothers jumped when the phone rang again, and both of them leaped for it, but Al, being the faster one, got his hand on it first, only to have a startled expression cross his face. “It’s for you,” he said, eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. “It’s General Mustang.” He wondered at the immediate smile that flashed across his brother’s face, but shrugged and handed Ed the phone.

“Roy?” he heard his brother say as he stretched the chord to reach through the doorway into the next room. “Yeah, I’m doing all right. Well, things are a little tense around here, but we’re all doing okay. How are you?” Then Ed pulled the door shut around the chord, and the conversation was muffled.

Al stared at the door for a moment, part of him briefly wondering yet again exactly what kind of relationship his brother and the General had. He supposed, as two boys without parents, they had collected mother and father figures throughout their journeys together. He certainly had when he was on his own, otherwise he never would have been as successful as he was. In his own mind, he had always believed that the General (who had been a Colonel when he first entered Al’s own memory) had been a kind of father figure to both of them, if not a bit misguided here and there, but he of course knew the stories about the General and his brother having an affair. Was it possible? Given the way Al had seen them interact, he doubted it.

The other part of him dwelled on the words Ed had spoke, things are a little tense around here. That was the understatement of the century. He felt overwhelming guilt pressing in on him for the things he had said to Winry, and the way he had avoided speaking to her the past few days. He tried talking to his brother about it, but Ed had told him he of all people had no reason to feel guilty. Still, Brother, she said she was sorry, and I told her to go away. Ed had nearly exploded. Al, you’re not a saint, stop trying to be one! It’s all right to be upset with her, and it’s all right to be upset with me! Still, he felt he was responsible for the next move towards easing the tension in their household.

“Oh,” he heard behind him, and spun around. Lost in his thoughts as he was, Al had not heard her come back up the stairs. “I thought the phone was for me again.”

Her eyes darted from side to side, almost as if she was afraid of him. Well, let her be, he thought fiercely. Let her be afraid I’ll never speak to her again, let her be afraid I think she’s a horrible person. I’m a powerful alchemist, she wont be the first person to fear me. “It was General Mustang. Brother is talking to him in the other room,” he said, keeping his voice level.

She raised her eyebrows hesitantly.

“I guess they are planning to get together in Central, or something.”

“Kaiya wants to be a mechanic when she grows up,” Winry said suddenly.

Al looked at her blankly. “Huh?”

“She loves my wrench,” she said, her tone bright, false. “And when I’m hammering things, she waves it around with this big grin on her face-“

“Winry, I have to ask you something,” he said abruptly, cutting at once through her chatter, looking back over his shoulder at the phone chord trailing under the door.

She did that flick with her eyes again, side to side, but nodded. “Anything,” she said quietly, suddenly subdued.

“All this time that we’ve been together, was I only second best?” he asked, his voice thin, stretching out across the room, not caring if the question was fair.

“No,” she said, and she sounded honest. “No, Al, you weren’t second best. You were the only one.”

“The only one you loved, or the only one who was there?” he pressed painfully.

She tried to look away, but he moved everywhere her eyes wandered, finally grasping her by the shoulders. “Please, just answer me,” he implored her. “I have to know. I’m tired of you both hiding things from me!”

She put her hands up to her shoulders, taking his in her own, holding them in front of her. She pulled him over to the table, sitting down, and he followed, taking the chair across from her and not dropping her hands. “I don’t think it really matters how I feel about your brother,” she said finally, leaning across the table, searching his face for some kind of understanding. “You were right, what you said before. You are the one who loves me back. I do love Ed, we’re best friends, the three of us are, we always have been, of course we love each other.” They were Ed’s words, the same answer Ed had given when he asked. I love her. I’m not in love with her. Could he gauge her sincerity? Could he gauge the sincerity of anyone he loved, when all he wanted was to believe them? “Your brother…” she began, her voice trailing off. “Ed isn’t attracted to women.”

Al scoffed, pulling his hands out of hers. “Yes he is. He is attracted to you,” he said bitterly. “Even a fool can see that.”

“No, he’s not,” she said seriously. “He- in that other place, he had a lover. A man. He told me.”

Al looked away suddenly. “Yeah, I know about that,” he said stiffly. “I met him.”

“Really?” Winry asked, her curiosity momentarily blotting out her discomfort. “You did?””

He eyed her suspiciously. “Brother never told you?”

“Not really. I never asked,” she admitted. “Was he… was he good to him?”

Good to him? That’s what I am known for, right? Being good? “He was… like me,” Al said slowly.

“Like you?” Winry repeated, confused.

“Yeah.” She watched him swallow, look away, push his chair away from the table, hearing it scrape across the tile floor.

When it became apparent that Al was not going to share anything else with her, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue the conversation. “I just want things to go back to the way they were before,” she said quietly

He fixed his eyes on her own, grey as steel and full of emotion. “Things will never go back to the way they were before,” he said roughly. “That’s impossible, always has been, for everything. Why would you want to go back to a lie?”

“Because it wasn’t a lie. I do love you, Al, and I don’t want to lose you.”

He wanted to smile, and looked down. There. That was what he had wanted to hear. Why didn’t it feel the way he thought it would?

He turned away from her. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said, his tone unreadable. “I’m right here. I always will be. For Kaiya, because she’s my daughter, and if she isn’t, I love her as if she was. I’m not going anywhere. If nothing else, we’re still a family.” He pressed his hands on his knees, standing up with a heavy sigh. “I’m going upstairs,” he said, as if the conversation had never happened. “I’ve got some things to look over before we leave for Central. Everyone expects something really impressive for the exams, and I’m going to give it to them.”

“How’s the baby?” Roy asked into the phone, half just to make conversation and half out of genuine curiosity. He sat at his desk, mounds of paperwork that had been piling up around him for the past few weeks surrounding him, and he found himself looking forward to the Elric’s visit enough to make a phone call. When had he gotten this restless? He had only been back in the office a month, having joined General Hawkeye in secret operations just after returning from Ishbal with Edward.

“She’s beautiful, Roy, she’s amazing, you have no idea,” Ed gushed, “and she looks like a baby Winry, you know, just like her baby pictures, and of course we’ll have to bring all the pictures we took so you can see them when we come to Central-“

“Ed,” Roy interrupted, breaking off the flow of praise for the tiny child, “you’re bringing the baby. I don’t need to see pictures of her if I get to see her in real life, too.”

“Oh,” came the subdued response, followed by a soft laugh at his own enthusiasm, but Roy didn’t really hear it.

Oh, but how can you not want to see as many Elysias as possible? Seeing the pictures will only make you realize how much more beautiful she is in real life! Wait until you have one of your own, Roy, you’ll understand then!

“Hey,” the voice on the phone crackled. “Hey, Roy, you still there? Hey!”

“I’m here,” he said softly into the receiver, staring down at the green blotter on his desk.

“Listen, Al’s real concerned about people recognizing me, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but I trust his judgment, of course. So, you really think it’s all right for us all to meet at a restaurant? I mean, you’re pretty high profile yourself, and between you and Al-“

Roy leaned his forehead onto his hand. “I’ll think of something,” he said, suddenly weary. “General Hawkeye really wants to be able to see you all, especially- well, especially with the state of things, right now,” he finished delicately. “And she’s going to be in town-“

“Ah ha!” Ed cried accusingly. “You don’t want to see us at all, bastard, you just wanted to get together with her! I knew it was something like that, I knew you aren’t really that nice!” The words were suspicious but the tone was fond, and Roy chuckled.

“I’ve seen plenty of her, Ed, more than I care to, actually,” he told the phone, glancing toward the darkening office window. It got dark earlier in the fall, he knew, but really, when had he gotten around to wasting so much time? There was still so many orders to sign, so many forms to review, he would definitely be working late that evening.

“Yeah, yeah, the top secret thing, I know. But that’s just work. You’re just looking for a way to get her to have dinner with you.”

“Okay, that’s enough, Fullmetal,” he said firmly, using his military name, trying to gain some kind of control of the conversation. “I have a lot of work to do, I don’t have time to waste arguing with you about my love life.”

“Hey!” Ed protested from Winry’s living room in Altenburg. “You called me, bastard! I’m not trying to waste your time!”

“I’m a very busy man,” he said coolly. “Just because I took some time out of my busy schedule to see how you were doing doesn’t mean I have time to be subjected to your relentless-“

“Fine! Fine, forget it, you’re not trying to scheme a way to take her to dinner, whatever, Roy,” Ed said good-naturedly. “Listen, I’ll see you next week, all right? Bye.”

There was a click and the line went dead. Roy raised his eye to the window again. The sun had already set, but there was still a bit of light left in the sky, turning everything an eerie blue. What’s it feel like to be a father, Ed? he asked in his head. Maes, what’s it like to be a father? Is it really the best feeling in the world?

Just wait until you have kids of your own, Roy, then you’ll understand.

“Yo, General,” said a voice from the doorway.

Roy turned his gaze forward again, nodding to Havoc in greeting.

“You got those forms for intelligence yet? I was thinking about cutting out early today, but I gotta go over them before I can leave,” the man said, slouching against the doorframe, cigarette, as always, dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“I haven’t quite gotten to them,” the General hedged, “but they’re in the pile with everything else I have to finish today.” He frowned. “And don’t smoke in my office, Lieutenant,” he added. “I don’t want ash on my carpet.”

Havoc smirked. “I’m not in your office,” he said wryly. “See?” He gestured to his feet, which, sure enough, were clearly on the other side of the doorway. “I’m merely next to your office, and can smoke as much as I want.” That said, he waltzed into the room, flopping down in one of the leather chairs in front of Roy’s desk, propping his feet up right next to the fancy row of fountain pens in their hand-made holder and blowing out a stream of smoke at the ceiling, watching Roy’s eyebrow twitch and all but daring him to object. “You seen the papers recently?” he asked innocently.

“Hm? The papers? Of course, why?”

Havoc tossed a folded paper, several days old, onto the center of the desk and snatched up a bowl of paperclips to flick the end of his cigarette into.

“Oh, that,” Roy said neutrally, choosing to ignore the conversion of office supply to ashtray.

“Yeah, that,” Havoc echoed. FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SPOTTED IN EAST CITY, read the headline. Still bean sized after six years read the subline. Roy groaned. God, has Ed read this? Has he blown the roof off yet?

“This one,” he said, pointing to the picture on the left, “is more than eight years old. He can’t be more than fourteen in that picture; in fact, I remember when it was taken. You and I were standing just to the left there, out of the frame.”

Havoc was nodding. “Yeah, I remember that, but what about this one, eh?”

Roy barely glanced at it. “That’s Alphonse,” he lied, his voice polished. A little too polished.

It was a grainy photo, at best, but Roy could tell it had been taken in East City. Probably the same day he had talked Ed into allowing him to buy him some new clothes.

The other man nodded again. “Right,” he confirmed. “Clearly. That’s definitely Alphonse. Thanks, General, now I’ve got my story straight.” He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms casually behind his head. “So, about those forms, you know, they just need your signature, you could sign them right now so I can get out of here-“

Roy frowned. “What’s the big rush?” he asked, his voice thick with false irritation. “Can’t you see I have a lot to do? What makes you think your forms are my top priority?”

“Oh come on,” the man pushed. “I’ve got a big date tonight.”

The General raised an eyebrow. “With who?”

Havoc smirked, staring hard at the other man’s face, wanting to remember his expression forever. “General Hawkeye,” he said nonchalantly, giving a light shrug.

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SPOTTED IN EAST CITY
Still bean sized after six years

The press has just received a file from an anonymous photographer, clearly showing the Fullmetal Alchemist, alias Edward Elric, was recently in East City with one General Roy Mustang. Pursued by the military for his involvement in the Lior situation and later suspected by the government of performing a Human Transmutation, Fullmetal disappeared over six years ago without a trace.

Known as the original Elric prodigy, he began his military career when he passed the State Alchemist exam at the young age of twelve. At that time, he was the youngest ever to receive the certification. Over the four years he spent with the military, he earned the title “The People’s Alchemist,” and became something of a celebrity, especially in the north, from where he originated. However, his wide range of alchemical talents were quickly surpassed by his younger brother, Alphonse Elric, who passed the State Alchemist Exam at eleven and was given the title of Soul Alchemist.

Pronounced dead by the military but still believed to be in hiding by the government, the existence of the Fullmetal Alchemist has remained a mystery to the people of Amestris. There were frequent “Fullmetal sightings” up to two years after his disappearance, but recently there has been a new rash of rumors that, after extensive investigation, turned out to be more credible than previous sightings.

Did Edward Elric go into hiding when parliament took control of the government, realizing that he would be made to pay for his crimes against the people of Lior, or had he been a fugitive even before the new government was put into place? Did he intend to escape the corruption of the old military and stay true to his reputation as the “People’s Alchemist,” helping people quietly all this time, out of the government’s sight? Is it possible that despite the investigation bureau’s conclusions, his brother was in fact a product of a Human Transmutation, and the Fullmetal Alchemist fears punishment for that crime more than anything else?

Whatever the truth is, the fact remains that although proof now exists that Fullmetal is indeed alive, our sources inform us that due to the recent civil unrest, the government lacks the necessary resources to fully investigate the situation. For now, the country will be left to wonder if the Fullmetal Alchemist was really a friend or a foe.
click.

Golden eyes narrowed. “Hey!”

Winry was already shaking out the stiff card, staring at the moment she had captured as she continued through the room. The bright mid-morning sun glared off the snow, drenching the room in whitish light, and Ed sat in the corner of the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and Kaiya curled in one arm. The baby was still clutching her ring of wooden keys, but she lay against his chest, awake and silent, eyes wide and enraptured at the sound of his voice. A book was propped on his knees, kept open by his free hand, and he was reading quietly out loud, for the most part ignoring the photographic interruption.

One empty cereal bowl, one plate of unidentifiable crumbs, one orange peel, one candy wrapper, one empty coffee mug and one empty bottle sat piled on the table, forgotten. “…the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses-“

“Ed!” Winry interrupted. “What on earth are you reading her, an alchemy book? She can’t even understand you!”

“She likes it!” he protested, looking down at Kaiya’s contented expression.

The font door opened a second time and a second blast of cold air blew into the room. Al pulled his hat off his head, running his hand over his flattened hair, and stomped the snow off his boots.

“Look what I got,” Winry said smugly, handing him the picture, and he laughed.

“Aw,” he said, smiling at the now-clear photo of his brother and the baby.

“He’s reading her an alchemy book, can you believe it?” she continued, trying to tease Ed some more, although he was pointedly still reading quietly as though he had never been interrupted.

Al just shrugged. “So? At least he’s not reading her the periodic table of elements or something,” he said defensively.

“Hey!” Ed said from the couch, finally closing the book. “I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want her first words to be hydrogen and helium!”

Kaiya stirred in his arm, squirming a bit and wrinkling her forehead now that the steady sound of his reading voice had switched to ordinary conversation.

Winry plucked the book out of his lap and stared at the cover. “The Philosopher’s Stone?” she read, raising an eyebrow.

Al snatched it out of her hands, looking at the cover. “Uh, brother, that’s not an alchemy book…” he said, and Ed laughed.

“Yeah, I managed to figure that out by about, I don’t know, the first sentence?” He shrugged. “It’s a good story, though, if you like reading about magic and all that stuff.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing all morning?” Winry said, eying the mess on the coffee table.

Ed began to rock the baby back and forth, trying to sooth her back into contentment, and said, “Well, we had some breakfast, and we listened to the radio, and then we decided to read a book, right, Kaiya?”

Al laughed again. “So, in other words, you’re teaching her how to slack off.”

Ed nodded. “Right. Valuable skill, slacking. You can never start too early. Why, where did you go?”

They exchanged glances. “We shoveled the snow off the font porch and the sidewalk,” Al said.

Ed raised an eyebrow. “All morning?”

Winry snickered. “Al got in a snowball fight with the neighbor kids,” she told him.

“Hey,” Al protested. “What do you mean, I got in a fight with them? You terrorized them! They’re never going to play near our yard again!”

“I didn’t terrorize them! At least I was using good old-fashioned snowballs, not some kind of alchemical snow cannon!”

“They thought my cannon was cool!”

Ed was nodding approvingly. “Nice, Al,” he said.

His younger brother handed him back the book, and began to walk towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make hot chocolate, Winry, you want some?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes please!” she called back.

“Me too!” Ed added.

She plopped down in the other corner of the couch. “You don’t get any, you didn’t help with the snow,” she retorted.

Ed sniffed. “I would have if you asked,” he told her. Hey, I’m glad you and Al seem to be getting along again, he said in his mind.

“Oh shit,” came Al’s voice from the kitchen.

“What happened?” they both called in unison.

“Don’t say ‘shit’ in front of the baby!” Ed added.

Al appeared again in the doorway, tossing a bundle of newsprint their way. “You read this,” he said flatly, “and then tell me what to say.”

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SPOTTED IN EAST CITY
Still bean sized after six years

The press has just received a file from an anonymous photographer, clearly showing the Fullmetal Alchemist, alias Edward Elric, was recently in East City with one General Roy Mustang. Pursued by the military for his involvement in the Lior situation and later suspected by the government of performing a Human Transmutation, Fullmetal disappeared over six years ago without a trace.

Known as the original Elric prodigy, he began his military career when he passed the State Alchemist exam at the young age of twelve. At that time, he was the youngest ever to receive the certification. Over the four years he spent with the military, he earned the title “The People’s Alchemist,” and became something of a celebrity, especially in the north, from where he originated. However, his wide range of alchemical talents were quickly surpassed by his younger brother, Alphonse Elric, who passed the State Alchemist Exam at eleven and was given the title of Soul Alchemist.

Pronounced dead by the military but still believed to be in hiding by the government, the existence of the Fullmetal Alchemist has remained a mystery to the people of Amestris. There were frequent “Fullmetal sightings” up to two years after his disappearance, but recently there has been a new rash of rumors that, after extensive investigation, turned out to be more credible than previous sightings.

Did Edward Elric go into hiding when parliament took control of the government, realizing that he would be made to pay for his crimes against the people of Lior, or had he been a fugitive even before the new government was put into place? Did he intend to escape the corruption of the old military and stay true to his reputation as the “People’s Alchemist,” helping people quietly all this time, out of the government’s sight? Is it possible that despite the investigation bureau’s conclusions, his brother was in fact a product of a Human Transmutation, and the Fullmetal Alchemist fears punishment for that crime more than anything else?

Whatever the truth is, the fact remains that although proof now exists that Fullmetal is indeed alive, our sources inform us that due to the recent civil unrest, the government lacks the necessary resources to fully investigate the situation. For now, the country will be left to wonder if the Fullmetal Alchemist was really a friend or a foe.
click.

Golden eyes narrowed. “Hey!”

Winry was already shaking out the stiff card, staring at the moment she had captured as she continued through the room. The bright mid-morning sun glared off the snow, drenching the room in whitish light, and Ed sat in the corner of the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and Kaiya curled in one arm. The baby was still clutching her ring of wooden keys, but she lay against his chest, awake and silent, eyes wide and enraptured at the sound of his voice. A book was propped on his knees, kept open by his free hand, and he was reading quietly out loud, for the most part ignoring the photographic interruption.

One empty cereal bowl, one plate of unidentifiable crumbs, one orange peel, one candy wrapper, one empty coffee mug and one empty bottle sat piled on the table, forgotten. “…the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses-“

“Ed!” Winry interrupted. “What on earth are you reading her, an alchemy book? She can’t even understand you!”

“She likes it!” he protested, looking down at Kaiya’s contented expression.

The font door opened a second time and a second blast of cold air blew into the room. Al pulled his hat off his head, running his hand over his flattened hair, and stomped the snow off his boots.

“Look what I got,” Winry said smugly, handing him the picture, and he laughed.

“Aw,” he said, smiling at the now-clear photo of his brother and the baby.

“He’s reading her an alchemy book, can you believe it?” she continued, trying to tease Ed some more, although he was pointedly still reading quietly as though he had never been interrupted.

Al just shrugged. “So? At least he’s not reading her the periodic table of elements or something,” he said defensively.

“Hey!” Ed said from the couch, finally closing the book. “I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want her first words to be hydrogen and helium!”

Kaiya stirred in his arm, squirming a bit and wrinkling her forehead now that the steady sound of his reading voice had switched to ordinary conversation.

Winry plucked the book out of his lap and stared at the cover. “The Philosopher’s Stone?” she read, raising an eyebrow.

Al snatched it out of her hands, looking at the cover. “Uh, brother, that’s not an alchemy book…” he said, and Ed laughed.

“Yeah, I managed to figure that out by about, I don’t know, the first sentence?” He shrugged. “It’s a good story, though, if you like reading about magic and all that stuff.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing all morning?” Winry said, eying the mess on the coffee table.

Ed began to rock the baby back and forth, trying to sooth her back into contentment, and said, “Well, we had some breakfast, and we listened to the radio, and then we decided to read a book, right, Kaiya?”

Al laughed again. “So, in other words, you’re teaching her how to slack off.”

Ed nodded. “Right. Valuable skill, slacking. You can never start too early. Why, where did you go?”

They exchanged glances. “We shoveled the snow off the font porch and the sidewalk,” Al said.

Ed raised an eyebrow. “All morning?”

Winry snickered. “Al got in a snowball fight with the neighbor kids,” she told him.

“Hey,” Al protested. “What do you mean, I got in a fight with them? You terrorized them! They’re never going to play near our yard again!”

“I didn’t terrorize them! At least I was using good old-fashioned snowballs, not some kind of alchemical snow cannon!”

“They thought my cannon was cool!”

Ed was nodding approvingly. “Nice, Al,” he said.

His younger brother handed him back the book, and began to walk towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make hot chocolate, Winry, you want some?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes please!” she called back.

“Me too!” Ed added.

She plopped down in the other corner of the couch. “You don’t get any, you didn’t help with the snow,” she retorted.

Ed sniffed. “I would have if you asked,” he told her. Hey, I’m glad you and Al seem to be getting along again, he said in his mind.

“Oh shit,” came Al’s voice from the kitchen.

“What happened?” they both called in unison.

“Don’t say ‘shit’ in front of the baby!” Ed added.

Al appeared again in the doorway, tossing a bundle of newsprint their way. “You read this,” he said flatly, “and then tell me what to say.”
Jean Havoc could not believe his luck. It was the perfect evening for a date, chill enough for him to offer to throw his jacket around her shoulders, but not too bitter to walk around looking at the stars. She had agreed to meet him by the fountain in the center of the city, and then join him at one of the finer restaurants in the area. He chortled to himself, recalling again the General’s startled expression.

When they met they hugged briefly, and he was reminded that it was not a real date as he took the thick envelope she tucked inside his jacket. Still, one could hope. “You look lovely this evening, General,” he said, smiling a charming smile.

She nodded in thanks. “You look very well yourself, Lieutenant,” she said crisply.

“Shame about that rule about fraternizing with subordinates, isn’t it, General?” he said, still charming, offering his arm.

“Shame that you aren’t technically my subordinate, you’re Roy’s,” she replied, equally charming, placing a hand on the offered arm and walking in step with him towards the restaurant. Suddenly she stiffened. “What was that?” she hissed.

Immediately he snapped out of date-mode, his senses alert. “What was what?” he said quietly, even as he heard an odd sputtering sound. “Get down!” he yelled, the restaurant they had been heading for suddenly exploding in flames, the glass shattering outward onto the street and people screaming all around. Riza grabbed him by the arm, jerking to the side as two bullets whizzed by him, the sound of the shots lost in the explosion. In a split second she shot twice in the direction of the bullets he didn’t even see her draw her gun and began issuing instructions to the police officers that had come running.
Edward awoke slowly, as if working through layer upon layer of fog, painstakingly sorting dreams from reality. His brother’s ability to wake instantly must be a learned talent; he was working on learning it too. If Winry says a good parent wakes up when the baby cries at night, then damn it all, he was going to wake up. Sitting up, he realized he still slept on the very edge of the bed, even though he had been sleeping alone for the past week. In the mornings he woke up grasping at empty sheets, but at least, he told himself daily, that was better than waking up kissing his younger brother.

It wasn’t the sound of Kaiya waking, it was a thrashing about, a muttering, something unlike anything he had woken up to before. Quietly, he made his way down the hall, pausing at Winry’s door but hearing only silence. “Al!” he hissed in the darkness, hurrying down the stairs and cursing when he stumbled over a pair of shoes that had been left out on the living room floor. “Al?” he said, his voice a trace louder, leaning over the back of the couch, concerned.

His brother had one arm thrown over his eyes, and was whacking at the cushions with the other. “No,” he whimpered. “No, you can’t, don’t hurt him, don’t do this!”

“Hey, Al!” Ed said sharply, coming around to the front of the couch and taking the younger man by the shoulders. “Hey, wake up, it’s a nightmare. Al?”

“I hate you!” Al said fiercely, swinging his fist blindly, striking his older brother in the arm. “I hate you,” he repeated.

Ed grabbed his brother’s fist, pinning it to the couch, and shook him with his metal hand. “Al, wake up!” he said again.

“Blood,” Al muttered. “So much blood, brother, you have so much blood in you.” He lifted his arm from over his eyes and Ed could see that his face was streaked with tears. Swallowing hard, he crouched next to the couch, scooping his brother awkwardly in his arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

“Al,” he said soothingly, hesitantly, rubbing one hand up and down the side of his head. “Al, come on, wake up, it was just a dream.”

Grey eyes, black in the darkness, opened and darted around the room. “Are we dead?” he whispered, sending shivers up Ed’s spine. “Are we both dead now?”

“Shhh,” Ed murmured, closing his arms around him. “No one’s dead, Al. It was a dream. No one’s hurt; no one’s dead,” he said, wondering wildly what his brother had been dreaming. His eyes widened as Al began to sob, his body shaking in his arms. “Brother, he killed you!” he said, his voice muffled from pressing his face into his brother’s flesh shoulder.

He felt his breath catch; a coldness seized him by the chest and spread outward. “Who did?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper in the darkness.

“I don’t know,” Al said into his shoulder. “That thing.”

“What thing?” Ed pressed, his chest aching with every pound of his heart.

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” he repeated, panic rising in his voice. He picked his head up, staring Ed in the face, the whites of his eyes glaring in the half-light from the windows. “Brother, I saw you die!” He clutched his hands to his own chest. “At night, when I dream, I see you die. It stabs you, here, and I feel it.” Another sob wracked his trembling body, and Ed tightened his arms around him. “What is it, brother? What is that thing?”

“What does it look like?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know!” his brother cried. “I’m looking at it, but I don’t see it, I only know it’s evil, and it wants to kill you-“

“Shhhh,” Ed interrupted, shuddering at the memory pressing at the edges of his own mind. “Al, it’s all right now. We won. We’re both alive; we’re both okay. You saved me, don’t you remember that part?”

Al stilled in his arms, and was silent for a moment. Then he pulled away, turning to face his brother. His eyes had lost that wild look, and his face was serious, intent, and shadowed in the dark. “What are you talking about? Do you have this dream too?”

“I- yeah,” he said softly. “I dream about it too. I guess I always will. I didn’t know you remembered it.”

The younger brother frowned. “What do you mean? You didn’t really die, you can’t have. You were alive on the other side of the Gate all that time. You’re alive now, I’m awake, and I know that. It’s just this nightmare I have where you die…” but Ed was shaking his head slowly. “Brother?”

“Oh Al,” he said slowly, his voice heavy. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” his brother whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Ed said quietly. “I thought- I figured someone would have told you- but there wasn’t anyone, was there?”

“Tell me what?” he hissed. “You can’t have- that’s impossible- what are you talking about?”

He put his hand gently on the back of his brother’s head. “You do have those memories, somewhere,” he said. “You have enough of them to give you nightmares.”

“What am I remembering?” Al whispered, his eyes locked on his brother’s. “Tell me, Ed, please tell me?”

Another shudder went up his spine, and Ed felt his breath catch again. When he spoke his voice was measured, even, and eerie in the dark. “The homunculus, Envy, the one that Dad and Dante created, stabbed me with a spear and I died. You brought me back, Al, and I was whole and complete. When I stood up, it was on two flesh legs; I had two arms, two hands. But I was alone. You were gone.”

“How? How did I do that?”

“You had the Stone.”

“But I don’t know how to do a… Human Transmutation,” he protested.

“Yes you do,” Ed said evenly, his words weighing heavily on the air. “We both do.”

“All this time,” Al said slowly, “I thought you gave your life to get my body back.”

“I did.”

“But I didn’t know- I didn’t know that’s how it happened- Brother!” he said, worried. “You’re shaking!” Al wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him in tight and feeling the tremors lessen. “I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m sorry I made you talk about this.”

Ed took a deep breath, trying to calm his body, which seemed to be reacting independently of his mind. “I’m okay, Al. It’s okay. You should know what happened.” He shifted on the couch, pushing himself back into the corner and pulling Al with him. Although he was the bigger of the two, always had been since they were very young, Al found himself crawling onto his older brother’s lap and burying his face in his chest. Ed tightened his arms around him.

“I woke you up,” Al said into his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ed said to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

After a moment, Al said, “Brother?”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me?”

Ed sighed, shifting again. “Let’s both go sleep upstairs, Al.”

“Mmm,” was the only response as Al snuggled into his shoulder. Ed leaned his head back on the couch, staring up into the darkness, forcing the thoughts out of his mind.

Chapter Four, Part One: Secrets

Winry hadn’t looked at the automail catalogue she had spread over her lap since she opened it. She was watching Al watch Ed sleep.

Al was sitting sideways with his feet up on the train seat with Kaiya curled against his chest, but his gaze was focused entirely on his brother. At first glance it would seem that Ed slept a lot, but Winry knew the truth: in fact Ed slept very little, and at odd hours. The three of them had been up very late the night before, talking and otherwise procrastinating and then even later beginning to pack, and she had a feeling that Ed had remained awake several hours even after she and Al had gone to bed. He was sleeping now, though, and had been for most of the train ride, curled in on himself in the opposite corner of the compartment from his brother, who watched him, entranced.

Al supposed his older brother would be unrecognizable to a stranger. What did strangers know of Ed? They knew him as a wild legend, the boy from the stories, from the Amestris of another era, now, the boy with the blonde braid and the red coat. Before they had left for the station in Altenburg, Winry had pinned his brother’s golden hair up on his head (like a girl’s, came Ed’s snarling protest, but even Ed could not argue with the results) and Al had placed the black fedora over top, effectively (he hoped) disguising him from curious onlookers.

Al wasn’t sure if his brother truly understood how important it was that he remain anonymous. The Ed he remembered had been a glutton for attention, and this newer, older, foreign Ed seemed content to just exist in the back ground, but Al couldn’t tell if this was a true change in character or just an attempt to placate his younger brother’s insistences. To be fair, Al had to admit that he hadn’t really given his brother all the reasons his existence had to remain secret.

He knew about his brother’s guilt, oh, did he ever know about it. Even as children, Ed had always held himself responsible for anything that happened to Al, even things that all children did, like scraping a knee or skinning a knuckle. Ed had always felt that it was his job to look out for him, and if anything at all happened to Al, then it was an indication that he was not doing his job as an older brother. This was years ago, but until recently these had been the only memories Al had of his brother, and they were perfectly clear in his mind.

His brother’s guilt was legendary. Everyone who had been close to Ed had told him about it. Izumi had told him how he had insisted that their failed transmutation had been his fault entirely, even though the memories of it had been fresh in Al’s ten-year-old mind and Al knew it had been something they had planned together. Winry and Pinako had told him how Ed had not allowed himself to cry out during the many painful surgeries it took to attach his automail, because he felt that his physical pain was nothing compared to what he had put his younger brother through. In those days, in the days that Al had been ten years old for the second time in his life, he had longed to tell his brother that it wasn’t his fault. He had longed to smack him on the back of his head, to yell at him, hands on his hips, they way their mother used to, to repeat the truth enough times that Ed accepted it: that the transmutation had been both of their doings, and that what had happened to Al was no fault of Ed’s. But Ed had not been there, and Al had grown up with non-memories of Edward’s guilt.

He didn’t know if Ed knew that the new government had blamed him entirely for the disappearance of an entire military unit in Lior. He didn’t know if this was something General Mustang had told him about while Al had been in Germany or not, but he thought it was unlikely. It had been, to Al’s vehement protests, General Mustang himself who had allowed the blame to be placed on his brother, for more than just the Lior massacre. Fullmetal is no longer part of this world, the General had told him. Wherever he is, the military cannot touch him. Let the blame go to him, rather than those who have lives yet to be lived.

Al had been incensed, screaming and throwing things around Mustang’s office, throwing a tantrum of true Elric proportions, he would have made his brother proud, several members of Mustang’s crew had noted, watching him slam the door and storm out of the building, throwing his watch on the ground outside the door to the headquarters. It had been Fuery who had picked up the watch, dusted it off, and returned it to Al when he had cooled down enough to set foot back on military property again. Trust him, Al, the man had said, quietly, sincerely. Your brother trusted him, you’ve got to trust him too.

In those days Al found it hard to believe that his brother had trusted anyone, let alone anyone as blatantly manipulative as Roy Mustang. Now, as he watched Ed sleep, he wondered again if Ed knew that most of the country considered him a murderer of thousands. He wondered if Ed knew that most of the country had bought Mustang’s explanations, accepted them as truth just like they accepted the new leadership, allowing Amestris to become a very different place from the one Ed had disappeared from so many years ago.

He didn’t want to lie to his brother; he didn’t want to hide things from him and he knew that Ed could tell there were things Al wasn’t telling him, but he couldn’t bring himself to dump anything else on his conscience. It was, after all, the younger brother’s job to look out for the older one when no one was looking.

Suddenly Ed startled awake, sitting up abruptly, his eyes wide with terror and his heart racing. He gave a strangled yelp, and Winry was at his side in an instant, her automail catalogue fluttering to the floor, forgotten.

“Ed,” she said, kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in her own. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, her voice thick with concern. “What happened, what’s the matter?”

His gaze was slowly focusing on her, his eyes returning to a normal size as he took in the moving train compartment. He jerked his hands out of her grip. “Nothing,” he muttered, “I’m fine.”

She rose from where she was kneeling, coming to sit beside him on the train bench. “It’s not nothing,” she said, quietly, insistently. “What happened?”

He turned to face her, annoyance sliding off his words. “I said nothing, didn’t I?” he snapped, rubbing at his eyes with his hand and letting himself sit back against the wall of the compartment. “I’m fine, leave me alone.” He pressed his hand to his chest, as if feeling for the beating of his heart, and inched away from her, closer to the wall of the compartment.

“Was it a nightmare?” Al asked quietly, not moving from his seat.

Ed nodded, once, and said nothing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Winry asked gently.

“No,” said both brothers in unison, their eyes meeting across the compartment, and Al watched his brother press his lips together grimly.

Just then the train began to screech to a halt. They were not in Central yet, but the stop signified that they were coming close. At the change in movement Kaiya stirred in Al’s arms, screwing her face up and beginning to howl. “Hey!” he protested, trying to rock her back and forth the way Winry did, attempting to imitate the movement of the train. “Hey, Kaiya, don’t cry, come on, do you want your bottle?” Her cry was piercing, and Al looked up desperately at his brother and Winry, his eyes clearly saying what should I do?

Winry immediately stood up to retrieve the bag of baby paraphernalia from the overhead compartment, reaching into the side pocket and thrusting the pacifier at Al. “Here, give her this,” she directed, but Kaiya refused it, managing to both close her lips against the plastic nipple and continue to cry.

“She doesn’t want it,” Al said, and Winry snatched it from him, trying to coax it into the baby’s mouth.

Winry began to dig in the bag for the bottle, already filled with milk and sealed in a plastic bag.

“If she doesn’t want the pacifier she isn’t going to want her bottle either,” Al argued, and Winry glared at him.

“Maybe she’s hungry,” she said, irritated, holding up the pacifier. “If I was hungry and someone gave me this instead, I’d be angry too.” She took her daughter from Al’s arms and stood in the middle of the compartment, trying to rock her while the train stood stopped at the station and the people exiting the train glared at them as they passed their seats. “Okay, baby, come on, don’t cry,” she pleaded, “have some milk-“

“Maybe she doesn’t like milk,” Ed put in, and both Al and Winry glared at him, but Kaiya was refusing the bottle as well.

“Oh, so now you’re the shining example of a perfect parent?” Winry demanded, rocking the squalling baby up and down and frustration emanating from her being.

Ed stood, his expression still irritated. “Maybe she’s just tired of sitting on this stuffy train,” he snapped back, holding his arms out to take her.

Winry looked at him hard, biting back a nasty retort, but placed the baby in his arms. Just then the train lurched to a start again, and they all three jerked backward at the movement, Ed slamming down into his seat again and Al and Winry into each other.

When the train was moving along steadily and all three of them were seated in their original places, Kaiya’s howl had subsided to a mere whimper and Ed was singing something under his breath. Neither Al nor Winry could catch an inkling of the tune, because when Ed sang it was more of a chant than a melody anyway, but the words, or what they could hear of them, were unfamiliar. “What’s that, Ed?” Winry asked curiously.

“Something Al taught me,” he said distractedly, picking up the song again as soon as he spoke, eyes focused entirely on the baby.

When Winry looked at Al questioningly, he gave her an odd look. “A different Al,” he told her, and both brothers refused to elaborate further.

Aside from the train station, it had been ten years since he had seen Central, and his eyes traveled from one change to the next, probably making him look like a tourist, he thought with amusement. Let them think he was a tourist, he didn’t care. No one would pick him out as the Fullmetal Alchemist, that was for sure. Blond braid? He touched the back of his hair, under the hat: nope. Red coat? He shoved his hand into the pocket of his brown coat from Germany (which Al had originally wanted to wear, even though it was really too small for him) and tried to picture his old red one in his room in Germany. Nope, no red coat here. Automail? He looked down at his dragging left foot. Sadly, no, although soon that would be remedied, he hoped. This was certainly not the Fullmetal Alchemist returned from the dead.

“Don’t get into any trouble, Brother”Al had chided him as he stood in front of the mirror tying back his hair. Ed had protested, but Al had just smiled sweetly and insisted, “I know you. Don’t try to pretend it could never happen.”

“Well,” Ed had grumbled, “you could ensure I won’t be up to no good by just letting me come see you at the certification exam. I said I wanted to see your alchemy, and besides, by the way you describe it it sounds like it’s more of a chance for you to show off than to actually be evaluated. You said yourself there’s going to be tons of people there, I’ll just blend into the crowd.”

“Brother,” Al had said wearily, “I have never known you to blend into a crowd. It’s just not a good idea; you know it’s not a good idea, think of who’s going to be there! Think of what could happen if someone recognizes you!” Al had said, exasperated, having repeated this sentiment several times over.

“And what, exactly, could happen if someone recognizes me, Al?”

“You could get arrested, and I’d never see you again,” Al had said seriously.

Ed had just shrugged, not taking Al’s statement as truth. “Nah, I’d escape, and be back at home with you in no time,” he had assured his brother, but Al had not laughed, and Ed had changed his tone. “All right, I’m not coming,” he had said, serious this time. “You told me not to come and I’m respecting that, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life hiding, either!”

Al had given a frustrated sigh, turning away from the mirror to face him. “I know,” he had said quietly. “But we’re in the middle of Central, of all places. I’m not saying you have to hide inside the whole time we’re here, I’m just saying you should stay away from the military, and be discreet- hey!” he had cried then, as Winry ruffled her hand through his bangs.

Ed smirked to himself, rounding the corner. Yep, discreet was definitely a word that was often used to describe him, he thought, the sarcasm just dripping from his mind. He didn’t have any particular destination; he was just enjoying the bustle of the city streets. Altenburg was a small town, but it wasn’t home to him and so he felt no affinity for the place. Of course, he missed Rizembool, but more often than he expected to he felt himself missing the crowded streets of Munich as well.

He shook his head. That couldn’t be right. It was Alphonse he missed, Alphonse had been the only good thing he had come upon in that world; Alphonse who was not his brother at all, who was a different person entirely, who had become his family and his friend and his lover all at once in that foreign place.

It was still hard to believe that every morning that he woke up, he would wake up here, at home. He would never stop at the little café down the street from his and Alphonse’s apartment for an early morning bite to eat before locking himself in the lab. He would never sit in his favorite corner of the Munich library surrounded by books that had become familiar to him, never wave to the kind librarian lady on his way out. He would never feel out of sorts after walking past the run-down house that he and his father had shared when they first arrived in Germany. In fact, according to his brother, the lab that he had spent the better part of two years in didn’t even exist; it had exploded perhaps even the very second he arrived back in Amestris.

“Come on, I just want to talk to you,” said one of the voices behind him. The sidewalks were less crowded now, and Ed thought there were maybe two people behind him now, a man and a woman.

“Go away, I said,” said the woman’s voice, and it sounded familiar to him but at first he could not place it.

“Come on, just consider what I said. It’s just some obscure information. No one will know if you give it to me or not.” came the man’s wheedling tone. “Hey. How come you’re not answering me? Hey. Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?”

Ed spun around, and recognized the woman at once, it was Winry’s friend, the bookworm. “Leave her alone,” he snapped, glaring at the man through narrowed eyes.

“Hey buddy,” the man said, voice dripping with condescension, “If she’s not gonna talk to me, she sure as hell wont talk to a shrimp like you.” Ed felt his blood boil. Did this jerk have any idea who he was dealing with? He had grown-

“Ed!” Sheizka squeaked in surprise.

“You know this guy?” the man asked incredulously, and Ed felt his heart jump. The man was wearing a military uniform.

Sheizka, however, remained speechless.

“Yes,” Ed said boldly, his voice more cocky than he actually felt. “Now get lost. The lady is clearly not interested in you.”

A vein seemed to bulge in the man’s neck, and his face reddened to match his hair, but then he relaxed and shrugged, rolling his eyes. He brushed an invisible piece of lint off his uniform, saying finally, “Fine, I don’t have time for this anyways,” and turned on his heel to walk the opposite direction.

The two stood staring at each other for a moment, and then Ed rubbed the back of his head. “So, long time no see, eh?”

Sheizka took this opportunity to faint, and he caught her awkwardly. Well, at least his afternoon wouldn’t be boring.

Ed leaned against the back of the uncomfortable café chair, tapping his fingers idly on the side of his coffee mug and observing Sheizka with an amused expression, certain that he could just about see the little alien spacecrafts floating around her head and wondering what she would conclude if she ever saw an actual airplane flying through the sky.

“Alien technology,” she said, her hands pressed together and her eyes shining behind her thick glasses, “must be incredible, to be able to build something like that, that can fly around in outer space. Imagine how much knowledge they have, imagine what their books must be like! Did you know,” she said, leaning forward, “that aliens built the pyramids?”

Ed just laughed. “I have heard that,” he admitted, at first brushing the idea off. It was possible, anything, he had learned, was possible, but aliens and pyramids did not pertain to his search for a way to open the gate, so- “Wait a minute!” he said, sitting bolt upright. The pyramids. The geometric stone tombs, huge, the burial places for rulers of an ancient culture long gone from a world in another universe! “Sheizka!” he hissed. “What are you talking about? What pyramids?”

She smiled conspiratorially. “I figured you would know about the pyramids,” she said, almost slyly. “You’ve always believed in things no one else did.”

He shook his head, his coffee mug forgotten. “No, no,” he insisted. “I don’t know anything about the pyramids, how could I possibly- what are you talking about? I’ve never read anything about pyramids, not in this world.” He spoke the last part of his sentence without thinking, and immediately regretted it. He had assured Sheizka that he was not a ghost; that he had not returned from the dead, he had merely been away for a long while. He had not told her that “away” meant he was living in another dimension, and he did not understand what the ancient history of that world was doing mixed up with this young woman’s left-field alien theories.

“Then you haven’t been reading the right books,” she told him, and then glanced up suspiciously. “Unless you’re just making fun of me?” she added uncertainly, placing her hands palms down on the table. “Everyone always does this to me, they see how long they can get me talking about stuff they think is utter nonsense, just so they can tease me about it later-“

Ed was shaking his head, trying to reassure her. “I’m not making fun of you,” he insisted, and then leaned across the table. “What are these books you’ve read about pyramids? Where did you get them?”

He watched her eyes flick upwards, and knew she was sifting through the catalogue of information her brain housed. “Human Library,” he had called her when he had first discovered her talent for memorization. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “They were brought in when I was working for the National Archives, five years ago now. They were old, old books, almost falling apart, and they were written about even older books that are lost now, I suppose. They referenced all sorts of sources that were never located, but-“ she stopped, suspicion crossing her features again when she saw Ed’s frown. “Are you sure you’re not making fun of me?”

“No,” he told her seriously. “I’m not. I’m very interested. What would I have to do to see these books?”

She tapped a finger to her lips. “Well, you’d have to find them first. I never knew where they were finally stored, either. And, Ed, I’m not copying them out for you unless you’re paying me,” she added.

Ed shrugged. “It’s not that important, really,” he admitted, “I’m just curious. I’ll see if I can find them, maybe the General will be able to help me out,” he mused. He picked up his coffee again, which had cooled to lukewarm, and leaned back from the table.

Ed knew he looked a wreck. He knew Winry would yell at him as soon as she opened the door. He was dirty, sweaty, disheveled, and very, very not in the hotel room where he was supposed to be. The doorman eyed him suspiciously when he entered the building, but did not turn him away, and he trudged up the stairs to their room on the eighth floor. The hotel had an elevator, but he was trying to delay facing the unpleasant scene he knew must be waiting for him inside.

Thankfully, it was his brother, and not Winry, who opened the door for him.

He grinned sheepishly. “Hi Al, sorry, I lost my key,” he said, his explanation for why he was knocking on the door to his own room.

Al raised his eyebrows at his brother’s appearance. “What happened to you?”

Ed just shrugged, taking off his coat and hanging it by the door, straightening his shirt collar and re-tying his hair, making himself a shade more presentable. “How was the exam, Al?” he asked instead.

“Oh, Ed, Al was amazing,” Winry called from the bedroom. “And there was this other alchemist there who-“ she stopped in the doorway. “What have you been doing?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “I was so not surprised when we came back and you weren’t here. I knew you couldn’t resist poking around the city, but what the heck did you get into to make you come back like that?”

Ed looked off to the side. “Well, I ran into Scheizka, and I took her out for coffee to prove that I wasn’t a ghost,” he began.

Winry raised her eyebrows. “That part I know, there was a phone message from her downstairs when we got back,” she said, waiting for the rest of the story.

“Well, I sort of got in a fight,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

“You did what?” Winry shrieked.

“Brother!” Al said at the same time. “You said you wouldn’t get into any trouble!” he reminded him.

“I didn’t,” Ed protested, “It came to me, I swear! All I wanted to do was walk around the city, honest!”

Winry swatted him on the back of his head. “Go get cleaned up,” she instructed, pointing to the shower. “General Mustang reserved a private room for us here in the hotel, and General Hawkeye and Lieutenant Havoc are coming over for dinner. I invited Scheizka but she said she had too much work to finish tonight, but tomorrow’s a holiday and she’s meeting up with us then.”

Ed raised his eyebrows, surprised she didn’t have more questions for him. “What about Gracia and Elysia?” he asked then.

“We’re having dinner with them the day after,” she said, hands on her hips. “Ed, shower, now!”

He took a long look at his brother, telling him in his mind that although he didn’t mind Winry not pressing him for details, he had a lot to relay to him later on. Al nodded once, slowly, seeming to catch on, and Ed turned to fetch some clean clothes from his suitcase for after his shower.

Lieutenant Colonel Anders squinted down at the police report. “This says there were five people involved, yet I see only three here.” He raised an eyebrow, his cool gaze scanning the police headquarters. “Where, might I ask, are the other two?”

One of the officers coughed. “The one who escaped, we know him only as Red, is the reason we got the military involved. One of the witnesses said he was seen earlier wearing a military uniform, and the three we have in custody here are all known terrorists. We have reason to believe he was passing information to them.”

Anders nodded slowly. “That seems likely.” He turned to the subordinates he had brought with him. “Transfer these men to military custody,” he directed, then glanced at the report again. “And the fifth person? Where is he, he seems to have done the most damage here.”

“Ah, sir, we couldn’t really hold him, seeing how we determined he hadn’t committed any crimes…”

The Lieutenant Colonels eyes flashed. “You couldn’t hold him? You didn’t think that being targeted by an anti-military terrorist group was any reason to think he might have any information for us?” He gazed steadily at the embarrassed policemen. “He was targeted, deliberately, that much is clear from the report. Who was he? Investigations department needs to contact him.”

The chief of police cleared his throat. “With all due respect, sir, we determined him to simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was very open with us, but seemed to have nothing valuable to add.”

“You let the military be the judge of that!” Anders snapped. “Who was he?”

“Short little guy, said he was an alchemist, but you never know,” one of the other officers answered helpfully. “People make all sorts of claims. Never saw him do any alchemy, though.”

“What was his name, officer?” Anders pressed.

“Oh, he said his name was Edward Heiderich,” the other man offered.

“Edward Heiderich, eh,” mused the Lieutenant Colonel. “Very well, then, I’ll give his name to investigations, I’ve put one of my best men in charge recently and he’s got quite a file on Mr. Heiderich. I’ll have to put my people in charge of tracking him down, since your people have been so incompetent.” He glanced down at the report once more. “Suspect named only as ‘Red’ was wearing a military uniform,” he read. “No one saw the markings? No one knows what rank? Given me a lot to work with, gentlemen,” he said sarcastically. With that, the man spun sharply, exiting the headquarters with his subordinates following closely behind.

When the chief of police returned to his office, two of the policemen exchanged glances. “Well,” said the one man. “That was a surprise.”

“What was?” the other asked, puzzled.

“It seems the guy was telling the truth, since the Lieutenant Colonel seemed to know who he was.”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked, still confused.

“Oh, come on,” the man pressed. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking it too.”

“Thinking what?”

“Edward Heiderich? Short, blond alchemist-“

“You said you didn’t think he really was an alchemist.”

“I said no one saw him use any alchemy.”

The two men stood in silence for a moment. “I never met the Fullmetal Alchemist in person,” the second man said eventually, finally understanding what the first man was getting at. “I wouldn’t recognize him even if it had been him. You?”

The officer shrugged. “Never met him either. Heard all the rumors of course, but that’s all they are. After all, how can one person be in two places at once? First he’s spotted in Central, then the next day he’s spotted with the Flame Alchemist in East City. Then he’s rumored to be living in a small town up north, and then we hear that he’s seen on a train heading west. They’re just rumors-“ he stopped when he saw his companions sudden concern. “What now?” he asked.

“The Lieutenant Colonel,” he said. “Did you happen to see? He took the entire police report with him. Did we even make any copies yet?”

Ed stepped out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist and rubbing another over his hair, which he then shook violently, spaying the room and its occupant with shampoo-scented droplets.

“Brother!” Al protested, wiping a hand across the water that flecked his face.

Ed just snickered in response, tossing the towel on the bed and reaching for his brush, dragging it through his now clean hair.

Al sat down on the bed opposite him, and, never having seen Ed undressed before, let himself stare. He saw the metal arm Ed had told him he made himself, saw how brittle it looked, and how the bolts dug into his skin, leaving the area around it red and raw. He saw the scar on his brother’s chest, where he had dreamed (remembered?) him being stabbed through with a spear. He saw the hard muscles of his abdomen and flesh shoulder, and wondered where the soft little boy he remembered was.

Don’t be stupid, Al, he told himself firmly. He grew up. You did too. You don’t look the way he remembers you either.

There were parallel scars that wrapped around his side, too, as if something with huge claws had swiped at him, and then there was the harness of his wooden leg winding around his thigh and hips.

“Al,” his brother said gently, continuing to drag the brush through his hair, “You’re staring.”

With a start, Al realized he definitely was, and looked away, flustered. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never really seen your- your prosthetics.”

“Oh,” Ed said, sounding surprised, and looked down at himself. Sorry, he wanted to say. Sorry I’m not perfect, but that was an old conversation, one he had had many times before. “I guess they do look pretty bad,” he said, and to Al’s surprise he laughed, standing up and reaching for a pair of shorts to exchange for the towel he had been wearing. Then he limped over to Al and sat next to him. He looked at him and shrugged. “You can look, if you want,” he said. “You’re my brother, I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

Al reached across him and took the brush out of his hand, and shifted on the bed so he was sitting behind him.

Ed twisted around to face him. “What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

He took his shoulders and turned him back to facing away, and Ed felt the brush pull through his wet hair again.

“Hey!” he protested, snatching his long hair away. “I can do my own hair, you know!”

Al shrugged. “I know, but I want to. I thought you said I always used to do this for you,” he said, carefully picking out the tangles before running the brush through the section again.

Ed sighed. “You did,” he said quietly. “And I liked it. I like it now,” he added. Now, like before, Al seemed to have a knack for taming his hair instantly, where it took Ed a significant amount of time and a certain amount of consideration he was not always willing to put forth. He could feel Al separating his hair into equal sections, and put his hand back to feel what his brother was doing. “I thought you don’t know how to braid?” he asked, still puzzled.

“Winry showed me the other night.”

“Winry, can you teach me to braid?” It had been an innocent sounding question asked by a twelve year old, and Al tried to keep his voice from quivering when he asked it. He knew, (there were so many things he didn’t know, but this was one he did) he knew she would be upset, no matter what tone of voice he used, no matter how he phrased the question, but he asked it anyway.

She put down her screwdriver but did not look up. “Why?” she asked, her voice flat, her hair hanging down, blocking her expression.

“My hair’s getting long,” he whispered.

“Cut it off,” she suggested harshly, picking up another tool and focusing pointedly on the mechanism in the palm of her hand.

“I-“

She pressed her hands flat on the workbench, her head still down, her shoulders hunched. “You aren’t him, Al,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “You’re not your brother, you never will be, even if you wear his clothes, read his books, carry his suitcase, grow your hair out-“

“I know,” he interrupted. “I know I’m not Ed, you remind me of that every time you look at me! That doesn’t mean I can’t braid my hair. Brother did it because it got in his face, and it’s getting in my face, and if you wont show me how I’ll just ask someone else-“

“Don’t,” she said roughly. “Please. I can’t stand it if you look any more like him than you already do.”

Ed raised his eyebrows, even though his brother couldn’t see him from behind, and tried to picture Al and Winry having hair-braiding lessons after he had finally fallen asleep. “Oh,” he said finally. When Al finished, Ed scooted back on the bed, tucking his leg up under himself and facing his brother. “You know, I think I’ll sleep out in the other room tonight. You and Winry can share the bed in here,” he offered.

Al looked away. “I don’t care,” he said, but his voice was toneless. “Whatever you want to do.”

Edward looked down at his lap, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “I want things to work out between the two of you,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to come between you.”

“You’ve always been between us,” Al countered, still looking away. There was no malice in his voice, only resignation. “Even when you were worlds away.”

“I’m sorry, Al,” Ed said, almost desperately, but Al stopped him.

“Don’t be sorry,” Al said firmly. “You weren’t even here.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Ed whispered, and Al sighed, leaning his forehead into his brother’s.

“That was the past,” he murmured. “You’re here now, and I’m glad.”

They sat like that for several minutes, in the center of the hotel bed, heads pressed together and eyes closed, before Al spoke again.“You said you got in a fight,” Al said quietly, knowing that Winry was in the other room of their suite. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”

Ed picked his head up, standing up and shaking out the clean clothes he had set out for himself: the maroon shirt and black pants Roy had bought for him in East City. “Nah, I just got knocked around a bit, but I’m okay. I was mostly just dirty from being on the ground.” He saw his brother’s concerned expression, and added, “I can still hold my own in a fight, even if I’m not as good as I was,” he assured him. He had already stepped into the pants and was putting on the shirt, reaching up to pull his long braid of hair out of the collar before buttoning it up.

Al waited, and after a moment, his brother continued, in the same quiet tone.

“I didn’t go looking for trouble, Al, I swear to you I didn’t,” he said, although as he spoke the words he thought that perhaps flipping off the red haired stranger might have been a bit cocky and less than well thought out. “Not a lot of trouble, anyway,” he amended. “It’s just that there was this guy who was bothering Sheizka when I ran into her, and I told him to bugger off and he did. She seemed really upset about him, and then after I said goodbye to her I ran into him again, only he was with his friends.” He should have walked right past them, he admitted to himself, instead of catching their attention, especially since the red-haired man seemed to be the ringleader and thus needed to defend his pride. Ed shrugged with feigned innocence, and said, “I don’t know, I guess I pissed him off somehow-“ Al raised and eyebrow at that, echoing somehow? with just his eyes- “and then, well, you see, I had no choice but to fight back-“

“You did start the fight! Brother!” Al kept his voice quiet, but his concern and irritation were growing.

Ed shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “They were doing something secret, something they didn’t want anyone to see, when I ran into them. They were exchanging a package, and while they were coming after me, one of them tried to take off with the package, and then they forgot about me and went after him.” He shrugged. “Then the police showed up. That’s all that happened, it wasn’t a big deal.” He shrugged again, trying to convince his brother of this. “I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something would have happened anyway, even if I hadn’t been there.” He finished buttoning his shirt one-handed, and noticed his brother still staring at the metal hand that remained at his side, no good for working buttons, and guessed what he was thinking. “Al, don’t be so worried. It’s not the first mess I’ve walked into, I just have that kind of luck, you know, and I always come out okay.”

“You need to let Winry make you new automail,” Al said abruptly. “You’re right, you do have that kind of luck. You spend one day in Central and look what happens. I’m worried about you.”

Ed just shrugged. “Don’t worry about me. I’m your big brother, I can take care of myself. And Winry is making new automail for me, I’ve seen her plans for it, haven’t you?” He bundled up his dirty clothes and tossed them into the corner of the hotel room. “Of course, I can’t wait to get it, but I don’t want to nag her about it. She has to finish her orders for her customers too, or she’s going to lose their business, and she’s already taking time away from her work to spend with Kaiya.” He looked at his brother, who seemed to be ready to protest. “You know anything about automail surgery?” he asked softly.

Al nodded, reciting what he had been told. “I know it’s painful, I know you never screamed, I know I sat outside your door until it was over.”

“I tried not to scream because I didn’t want you to worry, Al,” he said then. “It’s okay if you don’t remember,” he added, seeing his brother’s expression. “You were still there for me, even if you don’t remember it.” You were the only one who could share my guilt.

Al smiled sadly. Sometimes he really could believe his brother, that it really was all right that his memories were gone, but somehow he wished beyond wishing that he could have them back. “I know you learned to move with it after only one year,” he continued, trying not to betray his longing, “because you’re a prodigy at everything, brother.”

Ed groaned. “Ugh, not everything, Al,” he contradicted.

Al gave him a quizzical expression. “Oh yeah? What’s something that exists in this world that you don’t have an immediate and complete understanding of? Cause I can’t come up with anything. You’re a genius through and through, and you know it.”

“Um, girls?” Ed suggested, and cringed when Al shot him a dark look.

“Well that’s for damn sure,” Al muttered, standing up as if to leave the room.

“Wait,” Ed said, and Al thought at first he was going to utter some inane apology for his relationship- because whatever Ed said about it just being one night, it was clear to Al it was more than that- with Winry, but he didn’t. “There’s something I need to tell you about what happened today.”

“What is it?”

Ed lowered his voice, and Al moved away from the doorway. “Two things, actually. One, I kind of got arrested-“

“What?”

“Shhh,” Ed reminded him. “They let me go. It was clear that I didn’t start the fight. But I’d say the entire police station at Central’s seen me. If anyone recognized me, no one said anything, and I left. So whenever you’re ready to explain to me exactly how bad it would be if the military knew I was alive, I’m all ears.”

“The military and the police are two different entities now, brother,” Al told him, but the same worry had clouded his expression once again. “They’re not related anymore.”

“Yeah, but they called the military investigators, because the guy who attacked me, the one who was bothering Scheizka? He was wearing a uniform.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the other thing, Brother?”

“Their package tore open. There were red stones inside.”

Chapter Four, Part Two: Celebrations

“Are you done?” Winry asked crossly, jabbing him in the chest with her finger.

“Done what?” Al asked innocently, going over to stand by the window, watching the late afternoon light pull long shadows off the tall buildings of Central.

“Telling secrets,” she accused.

He looked at her, startled, his expression pleading.

“That’s what you were doing, I know you were. Don’t tell me you weren’t.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted.

“Never mind, I know you’re not going to tell me. Neither of you ever tell me anything.”

Al frowned, hurt flickering behind his eyes. “That’s not true! I tell you all kinds of things, even stuff that’s supposed to be top-secret military information! I’ve answered everything you’ve ever asked me!”

“Ed doesn’t,” she snapped.

Al jerked the plush hotel curtains over the large window, and turned to face her. “Ed doesn’t tell me everything either,” he snapped back. “And anyway, we’re not the same person, so don’t yell at me for something you’re mad at him about.”

“I’m not yelling at you!” she protested, and her expression softened. “I’m not mad at him,” she added, resigned. “I’m just frustrated.”

He raised his eyebrows, his grey eyes turned sympathetic. “I know, so am I. I feel like he’s…” his voice trailed off, uncertain suddenly of what he was trying to say.

“He’s a stranger,” she finished quietly.
“Wow, Boss, I heard you grew-“

Ed grinned, looking down at himself. “I did grow,” he said proudly.

“But you’re still nowhere near as tall as your brother,” Havoc finished, waiting for the upcoming explosion.

Ed puffed up his chest, standing up as straight as possible, willing his vertebrae to stretch enough to add him just a speck more stature. “I am of perfectly average height,” he insisted, looking up at the man he hadn’t seen in ten years. “What kind of greeting is that, anyway?” he complained. “That would be like me asking if you’ve managed to get a date yet!”

“Actually,” Havoc said smugly, exchanging amused glances with Hawkeye, “I did take Riza out the other day.”

Ed did not see Roy flinch at the words, and asked, “Really? Did you have a nice time?”

“No,” Riza said smoothly. “It was a disaster.”

Havoc seemed unphased, and gave him a slap on the back. “So, you grew, but not that much. I got a date, but still no girlfriend. Things haven’t changed too much while you’ve been gone, have they?”

“Oh not that much” Ed said sarcastically. “We just live in a completely different country now, so it seems.”

Havoc waved his hand dismissively, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Oh yes, there is that, but that’s work. Let’s not discuss work while we’re out, all right?”

“Oh, but it’s not work,” Ed protested. “I thought the military and the government were entirely separate now?” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, kicking his foot up on the low table in front of him. The room they were in was large and square, with a big window leading out to a balcony overlooking the lights of the city.

“If we can’t talk about work,” Roy said lightly, sitting opposite from Ed and mirroring his impulse to put his feet on the table and looking over at General Hawkeye, “May I ask you a question?”

Riza looked at him for a moment, then answered, “I suppose so.”

“Was your disaster of a date on the news broadcast the other day?”

She tried to hide her smile behind her hand, and turned away. “Why? Were you starting to get jealous?”

Roy shrugged. “What if I said yes?” he asked, keeping his voice light, conversational, natural.

“Then I would say you were wasting your time.” She looked up, saw that the conversation in the room was continuing without them, and decided to add, “But, I’ve wanted to tell you: I had a very nice time at that diplomatic banquet last month. Your company at those kinds of events is always a pleasure, especially when we don’t have anything to hide. I haven’t seen you since then, have I?”

Roy shook his head. He would keep this exchange professional, he resolved. “No, I don’t believe so. How do you feel about the government’s move towards friendlier relations with Xing?”

She tapped her chin. “I thought the Xingian diplomats were very cordial. They spoke our language very well; I was impressed with that. However, they seemed very distant, almost as if they were on an entirely different page. I don’t know if it was just a cultural difference, or if they really were hiding something.”

“Everyone’s hiding something,” Roy said seriously.
“To the man who returned from death!” Havoc said, standing up from his seat at the table, raising his half-full glass.

The others reached for theirs as well, but Ed slammed his hand down on the table in protest. “I wasn’t dead!” he said. “Whoever said I was dead?”

“But you have a grave,” Havoc told him, looking down, glass still raised. “Now let me make my toast. To Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, the man who returned from death!” he repeated, with twice the bravado this time, and glasses were clinked.

Wearily, Ed raised his own. “Shouldn’t this be Al’s day?” he continued once he set it down, still protesting. “He’s the one who’s the star of Central these days, isn’t he? Tomorrow’s paper’s gonna have his antics at the State Examinations all over it, I’m sure.”

Al rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Brother, you know this day is for you,” he told him, gesturing towards the three people in military uniforms. “I see these guys every day at work, they hardly needed to make a special appearance here just to say congratulations to me.” Al frowned a little when he saw his brother blush at the attention. Hadn’t Ed been an attention whore? Hadn’t he always been showing off his alchemy to everyone, or his intelligence, or his fighting skills?

Ed sighed. “Well, Al, I wouldn’t be here without you, so we’ve gotta toast you too.”

“To Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist-“

Ed stood, shoving Havoc aside. “Hey, I’m his brother, lemme say the toast,” he said, and Al smiled, seeing that confidence he remembered take hold once more.

“To my little brother, who’s everything I ever hoped he would be and more, who never ceases to delight me, and of whom I could never be prouder.”

Al could feel the grin that lit up his face as the glasses clinked above his head, and could not help but jump up and wrap his arms around his brother, embracing him as tightly as he had when he first encountered him again in the Gate. The others stared at this show of affection, something each one of them never thought they would ever see: both Elrics, in the flesh, and together.

“Such love!” Havoc said finally, breaking the silence with a booming voice, posturing this way and that. “Such brotherly love, makes me want to tear my shirt off and flex my muscles in the Armstrong family way!” he cried, and Riza laughed.

“No one can do Armstrong like Breda,” she said, still laughing, and looking over at Roy, who also seemed greatly amused.

Ed sat down next to his brother, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders.

“That was a good toast, Brother,” Al said, after he had suppressed most of his laugher. “Thank you.”

“I love you too, Al,” Ed answered.

The conversation had traveled from the whereabouts of various military people Ed had known to stories about Al that had made him famous to stories about Al only those who were close to him knew. When Havoc asked Ed to please, share just a little bit about where he had been for six years, Al expected Ed to close everyone off and refuse to say anything, but his brother hesitated just a moment before answering.

“It was somewhere kind of like here, but not really,” he said vaguely, turning his still-full glass in circles on the table. “There’s nothing really exciting to tell. There was no alchemy there, and no automail. Without either one, I’m really pretty boring, aren’t I?”

An Ed without alchemy is just… a foul-mouthed obnoxious brat… who had said that long ago, Al tried to recall. Had it been Havoc, or was it someone else? Was it Colonel Mustang? Brother hadn’t even denied it, he just said he needed to come back to Rizembool to get his arm fixed so he could use his alchemy to fix me… But as soon as he had the memory, it was gone, and Al didn’t know if anything like that had ever actually been said, or if he had imagined it.

Ed was saying something about a job he had once had at a university when Havoc interrupted him. “What were the girls in this other world like, Boss?”

“Eh? The girls? I don’t know, what are all girls like?” Ed asked, puzzled.

“Didya meet any?”

Ed shrugged. “A few. I knew some nice girls,” he answered vaguely.

“Get any dates?”

Ed shrugged again. “No, why would I want to? I was leaving, what would be the point?”

Yes, Ed, what was the point? Do you have any idea how much that other Al must be missing you right now? You must know, if you loved him the way you say you do. Al wondered, not for the first time, how his counterpart was faring on the other side of the Gate.

“I’m not a kid,” Ed was saying stubbornly. “I don’t need to discover the world of women, you’ve got to be kidding if you think you’re going to drag me around to all the bars in Central anyway, I thought I was supposed to be dead?”

I guess Havoc doesn’t know about Brother and Winry. I’m not even sure if General Hawkeye knows. General Mustang probably does, Al mused. Brother probably tells him everything.

“In six years, you never had a date? Not even once? Man, I’m doing better than I thought I was, compared to you!”

Then Winry was squeezing his arm. “Hey, Al, you okay in there?” she asked quietly, while Ed was still arguing stubbornly.

Al shook his head to clear it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I was just… remembering some things.”

“About the other side?” she guessed.

“Partly.”

“I AM NOT A KID,” Ed said loudly, in response to something that neither of them heard, jumping to his feet and shaking the table.

“Well you certainly are acting like one,” Riza said firmly, but her eyes showed more amusement than disapproval.

He folded his arms. “So what?” Ed demanded. “I never said I was mature, I just said I wasn’t a kid.” He smirked. “He keeps giving me this ‘when I was your age’ crap- Lieutenant, you know how old I am?”

Havoc shrugged. “Well, Al claims to be twenty-one, so I guess you’re twenty two, Boss, and really, when I was twenty-two I never would have admitted to never having been on a date.”

“It’s all right, Ed,” Riza assured him, trying to diffuse the situation. “I didn’t date much until I was older either.”

“I don’t claim to be twenty-one, I am twenty-one,” Al argued in a practiced tone. This conversation, it seemed, had been had many a time.

“But Al,” Roy said with mock-seriousness, “Just the other day you said you were seventeen.”

Al shrugged. “Did I?” he said noncommittally. “well, you know, one of the advantages to having two ages is that neither one is a lie.”

Winry nudged him in the side. “Must be convenient,” she said teasingly.

Al raised his eyebrows once, looked around from his brother to Havoc to Roy and to Riza, and said boldly, “For you,” and she gave him a swat on the shoulder. The group broke out in a fresh round of laughter.

“I think someone told me that Roy’s first time was when he was twelve,” Havoc mused, looking up at the ceiling.

The General shot his friend a glare. “No, I was not twelve,” he said defensively. “Wherever did you hear that one?”

Ed snickered. “He was thirteen,” he said, deciding to re-join the conversation. “He told me so. She was his babysitter.”

Riza’s eyes widened. “You needed a babysitter when you were thirteen?” she asked, her eyebrows raised and her lips twitching up at the corners.

“She wasn’t my babysitter then!” Roy sputtered, looking around at the laughing faces. “Don’t laugh,” he instructed them. “She was beautiful.”

Winry shook her head, twisting her dinner napkin in her hands. “That is so wrong!” she exclaimed, causing a round of laughter to spread across the table. She yelped when Al elbowed her in the side. “What?” she demanded defensively. “You said yourself you were eighteen.”

Al snorted. “Fine time you pick to believe me, then,” he said, smiling at her.

“How did we get on this topic?” Ed demanded, looking from face to face.

“I was nineteen,” Riza volunteered. “I, unlike some people, waited until I was at least an adult.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Really? Nineteen? I didn’t know that.”

She gave a little shrug. “You don’t know everything about everyone, Roy,” she said, and there was more laughter.

“Apparently not,” he agreed. His single eye settled on Ed, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. “Well Fullmetal, how old were you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Ed drew back, frowning, and shook his head. “I refuse,” he said, in his most mature voice, “to participate in this conversation.”

“I was seventeen. Shawna with the brown eyes,” Havoc said dreamily, and turned to Winry. “You?”

“Twenty,” she said simply, setting her chin on her hands and letting her gaze slide over to Al. Then she said something under her breath that apparently only Al caught, and he gave a light laugh.

“Well Ed?” Roy pressed. “We’re waiting.”

“I said I’m not answering,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Were you younger than fifteen, or older than fifteen?” he continued, refusing to let the subject drop.

“I heard a few stories about his involvement with the thief of Aquaroya,” Riza said wickedly, feeling slightly guilty about causing him discomfort but reminding herself it was all in fun. “Psiren, wasn’t she called?”

“It was nothing like that!” Ed sputtered, setting his glass down with a clatter. “I captured her, she escaped- I don’t see how that can possibly involve sex!”

Roy tapped his chin. “Well…” he said, letting his voice trail off suggestively.

“Oh shut up!” Ed said, glaring at the man.

Winry folded her arms across her chest, sitting back in the chair. “Well, now I’m really curious, Ed,” she said honestly, still laughing. “Is it a secret, or something?”

His gaze swung over to meet her eyes.

“Come on, Ed,” Roy pressed. “How old were you the first time you slept with a woman?”

The blond remained resolutely silent.

“Eighteen?” came Riza’s guess. Ed steeled his gaze and refused to answer.

“Fourteen?” was Roy’s venture. He shook his head, expression almost horrified.

“Twenty one?” Winry offered, taking into account his reaction to the previous suggestion.

He pushed his chair away from the table, standing up. “Twenty six,” he said, his voice flat, and turned to walk away.

Havoc pushed his own chair back with a scrape, and leaned back to watch Ed leave. “C’mon, Boss, come back!” he called. “We didn’t mean to embarrass you that much!” he said, the conversation, in his perception, still friendly. His eyes widened when the door slammed.

“Shut up!” came the yell from out in the hall.

Roy sighed, setting his glass down as well. “Al,” he said patiently. “Do you want to go get your brother, or should I?”

Al frowned. “I’ll get him,” he said. “That wasn’t very nice,” he added over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“We were just-“ Havoc said, flinching at the second slam of the door, “teasing-“

I ruin everything, Ed thought miserably, staring down at a book he wasn’t reading as he sat on the hotel room couch he intended on sleeping on that night. Havoc was right, they were all just teasing.

He had, of course, let Al coax him back into the room. He would do anything Al asked him to, but his mood never did pick back up. Long before the others were ready to retire for the evening, he had said he was tired, and was going to bed. When Al and Winry returned to the hotel room several hours later, he had pretended he was sleeping and let them turn the lamp off and throw a blanket over him.

I’m not trying to come between Al and Winry, he told himself then, not for the first time, looking over at the closed door to the bedroom. If I haven’t ruined things for them already. He stood up, deciding suddenly that he wanted some air, and grabbed Al’s room key off the coffee table and headed back to the room they had reserved for the evening, pulling the doors to the balcony open with a jerk and letting the chill air assault him as he stepped outside.

This was definitely going to be another sleepless night, just one among many.

Ed suddenly felt eyes on his back, and spun around, looking up to see a dark silhouette on the sloping roof. “What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

“Looking out at the city lights,” came the response. “That’s what you do when you can’t see the stars.”

“Pshh,” Ed said, rolling his eyes. “Nothing is like the night sky in Rizembool. Central’s not that great, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before.”

“Not from above, you haven’t,” Roy protested, crouching down on the roof. “Come see for yourself.”

“I can see fine from here.”

“You have a perfect view of the building next door,” he corrected, laughing. “Come on.”

Ed eyed him hesitantly, contemplating the narrow railing that connected with the wall of the building, halfway between the deck and the edge of the roof. “I’ll fall,” he said doubtfully. “My leg-“

Roy extended a hand. “I wont let you fall,” he said firmly.

Ed stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, then shrugged and took it, climbing slowly onto the rail and letting Roy pull him up onto the roof.

“I’m surprised Miss Rockbell hasn’t talked you into letting her fix you up with new automail,” he said, eyebrows raised. “In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t demanded it.”

Ed groaned. “You know every single person I’ve met up with today has asked me that? Apparently my automail is the first thing everyone thinks of when they remember me!”

“Ed, you’re the Fullmetal Alchemist. It’s part of your title, of course people associate it with you.”

“Do you have any idea how incapacitating surgery like that is?” he continued, with the same frustrated tone. “Believe me, I would love to be able to move normally again, you have no idea how frustrated I get knowing that even though I’m back in a world where automail exists I still get treated like an invalid,” his eyes were darkly accusing here, and Mustang could recall several instances where he was the offending party, “But it would take at least a year to recover, probably even more.”

“You did it before, and you were just a child.”

He sighed. “I know I did. I did it because I thought I had to. But I had Auntie, and Winry, and Al all there to take care of me. Between her business and taking care of the baby, Winry’s really got her hands full, and I’m worried about her. I think she takes on more work than one person can accomplish in a day. Al works in Central for most of the week, so he isn’t always around to help out with the baby, and if I was recovering from surgery I couldn’t ask Winry to take care of me and the baby by herself. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why don’t you ask Al to ask his commanding officer to put him on leave?” Roy suggested.

Ed leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out on the roof. “That’s an idea,” he conceded.

“I’m sorry our teasing made you angry earlier,” Roy said after a few minutes of silence.

“I wasn’t angry, I was embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry we embarrassed you then.” Apologies were much easier in the darkness.

“Don’t worry about it,” came the toneless response.

The older man gestured towards the flickering lights below. “Well?” he demanded, clearly expecting him to be impressed.

Ed scoffed. “You were born in a city, weren’t you?” he said haughtily. “Born and raised in one. You had to have been to think this is anything compared to a clear night of stars.”

Roy shook his head. “I’ve been all over the country, Ed, and to a good part of the rest of the world. I know a good sight when I see one. This,” he said, waving towards the expanse of lights again, “is our greatest accomplishment.”

“Electricity?”

He laughed. “Civilization.”

Ed looked over to him. “Are you drunk?”

Roy lifted the small flask in response, giving it a shake so Ed could hear the liquor slosh from side to side.

He rolled his eyes. “Roy, did it ever occur to you that drinking on the roof might not be the best idea?”

The man smiled in the darkness, glancing over and Ed’s small form stretched out on the sloped surface. “I haven’t really had that much,” he said, “it’s mostly full.” He offered the small container to Ed, who promptly waved it away. “What’s the matter, Fullmetal?” he teased. “You don’t like to drink?” Roy recalled suddenly that Ed had not touched the wine all evening.

Ed gave a short laugh. “Not really. Especially not on the top of an eight story building.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each looking out at the lights of the city and lost in his own thoughts. “What are you doing out here?” Roy asked him suddenly. “I thought you were tired.”

Thankful that Roy could not see him blush in the darkness, he said, “Well, ah, I wanted to make sure Al and Winry get some time alone.”

Roy raised an eyebrow.

“I think Kaiya’s finally learned to sleep the whole night through, and, ah, that means that neither of them will have to keep getting up to check on her, so they could do… something else.”

Roy chuckled softly to himself, and knew Ed was glaring at him even if he couldn’t see it in the low light. He rose to his feet on the sloped roof. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand to the younger man. “You’re clearly unimpressed with this remarkable view-“ he gestured towards the lights “-lets go for a drink.”

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Roy stopped him. “I’m sure they’ll serve you fruit juice without you even asking for it, seeing how you’re so-“

“I”VE GROWN AS YOU CLEARLY HAVE NOT NOTICED,” Ed growled threateningly, refusing Roy’s hand and standing up on his own. “I will NOT drink JUICE from a SIPPY CUP at a BAR,” he added fiercely.

Roy hopped down gracefully from the roof to the railing and the railing to the porch, extending a hand again to Ed, which he again refused. “So that’s a yes, then,” he said smoothly, one charcoal eye gleaming in the dark. “And no one said anything about a sippy cup, calm down,” he added, watching with veiled concern as Ed climbed awkwardly down, landing unsteadily on his feet.

He stood in front of Roy, hands on his hips. “You’re not so tall yourself, Colonel Bastard,” he said fiercely.

Roy was smug. “Ah, but you forget I’m a General now. My rank overpowers my height, which is still considerably taller than yours anyway, I’m afraid.” Ed began to sputter another protest, but Roy simply gave him a slight push at the small of his back, ushering him back into the hotel. “On to that drink,” he said, laughing.

The bar Roy took him to was several blocks from the hotel, one that Roy apparently frequented quite often, seeing how the bartender called him by name. “Two scotch on the rocks,” he ordered promptly, and laughed when Ed stared warily down into the short glass. “Never drank scotch before, Fullmetal?” he teased.

Ed shot him a glare. “Don’t you think,” he said pointedly, “If no one is supposed to recognize me, you had better not call me that?”

Roy simply shrugged. “Edward, then,” he amended. “It’s a habit, you know.”

“I have drunk scotch before,” Ed said, glaring down at the drink, “and it kicked my ass. You’re trying to get me drunk,” he accused.

Raising an eyebrow, he suggested innocently, “Fruit juice?” trying to push his friend to the boiling point.

Ed took a defiant gulp of the golden liquid, like his eyes, Roy thought suddenly, noticing that Ed did not even flinch as he swallowed the fiery drink, as he had expected him to. “You,” the blond said, pointing a finger in the older man’s face, “are one manipulative bastard,” he accused. “You are just waiting for me to throw some kind of temper tantrum over this.” He narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly gleeful. “You missed those explosions of mine!” he realized suddenly, laughing, taking another sip of scotch.

Roy simply gazed at him, unphased, and drained the glass in one long swig, before the ice could even melt. The bartender replaced it without a word.

Ed quirked one eyebrow up, watching with curiosity. “You always drink this much?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” Roy said evenly, taking a slower sip, draining only half the glass.

Ed shook his head, smiling down at his nowhere near empty drink.

Roy was looking at him with that damnable smirk again, making Ed rise even though he was determined not to.

“What?” he all but snapped, and Roy chuckled. “Quit laughing at me!”

The General shook his head. “You surprise me, Edward,” he said, single eye glinting and the smirk growing. “You’re all grown up now, and you’re nothing like I thought you would be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “What did you think I’d be like?”

Roy leaned back in his chair. Now that they were in a well-lit room, and not the darkness of the rooftop, he had no qualms about continuing to tease. “Well, take the conversation over dinner, for one.”

“The one about building bridges with alchemy? Look, I told you before, I’ve been away from alchemy for ten years. Alchemy didn’t work where I was; I had to learn something else. Excuse me if I’m not up to date on the latest theories,” he said defensively, stirring his scotch.

“Oh, not that conversation,” Roy said. “The other one. I never thought you were so shy about things like sex. We’re all adults now, I thought we could have a conversation like that without you leaving the room, but apparently I was wrong.”

Ed banged the glass down on the bar, having emptied it moments before. Roy signaled to the bartender and before Ed could stop him there was a new drink in front of him, and one for Roy as well, causing him to drain the glass he had. Ed glared at him, pointing to the new glass. “First, I am not drinking that,” he said defiantly.

“Ah, you’re a lightweight,” Roy teased. “And second?” he prompted, after watching Ed seethe.

“At least I’m not a lush,” Ed bit back. “Second,” he continued, taking one small sip from the new drink, “I am not shy.”

“You are,” the older man insisted playfully. “I’ve never seen you turn that red.”

Ed frowned. “I just don’t like my personal life being announced to everyone, okay? Is that so hard to understand?”

Roy refused to accept that. “Twenty six is awfully old to be a virgin,” he began tauntingly.

“I WAS NOT A VIRGIN AND WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THIS!” Ed shouted, his face mere inches from Roy’s, scotch hot on his breath, the commotion causing the pair to be momentarily the center of attention. He slumped back down onto the bar stool and glared at the world for a moment before he took another sharp sip of scotch, his cheeks flushing again from alcohol or embarrassment or both, setting the glass down and dropping his forehead onto his hand. “This is why I didn’t want to drink,” he muttered under his breath. “Especially not with you,” he said accusingly, turning to face Roy but not lifting his head, so his bangs fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. “You always provoke me too damn easily. Keep refilling that glass and you’ll get your tantrum, I guarantee you. And then, General Bastard,” he added, lifting his head and shoving his hair out of his face, eyes narrowed, “we’ll both get kicked out of the bar. How do you like that for the latest round of gossip about the mighty Flame Alchemist?”

“Fine, I won’t say another word,” Roy conceded, realizing that Ed seemed to be speaking from experience. Somehow he had no trouble envisioning him getting kicked out of many a bar.

Ed had picked a fork up, snatched it from somewhere behind the bar, Roy guessed, and gestured at him with it. “You and Al might know all about the best way to transmute a bridge,” he said loftily, “But I know how to build a machine that can fly through the sky.”

Roy frowned. “Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked, accepting the change in subject for the sake of a tantrum-free evening.

Ed shrugged. “Some people are crazy I guess. They want to fly around up there with the clouds.”

The General seemed interested. “Really? Aren’t they afraid that their machine will fall out of the sky?”

“I guess not,” Ed said, “although,” he admitted, “I sure would be.” He took one very small sip from his drink. “They’re good for war, too,” he added. “If you have a flying machine, you can fly over your enemy and drop bombs on them.”

Roy shuddered. “That sounds horrible,” he said, and Ed nodded. “That sounds like the way to annihilate the entire world.”

“They nearly did. They called it the Great War.”

“They?”

“They said if there will never be a war so terrible, or so destructive, because if the entire world ever goes to war like that again, it will be the end.” His eyes had a hollow look to them, Roy saw, and he wanted to take back his earlier statement, that Ed had not grown up the way he thought he would. He had grown up exactly the way he thought he would. Older, wiser, and no less abused by the world as he had been as a child.

Ed stared down at his drink for a while before taking another sip. After draining the glass, he held up the fork, waving it in front of Roy’s face. “Check this out,” he instructed, laying his metal hand flat on the bar and pushing the fingers apart with his flesh hand. “Now,” he said seriously, holding up the fork. “Imagine this is a knife.”

Roy cooperatively agreed, and watched with growing amusement as Ed jabbed the fork down into the bar between each finger in a rapid pattern. Then the younger man drained a good portion of the scotch that had miraculously appeared in what was supposed to remain an empty glass, and held up the fork again. “Remember,” he said with the same seriousness, “this is a knife.” He began the same rapid pattern, jabbing the spaces between his fingers, paused, took another sip, and continued, finally missing a space and stabbing a finger.

Roy jumped involuntarily, and Ed grinned up at him.

“Gotcha,” he said, eyes glinting amber in the low light of the bar. He waved the fork around. “And this isn’t even a knife.” He rapped the back of the fork on his false hand, letting the sound of metal on metal carry across the bar, grinning.

“You are drunk,” Roy realized, shaking his head.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Ed replied, leaning his shoulder into Roy’s and smiling charmingly up at him. “That’s the point of going out for a drink, isn’t it? And then I end up in your bed,” he concluded, not blushing at all, and finishing off the third glass of scotch. He slammed the glass down on the bar and laughed at Roy’s gaping expression. “I’m kidding,” he said, snickering deviously. Then he snatched the empty glass away from the bartender. “No more, thanks, I think I’m flagged,” he told the man.

Roy pulled the glass out of Edward’s hand. “Get him another,” he instructed, handing it to the bartender. “I think I like you like this,” he said, smirking.

Ed plopped his chin onto his hand, staring at the golden liquid. “You’re going to drink that one,” he told Roy, “or it isn’t getting drinked- dranken- drunkend,” he insisted, tripping over the words. “I’m about to get ridiculous,” he said seriously, his voice only slightly slurred.

Roy raised an eyebrow. “I think, Ed, that you are ridiculous.”

Ed tipped his head on his hand, turning the world sideways. “’Member when I kissed you at that party?”

Rolling his eye, Roy stared up at the ceiling. “Yes,” he said to the rafters. “How could I forget that?”

“I was so embarrassed. It was like, that moment that every teenager dreams about, only gone horr’bly wrong,” he said, slurring his words just a little bit. “I always thought Winry would be my first kiss, but it was you. And you know, I think I was drinking that night, too, trying to seem grown up or something. Someb’dy let me have champagne. I always do dumb stuff when I drink.”

When he looked down, Ed was staring into the scotch he swore he would not touch.

He pushed the glass over to occupy the space in front of the older man. “Here, you drink this. I don’t want any more. I’ve prob’ly already embarrassed myself enough and don’t even realize it. Like telling you it was a really good kiss. I prob’ly shouldn’t say that, not now. I should have told you right then.”

“I think you did, Ed,” Roy said, his voice low.

He tilted his head farther to the side, watching the bar spin with the movement. “Did I?” he asked. Then he sighed. “That’s good. Then I called you and told you to forget it happened. You didn’t forget though, did you?”

Roy shook his head silently, but Ed seemed to expect some kind of additional response from him. “Do you want to try it again?” he asked finally, his voice even lower, not even sure if he wanted what he was asking, or if it was the question Ed wanted to hear.

Ed picked up the fork again, stabbing it into the bar so hard that it stuck this time. “No,” he snapped, suddenly defensive. “I’m not a dumb kid anymore.” Not looking up, he pressed down on the handle of the fork, watching it spring back to an upright position. His expression softened, and he settled his chin on his hand. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway, would it?” he asked softly, pressing the end of the fork again and following it with his eyes as it flew across the bar and crashed into a row of empty pint glasses. He watched numbly as they rolled across the bar, staring as first one, then a second smashed onto the floor. “Wasn’t me,” he called, feigning innocence when the bartender had spun around to see what had happened.

The man glared at the pair. “That’s going on your tab,” he said crossly. Then he turned to Roy and said, “Sir, I’m not sure you should be letting your son drink so much.”

Roy threw back his head and laughed while Ed grew redder and redder, a vein twitching violently in his forehead. Then he watched with dread as Ed tipped his head back, downing the scotch he had sworn he wouldn’t touch.

He deposited the swaying blond onto the bed, and set to work removing his shoes. Half mumbled, incoherent protests came from under the pillow Ed had shoved over his face, but Roy patiently worked the boots off of first the flesh foot, and then the wooden one.

“Roy?” came the voice from beneath the pillow.

“Yes?” he asked patiently, pulling off the socks next.

“What am I doing here?” He sounded worried, pushing the pillow off his face and half sitting up. “Everything’s spinning…”

“Shhh, Ed, everything’s okay. You just drank too much. You’re going to sleep it off. Here,” he said, pulling him to a sitting position. “Don’t sleep in your clothes, I’ll give you some pajamas.” Roy began to unbutton his shirt, but Ed batted his hand away, scowling.

“I can undress myself,” he mumbled defensively, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, pulling at them in one-handed frustration. “’M not a cripple.”

“I know you’re not,” he said gently, feeling his stomach twist. “But you’re also barely conscious.” His hand closed over Ed’s, pulling it away from his shirt, and he looked up into half open gold eyes. “Don’t worry, you wont even remember this tomorrow.”

“Yes I will,” the younger man said sullenly, but allowed Roy to slide his shirt off his shoulders, and flopped back down on the bed to let him pull his pants off, barely aware of the struggle it took to get them unzipped and over his narrow hips.

“I very much doubt that,” Roy assured him, glancing with concern at the straps that held the wooden leg in place. Almost without realizing it he fingered his eye patch, remembering how the doctor had warned him against sleeping with it on, something about it being bad for circulation to sleep with anything pressing into the skin. He had slept with it on anyway, at first, when he spent his first nights with Riza, but had ended up with painful, raw indentations on his face and forehead. She had assured him that it didn’t bother her to see him without it, and he had abandoned the attempt entirely. “Ed?” he inquired. When there was no response, he repeated himself, a little louder. “Ed?”

“Whaddya want?” he slurred, eyes not even flickering open this time.

He knocked his knuckles lightly against the wooden limb. “You sleep with this on?”

“Huh?” Ed dragged his flesh hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes and finally opening them a crack, looking over at Roy sitting on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over his prosthesis. “No,” he said firmly, sitting up unsteadily. “No, no, defin’ly not,” he repeated, tugging at the buckle with one uncoordinated hand but managing to work it loose, giving the thing a shove and hearing it slide off the bed with a clatter. He grabbed at the blanket and jerked it over his leg and a half, obscuring the reddened stump from sight. “M’sorry I got so drunk,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Sorry I’m gonna pass out in your bed.”

Roy shook his head, feeling a small (very small) stab of guilt. “Well, I should have listened to you when you said you had enough.”

Ed shook his head roughly. “I should have listened to me,” he insisted, falling back once more onto the bed. “Don’t you take advantage of me while I’m drunk, Colonel Bastard,” he added in a slurred voice.

Roy was reaching over to switch off the light, but paused, startled. “I would never-“

“You wait until I’m sober enough to remember everything.”

Roy blinked, smirking, and stood up. “Go to sleep, Ed,” he said softly, turning off the lamp and shaking his head.

Ed woke in the morning to the sight of one General Mustang, dressed casually in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, offering him a glass of water and two white pills. Roy had watched him sleep for a full five minutes, smiling inwardly at the way he clutched the blanket in his flesh hand, holding it to his face in a child-like gesture, his eyebrows drawn together even in his sleep. The first words out of his mouth were an incoherent slur, but he sat up and accepted the water and the aspirin, finishing the glass and setting it on the bedside table. Only then did he fully open his eyes and look around in first confusion and then horror, throwing himself back down into the bed and covering his head with a pillow. “I’m never doing that ever again!” came the muffled cry.

The General laughed softly. “Do you feel sick?” he inquired.

Edward removed the pillow and sat halfway up again and looked down at himself. “Where are my clothes?” he demanded. “Why am I in your bed with no clothes on?”

Roy gestured towards the sloppy pile beside the bed, and said, “Because you passed out before I could give you any pajamas,” and laughed again.

Ed reached over the edge of the bed to collect the pile, shaking out his shirt, and then threw it down, snatching the blanket up over himself. “Don’t watch me get dressed!” he snapped, feeling his cheeks burning. “Go away!”

That damnable smirk spreading across his face again, Roy just shook his head. “Why should I have to go away? This is my room, after all.”

“Well you’re the one who put me here, apparently,” Ed retorted. “Now give me some privacy!”

Roy waved his hand in dismissal, exiting the room, his smirk visible even with his back turned. “Come out when you’re decent, and I’ll take you to breakfast. I don’t know what you’re so shy about, I’ve already seen everything anyway,” he called from the hall.

Damn that Colonel Bastard –General Bastard, he corrected himself mentally- what is he playing at? “I’m not shy!” he shouted at the doorway. “And you didn’t see anything, I’m not stupid, I remember that much!” He was glad Roy was not watching him, because he did not want him to see the flush he knew had crept into his cheeks at the mere suggestion of the man seeing him undressed.

Roy Mustang did not know what to make of the young man upstairs. He didn’t know if Ed even remembered the things he had said to him the night before, and again he felt slightly guilty for making him drink so much when he said he didn’t want to drink at all. But I didn’t make him, he reminded himself. He’s not a kid anymore, he can make his own decisions. I have nothing to feel guilty about.

But still, there was that nagging voice inside him, telling him that even though Ed was an adult, that didn’t mean he had life all figured out. Hell, he had spent ten years in a whole other world, where he said things were completely different than they were in Amestris. Roy never had children, had always told himself that he never wanted children, but he had always thought that he was meant to protect the Elric brothers. Not be their father, not be a substitute parent, hell, he would make a horrible parent, but to… well, to be there for them. And, for the most part, he was. Those boys had next to nobody in the world, and compared to nobody, at least he was somebody, and he tried to take that role seriously.

He remembered the offer he had made Ed, years ago when he was fifteen, the night after the Fuhrer’s birthday party, that if he ever wanted to talk about anything, he would be there, and decided to extend the offer again over breakfast. That way, if Ed wanted to, he could talk about what he had said the night before. And if he didn’t want to, or couldn’t remember, then they were just two friends having breakfast together.

Once inside the diner, Roy listened in awe as Ed ordered fried eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, potatoes, fruit, pancakes, and several cinnamon rolls. He watched the younger man shrug when the waitress asked if he was sure he was going to eat all that, and pounded his stomach. “Yep, I can eat it,” he assured her. She gave him a skeptical look, but moved on to Roy’s ordinary-sized order and a coffee. “Oh!” he interrupted. “Coffee too,” he told her. “And orange juice. A big glass,” he added, and she rolled her eyes as she walked away. Roy was rolling his eye as well. “What?” Ed demanded.

“Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

Ed just shrugged again. “You’re a General now, you can afford to buy me as much breakfast as I can eat.”

Roy just looked at him. “With the way you eat, I’m not sure that I can.” After a moment, he added, “Are you sure you want to eat all that? You’re sure you don’t feel sick from drinking?”

He scowled. “I feel like shit from drinking, thanks for reminding me. But I wont get sick, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Roy ran a hand through his fall of black hair, his fingers skimming over the black straps of his eye patch with a practiced ease, careful-as-always not to disturb it. He took a deep breath, and leaned forward across the table. “Edward, how have things been going for you?” he asked, careful to keep his voice friendly and not overly concerned.

Ed leaned back in the booth of the diner and sighed. “Things have been great. I’m glad to be back,” he said, but the words sounded oddly forced.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked hesitantly.

Ed frowned. “No… not really,” he said, puzzled. “We could talk about the baby,” he suggested. “She’s- she keeps me sane in that house, I swear. I think I’m in love with her.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?” he said, thinking it an odd thing to say.

Ed just shrugged again. “Well… I think about her all the time. Whenever I don’t see her, I miss her. Whenever I do see her,” he paused, and smiled. “I’m happy,” he finished.

Do you think she’s really your daughter? he wanted to ask, but he was sure Ed had been asked that question before, and he had a guess that the answer might be does it really matter?

“I worry about her, though,” he admitted. “I hope she grows up okay. Even with three of us, none of us knows what we’re doing. And I think I might be genetically dispositioned to be a bad father.” Roy opened his mouth to protest that, but Ed kept speaking. “Al always tells me not to say that, but I have to wonder. I guess she’s gonna call Winry mom, of course, and Al dad, since they’re a couple. It’ll just make more sense to her, that way. And she can just call me Ed. And that’s okay,” he added.

Their food arrived then, Ed’s breakfast taking up most of the table, and the conversation was halted as Roy watched in disbelief as the younger man polished off most of what was in front of him, slowing down only when he had half a bowl of fruit salad and a cinnamon roll left. Roy pulled his own roll apart, unwinding it slowly, careful not to get his fingers overly sticky, and ate it section by section. Ed, who had eaten his first two practically whole, began to copy Roy, pulling the roll apart with the fingers of his left hand. Roy noticed then that he had taken the glove off his flesh hand, but not the metal one, and that the metal hand had remained in his lap through the entire meal. Thinking back, he realized that he had done the exact same thing at dinner the night before. Thinking further back, he seemed to recall that Ed had always eaten like that, even when he had had real automail. Odd, he thought.

“What?” Ed demanded when he caught Roy watching him.

“You’re dissecting your roll,” Roy said nonchalantly.

“So’re you,” Ed pointed out. “Another reason,” he said, between bites, “that I worry about Kaiya, is that I remember how the other kids in Rizembool treated me and Al, after dad left. They would whisper about us, mom always told me I was imagining it but I know it was happening, and they would ask us questions we couldn’t answer, and sometimes I’d make things up, like that that Bastard had been struck by lightening and died, and that’s why he didn’t live with us anymore.”

“But that wont happen to her,” Roy protested.

“It will be worse for her!” Ed insisted. “Kids are so mean. Everyone will want to know why she has three parents, why her household isn’t normal. And then there’s all the stories about me, and all the stories about Al, and Al doesn’t even remember which stories are true and which ones aren’t-“

“Fullmetal,” Roy interrupted sharply, the use of Ed’s military name enough to make him pause, “Don’t you worry about Kaiya. Kaiya will get enough love; not every child is lucky enough to grow up with three parents. You worry about yourself. What do you want from life, Edward?”

He shrugged, stirring his fruit around in the bowl. “I have everything I want,” he said finally. “Al’s alive, and human, and whole. That’s all I ever wanted, for fifteen years. Now it’s true.”

Roy looked at him curiously. “So, you’re going to spend the rest of your days staring at your brother with that goofy grin on your face? That might get boring, you know.”

Ed tried to suppress that same expression Roy spoke of, even as he felt it spreading across his face, and looked down. “No it won’t,” he said softly. “I’ll never get tired of seeing Al. And now,” he shrugged again, picking up the last piece of his roll, “now, I have a family. We have a family. I don’t know what more I could want.”

Roy sighed, running his hand through his hair once more. Ed did have a family. Ed had a daughter, biological or otherwise. Who was he to think he could offer him some kind of advice? He, who had ruined the only real relationship he’d ever been in? He, who had ruined his own chances of knowing what it was like to say he was in love with his child?

“Ed, where were you?” Winry demanded when he returned to their hotel. “We thought something happened to you again!”

Ed rubbed the back of his head. “Huh? Nothing happened. I went to get a drink with Roy.”

“But you were gone all night, Brother,” Al said suspiciously. “You didn’t spend the whole night at a bar, did you?”

“No, I got drunk and passed out at his house,” he said, embarrassed. “It sucked. I’m never drinking like that again.”

Al raised his eyebrows, and said, “Well, you’ve missed breakfast, but I could make you some eggs or something.”

Ed strode past him to sit down on the couch. “No thanks,” he said, waving his hand. “I ate breakfast already.

Alphonse stared at him. “The General made you breakfast?” he asked.

“No, he took me to a diner,” Ed said tiredly, falling back into the cushions and closing his eyes. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep.”

Winry and Alphonse exchanged glances. “You spent the night with General Mustang,” Winry said slowly, “and he took you to breakfast?” She giggled.

Ed’s eyes snapped open. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, glaring at her.

Al flopped down next to his brother on the couch and leaned his head on his flesh shoulder. “You know,” he said, his eyes glinting mischievously, “Of all the stories I heard about you, the ones about you and the General were the ones I took the least seriously. Was I wrong?”

Ed frowned. “What stories? What are you talking about?”

Al sat up, looking his brother in the eyes. “The ones about you and Mustang having an affair,” he said evenly.

“What?” Ed nearly shrieked, the pitch of his own voice increasing the pounding in his head. He flinched, and halted his tirade mid-protest. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Al,” he said sourly. “We never had an affair. He was my commanding officer, for god’s sake! When was this affair supposed to have taken place? When I was fifteen?”

Al shrugged. “So it isn’t true then?” he pressed. “Because, even if it is, brother, it’s all right, there are worse people to be involved with than General Mustang-“

Ed raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know about that,” he said haughtily. “Roy’s a pretty manipulative bastard.”

“Since when are you on a first name basis?” Winry cut in.

Since we both went to face our respective deaths, ten years ago, came his silent response.

“We’re friends,” he said finally.

Ed had closed his eyes, leaning his head back into the couch, and but could hear Al and Winry bustling around in the hotel room. “Did you see the paper, Brother?” Al asked after a few minutes.

Ed cracked an eye open. “Is it another article insulting my stature?” he asked tiredly. He didn’t have the energy to protest it even if it was, right then he was more interested in sleeping off his excellent breakfast, which he believed had done its job in soaking up whatever alcohol might have remained in his system.

“Did anyone say anything to you about there having been terrorist attacks here in Central?” Al asked him.

“Huh?” Ed asked. “No, why?”

“There’ve been a few, recently, according to the papers.”

“Terrorists?” Ed said, opening both eyes and reluctantly sitting up. “From where? Who’s attacking us?”

“Apparently it’s a group within Amestris,” Al said, scanning the article. “Trying to start a civil war.”

“You’d better quit the military, Al, before you end up in that war,” Ed warned.

Al just looked at him. “I can’t quit, I have a contract, Brother, you know that.” He sighed. “It’s probably not that big of a deal. General Hawkeye didn’t say anything about it last night, and neither did General Mustang.”

“Yes she did,” Ed said, remembering, and snatched the paper from his brother. “Remember, she said she tried to go on a date with Havoc, and there was an explosion, or something like that? And Roy choked on an olive?” He scanned the article. “Right here, it says he was there,” he said, pointing to the paragraph.

Chapter Five: The Ghost on the Grave

She flinched when she heard someone at the door, and gave a heavy sigh as she set her favorite screwdriver down on the workbench and stood, turning to see who had the nerve to be coming around her automail shop so late in the day. Her skills were much sought-after, and she saw people by appointment only, damnit! The only customer of hers she had ever allowed to break that rule was somewhere upstairs, likely teaching her daughter new ways to slack off.

The door cracked open before she got to it, and she said, “oh!” her voice sounding more breathless than she had ever intended. “Al,” she said, her voice more normal, stronger, more solid, “what are you doing down here? And I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow? And- what’s that?” she demanded, drawing back as he shoved a package at her, grinning.

Al shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the peg on the back of her shop door, and sat down on her work bench, kicking his feet idly. “I dunno, why don’t you open it?” he suggested, his grey eyes sparkling.

“You got me a present?” she asked, her tired face lighting up.

He nodded. “It’s just something little, but I thought you’d like it,” he told her, still kicking his feet into the legs of her bench.

Miniature screwdrivers? Wire cutters that cut clean enough that the wire doesn’t have to be sanded? Screws of rare sizes? A solid titanium wrench that will never knick or scratch? “Something for she shop?” she guessed, giving the package a shake.

Al laughed at her, leaning back until his shoulder blades were jabbed by the pegs in her wall. He jerked forward, glancing behind him at the rows of tools. “I don’t know what you could possibly need for the shop,” he teased. “Weren’t we just in Rush Valley last year?”

Something else then? She pulled the brown paper off, tossing it to the floor and saw underneath a glossy blue box with a logo on the front. “Shandy’s?” she read, puzzled. She pulled the lid off, and lifted out a flat silver object about the size of her palm. It was engraved with a scrolling leaf pattern and had her initials in the center, WR. Pressing the tiny catch with the edge of her fingernail, it popped open, revealing a mirror that lit up?

“Ooo!” she exclaimed, snapping it shut and opening it again. “Al, where did you get this? Can I take it apart? I want to see how it works!”

Al just shrugged, hopping off the bench. “Of course you can take it apart, it’s yours,” he said, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “You’re welcome,” he added, and she threw her arms around his neck, still clutching the compact in her hand.

“Oh, thank you Al, but why did you get me something? It’s not my birthday or anything…” she said, her voice trailing off.

Al shrugged again, pulling his coat off the door and heading up the stairs to the rest of the house. “I thought you’d like it,” he said over his shoulder. “Where’s Kaiya?”

“Ed’s watching her,” she called up after him, debating on whether or not to follow Al upstairs or to disassemble the compact first. Either way, no more work in the shop would be done that afternoon.

When Winry did not follow him up the stairs, Al assumed the compact had won. “Brother,” he called out, his fingers trailing along the railing on his way up to the top floor. Poking his head in the bedroom, he shook his head. No Ed, but there were clothes strewn about and the bed was unmade. He hung his regulation military coat in his closet, and began undoing his regulation military jacket. This was part of his weekly routine, had been ever since he and Winry had moved to Altenburg: Lieutenant Elric worked in Central for the alchemical research branch and was occasionally given field work by, if not the man himself, a subordinate of General Mustang. Alphonse lived in Altenburg with his girlfriend the automail mechanic. There’s nothing so strange about living two lives, he had told himself at the time. This is my second life anyway.

“Al?” came the delayed answer, from the room next to his, the study. His brother’s return hadn’t disturbed his routine too terribly; it had merely disturbed his categorization. Altenburg, Ed reminded him often, was never really their home, and Winry, no one needed to remind him, was never really his girlfriend. That fact was clear every time his brother and Winry spoke, every time they touched, even every time they looked at each other.

He heard his brother’s mismatched footsteps in the hall before he saw him in the doorway, smirking. “What?” he demanded defensively.

“What what?” Ed echoed innocently.

Al frowned. “What’s with the expression?”

Ed tapped a finger to his chin, his face thoughtful. “Oh, you mean the one of utter disgust?” he asked slowly, his tone teasing.

Al looked at him impatiently, and Ed laughed.

“You. A military uniform. I can’t get over it,” Ed said, coming into the room and reaching up to ruffle his brother’s hair.

“Hey,” Al protested. “Don’t do that, I’m not a kid!”

Ed laughed again. “Now you sound like me,” he said fondly.

“I’m nothing like you,” Al said, trying to sound offended.

Ed raised his eyebrows. “I can see that,” he said, giving the uniform sleeve a tug.

Al slipped out of the military jacket, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I can do a pretty good impression of you, I think,” he told him, reaching into the closet for Ed’s brown coat. “See, I’m Edward Elric, and I’m wearing my coat I got in this mysterious place called Germany-“

“Hey,” Ed protested, “Gimme my coat back!”

“Where I took part in such great adventures as getting thrown out of a bar for starting a fight with someone who called me short-“

Ed’s eyes widened. “Hey, that’s not exactly how it happened!” he protested.

Al puffed his chest up, tossing his hair out of his eyes and drawing the coat closed over his chest. “-getting arrested because I spent the night in the city library and someone thought I was an intruder-“

The older brother waved his hands frantically. “That was not my fault-“ he began, but Al continued between merciless bouts of laughter.

“And being banned from certain floors of the University where my father worked for insisting on arguing with busy professors about the laws of physics-“

“They were morons!” Ed raged, but his eyes were amused as ever.

“I’m also single handedly responsible for introducing my landlady to some low-life policeman who is obsessed with taking photographs-“

Ed held up his hand. “Okay, that one was me,” he admitted good naturedly, “but it was Al who really took it upon himself to convince her to let him take her out. I can’t be blamed completely.” He flopped down on the bed, leaning back and letting his head drop over the edge so the room was upside down and his ponytail touched the floor. “Geez, Al, you make me sound like such an immature brat.” His chest shook up and down with laughter.

“Hey, don’t blame someone else for your escapades,” Al said innocently, flopping down next to his brother and letting his own head flop over the edge of the bed. He turned his face to look at him, his features distorted ever so slightly from gravity pulling in the opposite-from-natural direction. “I got something for you in Central,” he said.

Ed sat up. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Where is it?”

Al answered from his still-upside-down vantage point. “On the dresser. It’s a book.”

“An alchemy book?” Ed said warily, stepping over the clothes he had strewn over the floor from the past few days and picking up the book. “Oh, cool!” he said when he read the title. “I didn’t know there was another one!”

“There’s a few more, actually.” Al told him, sitting up and feeling the blood rush back into the rest of his body from where it had felt like it was pooling in his cheeks and forehead. “They were really popular with the kids when the first one came out, and now people stand in line outside the bookstores all night long to make sure they can get a copy every time a new one is released.”

“You think Sheizka’s read them?” he asked suddenly.

“Winry’s friend? I dunno, she probably did, why?” Al asked curiously.

Ed shrugged. “Next time she’s around I’d like to be able to talk to her about something other than aliens and pyramids.”

“Pyramids?” Al asked blankly.

“Never mind,” Ed said, eyeing his brother sitting on the bed. “Take my coat off, will ya? It’s too small for you, and it looks silly, especially over that uniform.”

Al dug his hands into the pockets. “I like it,” he protested.

Ed pounced on the bed behind him, trying to pull it off his shoulders. “I don’t, what’s with you and wearing my clothes anyway?” he countered, scrambling after his brother as he sidestepped him into the hall.

“Nothing, I was just teasing you,” Al said, voice ever the sound of innocence, edging farther and farther away from his brother, darting back into the room. “And you can’t catch me,” he added with a grin.

“I can too catch you, and besides, you’re done impersonating me, so give it back,” Ed argued, grabbing his brother around the waist but groaning when his younger brother was able to worm out of his grip.

And then Al spoke the magic words. “Make me,” he said, eyes alight.

The sound of their footsteps thundered across the upstairs hall as Ed tore after his brother, grinning madly. Al’s impersonation had been cute, sure, but his younger brother had a habit of adopting his clothing that he did not want to continue. He raced down the top flight of stairs, just inches away from catching the little tease, flying through the living room and kitchen and bursting through the door and down the outside stairs above the workshop.

Suddenly Ed felt his balance slide out from under him, and he was tumbling down the stairs. He reached once for the railing and missed it, thudding hard on a few steps before finally getting a firm grasp on the rail and halting his descent only a few feet before colliding with the concrete porch.

By this time Al was out of his sight, and he groaned, standing up again only to be returned jarringly to the ground

“Al!” Ed yelled from the ground. “Get back here!”

He heard the scrambling of his brother’s feet on the sidewalk around the side of the house as he hurried back to where he heard Ed’s voice. “Ready to give up? Cause I’m not giving you the-“ he stopped when he saw Ed on the ground. “What happened?” he said instead, surprise displayed plainly across his face.

“I fell down the steps,” Ed said. “Now help your crippled brother off his ass,” he directed sharply. Not giving up quite yet, there’s always the distraction method.

“Brother, you’re not a cripple, don’t say that,” Al protested, crossing the porch.

“Well, call me what you will,” he said darkly, “but give me a hand, will you?” His expression became almost imperceptibly devious as he reached up for Al’s hand and then yanked him down on top of him, wresting the coat from his loose hold and bundling it up safely under his own arm. “Right. It’s my coat, and I’ll have it back, thank you very much,” he said smugly from the ground.

Al sat back on his knees, arms folded. “Brother, that wasn’t fair,” he complained.

Ed waved his hand airily. “Oh well, all’s fair in love and war, you know,” he said lightly, turning to get his good leg under him and standing up to take a step, only to come crashing down again.

“Not funny,” Al warned him, sounding irritated, and stood, snatching the coat back up again. “I was going to give this back to you, you know, once I proved I could still beat you,” he huffed, starting to turn away.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Of course you can beat me, you always could. Now seriously, Al, I need some help here.”

Al looked down, eyeing him suspiciously. “Really?” When Ed nodded impatiently, he asked, “What happened?”

His brother frowned. “I told you, I fell down the steps,” he said flatly. “Help me up?” The coat was completely forgotten as he grasped his brother’s hand and stood up again, hopping a few feet and coming to sit on the stairs. Ed hiked up his pant leg to see what could have dislodged his prosthetic and cursed at the broken leather strap. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. The light-hearted mood, the teasing, the deviousness, these were gone from the air. “This is ridiculous, I fucking hate this! Winry!” he bellowed, so that she could hear him from inside her shop.

“Brother,” Al protested, “I can fix that with alchemy, you know. If you show this to Winry, she’s just going to-”

Ed looked at him witheringly, interrupting his brother. “I can fix it with alchemy too, but I bet you I’ll still end up flat on my face one way or the other. I hate being a cripple, I hate being slowed down by my own body, I hate not being in control of my own parts! I’m tired of stumbling on those stairs, I feel pathetic and I’ve had enough!”

“You’re not a-“

“Don’t be stupid,” he said darkly, sitting silent on the stairs as Al put his hands together with a soft clap and transmuted the worn leather straps back together “I guess that’ll hold for now,” he said, more to himself than to Al.

“What are you two going on about?” Winry demanded from the doorway, hands on her hips. “Who’s watching the baby?”

Al looked over at his brother. “Where is the baby?” he asked him.

“Sleeping upstairs,” Ed muttered.

Winry glared at one brother and then at the other. “Well I doubt very much she slept through all that, I could hear you all the way down in the shop. Ed, for gods sake, what do you want?”

He fixed her with a determined gaze. “Automail,” he said firmly.

They lay side by side in the bed they had shared ever since returning from Central. As far as Ed knew, Al hadn’t spent a single night in Winry’s room. Wisely, he never mentioned it.

Sharing the bed with his brother was comforting and terrifying at the same time. When they were kids, Al often slept in his bed because he said he had nightmares, and (when they were still kids) Al had spent countless nights by his brother’s bed, holding his only hand in his unfeeling leather gauntlet, the contact only one of them could feel serving to let the older boy know that he was not alone, even in his pain-induced deliriums. Later, when Ed would fall into bed at night, in some inn out in an obscure corner of Amestris or in one of the military dorms they frequented, exhausted, and curl into a ball while his brother sat in a corner, his heart would ache longing to be able to sleep side by side with him again, to feel his cold feet tickling his calves under the covers, to wrap his arms around him in comfort, to lay a head on his shoulder in place of a pillow again.

He thanked his luck, he thanked his brother’s boundless intelligence and perseverance, he thanked his own determination every night he could feel his brother’s warm, solid, human form next to him. It terrified him because that warm, solid comfort never failed to remind him of sharing his bed with Alphonse Heiderich.

It had begun out of necessity. Alphonse had only one bed, and Edward had slept on the couch when he first moved in. He had never complained, but eventually Alphonse had noticed that night after night on the couch was taking its toll on his friend’s physical form, and then there was the matter of the small apartment being very expensive to heat. The first night they had shared a bed, Edward drifted in and out of consciousness, thinking at times it was his brother next to him, and he was ten years old again, and alternately huddling on the very edge of the mattress, afraid he would forget where he was, becoming too content with his present circumstances.

When Alphonse had first flung and arm across his chest, it had been in his sleep, Ed had assumed, and he did not push him away. He lay, in his not-brother’s embrace, the guilt burning any sleep out of him that may have been waiting to take hold. When Ed, in a half dream state, curled against his friend’s side, Alphonse merely pulled him closer, taking it as a sign that Ed returned his affections. Ed had known, oh, he had known he was playing with fire. But he was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Soft fingers brushed the hair from his face. “Brother?” said the voice, and slowly, golden eyes fluttered open. “Were you sleeping?” Al was half-sitting up, all blue and grey and silver in the moonlight pouring through their window.

Ed shook his head.

“What were you thinking about? You had an odd expression, I thought you might have been having a bad dream,” Al said, a concerned frown crossing his face.

Ed sat up, pushing his pillow back against the wall and leaned into it. He looked towards the window, out across the moonlit rooftops of the town, away from his brother. “I’m not sure you want to know,” he said quietly.

“Do you miss him?” Al asked softly, revealing that he had already guessed.

His brow creased. “Why would I miss him when I have you?” Ed asked, confused.

“If you love him,” Al said, very quietly, staring at the same spot on the windowpane as Ed was, “it’s all right to miss him.”

In response, Ed lay back down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he felt his brother do the same. Cautiously, Al laid his head on his brother’s flesh shoulder, in place of a pillow, and, eyes still closed, Ed let himself smile.

“I want to go to Rizembool,” Ed said, after several minutes of silence. He could tell by his brother’s breathing that he was still awake.

“There’s nothing there,” Al said into his shoulder.

“Mom’s grave is there.”

“That’s true.”

Ed’s human fingers played idly with his brother’s hair. “I haven’t been there in ten years. I want to see it before Winry does the surgery, otherwise it could be another three years until I can get there.”

“I thought you recovered in one year?” Al asked, picking his head up and looking at his brother’s face, pale in the light from the window.

“I don’t know how long it will take to recover,” he said vaguely.

After another moment Al laid his head back down. “We can go to Rizembool,” he said eventually. “It hasn’t been the safest place, because the borders are so unstable, but we can still go. It should be all right; there hasn’t been news of any border skirmishes recently. But,” he added, “you wont even recognize it. It’s not the place we grew up in, not anymore.”

“I can handle it.”

I never could, not completely, Al countered in his mind. He sighed. “Your grave is there too, you know,” he murmured into his brother’s skin.

Ed raised his eyebrows. “My grave?”

“Yeah. You’re dead.” After some time had elapsed, Al elaborated. “That’s pretty much the only reason anyone goes up there anymore. To see your grave. The train doesn’t even go that far north, I don’t think. No one lives there.”

“Maybe you me and Winry can hire a car,” he mused.

Al frowned. “Winry wont want to go.”

Ed was silent, his breath skimming steadily across Al’s forehead.

Al pulled the blanket tighter around them, and sighed again. “Still awake?” he asked.

“Yeah,” came the quiet murmur. After a moment he added, “You could get us a military car, you know.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

There were bits of foreign metal scattered around the table Winry had set up to the side of her workbench. She had been itching for months to dissect that homemade arm of his, and she was alternating between being horrified and being astounded. Horrified because the strategies he used were like that of the earliest attempts at automail, the ones that were mostly unsuccessful and damaging; astounded because the thing worked, and better than it should have, all things considered.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, concentrating as she worked the fine tools around the wires trailing out of what was left of his mechanical arm. His eyes were squeezed shut, and she thought he might have been holding his breath, waiting for the indescribably odd sensation she was causing to stop. “Ed,” she said softly, still holding a wire between her tweezers.

“Hm,” he grunted, acknowledging her but not opening his eyes or moving in the slightest.

“This is no good,” she said, resigned. “I can’t work with any of this. I have to take it all out; start over.”

“Fine,” he let out under his breath. “Just get it over with already.”

She had already put him through the pain of removing each bolt and screw, sliding them out of his bones with a sickening scrape that made them both grit their teeth. Her strange suspicions had been confirmed: yes, his shoulder was all bone inside. That was why the screws would often work themselves loose on their own: the bone was rejecting them slowly. That was why he was in such pain after using his arm a lot, that was why he could grasp things if he placed them between the mechanical fingers but not carry anything of significant weight: it put too much strain on his bone structure. These were clear and valid problems of the early attempts at automail, something she had only read about in medical texts.

The signs were all there, but she was still shocked to confirm it. When she and Granny had given Ed his first set of automail, the bones inside his shoulder had been replaced with automail parts. It was the only way his body would be able to support the weight and function of the new limb. She could not understand why the bones were there now.

She released the final nerve, cleaning the open wound she had made and beginning to stitch him up. She had done what she could to numb the area, and knew he hadn’t been feeling pain, exactly, but he could feel her working on his nerves and he had always told her how strange that felt.

He was now breathing normally, eyes open, blank, waiting for her to finish up the stitches. When she tied off the final strand, she came to sit in front of him. “There’s something else I have to tell you,” she began hesitantly, and watched his murky gold eyes slowly focus on her own.

“What is it?”

“Those wires you were using,” she said slowly, “the ones I said were never used in the body because they can cause unpleasant reactions, and rejection. They might have damaged your nerves.”

He nodded. “You’ve said this before,” he said calmly.

She sighed. “I wish Granny were here, she knew everything, absolutely everything about automail. I’m just guessing, here, Ed. It’s possible the reason you could never get those fingers to move is because you damaged the nerves attaching those wires, or, it might have just been that they couldn’t hold enough current to travel all the way down the arm. I don’t know.”

His single hand gripped his knee tightly. “I didn’t know what else to do, Winry!” he protested. “I was all alone there, and I couldn’t do anything, and it was terrifying. I couldn’t use any alchemy, but besides that, I couldn’t even use my own body any more, not the way I wanted to.” He looked over at the detached limb lying over on her table. “It might not have worked very well, but it was damn well better than nothing, which is what I started out with.”

“It’s really incredible,” she said seriously, “That you got as far as you did with it. Everything might be fine; I might be completely overreacting, but…”

“Win,” he said gently, moving his hand from his own knee to hers. “Just tell me. What is the absolute worst thing that could happen?”

Her lips formed that fine line again. “You might not get one hundred percent movement out of the new automail. You won’t be in the pain you’re in now,” she added hurriedly, searching his face for a reaction but reading none. “You’ll be able to carry things, probably even lift things you can’t even pick up with your real arm. It’ll be strong, but you might not have the fine control that you had before.”

He leaned back on the bench, into the wall, raising his eyebrows and looking over at the arm on the table again. “Ho much movement would you say I got out of that one?”

“Twenty five percent? Thirty maybe?” she guessed.

“And the new one?” he prompted. “The worst I can expect?”

“Ninety five? Ninety eight?”

He gave a low laugh, and folded his hand behind his head. “I think I can handle that,” he said, smiling. Smiling? How can he be smiling about this?

“But I wanted it to be perfect for you!” she protested, obviously distressed. “I’ve been studying all this time, learning every new technique as soon as it’s developed, just so I could make you the most perfect automail available!”

He gave an odd one shouldered shrug, and smiled again. “Win, I’ve been without automail for so long, I guarantee you, I will not even notice a few percents less movement than the last set. I’ll just be happy to have something that works, and someone who knows how to take care of it.” He stood up, gathering up his shirt as he did and pulling the right sleeve inside out before he put it on so that it would not hang in his way. “Come on, Al is watching Kaiya and making dinner at the same time, lets help him out a bit, huh?”

She let herself laugh as she hung up her tools on the proper pegs. “That’s Ed-speak for me helping with dinner and you playing with your daughter,” she said, smiling down at her wrench.

“Our daughter,” he called from his way up the stairs. “All three of ours.”