She had barely taken a minute to look down at herself, but when she did, Winry wasn’t even surprised to see that she was covered in blood. She didn’t even know who’s blood it was, she hadn’t taken much time to look at each injured soldier she helped; just long enough to help them in whatever way she knew how and move on to the next one.

She had always thought blood made her queasy; she didn’t let it get in the way of her work: sometimes dealing with blood was necessary, in fact, it was unavoidable when performing automail installation surgery. But it was primarily the mechanics the she focused on; she had an understanding of blood vessels and nerves and muscles but only how they related to wires and electricity and metal parts.

But her knowledge was better than none at all, and she was perfectly able to tend to bullet and shrapnel wounds, however horrifying they might be. As long as she could distance herself from it, look at each wound as just damage to the human machine and not an injury to a human person, she could do what she was able and move on without thinking too much on it.

It was disgustingly un-sterile, and horribly un-well wit, and every condition present was all wrong. These men should be in a hospital, not the edge of a battlefield. There should be bright overhead lights, not portable lanterns in canvas tents. They should be in hospital beds that could be folded up and down and moved on wheels, not on bedrolls, but no one had been prepared for this attack and everyone was making due with what was available.

It was the lack of antibiotics that worried her the most. It made minor injuries into dangerous ones, and she could see her grandmother wringing her hands in her minds eye, horrified at the harmful germs that were surely thriving on every instrument she used, no matter what she did to clean them.

“Winry,” came a voice from across the collection of tents. “Any more morphine in your kit?” It was Clara, the red-haired nurse that had come with the doctor from the military base.

She tied off the bandage she had been wrapping around a shallow head wound, and checked in the medic’s bag she had been supplied with. “Just a little bit,” she called back. “Do you need it?”

She could see the woman calculating who of her patients was in the most pain. “I’ll let you know if I need it,” she answered, returning to what she was doing.

She had dreaded the war coming to her before she could get away from it, but this was nothing like she had imagined it. It was right there, she could hear it, even, and as far as she knew her new hometown of Altenburg was already occupied, but she was too busy to think anything about it.

Of course, of course she couldn’t have waited quietly with the rest of the passengers off the train from Altenburg, not when there were people who could use her help, but she couldn’t have waited quietly regardless. She didn’t want to think, and waiting quietly lead to thinking. She didn’t want to think about what might happen an hour from now, a day from now, a week from now. She didn’t want to think about where Al might be, what he might be doing in Central, if he was fighting or if he was safe. She didn’t want to think about where Ed might be, and if this war had come anywhere near wherever he had run off to. And she didn’t want to think about her parents, and how she was doing exactly what they had done in the last war. She couldn’t think about that.

She tied off another bandage.

She absolutely couldn’t think about that.

She couldn’t cry right now. She had too many people to take care of

The Lieutenant hurried behind the nurse through the medical tents that had been put up around the battlefield. “You said he’s not military,” she pressed.

The red haired nurse turned to glance behind her. “He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he’s an alchemist. There were no alchemists with the units that were deployed here.” She grasped the arm of a passing doctor. “Dr. Parson, this is Lieutenant Ross, she just got here from Central. She came with the medical caravans.”

The young man nodded distractedly, sifting through some boxes that had been unloaded in his particular tent. “The supplies are a big help, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice rushed. “We were losing a lot of men due to infection since we simply didn’t have enough antibiotics. Most of these soldiers really need to be transported to a hospital, but the General says we don’t have a safe passage yet.”

“Doctor,” Ross said firmly, commanding his attention. “I’ve come to see the alchemist responsible for the transmutation. I was told he was under your care.”

The doctor stood up, wiping his brow, and faced the woman. He gestured around the large medical tent. “Everyone here is under my care,” he said, and clearly by his expression he was stretched thin as it was. “The alchemist, the alchemist… the little guy with the automail,” he said, as if he was speaking to himself. His expression became serious. “Lieutenant…?”

“Ross,” she supplied again.

“Ross,” he repeated. “Your mystery alchemist saved the life of every man in here. That’s what the survivors are saying. But his condition is serious,” he told her frankly. He motioned for him to follow him along the narrow corridor between the rows of beds. “He was wounded several times, shot twice in the stomach and once in the shoulder, and he’s running a fever. There’s been some damage to his automail that I can’t even begin to know how to look at that. Like I said, we didn’t have enough antibiotics,” he repeated. “Get some of those into these men and all of their chances will improve. Infection is a deadly thing.” He looked at her soberly. “Although I don’t know much about alchemy, I’m sure a transmutation with the magnitude he managed to pull off would drain the reserves of even a healthy person. And they’re saying he did it after he was wounded.” He pulled aside the thin sheet that made a makeshift curtain around the cot.

She gasped. His skin had a pale grey cast to it, and he seemed so small, under the sheets, and thin. A grimy bandage was wrapped around his forehead the side of his face, hiding one eye and speckled with blood that had seeped through. His hair was a dull brown color; whether from dirt or blood or some combination of both, she wasn’t sure, and the ends of it looked like they had been burnt or singed or something. He gave a low moan, and she jumped.

The blonde nurse who had been sitting at his bedside slipped a chip of ice between his lips, and he quieted for a moment. “Mr. Heiderich, there’s someone here to see you,” she said softly, and his eyes flickered open.

Mr. Heiderich? Maria Ross pondered that, then pushed it to the back of her mind for later thought. This was most definitely Edward, of that she was certain.

“The moon is on fire, Al,” he said, his voice hoarse. His eyes never stayed on one object for more than a few seconds. “I’m drunk, Al, and there are ghosts everywhere.”

She felt a chill that began at the base of her skull and traveled agonizingly downward. She knelt at the side of his bed, placing a hand on his flesh shoulder. “I’m not a ghost, sir,” she whispered.

His head rolled to the side, not acknowledging her. “Al, you’re the fly kid,” muttered, his eyes bright with delirium. “But not me, I’m a sky kid! Gonna fly all the way up, home, a little bit higher. Up, up, the moon is on fire! Balance yourself like a bird on a beam in my flying machine going up, all on, miss Josephine-”

“Edward,” Maria said gently. “Edward, listen to me, everything is going to be all right now, the medical supply trucks got through. You’re going to be just fine.”

“He can’t hear you,” said the doctor, “he hasn’t regained consciousness since he was brought in.” He studied the woman carefully and debated whether or not to speak the next sentence. Finally he said, “Lieutenant, whoever he is, he may not have much time. There’s only so much I can do out here, away from a hospital. If you know his identity-“ he saw her glance up, protest clear in her eyes, but he continued. “you may want to notify his next of kin.”

“He’s going to be fine,” she said, steeling her expression. “He’s going to be just fine.” She stood up. “The supplies we brought are only a temporary solution. General Hawkeye is securing a safe passage for the troops back into safe territory.” She pulled the curtain closed with a swift motion. Hopefully it will be in time, she prayed silently. Out loud, but in a hushed tone, she asked the nurse, “Why did you call him Mr. Heiderich?”

The young woman paused, pressing her lips together, and glanced back at the now obscured figure in the bed. “That’s they told us his name was, ma’am. Edward Heiderich. He’s from the village just north of here. All the soldiers said the same thing about him, that he just showed up in the middle of the battle and started fighting. They didn’t even know he was an alchemist the first day. And then, when they thought all hope was lost, he started ordering everyone to retreat back. They didn’t want to listen to him, but eventually they did, and he- well, they just said he transmuted. They didn’t say what he transmuted, or how, or anything like that. But the few left on the enemy side that weren’t killed retreated, and the battle was over.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He is the Fullmetal Alchemist, isn’t he?” she pressed.

Ross opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond.

“That automail, that blond hair, and plus he’s so small, and looks so young… it has to be him. Isn’t it?”

The Lieutenant Colonel sighed worriedly. “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to speculate as to our mystery friend’s identity. That is the official answer I was ordered to give from Central.” That was the answer I was to give if it really was Edward, she thought. If it was someone else, I suppose I could just say ‘no.’ “But I think his actions have proved that he is indeed a friend, and if he says his name is Heiderich, I think we should believe him, shouldn’t we?”

The other nurse, the one with the red hair, Clara, was fairly certain the man in the bed was the same boy who had captured her in Aquaroya so many years before. She had met many people during her escapades, and he had certainly changed, but she had seen his eyes flicker open a few times, and they were amber-gold, just like she remembered. “Of course,” she said softly. “Edward Heiderich it is.”

”I never get tired of looking at you.”

Ed swallowed, looking away and feeling his cheeks burning. I never get tired of looking at you. From his brother, he would take that as forgiveness. Even after all he did to the person he loved most, Al would love him completely. Al would never get tired of looking at him. Al would never look away in disgust at his pride and sin and destruction. Al would never want to be apart from him, despite the horrible things he had done.

That was a dream, of course. It was a dream Ed never allowed himself to have, that dream of forgiveness. He didn’t even know if his brother was alive, although he hoped beyond hope that he was. Life was too much to ask for as it was; there was nothing that could be sacrificed that would equal a life. Forgiveness, Ed feared, was out of the question.

But these things he was thinking as he looked into the face of the man who would have been his brother in another life; another world. It was Al’s facial structure, Al’s voice he spoke with, and Al’s mannerisms he moved with. He had wanted so badly, and for so long, ever since that horrible day when they were children, just to feel his brother’s skin once more, to touch, hand to hand, cheek to cheek, and it had been so long now that it was becoming more like a dream to him than reality.

There were fingers under his chin, lifting his face, and he let his eyes rise to meet Al’s pale blue ones. Al was scanning his friend’s face, searching for something, and when he thought he found it he lowered his lids half-way, keeping two fingers under Ed’s chin, and pressed his lips to the pair in front of him.

Ed could not pull away. He could not. He could never pull away from Alphonse. He felt the boy’s warm, hesitant lips on his own, lingering, wondering, and slowly, he parted them, and felt the guilt wash over him like a damn that had broken, flooding his very being with the sense that he was doing something very, very wrong.

But when Al drew back his smile was so sweet, and his eyes shone, and he was so happy, the way Ed always wanted to see Al, no matter which Al it was, that he leaned in for another kiss, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, tumbling back into the pillows on the bed.
“Lieutenant Colonel Elric!” snapped a voice, and Al stood and saluted before he even saw who it was in the doorway. He hadn’t slept the night before, or much the night before that. Central was barely under control, and information on the situation in the north was sketchy at best. He has spoken to Winry the night he called her, but hadn’t heard anything since then, and of course he hadn’t heard a word from his brother in nearly two months.

“Sir, there’s new information from intelligence about the attacks in the north; you had requested to be informed should anything change,” said the young major. The man was nearly five years older than Alphonse, but he was the second youngest State Alchemist in the military. Al tried to remember what the man’s specialty was, but his brain was just too tired. “General Mustang is requesting your presence,” the man added, and Al nodded.

“Thank you,” he said politely, nodding to the major and heading to the General’s office.

When he saw him, he thought the general looked even more tired, more exhausted, and more worried than he did. “Close the door, Alphonse,” he said seriously, and, frowning, Al did as he was directed. It was unusual for him to call him by his first name in a military setting; Roy was his commanding officer, and although he was closely tied to both Elrics, Al had always thought it sounded odd when he and his brother called each other “Ed” and “Roy.” Ed had always said it was because they were friends, and because he wasn’t military anymore, but Roy and Al had never really had that sort of relationship. He respected the man, and admired him, but at the same time was also wary of him. He was difficult to read, and Al could never be sure of his motives.

“I need to know where your brother is,” the general said quietly.

Al frowned. “Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Because the government has assigned me the task of finding him, that’s why,” the man said calmly.

He didn’t leave the doorway, his back to the closed door and his hand still on the doorknob. He drew his eyebrows down over his grey eyes. “Why?” he asked again.

“Because your brother has done a poor job of hiding himself since his return, and I think you’ll agree that it will be better for all of us if he’s ‘found’ by me and not by someone else.”

Al folded his arms, his expression still guarded. “I’d say he’s doing a pretty decent job of hiding himself if you have to ask me where he is,” he countered coolly, suspicious both of the military’s sudden interest in what had previously been dismissed as nothing but a rumor.

General Mustang stood, pushing his chair away from his desk, and went to stand by the window of his office. “He was most recently spotted in East City, but he’s been seen all over the country. I need to know what he’s doing, Al, or I can’t protect him.”

“Protect him?” Al scoffed. “From what?”

The black haired man turned to look him, ticking off on his fingers his brother’s offenses. “Well, since he’s been declared dead all these years, they’ll say he faked his own death. He’d be considered a military deserter, and then there’s the whole Lior situation-“

Al folded his arms in front of himself. “You are the one who put the blame on him for that, General,” he said angrily. “You and I both know he had no control over that situation, but you let it go on record that he was responsible to save your own ass-“

“I thought he was dead!” Roy said, but shuddered inwardly as he tried to use that defense on the younger Elric. It was something he had never been proud of, but being part of the military, he had long since learned, sometimes meant choosing the lesser of two evils.

“Well I don’t know where he is,” Al spat. Leave it up to the General to dredge up old hard feelings in a time of need. What of it? he demanded of himself. He was telling the truth, he had no idea where his brother was, and- what was he doing in East City anyway? If so many people had spotted him in so many different places, well, then maybe he deserved to be found out.

Roy raised his only eyebrow. “I know you want to protect him, Al, and believe me, I want to do the same-“

Al was shaking his head. “It’s no use trying to convince me, General Mustang,” he told the man, his arms still folded, his back still against the door. “I really don’t know where he is. I haven’t heard from him.” I haven’t heard from him since I punched him in the jaw, called him a sick fuck, and told him I wished he had never come back.

He closed his hand around the doorknob. “If you’ll excuse me, General, I have things I need to do.”

“You can go,” Roy said stiffly. “But Alphonse,” he added when the young man was halfway out the door, “you can trust me.”

Al didn’t answer him.

“Miss Rockbell,” Dr. Parsons called after her, catching her just as she was hefting a suitcase over one shoulder and her daughter up on her hip.

She looked at him quizzically, not recognizing him right away.

He held his hand out to shake. “I wanted to thank you for your help here in the hospital.”

“Oh, Dr. Parsons!” she said finally. “I didn’t realize it was you at first, without your lab coat and surgical mask!”

He smiled at her. “Well I’d recognize your blue eyes anywhere. Really, I don’t know how we could have done so well without you.”

Not knowing what to say, she stammered, “Well, I, ah, you see, my parents were both doctors, and I, well-“

He grew serious at that. “I thought your name was familiar, yes, Drs. Rockbell. I’m so sorry.”

She really didn’t want to talk about her parents, and didn’t know why she had even mentioned them. “It was a long time ago now,” she said graciously, although just as serious.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “There aren’t many women mechanics out there, Rockbell, hmm. You wouldn’t be related to-“

She grinned. “Pinako Rockbell, yes. She was my grandmother.” She bounced Kaiya on her hip. “And this is my daughter Kaiya.”

The doctor looked down at the little girl in her arms. “Very pleased to meet you, Kaiya.”

Kaiya looked up at her mother. “Centra, Mommy. Go to Centra now?”

“Yes, baby, we’re going to Central now.”

“We could certainly use you here at the hospital,” the doctor told her. “Dillon is perfectly safe now, we have the military base right here. You don’t need to go all the way to Central.”

“Yes Centra!” Kaiya told him vehemently, and the doctor laughed.

Winry shook her head. “Her father is waiting for us in Cenral,” she told him. “We promised we would meet him there.” She turned to her daughter. “Right baby?”

“Daddy Centra!” Kaiya agreed.

“How old is she?” the doctor asked curiously.

“She’s almost two,” Winry told him.

“She’s certainly talking a lot for her age,” he said, and she smiled proudly.

“I think it’s genetic,” she said with a smile. “You try getting an Elric to shut up.”

By the time the good doctor had made the connection, it was too late, Winry and Kaiya were already on the first train out of Dillon and he was back in the hospital tending the wounded.

Within a few days he was moved to the small hospital in Dillon, along with the other more severely injured soldiers. Too small to accommodate the military’s needs, the hospital had been extended into the town’s school, the town hall, and the church. General Hawkeye herself was present, making her rounds visiting the wounded before leading her remaining troops for a counter attack. Maria Ross’s report on Edward had gone directly to General Mustang in Central and had bypassed her entirely. She knew they had a mystery ally on the battlefield that day, but that was all she knew, and she had dismissed all rumors as simply that, rumors.

When she found herself at the unmarked door to the tiny room, it was the doctor who told her which patient she was about to see. “It’s the alchemist from Dillon,” he told her, because that was how he had been officially identified. “His name’s Edward Heiderich, your resident battlefield hero.” He watched her curiously, but she simply nodded and opened the door.

She hoped her shock wasn’t visible when she realized who the pale form in the bed was. His eyes were closed, and his hair, cleaner now than it had been in the field hospital, was cut very short. The side of his face was bruised and a line of stitches went across his forehead, and a line from an IV was taped to the inside of his flesh arm. His breathing was shallow, but he either wasn’t asleep or the slight noise of the door opening woke him, because he opened one eye. The other one was swollen shut. She turned to the doctor. “Leave us,” she whispered.

The young doctor nodded, exiting the room and smiling to himself. The General’s reaction was proof enough: the wounded man in the bed was not just some heroic townsperson. He was a powerful and dangerous member of the military who had been hiding out in this small village. Perhaps he had been hiding for several years. Perhaps he really was the Fullmetal Alchemist.

“Edward, you look terrible,” she began.

He flinched. “Thanks,” he said weakly.

“They said you were shot.”

“I was,” he confirmed, lifting his head and pushing himself up on the pillows a bit. Now half sitting up, he pulled the blanket down and lifted his paper hospital shirt, showing her the two squares of bandages taped to his side. “More than once, too.”

Her lips turned down in a small frown. “Why didn’t you tell anyone who you were?” she asked, concerned. “We could have gotten you out of that field hospital sooner. The doctor told me you almost died there!”

His expression was pained. “A lot of people did die there, Lieutenant, er, General. I’m not even military, why should I get special treatment?”

She widened her eyes. “Because you saved an entire town from being invaded, and you saved the lives of half my troops on the battlefield,” she told him crisply.

“And the other half of them are dead,” he said flatly. When he saw the sorrow in her eyes, he regretted it immediately.

“I know,” she said softly. “But that isn’t your fault. We were attacked. We weren’t expecting it. There was nothing more we could do. If you weren’t there, it would have been much worse.” She eyed him curiously. “What were you doing out here in Dillon in the first place?” she inquired. “I thought you at home with Winry.”

She watched his pained expression, and hated knowing she was only causing him more worry. “Altenburg was attacked before Dillon,” he whispered. “They’re saying the town is occupied now, what-“

“There’s a good chance Winry left before the invasion,” she told him quietly. “General Mustang said there was information in the Central headquarters that never reached us in the north warning us of the attacks. Alphonse made a call to Winry the night before the invasion began.”

“Did she get out?” he asked her quietly.

“It’s possible,” she allowed.

“But the rail lines are all blown up,” he remembered. “There was that round of terrorist bombings that the military covered up to keep people from panicking.”

“Some of them were repaired.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “What about Al?”

“Still in Central,” she said firmly, glad she could genuinely reassure him of at least his brother’s safety. “Edward, now that we know where you are, I’m sure Al will find a way to contact you as soon as he hears anything…”

“Al won’t want to talk to me,” he said, his voice sounding hollow, and turned his head away from her.

Frowning, she looked down at him in the bed. That didn’t sound right. Why wouldn’t Al want to talk to him? “All the communication lines are repaired,” she started. “Do you want me to send anyone a message for you?”

“No,” he said at first. Then, “Just…” he thought for a minute, biting his lower lip. “Let anyone who knows I’m alive know that I still am. That’s all. Don’t tell them where I am.”

General Hawkeye couldn’t bring herself to agree to that, but she pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. “Edward?”

He covered his eyes with his flesh arm and sighed, moving it behind his head. “Hm?”

“You never said what you were doing in Dillon in the first place.”

“I know.”

She paused, debating whether or not to press the issue. It really wasn’t important, at least not professionally, and perhaps this wasn’t the time or the place to discuss personal issues. Ed wasn’t a boy anymore, he was an adult, and maybe it wasn’t any of her business what was going on in his life. Years ago she would have felt differently, but things had changed since then. She started to stand up, but stopped, half out of her seat, when he spoke up.

“I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt,” he blurted out.

She sat back down. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

“All I’ve been doing, ever since I’ve been back, is hurting the people I love,” he said quickly, hatefully, disgustedly. He turned to look her in the eyes, and she was struck by how destroyed his expression was. It wasn’t just that he was pale, it wasn’t just the circles under his eyes and the stitches on his forehead and the yellowish bruises on his face.

“What do you mean, you were hurting everyone?” she questioned, trying to speak as gently as possible. She did know a very little about what had been going on in the Elric-Rockbell household since Ed had returned, but she didn’t want to make any guesses. “Al missed you so much while you were gone all those years, I’m sure he was happy to have you back,” she assured him. She pressed her lips together. She was no good at this. “Did you quarrel?” she asked finally.

He looked down at the bed. “Not exactly,” he said to the sheets. Automail fingers fiddled with the edge of the hospital blanket for a minute before he said, “I think Kaiya might be my daughter.” He looked up. “I don’t know if you knew that or not.”

She nodded. “Winry told me the same thing,” she told him.

He clenched his jaw, and his eyes burned. “Kaiya’s not a baby anymore, you know. She’s started walking, and she was even talking a little bit when I left. She calls Winry ‘Mama” and me ‘Edo’ and Al ‘Dada.’ Everyone says she has my eyes,” he told her in a rush of words.

“What about your brother?” Hawkeye asked gently.

“I can’t believe I hurt him like this!” he said miserably. “I can’t believe I hurt Kaiya like this! People are talking, and eventually someone is going to ask her who’s child she is. What is she going to say? She’s going to live with these rumors her entire life, she’s going to grow up with them, and they’re going to follow her everywhere. All because of one stupid, selfish act!” He blushed suddenly, embarrassed thinking about his night with Winry in front of Hawkeye. “All my life, growing up, I hated my father for leaving us, but this is even-“ he began, but he stopped, as if he was too disgusted to continue. Then, his voice very quiet, he added, “I feel like I never should have come back.”

She watched him staring down at the sheets and part of her started to say something comforting, but he spoke again.

“I haven’t done a single thing I can be proud of, not in this world! I don’t deserve him, I don’t deserve a family, I don’t deserve anything! I wish I could just… disappear!”

“So you just left them,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “It was the best thing I could do,” he said, his voice equally quiet, unable to meet her eyes.

Sometimes leaving the ones you love might be easiest, but that doesn’t make it right, she wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to give advice she herself couldn’t even follow. “Love is selfish, isn’t it,” she said instead, standing up. “And you’ve been hiding out in Dillon all this time, letting them wonder where you are and if you’re all right?”

He nodded again.

“If anyone asks me where you are, I’m telling them where to find you. It isn’t fair of you to abandon your family like this,” she said finally, knowing her voice sounded cold, but thinking he didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t abandon them! I-“ he winced, clutching his bandaged side.

“Good day, Mr. Heiderich,” she said, forcing herself to end the conversation. She had a lot of things to attend to before she left Dillon. “The military thanks you for your assistance.”

He stared at the closed door after she left. She was right, of course. Love is selfish. Everything he’d ever done had been selfish. And look where it had gotten him.

Ed flinched as he sat forward in the hospital bed, the wounds to his stomach sending red-hot stabs of pain through his gut seemingly every time he tried to move.

“Sit still, Mr. Heiderich,” the nurse Clara admonished sharply, watching him in amusement as he glared at her like an unhappy child. He had recognized her, she knew, and she felt like they were simply playing a game where she was a nurse and he was a patient, when in truth they were both alchemists. “The less you move, the less this will hurt.” She was changing the bandages on his abdomen and left shoulder.

“Ow!” he said roughly, pulling away. “That stings!” he hissed, clutching his stomach when he moved.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she teased. “You have that automail, I’m sure this is nothing compared to that surgery.”

“Urgh, don’t remind me of that!” he groaned, but stayed still, resigned to letting her clean his wounds with the antiseptic solution that stung so horribly. “Are you done yet?” he said impatiently.

“Stay still!” she repeated, but she was laughing at him. “I’ll never finish if you keep moving!” After another few minutes she said, “all finished. That wasn’t so bad, was- hey! You can’t get up yet!” she protested, but he was slowly dropping his feet to the floor, clutching his stomach with his metal hand as he slid from the bed.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled, stepping down a few times with his metal foot. The nurse frowned as he muttered something else about finding his mechanic.

“Unless you can get ahold of your mechanic and convince him to travel out here, that’s going to have to wait,” she said sternly. “Now get back in that bed-“ she gasped when the door flew open, revealing the second military general to visit the hospital in Dillon since the battle had ended.

“Oh shit,” Edward said again, wanting to flop back onto the bed but he was afraid of the shooting pains in his gut. Then, mockingly, rolling his eyes, he saluted, half standing, with his automail hand.

“General Mustang!” the nurse said unnecessarily.

“I have come to retrieve the Fullmetal Alchemist!” the General announced, his face a blank, entirely ignoring Ed’s half-assed salute. “Edward Elric, you are to report with me to Central at once, I have a car waiting for us just outside.”

Ed’s eyes flew open. “Wha- Roy! You said- the president said-“ he stammered, looking utterly betrayed. Clara watched the scene closely, keeping her face carefully expressionless. “You told me not to tell anyone who I was!”

“This is Edward Heiderich, sir,” said the red-haired nurse, intent on keeping up the illusion if that was what Ed wanted to do. “He lives here in Dillon. It’s a remarkable resemblance, don’t you think?”

The man in the blue uniform did not wink, did not look over at Ed sidelong, like an old friend. He merely said smugly, “I’ve also been given orders to retrieve Edward Heiderich, should I happen to learn his location as well.” His voice was cool, but something did flicker across his smooth expression when he saw Ed’s balance sway when he moved to take a step forward.

The nurse had practically flown to her patient’s side, supporting him to keep him upright.

The General was looking at him critically. “Are you well enough to travel, Mr. Heiderich?” he asked, concern creeping through his mask of arrogance.

“Fuck you,” Ed spat, at the same time the nurse was shaking her head vehemently. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you arrogant bastard, unless you tell me what got you to change your mind so quickly.”

“He’s not going anywhere, period,” Clara said forcefully, taking her role as a nurse seriously. “He’s been shot three times, sir, he can’t be moved until he heals!”

Ed jerked out of her grip, taking a step and grabbing a hold of the beside table when his automail knee whirred and sputtered, buckling when it should have held.

This time it was Roy gripping him under the flesh elbow, having no idea he was sending pain shooting through the injured shoulder. “Can I trust you?” he blond hissed at him, his eyes for once unobscured by their usual fringe of bangs, pleading for Roy to drop the act and give him some explanation.

This time the concern was completely unveiled. Roy hadn’t stopped to talk to the doctor when he strode into the military hospital announcing who he was and who he was looking for, and he wasn’t expecting to find Ed in such a shape as this. “Can you even stand?” he asked bluntly.

“How important is it that I go with you?” Ed countered, piercing Roy with his gaze.

“Very,” he said tightly. “I’m not the only one looking for you.”

That was all Ed had been waiting to hear. He pressed his hands together, lightly, as to not over-jar his injured shoulder, and then pressed them to his automail knee. Both Roy and Clara could see the metal shifting and re-arranging itself under his touch.

“Did you just -alchemize- your automail?” Roy demanded, slightly horrified.

Ed flinched, but took a step, and his balance held. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Winry’d kill me if she ever found out,” he added. “So, how much of a show to we need to make this grand exit of mine?”

Roy looked at him haughtily. “I’d tell you to just come quietly, but I don’t think you’re capable of that,” he said, his single eye flashing with the humor Ed had been looking for ever since the general burst through the door with that cold mask of his.

“Damn straight,” Ed agreed.

Clara took careful note of the exchange, and, she was thankful, she was able to fade into the background during the uproar Ed’s “capture” had caused