A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and welcome! That's right, from the writer that brought you Snap Shots and Father Figure, it's back to multichapter business with Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul. We're gonna get a little graphic in the chapters to come, kiddies, with blood, gore and sex, so consider this one of multiple warnings, other than that, enjoy! It's great to be back!

I do not FMA.

Chapter One - Return from the Brink

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL

1319 HOURS, APRIL 7

Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, warming the tiled floor under her feet as she slid cautiously from the bed. The room's other occupant was in the midst of a post-lunch nap, meaning that if she ever had a chance to break the rules, it was now, while he wasn't awake to scold her.

Movement on her part was still careful. Riza knew full well that she was supposed to press the bedside buzzer for a nurse's assistance if she had to get up for any reason, but her own stubbornness and distaste for having to rely completely on others prevented her from doing so.

A solo trip to the room's tiny bathroom took about five minutes all told with the need for cautious motion, but she forced herself to do it. One hand braced on the counter, she pulled the door open to go back to bed… and nearly jumped out of her skin when she found him standing there. She was careful to recover herself before she spoke; the man might be blind, but he had developed an uncanny way of still knowing exactly what she was feeling. "…Can I help you, sir?"

"Sure," he answered casually. Too casually. He stood blocking her path, his arms folded over his chest, and the faded grey eyes still somehow managing to stare straight into hers. "You can stop raising my blood pressure by making me worry about yours dropping too low."

Riza suppressed a sigh. Their third such discussion since arriving here two days ago. "I told you," she said, forcing the annoyance to stay out of her voice. "I'm fine. I've been going to the bathroom on my own since I was very small and there's no reason why I can't —"

"No reason," he repeated flatly, cutting her off. "Like losing an unhealthy amount of blood isn't a reason." He took a step closer, one hand reaching forward to feel for and grasp her shoulder. Not strongly, just enough to help him make his point. "Take a look in that mirror, Hawkeye, and tell me what you see."

The years of following orders caused her to start turning her head, before she stopped with a grimace at the twinge in the left side. Gently disengaging herself from him, she turned bodily toward the reflective glass. "Same as ever," she reported, knowing it was a lie. "Blonde hair, brown eyes. Ears, nose, mouth… everything present and accounted for."

"Nice try. I can't even see and I know you're lying through your teeth." His hands rested again on her shoulders, he stepped into the small space behind her. His fingers took up a lock of hair, sliding down the smooth strands, until…. Riza involuntarily bit her lip as his hand stopped, fingers rubbing gently over a spot where dried blood had matted several of them together. It crumbled away under his touch, but not before she caught the dark look that crossed his face.

"Thought we got all that when I helped you wash your hair yesterday," he murmured.

"Must have missed some," she said, just as quietly. "But —"

"So that's one thing I already knew about," he said, not allowing her time to mount a defense. "We got here, and the ends of your hair on the left side were coated in the stuff. Because of —" His fingers left her hair, moving with heightened caution to the white bandaging that circled her neck and covered her left shoulder. "— this…." He paused a moment, then added, "And with as much blood as you lost, I'm willing to bet you're white as a sheet."

She swallowed hard, seeing the guilt starting to seep into his features. Her hand reached up, grasping his where it rested on her shoulder. "Roy, I'm okay," she tried again, though it was probably useless. She was starting to feel lightheaded, but covered it carefully. "I'm okay, I promise."

"I know." His free hand dropped from the side of her neck to circle around her waist, holding her back against him. "I just keep seeing that moment when…." He stopped uncomfortably, then his other hand slipped from under hers to join the one around her waist, and he tucked his nose against her uninjured shoulder. "I've never seen your eyes roll back in your head like that. I don't think I liked it very much."

"You and me both." Watching his reflection in the mirror, she threaded her fingers into his hair. A comforting gesture, one of familiarity she hadn't been allowed in far too long. The lightheadedness was growing stronger, but she smiled anyway. "That was a very nice hug you gave me after May stopped the bleeding."

His snort of laughter left a patch of warmth on her back. "Sure," he said quietly. "Nicer than this one?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she began to notice a sort of black fuzz in the extreme left of her vision. "…Roy, I need to —"

He was already moving, one arm still around her waist as he carefully guided her out of the bathroom. Just as they had on the Promised Day, he followed where she directed, letting her lean on him until she was able to sit carefully on the side of the bed. Immediately, Riza ducked her head between her knees, taking slow deep breaths as the black fuzz receded.

Roy felt his way into a crouch in front of her, and she could hear the wry smile as he touched her bowed head. "You know, I hate to say I told you so…."

"Then don't."

"I told you so."

Feeling some better, she sat up carefully and his bandaged hand slipped from her head to drop to her knee. He flinched at the unexpected motion, but recovered. "I have had some trouble following orders lately," she said, taking another deep breath.

"I gave a couple of dumb ones," he admitted. His expression was focussed, listening carefully for nuances in her tone. His fingers shifted absently on her knee, as if in preparation for something. "But I'm glad you obeyed the most important one."

His free hand found hers and, after a quick check to make sure the door was closed, Riza guided it to her cheek. "Me too."

The kiss was gentle, and she knew he was holding back because of the dizzy spell, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Her hands went to either side of his face, holding him close, preventing him from pulling too far away. Just this simple action of a low-key kiss was proof enough that they were both alive and, if not well, then at least working their way in that direction.

At last, he carefully disengaged himself and climbed carefully to his feet. Riza watched, but did not move to help as he moved cautiously around the end of her bed, walking bent with one hand on the blankets, then the frame, and finally toward his own bed. She itched to jump up and direct him where to go, but that had been another discussion within their first hours here. If Roy wanted to learn to navigate this room while blind, he had to do it himself.

"Did Breda and Fuery say when they'd be back next?" he asked over his shoulder. His fingertips found and trailed over the surface of the rolling bedside table that stood between their beds.

"Not until this evening." Drawing her legs up, she lay down comfortably on top of her sheets, watching him. "I'm given to understand that Breda is in the process of forging my signature on two Temporary Duty Assignment forms for them, so it'll look less like desertion and more like poorly managed paperwork."

Roy dropped to a seat on the edge of his bed, head tilting curiously as he turned toward the sound of her voice. His expression was doubtful. "As if anyone is going to believe you'd misfile paperwork."

"As long as the paperwork exists somewhere and there's too much going on here for Administration to be active, no one will press too hard about a pair of supposed deserters," Riza said. "And with Bradley gone, getting us all permanently reassigned to your office is a matter of one call to the new administration."

She watched as his face lit up. "That's right," he said, breaking into a grin. "All the chess pieces can finally be returned to the board." He hesitated a moment, his posture giving Riza a distinct impression of a hunting dog with its ears pricked, listening hard. "One second…."

An instant later, there was a knock and the door opened a crack. "Anybody home?" Edward asked, peeking through from the hallway.

"Come in," Riza invited, sitting up. She was smiling at the sight of Edward, but the expression bloomed fully as the elder Elric pushed the door open and backed inside, towing a shy-looking Alphonse in a wheelchair.

The younger boy smiled uncertainly at her, a painfully thin hand lifting to wave. "Hey, guys. Good to see you… with my own eyes, that is."

Roy broke into a grin. "I've heard that voice before, but without an echo off of metal, I can't quite place it." Riza noted that he kept his eyes closed so as not to alarm the boys with the strange greyed-out pupils. "But it's a da** good sound to hear."

"And the two of you are a sight for sore eyes," Edward fired back, grinning. He positioned his brother's wheelchair beside Riza's bed, before moving to stand at the end of it. "Did the doctors tell you how long you'll be in here?

Roy shrugged. "With another transfusion and some time for the cuts to really start healing, we should be out of here in a week or so, but we'll want to get moving quickly. We'll meet with Dr. Marcoh first, and then head East."

The spark of realization in Alphonse's eyes was definite, even though they were still relatively sunken in his gaunt face. "Lieutenant Havoc," he said softly. "You're going to him, so that Dr. Marcoh can fix you both."

"That's the idea, " Riza answered. She tugged the collar of the button-up shirt draped over her shoulders, adjusting it a little higher. The wraparound hospital shirt left more of her tattoo exposed than she liked, and she didn't need the boys to see it and start asking awkward questions. "The trick is getting out of here and then out East in the first place. Travel when you've just been released from hospital requires a special permit from the doctor. For active-duty military, that is."

"We might just end up getting Grumman to sign off on it," Roy commented thoughtfully. "He understands how important it is. If worse came to worst, he could override it from his new position."

Edward's eyes had gone hard, like shining golden coins that shifted from Colonel to Lieutenant and back again. His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

"You're going to use the Stone, even though you know what it's made from?"

The room plunged into an icy, brittle silence. Riza caught herself holding her breath, her own gaze sliding toward the other bed and the man sitting stock-still on it.

"That's the plan," Roy answered quietly. "Does it ease your mind if I tell you I have my reasons?"

"Does it prick your sorry excuse for a conscience if I tell you that that thing is made from people?!" Ed snapped, his hands balling into fists. "Or did the Truth take your sense of decency, too?"

Roy's chin lifted, his eyes opening to stare sightlessly at the boy. Edward flinched, just slightly. "Have you spoken to anyone that was outside the immediate centre of Father's transmutation during the eclipse? Because I have." He shifted to sit cross-legged, folding his hands in his lap. His voice, when he continued, was grim and serious, but not harsh. "I asked Breda, Fuery, and Havoc what having their souls ripped out was like. I also asked Knox, Marcoh, and Armstrong. I asked them all separately from the others, and they all told me the same thing."

Edward hadn't moved aside from the flinch and to cross his arms over his chest. "And what did they say?"

"They said it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, but instead of wind, rain, and debris, everything was darkness, blood, and above all, pain." His eyes opened, staring at the blankets. "They said that was the worst part. The pain. And all those souls inside that Stone are feeling that too."

The blond boy's lip curled in disdain. "So you think you're performing some kind of public service by using their energy?"

Alphonse's voice was serious, but lacked his brother's anger. "Colonel? I don't mean to discourage you, but… to help the people imprisoned in the Stone, can't you just… destroy it? Somehow?"

Riza shook her head, answering on Roy's behalf. "It's an intensely hard substance. Harder than diamond," she said. "Kimblee had one for years and reportedly kept it hidden by swallowing it and then forcing it back up. The acid in his stomach didn't even touch it."

"The only way to destroy it is to deplete it," Roy broke in again. "Marcoh offered to use it on myself and Havoc, and then he'll he'll keep it hidden. If there's one person we know who will keep it safe, only using it when absolutely necessary for the greater good, and maybe passing it on to someone who can be trusted, it's him."

At last, Edward's shoulders started to lower from their high, tense position. His face paled visibly. "...Going back a step," he said, voice suddenly hoarse, "you said everyone outside the centre of the transmutation… all they felt was… pain?"

Riza didn't have to ask to know his thoughts had just shot miles away, to Resembool and that house in the countryside. There was another long, silent pause before Edward murmured, "I guess, if it's already created with no way to reverse it, and being locked in the Stone causes the souls pain… it's better that it be used for good by someone like Marcoh than someone like Kimblee."

"Almost anything is better if Kimblee didn't use it," Roy said dryly, then smiled. "But I'm glad you understand."

There was a brief pause, and then Alphonse shifted slightly in the wheelchair. "I have a question," he said thoughtfully. "If Marcoh wants to use up the Stone, and he's going with Scar to be a doctor in Ishval, why doesn't he take it with him? I bet there's a lot of work there that could be done alchemically and the Stone would go a long way toward —"

He trailed off, seeing that both Roy and Riza were already shaking their heads. Roy's expression was grim. "The Ishvalans wouldn't permit it," he said soberly. "As much as they want to rebuild their homeland, and undo at least some of the damages of the war, they wouldn't accept help by alchemical means. Their religion forbids the use of it, citing it as an affront to their god."

"And unfortunately, I suspect the same would go for alkahestry," Riza added. "It's enough like alchemy that even though someone like May Chang worked closely with Scar for months, the rest of the Ishvalan people would resist her help."

Ed nodded, then said, "Makes sense. A self-reliant people like them would naturally prefer to rebuild using their own hands and their own methods." He broke into a grin. "And you know what? I get it. Al and I are the exact same way."

Riza had disobeyed doctor's orders once again, moving to sit with her knees drawn up on the wide windowsill as the sun sank down below the urban horizon of Central. Roy lay on his back crosswise over his bed, eyes open toward the ceiling, his fingers drumming absent rhythm patterns on his ribs.

"There's something I don't get," he said aloud, after the comfortable silence had stretched for more than twenty minutes.

Looking over from her perch, Riza smiled at the sight of him. That position, the way his forehead furrowed in thought, how his mouth pulled tight and to one side in a silent 'hmm" of puzzlement…. How many times had she seen him do this as a teenager? All of it was identical, fifteen years later. "And what's that?"

"I was talking a little with Fullmetal while you were getting battlefield treatment for the blood loss, before they shipped us over here," he said, not moving. "I wanted to know what had happened with Selim — sorry, "Pride" — and find out if there were more Homonculi we were going to get stuck hunting down."

A phantom feathery feeling tried to claw its way across Riza's limbs and up her back; she shivered, and it disappeared. Those shadows…. "And?"

"Ed said that Pride had started to try and possess him, like he had done with Al… and that he managed to reverse the connection and alchemically invade Pride instead." He lifted a hand, one finger raised to forestall the comment her mouth was opening to make. "Believe me, it gets weirder." He paused to make sure she wasn't about to interrupt, then continued. "He's not clear on how he did it, but somehow he tore away everything alchemical that had been Pride the Homonculus and left this tiny little baby-like thing, smaller than Envy at that little worm's smallest. And he just left him down there, until he could go back after Father was gone."

Riza hadn't so much twitched a muscle since he had lifted his finger. Now, she stirred uneasily. "And… when he did go back?"

"…He said he took the thing to Selim's mother." He was quiet another moment, slowly worrying the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, then added, "And all of this leads me to believe that Pride was created differently. Something like the Stone was introduced in utero, and what was born was a full-fledged Homonculus."

"So that when it was taken away, Selim reverted as close as he could to the state he'd been in when it was given to him." Riza's voice was barely above a whisper. Another shiver crawled up her spine.

"I guess? With that sort of thing, when we don't know anything about it, it's hard to know for sure. But that's not what really bothers me." His frown deepened. "If Fullmetal blasted away the Homonculus part of him… where did it go? What happened to it?"

Riza shook her head, looking back out the window. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know and I don't want to know. This is all getting too dark and gruesome for my taste."

"…Sorry." He rolled over to lie on his stomach, propping himself up on both elbows. "Not being able to see gives me too much time to think. Far too much."

"And time in hospital doesn't help," she agreed. Slipping down off the window sill, she moved to sit beside him on the bed with her legs folded, still looking out the window. "At least from here, we're too far away to see the damage to Headquarters," she commented. "It was nothing short of a mess."

"I'd believe it, given the number of times I tripped over rubble before we left," Roy muttered. The fingers of one hand fidgeted absently with the bandaging wrapped around the other. "Do you think we'll get out in time to help with the cleanup at all?"

"I would imagine so." Still staring out at the darkening city, she reached over, absently beginning to thread her fingers through his hair for the second time that day. "They won't even start for a few days, until someone steps forward to take charge and that person can organize the work crews. Even after the rubble is cleared away, there's going to be months upon months of rebuilding and restoration."

They sat together, just close enough that they could spring apart if the door opened unexpectedly. After some minutes, Roy said quietly, "What you see out the window…. Can you describe it to me?"

"I can try." Riza took a moment to find a starting point. "We're on the third floor, on the west side of the building, looking toward Headquarters. It's far enough that all I can see is the top floor. In between are two- and three-storey buildings, but what stands out are the chimneys. There's lots of those, silhouetted against the sky. The sun has gone down, but it isn't fully dark. The streetlights are just beginning to turn on, so the highest point in the sky is black, fading to pink and orange, and finally the yellow glow in the streets."

"Sounds pretty," he commented. "And maybe like all that prose-writing in high school Literacy comes in handy."

She smiled, but didn't answer right away. After a moment she said, "When you get your sight back… what happens then? I know you have plans, but you haven't said anything specific, aside from 'help fix Ishval.'"

Roy's smile was enigmatic. "I haven't fully shared my plans because I haven't fully made them." He tapped his temple with a forefinger. "They're still percolating. But when I know, you'll be the first person I share with." He turned toward the edge of the bed, and the box of effects he had abandoned when the Elrics had arrived. "In the meantime, I forgot there was something I had to show you."

Riza watched, curious but silent, as he sorted through the clothes he had been wearing when they were admitted. Careful, exploring fingers found his uniform jacket by virtue of the gold braiding under the right sleeve, then searched out the left inside breast pocket. She thought perhaps he was trying to find his watch… but what he pulled out was small and white.

"I made the comment earlier that I could finally return all my pieces into play on the board," he said quietly, turning back to her, "but since the transfer, there's been one that I've kept with me."

He fumbled for her hand, found it, and pressed the little object into it. Riza thought she might already know what it was, but still smiled as she looked down at the white queen piece nestled in her palm. On the base, written in Roy's distinctive - though tinier than usual - hand was a name.

'Elizabeth.'

He was sitting perfectly still, head cocked the tiniest bit as he listened for her reaction. Riza shifted to face him, then leaned forward, hugging him as tightly as she could without injuring either of them or setting off either her wounds or the dizziness again. He returned the embrace just as fiercely.

"I missed you," she said quietly into his shoulder.

"I missed you, too, Whiskygirl." His words were half-whispered into her hair, his hand protectively on the back of her head. Strands clung to the rough bandaging, but neither of them cared. For now, it was all right. "Glad to have you back."

MEADOW STREET, CENTRAL CITY

0247 HOURS, APRIL 8

Night was when the hunting was best, he had decided. No one stirred out of doors, thinking they were all safe in their beds, oblivious to his passage in the dark streets. He stuck close to the inner edges of the sidewalks, in the shadows, his dark eyes roaming the streets, seeing as easily as though it were day and moving as quiet as a prayer.

He slunk past the front walk of a residence, looking up at the windows on the second floor. Even from the street, he could smell the soft scent of childhood: the talcum powder, the gentle soap for sensitive baby skin, even the milk, cookies, and toothpaste on the child's breath from its bedtime snack and teeth-brushing. The man paused, still looking up. His nose hadn't been this sensitive in the… in the before.

He stepped close to the wall, feeling the hunger in him writhe at the subtle child smells. It would be effortless to scale the bricks before him, to get past the window, to lean over the bed and —

The man growled to himself, the hunger raging as he forced himself to turn away. One puny toddler would not be enough to sate him. The hunger was always with him now, always hovering just out of sight in the darkest recesses of his being. Scents, sensations, and sounds called it forth into a near-unstoppable force that seemed to scream in his mind, feedfeedfeedfeedfeedFEEDNOW.

Lots of things were new to him. The hunger, the ridiculously sensitive sense of smell, the surety in himself that most would call cocky — no, that had been there in the before.

Stalking away from the house, hands jammed into the pockets of his dark suit and shoulders riding high as he fought the hunger, he bared his gritted teeth. How much of a monster had he become that he had contemplated taking a mere child? Not enough, he reminded himself firmly. Not nearly enou—

The thought screeched to a grinding halt at the same time his feet froze in midstep. He turned slowly, looking back at the house, eyes wide with the light of a new idea. The child would be nothing… but a child had to come from somewhere. A child had parents.

There was a roaring in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the natural world, and he found himself moving automatically as the hunger took over. He fell back into it, let it swallow him whole and watched the entire scene unfold.

His hands effortlessly gripped the rough bricks of the house and they seemed to flow under him as he climbed easily, lizardlike, to the second floor. He hung there, staring through the glass at the sleeping boy in the little room beyond, watching the flesh of his left hand crowd in against the wooden frame. The disjointed words of the hunger ran through his mind, sounding sibilant in the roaring. Slip slip slip right through inside get in get in easy now the smallest crack the smallest hole not safe not safe you're never safe….

And then he was inside. The tiny form under the sheets didn't move, didn't stir, didn't wake as he leaned low over the little bed. The small pouting mouth hung open milk cookies toothpaste with childlike snores issuing from it. The nose was small and button, the eyelashes long and a dark honey blond that matched the boy's hair. The man reached out, the long index finger of one hand trailing gently, almost tenderly down the child's cheek.

The boy's eyes opened sleepily, and the man's mind stretched out…. Instead of screaming at the sight of a stranger in his bedroom after midnight, the boy smiled drowsily and uttered a soft "Hey, mister…." like he might have to a friendly oldster on the street.

It didn't take long. Five minutes after he slipped inside the windows, the man started for the bedroom across the hall, where a man and woman slept peacefully. He went to the woman's side first, eyes glittering coldly in the dark as he took in her sleeping form in its innocently pale pink nightgown, her honey-blonde hair liketheboyliketheboyliketheboy splayed over the pillow behind her.

He didn't bother to wake her, or her husband when it was his turn. Half an hour after first breaching the house, he slipped down the stairs to the kitchen. The man was almost entirely himself again, and could feel the stain, could feel the drying wetness on his lips and chin and neck. The suit was going to be a lost cause, but he didn't care. The blood wouldn't show against the dark fabric, not to anyone he happened to pass on his way back.

The man washed his face and neck at the kitchen sink, wiping down the metal faucet and blotting his face with a clean white towel. He was turning to leave when the previous day's newspaper, abandoned on the table, caught his attention.

'AFTERMATH: BATTLE OF CENTRAL,' the headline shouted. Underneath it, in smaller letters, 'Several leaders in conflict remain in hospital.'

He skimmed the article, abandoning the towel on the tabletop. Edward and Alphonse Elric were expected to recover, Gen. Olivier Armstrong and Maj. Alex Armstrong were recovering privately at their family residence, and — oh ho, this was interesting…. Col. Roy Mustang and 1st Lt. Riza Hawkeye had been treated for mild to serious wounds and were recovering in hospital.

That name. His lips curled back involuntarily from his teeth, and the freshly satisfied hunger twitched deep in the pit of his belly. How he would like to… would love to…. Goodness knew there were times he would have loved to just wrap his hands around the man's throat, but to… oh, yes. This would be so much better, so much more delicious of a revenge. Literally.

He was surprised to realize he was panting, the rage and his newfound gift combining to make him nearly aroused with the desire for revenge. He wondered if the wounds inflicted on Mustang were the mild or serious ones… he hoped for the serious. It would make him all that more docile when the man came for him. And if just the thought of revenge brought him nearly to the point of sexual need, then perhaps in the aftermath of it, he would exact another type of revenge on that pretty little Lieutenant that always followed Mustang around. He'd never liked her anyway.

Grinning with this new plan, he turned toward the window… and realized he had spent much more time standing here, lost in thought, than he had realized. Sunrise was still an hour away, but his hypersensitive vision could see the sky beginning to turn grey instead of night-black. He would need to hurry.

The hunger settled back into its hiding place, waiting to be called forward again. Revenge would have to wait.