Title of the collection translates from Ancient Greek to 'Boasting and Phlegethon', which doesn't mean a whole lot unless you know that Phlegethon is a river of fire in Greek mythology, and in Dante's Inferno, boiled the souls of those guilty of violent crimes, including murder. *The More You Know*

Each theme will have a dual title; the second title is Ancient Greek, translated to the best of my ability.

This theme: FMA Brotherhood, pre-series (mostly; during the time-skip between the exam and the majority of the series)

TW: smoking, alcohol, stalking, kissing/necking/petting/whatever i'm supposed to call it

1. faces/enopiai

Roy glanced down at the personnel file, then back up at the Second Lieutenant. "Havoc. So glad you could show up on time."

Havoc shrugged. "Sorry, Boss. I got sidetracked."

"Another girlfriend?" he asked wryly.

"Well..." Havoc rubbed the back of his head, grinning his sheepish grin. "You know how it is."

Roy closed Havoc's file – not that the man in front of him knew what it was – and smirked. "If it's Jacqueline again, I'll have to tell her to stop distracting my men. I've got a mission for you, and it requires some degree of punctuality."

He waited.

Havoc plucked the cigarette from behind his ear, twirling it between his fingers. "So what's the mission?" he asked in a raspy drawl.

Roy leaned back in his chair, putting first one foot and then the other up on his desk, hands folded on his stomach so the Lieutenant could see the arrays on his gloves properly. "Change of plans," he said conversationally, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart against his ribs. The calmer you looked, the more it freaked them out, whoever 'them' was in this particular situation. "You tell me who you are."

"...Boss?" Havoc nearly dropped the cigarette, tucking it in his jacket pocket. "Uh, are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine." Roy shrugged. "I'm just curious. It's not every day somebody walks into your office who can take on somebody else's face."

"I don't know what'cher talkin' about," Havoc replied. The drawl Roy had noticed earlier came out in full force – and the Lieutenant noticed at the same time, giving a vicious scowl horrendously out-of-place on Havoc's face.

"For someone who's apparently very good at disguises, you're not a very good actor," commented Roy, lifting one hand and pressing his fingers together. "Now tell me who you are. And maybe I'll consider not turning you into a pile of ashes."

The threat didn't have the result he'd hoped for – instead, the man in front of him relaxed, crossing his arms and returning his smirk. "Yeah, because I'm that easy to kill."

"Fire is pretty vicious."

"I'd have to be pretty stupid to trot myself in here without being at least a little fireproof." Not-Havoc stuck the cigarette in his mouth, then pulled a face. "These are disgusting. I can't believe he smokes these." He looked up at Roy again, then grinned. "I suppose that's what tipped you off."

"Nothing so subtle. There's no such person as Jacqueline." That was almost true.

The smile disappeared. "Oh, well, aren't you a clever-clogs?"

"It's why they pay me the big bucks." Roy snapped his fingers, and a wisp of smoke curled up from a stray strand of Not-Havoc's hair. "Answers. Now."

"Hm." The impostor ran his hands through his hair, snuffing out the small spark. "I don't feel like it. I'll be leaving now."

Roy wanted to stop him – but instead, he let the impostor walk out of the door, cold fury warring with a curiosity he just couldn't stifle. Besides, he knew that there was a shapechanger – however that was possible – walking among them now. He could save the 'how' for later. For now he could file it among all the other impossibilities he'd encountered, although this one certainly took the cake.

"Security questions, sir?"

"I figure it's worth an extra layer of caution." He hadn't told Hawkeye exactly what he'd encountered, but she knew him well enough to know that he didn't do anything without a good reason. So the next time she walked into his office, and she rolled her eyes at the prospect, he knew he was talking to the shapechanger again.

"So you came back."

"And you noticed. I'm not sure whether to be irritated or impressed." The drawl came back again – the shapechanger didn't seem to care. She – or was it they? - moved over to his desk, sitting down between piles of paperworks with a lazy familiarity. "You've got some loyal lackeys. How'd you get this one to listen to?" She pointed at herself. "She could probably kick your ass."

"She can, and she has."

"Damn, I like her already. She ever make a point of wiping that smirk off your face?"

Roy leant back in his chair, feeling oddly unthreatened. "Did you come here to get information out of here or just to insult me?"

She gave him a disarming smile. "You say that like both isn't an option." She reached forward, ran Hawkeye's fingers through his hair before he had the sense of mind to flinch away, and then did a hop and skip towards the window, launching herself into the sky. Roy was halfway across the room to try stop them, but stood frozen, staring out the window at the raven that was winging across the cloudless sky.

Maes took a long drink, put down his glass, adjusted his spectacles and looked over them at Roy with a raised eyebrow. "A... shapeshifter."

"I'm serious."

"Oh, I believe you. I've known you too long to think you'd come up with some barmy story like that and tell it with a straight face and expect me to swallow it. No, you've got something weird on your hands, alright." Maes grinned. "Wanna bet it has something to do with Edward?"

"I sincerely hope not. I fear even to imagine the destruction he could cause with a power like that." Roy stared down into his mostly-untouched drink. "...I'm not sure the security questions will be enough. I need to catch them and make them talk, whoever they are."

"Are you sure it's one person?"

"The one I've encountered has been the same both times. They're certainly distinguishable once they stop acting." Roy chuckled. "They have this accent they can't hide – they certainly try, but get them talking for too long and it comes out pretty clearly."

Maes glanced warily up at the man who was serving them, who was keeping his face very still. "How many times have you run into them?"

"Hard to tell. Sometimes I think it's them but I can't be sure. Hawkeye and Havoc those two times are the only ones I know for sure. I keep hearing that accent though. That voice."

"You keep hearing it?" Maes looked at him a little skeptically. "Where?"

Roy raised an eyebrow at Maes. "I don't know. Around, really. Waitresses, librarians, clerks..." He flicked his eyes upwards, and smiled, taking a gamble. "Bartenders..."

The bartender started at that, spilling beer all over the table. "Why, you -"

"For a shapeshifter, you're not a very good actor – or good at noticing a bluff." Roy grinned, despite Maes's incredulous stare and hands creeping towards his knives. "You'll have to try harder."

"Please. You're not worth the trouble," the shapechanger snorted, mopping up the counter, then chucking the wet rag at Roy's face with a juvenile snort. Roy pulled the cloth off his face with an exaggerated glare, chucking it back then getting to his feet.

Maes couldn't stop staring at him. "You told me there was a security breach," he said quietly, still calm, still Maes, but with an undertone of cautious urgency. "You told me someone was spying on you. And you're flirting with them?"

"I'm not flirting," Roy replied in a cool voice. "I'm putting them off balance. And it's clearly working."

"You're the only person I know who could make some weird shapeshifter person act like a jealous girlfriend."

"Don't be ridiculous. I have no idea what gender they are – ow!" Roy rubbed his shoulder ruefully, grinning despite himself.

Despite his jokes, Roy took Maes's warnings to heart. He'd been tracking all the information going in and out of the offices of his major rivals and there'd been no change – and he'd gotten lazy, assumed that whatever freak of nature or science this new threat was, they at least weren't coming from anybody worth worrying about. That kind of lapse in judgment wasn't the kind of thing he could afford, and it was unforgivable, even if the prickles the shapeshifter sent down his spine every time he realized he was in the room with a double made his blood run hot and his head spin. He couldn't even say why. Something about the forbidden of it, perhaps. The danger, the risk, or even just the sheer kinkiness of someone whose face he'd never even seen, using other people's bodies to flirt with him, if that was even what they intended.

He passed by Rebecca Catalina in the hallway, one of Hawkeye's friends, then felt that same rush of heat as Catalina stopped, fingers brushing against his bicep. Catalina was no fan of his, that was for certain. "Hello again," he breathed, trying to sound in control.

"You're always so quick to know it's me," the shapeshifter said, pouting sulkily. That was another thing that crossed over from shape to shape – their expressions. Roy had seen that pout on Hawkeye's face now, and Fuery's, and Falman's, and even Hughes's. (He hadn't told Maes about that last one; things were awkward enough being in the past without explaining that his latest erotic fascination had taken his ex-lover's form purely by chance. At least, he hoped it was by chance.)

"You're not hard to pick out." And suddenly, almost by impulse, Roy's fingers tightened about her arm. Nobody was watching – there was practically nobody in this hall at all – and he pulled Catalina's doppelganger into the broom closet, slamming the door behind him and pushing the shapeshifter against the wall, pinning their arms by the wrists. "What do you want?" he whispered into her ear, his ear, it didn't matter to him, it didn't matter about anybody and it certainly didn't matter now. "You keep showing up. You're stalking me."

"Oh, it's me, me, me with you, isn't it?" the shapeshifter drawled, and Roy bit his lip to hide his groan at the sound at the accent that had seemed to be following him the last... god, it had been almost a month.

"Don't worry," he murmured, pressing his body against hers. "Not all the time."

She snickered at that. "Oh, your reputation isn't all hot air, then? I've been following you for a month and you've been on, what, two dates?"

"I've had other things on my mind." His mouth found her neck, and she couldn't hide the hiss of pleasure that escaped her lips in these close quarters. "If you hadn't been so distracting, you would have found out much more interesting things, I'm sure."

Her thigh slid between his knees. "I'm finding out plenty." Then her voice turned sardonic. "Like your penchant for broom closets."

There was a clatter from outside, and like a wisp of smoke, the shapeshifter was gone, turned into something too small for Roy to keep track of. The door opened, and the real Catalina stood there. "...Colonel?" she asked with a confused look. "What are you doing in here?"

He paused, nonplussed. Then he grinned. "Looking for a broom, of course."

It was past midnight, but that was all he could tell without turning on the light, and if he did that he'd be guaranteed to stay up later than he already was. Besides, what had knowing the precise time actually done for anybody? No, it would just stress him out, and he did that plenty fine on his own, thank you very much.

Roy turned over again and planted his face in his pillow, wondering if he stayed like this long enough whether the pillows would just jump up and smother him. That was stupid. That was unfathomably, unbelievably, career-endingly stupid. Except, the worst part was, it wasn't. What could his unknown adversary possibly do with the fact that he, like just about every other red-blooded man in the country, liked sex? And, facing facts, in an improvement over many of the other commissioned officers, he did so without being an adulterous bastard at the same time.

The truth was, he wasn't annoyed at himself because he was worried or stressed out that he'd made a mistake or ruined his career or anything comfortably concrete. He was, for lack of a better word, embarrassed. He was embarrassed that he'd reacted so... animalistically, so instinctually. You'd think growing up in a brothel would have trained me better, he grumbled to himself, but the other thing he'd learned from his foster mother was that there was no accounting for these things. And the shapeshifter hadn't fought him – they just hadn't reacted much either.

...That might be worse.

You're just not used to being turned down, Roy-boy, tutted his mother in his head, and he swatted at the air above his head as if it would make her go away. He knew that perfectly well, thank you, and he didn't need reminding. Besides, he could handle being turned down. He just couldn't handle not knowing.

He paused as there was a faint sound from downstairs. He wouldn't have heard it if he'd been concentrated on anything else, or half-asleep, or doing pretty much anything – and it would have been easy to ignore. But he didn't feel like testing his chances, so he eased himself out of bed, adjusting the boxers he slept in and creeping down the stairs.

Someone was in his house. He could see their silhouette moving in the faint light that their streetlamps cast from the window, moving slowly along the counter of his kitchen, then standing at his desk and rummaging through the few papers on there. Roy took one step, then another, down to the bottom of the staircase, then bent slowly down to pick up the chalk from under the staircase runner. Then, hand hovering over the wood as long as he dared, he sketched the circle and slammed his hand down.

The intruder heard the scratching of the chalk and dashed for the door, but they were too late – a wall of stone shot up from the ground, blocking their way. Before they could go for the window, Roy hauled himself over the banister, body-checking the intruder and throwing them to the ground. "No gun," he muttered, "or you would have shot at me instead of running. So, tell me," he said conversationally, "what are you doing in my home?"

"Thought I'd pop in for a visit," the intruder retorted, slim wrists struggling against Roy's grip.

The voice took him by surprise. "You again?"

"It's always me," they drawled, seemingly unperturbed by being caught. "Didn't we just do this?" They pressed their hips up against Roy. "Was more fun last time, though," and there was a hint of amusement in their voice.

Roy was suddenly glad it was too dark for them to see the flush on his features. Most people couldn't throw him so thoroughly off balance, but even the greatest of manipulators had to make allowances for special circumstances. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, don't play coy. I'm collecting information on you, same as always."

Same as always. He'd let his guard slip and he was paying the price. I should have hunted them down the first chance I got. "How nice. Find anything interesting?"

"You're apparently the most boring person in the world except for the fact that you get a stiffy every time I'm around."

"Have you been checking?"

"That was a shot in the dark, but you molested me in a broom closet, so it's a fair guess."

Roy had to chuckle at that, though his grip didn't loosen. After what he'd seen of their powers, though, he doubted it would do anything. It was a shame he didn't have his gloves on him.

"And yet, no illegitimate children, no hasty cover-ups, no affairs – you're clean as a whistle. It's gross." The mane of long hair sprawled out under the shapeshifter's shoulders moved as they made some sort of expression. "So tell me, what do you do for fun?"

"Enjoy how much I'm clearly vexing you."

"Ha-ha. You're hilarious."

Roy grinned. "You're not really fireproof, are you?"

"I might be. Not the kind of thing you want to take a gamble on, is it?"

"Yes, I'd definitely be the gambler in that situation. So tell me, who's so desperate to find information on me?" This would have been easier if he could see their face, but at least some of that was borne out of the endless curiosity to see what face they were wearing now.

"Technically, my master. Realistically, I'm just curious. And I don't like having unsatisfied curiosity, especially not about you lot."

"Us lot?"

The shapeshifter left that question unanswered, leaving Roy to ponder on what 'you lot' might mean. "So, come on. What's your game? What are you hiding under that pretty little mask of yours?"

Unbidden, uninvited, heat came rushing up into Roy's chest and stomach again, and he adjusted his position, settling in between the shapechanger's legs. This time, there was a reaction, a practically wanton one – his would-be stalker opened their legs even further, stomach and hips pressing up against him. They moved like a cat still, but in this body it felt even more natural. Roy wondered if this was their real face.

He leant down, brushing his nose against the shell of their ear, hands tight on their wrists. "I'll make you a deal. Show me your face, and I'll show you mine."

There was a catch of breath – a skip in the heartbeat that was already pounding against Roy's chest – and suddenly Roy was being flipped onto his back, the shapeshifter's lithe body crawling onto his. It must have been later than he thought, because the sky was beginning to lighten already, and in the glow of the rising sun and the still-flickering streetlamps, he could see them for the first time. Young, impossibly young, with slim cheekbones and flashing eyes and a genderless face that suited them so perfectly Roy couldn't have imagined it any other way.

Envy kissed him with lips that tasted of salt and ammonia and rosewater. "Deal," they whispered.