This is a sequel to another oneshot of mine called 'Want', so you'll want to read that first to know what's going on here.

Trigger warning: rape/sexual assault reference, violence, dissociation, suicide attempt, referenced character death, PTSD/trauma reaction, sex/sex scenes, explicit language

loss

It has been six months, and sometimes when Ed closes his eyes, he doesn't have to stop and touch his closed eyelids, doesn't have to check that he'll be able to open them to something more than darkness.

Sometimes he closes his eyes and immediately feels the twinge of pain under new scars and healing wounds, hot breath on his face, the crackling of his nerves – then warm hands, fingers in his mouth, admit it, say it, confess –

Sometimes he doesn't close his eyes at all. Sometimes he stares straight into the light (the moon, the sun, the lamps of the hotel rooms) and reminds himself, it's over.

It has been two weeks.

Winry examines his port in silence. Usually she's chattering away, complaining about what he's done this time to her precious automail – but this time, she simply adjusts the port, removing bent screws and burnt-out wires, occasionally reaching in and fitting on a new head. When she brushes against an exposed nerve and he tenses up in pain, she whispers, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"This must have been bothering you a lot. I'm sorry I couldn't come faster."

"Nah, it's alright." Unsaid is I need this fixed. I need my arm back. Unspoken is the rising sense of panic, because it never used to bother him so much before but now being without his automail even for a few minutes is so stressful, he can't help but fixate on the fact that with only one arm, I'm an easy target I'm easy to hold easy to restrain –

"Al filled me in. Not much, but…enough." Winry's voice, still quiet and somber, breaks the chain of thought in his head and starts a new one. Oh, hilarious.

Al knows that Ed manipulated Envy into letting him go free, that Ed endured against the great evils of the homunculi, that Ed won and that the homunculi lost, that Ed is a little beaten and bruised but altogether okay. Those are the facts. The truth is another matter. The truth is locked in a little part of his brain, far away from the parts he need, where it can only sneak out at night when the blindness comes down at him and he can't figure out when he started being afraid of the dark.

"I told you, I'm fine."

Winry's hand tightens around his wrist. "Ed, I'm here. I can help – at least I can listen – "

He grabs her, pulling her by her arm and then burying his hand in her hair, crashing their lips together, driven by some insane desire – he kisses her, bites her lip, wanting to express – something – something that words can't, the things that escape him when they need to be said the most –

-ADMIT IT-

-and like he has been electrocuted, he pushes her away, cold fear crawling through his lungs.

Winry stares at him, lips open and trembling. "E-Ed?"

"Forget it," he whispers. "It was a mistake."

He pretends not to see the hurt in her eyes. It's easier that way.

It has been six months, and just when he thought that maybe their discussions were right, that Envy is gone for good, his voice crawls through his ears again.

It actually takes him a moment to recognize who it is. It's not until Envy starts speaking that he realizes that though he looks different (his hair is black this time, no more of that vivid green, his shoulders are thinner, his shirt covers his navel but not his neck) it's still the same person.

"Finally," he mutters in a bored tone. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

Ed actually takes a step backwards, aware that he is shaking and ashamed, but Greed's hand on his shoulder steadies him. "It's fine, I took care of it. He can't move."

"Yeah? You wanna come over here and test that, traitor?" Envy hisses.

"Traitor, that's funny. Usually he's just calling me a prick." Greed almost sounds entertained, his voice coming at Ed from far away. Then he seems to notice that Ed is wavering, trembling on his feet. "Hey, you okay?"

"Just fine," he murmurs. "So you caught him?"

"Yeah, looks like he's been trailing us for a while."

Envy pulls a face. "Oh god, please stop talking and kill me already."

"Not a chance."

Then Envy stares straight at Ed. "And you are supposed to be dead."

And that's when Ed's world starts spinning, round and round and round –

It has been an hour. Ed finally figures that limping through the streets with dilated pupils and damaged automail isn't going to get him very far, especially once the other homunculi realize he's gone. He doesn't know how Envy's planning to stall them. He doesn't care. He knows Envy will likely be killed. He doesn't care.

It's amazing how much he's already convinced himself - (he does care; he wants Envy to die in the most painful way possible; he wants Envy to escape and survive and live; he wants both and neither and all of these things) – but the important thing is to find a phone. He's thinking remarkably rationally. He supposes it's his survival instinct.

He finds a street sign. Westermont and Fairley – there's a phone just off of Fairley, he remembers that, he used it once before. He wonders what time it is. It's full dark, no stars, no moon. Cloudy night. No rain. He'll remember that, he realizes. It wasn't raining.

He finds the phone, clutches at it with his automail hand and manages to drop it. It hangs on its cord, swinging back and forth, and Ed suddenly realizes how cold he is. He doesn't have anything but his ragged, torn tank top and black shorts that are almost in shreds. He doesn't want to be seen like this. Please. Please.

But he picks up the receiver anyway, sitting on the hard ground and tucking himself against the wall, waiting for the operator. When the voice does come on, he starts and slams his head against the concrete. "Uh… yes. C-can you get me Mustang. Colonel Mustang. Roy Mustang."

"One moment please."

It's only a few seconds later when another voice clicks on. "Who is this? You know how late it is, right?"

Ed can't help but smile a little sadly. He knows Roy won't turn down any calls anymore, no matter how late they are. "…It's me."

"…Edward?" The relief and worry in his voice is genuine, Ed can hear it from here, and before he can stop it, a tear trickles down his cheek. "Where are you?" he demands, and Ed can hear something clatter.

"W-Westermont and Fairley. Please come get me. I-I'm cold. My automail's damaged." And suddenly a sob wrenches from his throat. "I want to come home," he murmurs quietly. He already regrets saying it. He's certain he'll get some snarky comment in response.

"…I think I can manage that," is the equally quiet reply. "What should I bring? Are you alone?"

Ed nods, and then realizes that Roy can't see it. "Y-yeah, I'm alone. Hopefully for a while. I don't need anything. Maybe a coat."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. I promise."

Part of him wants to beg Roy to stay on the phone a little longer, but he's starting to shiver. "…Okay." The phone clicks to dial tone. He lets it fall to the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to forget how much he hurts all over, how disgusting he feels, the taste of someone's hand over his mouth –

He refuses to close his eyes.

After what seems like forever, a car pulls up far too fast to the Westermont curb. Ed actually smiles a little, especially after Roy stumbles out of the driver's seat. He raises his voice. "You're still a fucking awful driver, Mustang!"

Roy doesn't bother with a response, rushing over and kneeling down in front of him. "Are you alright?" he asks immediately.

Ed shrugs. "A little beat-up. The homunculi don't play nice, apparently."

"The homunculi? That's who had you?"

"Yeah." His head is swimming now.

Roy unfolds a coat and pulls it around Ed's shoulders. His hand brushes against Ed's skin, and Ed can't help but flinch – and, worse, Roy notices. "…Let's get you to the hospital."

"I'm alright, really."

"At the very least you should get looked over." Roy glances at Ed's wrist, at the bruises there, and his jaw sets. "…They had you shackled."

"It's – it's not a big deal."

Roy's eyes are still black with fury, but he nods. He reaches forward to help Edward up, then stops himself as Ed dodges away from his touch. "…How much do you want me to tell Al?"

And that's when Ed ducks his head and can't even look at him, because suddenly he realizes that Roy knows. He doesn't know how. Maybe he gave it away with the way he moves, the way he looks, or maybe it's just marked on him now. "Don't," he manages to force out, before he's silent again.

Roy doesn't push, or cajole, or manipulate. He just nods, opens the car door for him, gives Havoc a warning look and leaves it there.

"You okay?" Greed actually sounds concerned. "That was a pretty strong reaction, k - Ed."

"I'm fine." He's not, not at all, but he doesn't expect Greed or Ling to understand. "How – what happened?" No, that's not right. His words are jumbled. "…Where did you find him?"

"Ran into him when I was looking for food. Don't worry, he's restrained."

"How?" Ed finally has the presence of mind to ask. "I don't see any chains on him –"

Greed snorts at that. "Like that's gonna work. He could shapeshift right out of them." He pauses, then pulls up his shirt, tapping on the carbon skin underneath. "See these?" He points at the red circle and the line coming from it. Ed's seen those markings before, on Envy and Pride and the others.

"What are they?"

"Nodes. Kind of like nerve centers. Put something – a nail, a stake, whatever – through those and we can't move. Now I just have to hope you're not gonna use that one against me." He murmurs that last part a little self-consciously, but Ed's not thinking about that. He's thinking about the fact that this time, Envy is helpless.

But there's something else –

"…Father remade him, didn't he." It's not even a question, just a statement of fact, the truth that Ed knew was coming. There was no way Envy would have come out of that situation unscathed, and ever since meeting Greed for the second time, the possibility has been sitting in the back of his mind.

"Seems like it. He doesn't remember anything about the first Envy –"

"About before?" Ed can't stomach the idea that it's a different person sitting in that clearing – that he'd passed out at the sight of someone innocent of everything.

Greed pauses and grins, shaking his head a little. "…Yeah. Before. It's funny, he barely even recognizes me. Time was, he would have had a lot more to say." Ed's not too far gone to miss the wistfulness in his words.

"Let me see him."

"You sure? You kinda passed out." Greed holds his arm, but Ed wrenches free, trying to ignore the way a simple touch crawls on his skin. "I get that you two have some history I don't know about, but maybe –"

"Don't tell me what to do," Ed snarls, and gets to his feet.

"Fine, fine, be a moody teenager. Just don't get yerself hurt."

Ed ignores him and walks into the clearing. Envy smirks at him. "Oh, and it's blondie again."

"You're supposed to call me pipsqueak."

"Oh, is that what the old Envy called you? I gather you two had an interesting relationship." Envy grins, eyes gleaming. "Never did get the details on that –"

Ed slaps him.

The smirk disappears.

"You remember, don't you?" Ed barely recognizes his own voice, hoarse and rough, as if all the screams he's held back have ripped holes in his throat. "You remember everything. That's why you're here."

"I'd love to tell you so, considering how devastated you look by the idea. Sadly no, I'm here because Father wants me to be."

Ed slaps him again, this time with the automail, and he grabs hold of Envy's long hair, pulling his head back so the homunculus can't avoid his gaze. "Tell me. Tell me."

"Tell you what? That I remember something I wasn't there for?" Envy spits out a tooth and manages to grin again anyway, forehead wrinkling around the three nails driven through his forehead. His hands are tied behind him as well, but it's for show – his fingers aren't even twitching. "Again, it's kind of up to you to satisfy my curiosity here. Not even Pride will tell me what happened."

"Pride." Ed's grip loosens. He remembers Pride – their voice, at least. "Which one –" But he can't finish the sentence. He remembers the pain, remembers the hissing in his ear, the desperation of realizing that there was no way out (not this time), and later – later, realizing that he would carry it with him for a long time. Maybe forever.

There's no recognition in Envy's eyes. "Which one what?" he asks. He almost sounds concerned, but more than that he's curious. Ed thinks he might believe him.

He lets go of Envy's hair. He sinks to the ground until he's face-to-face with the homunculus, then he sits back, buries his head in his knees and stays like that until morning.

It has been… nearly six months. Ed's had a hard time keeping track of time ever since he got injured, although he figures it's been less than six months and more than four. He's not sure why he keeps track of the time since he (left) (escaped) (was set free) but the scars Lust left on his chest and upper arms are just thin lines now, almost lost among the other patterns and wounds on his skin.

He doesn't tell Greed anything, just that he's spent some quality time with the other homunculi. Greed nods in acknowledgment, but he doesn't give Ed the same look as Roy, that look of empathy and grief and understanding. Ed doesn't like to think too much about that. He sometimes wonders if Ling would understand, but probably not. And it's not worth the risk.

That night, Greed gives Ed a lazy kick in the shins. "C'mon, let's go do something fun."

"Fun?" Ed grunts and pushes Greed's foot away. "Your idea of 'fun' is somewhat disastrous. Besides, are Darius and Heinkel on board –?"

"Already asked them. They wanna get drunk."

Ed snorts. "Of course."

"Besides, Ling wants you to get laid. He thinks it'll clear up your perpetual bad mood."

Ed starts at that, and actually laughs. "He what? I – I do not have – what?"

"Told ya," chirps Greed in a different voice. "C'mon, c'mon, I'm bored!"

"You're always bored, Ling."

"Do you blame me?"

Between the four of them, they manage to rope Ed into agreeing to come – and also into admitting that he's never actually gotten properly drunk before. "I'm underage, you fuckwits," he complains at their laughter. "So's Ling, for that matter!"

The bar they end up at is packed with people, and Ed can't quite get comfortable. Even the beer Darius hands him tastes pretty gross, although Darius assures him it's supposed to taste that way. "Don't see the point, then," he grumbles. He'd rather have a coffee.

Greed is having a grand old time, of course. Every time Ed turns his head, he's dancing with another girl. At one point, it's a guy he's got his arms around – a young man with bright blonde hair. Ed tries not to look.

A moment later, Greed leans on the bar next to him with a wry smile. "Too much of a bookworm?" And maybe the beer's gotten to him, he seems to have drunk more than he thought, and the music is sidewinding through his head like a chant –

He gets up and wraps his arms around Greed's neck, toying with the homunculus's long ponytail, undoing the tie and letting his hair fall free around his shoulders. "Too jealous," he murmurs into the other man's ear, and he can't help but smile as Greed turns a little pink. He's gonna have to write that one down to counteract all the short jokes. "Is there anywhere more private around?"

Greed's only answer is to flip a couple coins to the barkeep, who points upstairs. "There is now," he replies huskily.

Ed barely remembers taking his clothes off. He remembers the taste of Greed's tongue, the feel of the bedsheets.

"Say you don't want me," he says playfully, pushing Greed backwards onto the bed, biting his lip at just how turned on Greed manages to look – you're how old and I still managed to surprise you – and he undoes his belt, falling on his knees between Greed's legs, bouncing a little on the mattress. "I dare you. Say it."

"Oh man, you know me and lies," groans Greed. "Get over here –" but Ed grabs his wrists, pinning them down onto the pillows.

"Want me to fuck you? Or I can suck your cock. Or I could ride you. I bet you'd like that."

Greed's breathing is ragged, and he yanks one hand out of Ed's grasp to pull Ed towards him for a bruising kiss. "You little tease."

It feels good, it feels more than just good, and after Greed's fallen asleep, Ed watches him for a long time, watches how the sweat beads along his hairline, how one hand has fallen protectively on Ed's hip. Then, he pulls his clothes back on and opens the window, too humiliated to face the barkeep or Darius or Heinkel at least for a while yet, because they will know. Greed doesn't mention it again, and Ed plans to keep it that way.

It has been six months (again).

By the time Ed crawls back into the camp, tired and dizzy, Greed is already roasting something over the open fire. "You look cold," he comments airily, and tosses him a sandwich wrapped in paper. "I made it myself."

"And you wrapped it and all," snarks Ed. "Maybe you should retire and become a deli chef."

Greed grins at that, although he seems to be genuinely considering the concept. "You shouldn't spend so much time out. You'll catch a chill."

"This isn't my first time camping out, Greed."

"So? If you get sick, I'm down one loyal servant, and where does that put me?"

Ed rolls his eyes and nibbles at the sandwich – he's not hungry, but he likes it when Greed makes an effort. It's almost like being back with Al, and he suddenly feels very, very homesick. Can you be homesick for a person? He almost asks Greed, remembering only at the last moment that Greed's loved ones are dead, and his memories of them are blurred and unclear.

"Where are the boys?" he manages to ask.

"Off getting some tents. It's supposed to be getting cold soon, and while the three of us are pretty well built for snow, I think you'd turn into a little Ed-sicle."

He snickers at that. "I already feel like one."

"Why are you so obsessed with him, anyway? He's not even interesting anymore." Greed shrugs off his coat and sits down next to Ed, draping the coat over the smaller boy's shoulders. "I figure we can just leave him there when we move on –"

"We're not moving on until I've gotten what I want from him," responds Ed flatly.

"And that is?"

But Ed doesn't have an answer for that. Or at least, not one that he's willing to share with Greed.

Greed sighs and wraps an arm around Ed's waist, pulling him closer and tucking himself underneath the coat. "You should tell me stuff, you know."

"Like what?"

"Like what's going on inside that pretty little head of yours. Half the time I have no idea what you're thinking."

"It's just my style. Trust me, you're no different from anybody else."

Greed squeezes him a little at that, and Ed tries to push away the feeling in his throat. "Really? You can sleep with me but you can't tell me why Envy bothers you so much?"

Ed snaps his head towards him, glares up into his eyes, tries to stop the blood rushing to his face. "That didn't happen."

"What, was I that bad a lay?"

"It's complicated."

Greed is grinning at him, eyes gleaming with a familiar look. His hand reaches up behind Ed's back – he can feel it tugging at the strands of his hair – and unties his blond ponytail, fingers stroking through disheveled hair, brushing against the back of his neck. "I've got time."

Ed closes his eyes, trying to calm the storm inside of him, tells himself this is fine, this is fine, this is fine –

Greed kisses him. And for a moment, he can't open his eyes – and it's just blackness, blackness, and hands on his – he pulls one away, feels around on the ground for something, anything –

He opens his eyes. Greed has pulled away from him, looking concerned and a little hurt. "…Are you okay?"

Ed's grip tightens on something –a piece of firewood. "Don't do that again."

"Ed, last time, you kissed me! Hell, you practically dragged me up to that room, okay, so –"

"Leave me alone!" Before Ed even realizes his body is moving, the piece of firewood is embedded in Greed's shoulder, just below the collarbone. He remembers where those lines lead, the way Greed had shuddered as Ed's hands passed over the red indent on his skin – let go of me, let go, that's all I want –

Then as Greed's hands loosen and fall away, he runs.

It has been three months. Ed can't figure out why he can't stop thinking about it, chasing ideas around his mind until they inevitably lead him back to Envy, to the smell of a room made of damp stone, Envy, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, Envy, hands on his skin, hands on his wrist, hands on his waist, Envy, Envy, Envy. It's impossible not to fill the empty blank of Wrath's face with Envy's, impossible not to think of everything as one terrible nightmare that keeps playing on repeat in the back of his mind. And all the while he keeps screaming at himself, get over it already!

But he can't.

He falls asleep, or half-asleep, or into some sort of trance, staring at the wall in the room of the barracks. They've never stayed in this room before. There are spiderweb cracks radiating from a dent in the wall, and a glance over to the window tells him that it's because somebody opened it a little too vigorously.

Of course, that gets him wondering why. Maybe it had stopped raining for the first time in days, maybe there was someone outside they wanted to see. Maybe they just wanted some air.

Maybe they jumped.

He sits up at that, glancing nervously behind him. Al is taking yet another stray cat to the pound, and will probably spend at least an hour there telling them off for not treating their animals right.

Ed's not sure why he's thinking about that. He's not doing anything, just lying here trying to think about leads and instead dwelling on all the wrong things…

Curiosity gets the better of him. He opens the window carefully, eyes watering as the wind hits him in the face. It's chilly outside, one of those cold summer days that has people digging for coats they'd stopped wearing months ago.

Ed looks down. They're about three storeys up. He wouldn't die – he'd break a few limbs, though, and he'd spend his time complaining about that instead of acting like a crybaby over things that are long over, people who are long dead. Or maybe he would die. But the longer he thinks about it, the less he cares.

Maybe he'll just look. He's a coward anyway (he's tried to forget how tempting it was to say 'yes', partially to make the intimidation stop, partially because of the same curiosity that has him putting one foot than the other on the window-sill, straightening up slowly with a tremble in his knees).

And he's standing. He uses one hand to pull his coat closed at the neck – even with all his layers, he's cold in the face of the wind. It's not all that much of a long way down.

-what if we end up in the same place?- he wonders, but he's done thinking about Envy, done thinking about everything –

He falls –

- and there's a skip, a moment of unreality, and suddenly he's lying on the bed again, and Al is bending over him, and he realizes that the scream echoing through his ears was Al –

"-don't you dare, don't you dare!" Al looks ready to hit him, but he doesn't, instead clutching at his shoulders like Ed will drown if he doesn't. "Don't… don't…"

Ed pulls Al's hands away, and almost doesn't recognize the voice coming from his mouth. "Leave me alone."

"What were you doing? You could have – could have died –"

"I woulda been fine." Ed knows he's lying, but he can't stop, can't make himself apologize. "You don't need to worry so much, really, I'm fine –"

"No, you're not!" Al sobs. "You haven't been fine ever since you got back –"

"I told you, I'm fine! There is nothing wrong with me!" Al tries to reach him again; Ed wrenches the (empty) hand away and walks off, slamming the door behind him. He needs space, he needs to breathe, because Al doesn't understand that he's just fine, this is normal, this is life –

He can't quite walk away. Instead, he collapses on the other side of the closed door, sinking to the ground and trying to stop his stomach from turning and turning and turning. I'm the strong one, he reminds himself, and slaps himself lightly, trying to figure out what it was he was doing, what he was thinking. I have to be the strong one. For Al.

But this time, he's not sure how. So he sits on the floor with his head leaning against the door, listening to the sound of Al's hollow sobs on the other side and trying to feel a little less useless.

"You bastard!"

Envy doesn't respond fast enough for Ed – instead, Ed lets his body carry him, his automail fist swinging into Envy's face. It's satisfying, watching the homunculus fall backwards, hearing something crunch.

But not satisfying enough.

"You happy now, huh?" Ed asks him, kicking him as he struggles to get back to his feet, his muscles visibly straining against the nails in the nodes. "Are you fucking happy?"

It keeps replaying, over and over. First Envy and Wrath and the rest of those creatures, then Roy and his fucking looks of pity, Winry and her bruised lips and pained eyes, Al (he never meant to hurt him, never wanted anything but a little bit of quiet from his own storm) and now Greed…

"It all comes back to you, doesn't it?" he hisses. "This is all – your – fault!" He picks Envy up again, pushes him backwards until he has the homunculus up against the cliff-face, and he's ready to kill him, ready to take his lives one by one until he's dust, this time for good –

- and suddenly Ed can't stop looking at Envy's lips, and wondering why they look the same. He throws him to the ground, staggers backwards. "Stop it!" He rubs at his eyes, can't figure out why they're wet – "Fucking stop it, haven't you done enough, isn't this enough?"

His automail flickers with blue light, sharpening into a keen blade, and he drives it into Envy's chest, feeling the point scrape against the stone, his knuckles pressing against the homunculus's blood-soaked skin. But Envy is already healing, red sparks replacing blue.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that, alchemist."

Ed pulls the blade out, ready to hit him again, kill him again, as many times as it takes –

"Ed! That's enough!"

Ed swivels around, sees Greed, tries to voice something – and it's lost as he's knocked off his feet. It takes him a moment to realize what it is that's pinning him down. A claw, huge and monstrous and green.

"Are you done?" says Envy in a dry voice.

Greed growls warningly at him, but Envy just shrugs, wincing a little as he reaches up and pulls the nails from his forehead. "He knocked them loose when he was kicking me around. Be glad I didn't just break the idiot's neck."

Ed can't move, can barely breathe. Even when the claw moves away, transforms back into Envy's arm, he stays there on the forest floor, trying not to scream in frustration.

Greed appears at his side, and Ed looks away. "Hey. No. Don't do that."

"What do you want?" he asks, trying to make his voice as cold as possible. His chest hurts and there's a deep pit in his stomach that seems to yawn wider and wider with every second.

"What just happened? The truth this time."

Ed's not ready for the truth. He's not even sure what it is anymore, not now that he's forced to admit why it's Envy he hates, Envy he can't shake loose from his mind, his memories.

There's a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he cringes at it, wondering why Greed doesn't hate him yet. I deserve it if he walks away and never talks to me again. I deserve it. I deserve it. And suddenly his face is buried in Greed's chest, and he's the one who did it, he's the one clinging to Greed's jacket like a lifeline, and his eyes are dry but god, it hurts so much, so much –

"I'm sorry," he whispers and it comes out like a whimper, he's so ashamed, he wants it to stop, he wants to be strong but he can't – "I didn't mean to."

"I'm getting that." Greed touches him carefully, and Ed's ashamed of that too, because that's his fault, too. "Just don't do it again. Or at least, I don't know, give me some warning."

Ed breathes, slowly and deeply. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, he thinks maybe, he'll be ok.

Except Envy is still there.

He opens his eyes again and fixes the homunculus with a cold stare, although it probably isn't as menacing as he means it to be. "Get out."

"No."

Ed's about ready to get up and beat him again, but Greed stops him, putting a hand over his. Then Greed asks, "Why? We're letting you go, usually you'd be happy about that."

Envy looks…troubled. Ed's seen that expression on his face before, and his heart flips a little despite himself. "…I want protection," he declares after a moment.

"From who? Me?" Ed can't keep the incredulity from his voice.

"From Father." Envy crosses his arms, and the sulky expression is back, although he won't look at Ed, won't even glance at him.

Greed stands up, walks over to Envy. They're close now, and Greed snarls into his face, "Why?"

"Jeez, for someone who ran off twice, you're awfully suspicious of me –"

"I asked you a question. You gonna answer it or keep being a brat?'

Envy still won't look at Ed. It's purposeful – Ed can see the way he's holding his head away, avoiding even the slightest turn in his direction. "…He took my memories. I didn't think it was a big deal at the time."

"And now you've changed your mind?"

"I'm allowed." Again, there's that troubled look in Envy's eyes, and Ed gets slowly to his feet, controlling his thoughts, refusing to read too much into it –

Greed looks over to Ed. "What do you think?"

"…Me?" He starts to shake his head, and suddenly Envy gives in, turns and looks at him. Their eyes meet, and Ed is suddenly certain of it, certain that whatever else might be true, whatever else might have been forgotten –

It's not worth dwelling on, though. Whatever Envy knows or remembers, he's keeping it to himself.

"He's not staying with us," Ed murmurs just loud enough to hear. "But he's a shapeshifter. Go turn yourself in to Colonel Mustang and tell him…" He has to think for a moment. It makes him sick to his stomach, thinking too much about Mustang, because he wants to go home – he didn't even realize how much until now. He's so tired. "Tell him the dog of the military sent you."

"Mustang? The one who killed Lust?" Ed can practically hear Envy's hackles rising at that.

"He's perfectly capable of protecting you, and perfectly capable of putting you down if you set a toe out of line." Ed stands up straight. "You've got your second chance. You blow it and you'll wish I'd killed you here."

Envy seems on the verge of saying something else, but then just nods. He disappears into the woods, and Greed gives Ed a curious look. "Ya know there's no guarantee he's not just gonna head straight back to Father."

"No. No there's not." Ed's feeling kind of dizzy. "I just… I just had a favour to repay."

He heads back to Rizenbul a few days later, after promising Greed, Heinkel and Darius that he'll be there when they show up in a week's time. Things are still strained, and even without the full story, they've started treating him like he's made of glass. Maybe it's for the best.

It's kind of disappointing though – he gets there and nobody's home. Winry probably just hasn't made it back yet, and Pinako might be out somewhere. God knows what she's up to.

The house, though, hasn't changed. There's pieces of half-finished automail scattered everywhere, some of them with wires hanging out. The funniest thing, muses Ed, is that this is definitely Pinako's work. The old lady never stops.

There's a sound behind him – he turns around, blade out – and Envy ducks backwards, hands up in supplication. "Hey, hey, just me!"

"Just you?" Ed doesn't move; the crawling feeling is still inside him, but it's not the same as it was. He can't figure out what's changed. "What are you doing here?"

Envy is silent, chewing at his lip.

"Have you been following me?"

"See, that's a strong word –"

"Have you?" He pushes the blade a little closer to Envy's neck, and Envy flinches away, rubbing at his neck ruefully.

"I was just curious!"

"…Curious. About what? Trying to find more to rub in my face? Looking for more ways to manipulate me?"

"I keep telling you, that was the other – aw, never mind." Envy carefully nudges Ed's blade away and steps backwards. "I'll get out of your face."

"I thought you were going to see Mustang."

"I am. Never said I had to go the direct route."

Ed lowered his blade cautiously, keeping his face still as his heart hammered against his ribs. "Why are you here? Really? What business do you have with me?"

"I said it already. Curiosity. Obviously you were..." Envy licks his lips nervously. Ed's never seen Envy nervous before. Maybe this really is a new person. "You know more about me than I do," he says finally, helplessly.

Ed's not sure how to respond, but suddenly there's a lump in his throat. The Envy he knew, the Envy he fears, is dead. Greed has said more than once that he's a different man, but it's hard to take him seriously. This, though - "You're better off. Trust me."

That uncharacteristic nervousness is still there – same face, the same troubled emotions but different memories, a different spirit behind those eyes. Maybe. "...You'd be happier if I was dead, wouldn't you?"

And once again, Ed's thrown into uncertainty. He sits down, his shoulders heavy again. "No."

He doesn't look up for a long time. When he does, Envy is gone.

It has been a year.

He's sitting at a cafe in Central, nursing a cup of coffee that he hasn't even touched. Mustang's late, again. There's so much he wants to tell him, but he knows what has to come first, even before the excited news about Al's improvement and Winry's expanding automail business.

Mustang finally shows up, smiling at him as he settles into the chair. "It's good to see you, Fullmetal."

"Oh, stop calling me that. I can't even do alchemy anymore."

"Edward, then." He grins suddenly. "I suppose I can't get at you for not wearing the uniform anymore. What a pity. Maybe -"

"Keep dreaming, asshole." Ed stares down into his mug for a moment, unable to stop himself from smiling but dreading what's coming next. "...Roy," he says finally, and notices with a smirk how Mustang starts at his first name. "Do you... do you remember about a year ago? I was kidnapped by the homunculi for a few days."

Roy nods. "You called me and I came to find you."

Ed flushes. He remembers – well, that's all very well and good, but that doesn't mean he'll understand. But he can't burden Al and Winry with this – he's done enough to them because of his own pain, and he knows they'll spend hours and days asking themselves what they did wrong, what they could have changed...

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It's Ed's turn to start, and he spills a bit of cold coffee on his hand. He shakes it off, trying not to look at Roy. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "It was... I didn't..." He swallows. "I haven't talked about it. To anybody. Not even Greed." And that hurts to remember, too – Greed is dead and Ling is gone, and Ed's left hanging on to brief moments that in retrospect weren't ever long enough. "Not sure if I'm ready."

He winces a little, waits for a snarky response, but Roy's answer is soft and kind. "It's different for everyone. Some people never are."

"You knew. Didn't you? From the moment you saw me. "

"I suspected." Roy smiles sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't help you more."

"Because I have such a good track record for accepting help." It's tempting to be snarky, but he's not sure he remembers how. He's so scared. He doesn't want to be, but he is.

"I feel like I've lost everything," he whispers, even though he knows it's not true.

"You haven't. But it's okay to feel that way. I did too."

Ed ducks his head, hides his face behind his bangs. "...It stops hurting. Right?"

"Eventually."

"That's not good enough."

"It'll have to be for now. In the meantime, I have a new shipment of books that's just come in to my apartment, and I guarantee you'll have quite a bit to say about some of them."

"I notice you didn't say I'd like them."

"I know you. You're not happy unless you're loudly explaining to me why something is wrong."

Ed snickers, and flips a few cenz on the table before following Roy down the road. After a few moments of silence, Roy asks offhandedly, "You never did ask me about Envy."

That answers a lot of questions on its own, and brings up too many others. But - "...It doesn't matter." The nice thing is it's almost true.

Roy gives him an unreadable look, then smiles. "I suppose that works. So how is your brother?"

That night, Ed turns the light off and closes his eyes.