"Wha-" his lips croaked dryly as he fought to open his eyes. "Al? Al, where are you?" He reached out with his hands and pushed himself up just enough so that he was sitting. Taking a painful breath he finally willed himself to open his eyes. He was... he felt lost. Was he dead all over again? This building didn't look anything like the place where he'd been before the transmutation. He'd been underground, in the lost city, in the building where he... where he'd died. A cold sweat took him as he envisioned the gate and Alphonse... but his memories from his time spent in the darkness were so mixed and incomplete...

"Where am I!" He yelped suddenly as if he expected a reply. His golden eyes darted about the room, it was small and there was a cot. It felt like one of the many rooms he and his brother had stayed in during their travels; it was plain and cold, meant only for one night's worth of companionship. And his clothing was just as odd: he wore a solid white tunic with a lace up neck line and no other garments.

Shaking with confusion and anger he struggled to get to his feet and immediately he gasped. He could feel his weight on both feet, feel the floor beneath him.

"But... but I..." he frowned. For a short time, when Ed was brought back after Al activated the Philosopher's Stone that was his body, Ed had been whole. His auto-mail parts were gone and in their place was warm flesh and solid bone and the entire array of senses and nerves that were supposed to be there. It had been comforting and overwhelming and it had been a slap in the face as to his existence. But also it meant that no sacrifice had been made. Just now, as he stood there on his real legs, and stared down at his real hands, he dreaded his wholeness because it meant that nothing had been given... nothing had been taken... it meant that Al was gone.

"No..." he gasped and shook his head. "Damn it!" He was too angry to cry and even though he was in shock over still being alive, he knew better than to hope and pray that this was a dream. He knew better than to allow himself to bank on the slim chance that this was some lag of reality and that he was really in the gate retrieving his brother.

Moving toward the door he gripped the handle and found it locked. Didn't matter. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it against the wood so hard that it splintered like bark. Releasing a guttural cry, Ed pulled his hand back and saw the true difference between auto-mail and flesh: his hand, which, in the past, would have busted the door to bits, was now bleeding from every knuckle and bits of skin were hanging like torn clothes. Tears came to his eyes but he refused to release them. Instead he held his hand protectively to his chest while he reached his other hand through the hole and located the lock.

A few moments later he was outside the room and rushing away from a small Inn. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know who had brought him there. He didn't know how long had passed since he'd pressed his hands down in that final transmutation meant to bring his brother back. It felt like years and yet he knew it couldn't be.

It was bright outside and he shielded his eyes against the harsh rays. For some reason he felt like he was in the East but that didn't make any sense! He'd just been in Central! And where was everyone? Just as he wondered that though, a young boy raced across his path, followed by an emaciated dog. They seemed to be playing. Ed paused and then followed the boy.

"Hey! Hey, you!" But the boy, upon seeing him, merely raced away with renewed vigor and it was obvious as to why: the boy had red eyes and white hair... he was Ishbalan and Edward was very clearly a foreigner.

Behind him, he could hear commotion coming from the building where he'd been kept prisoner. Two large men, both of them Ishbalan, emerged and approached. One of them spoke a language Edward understood and he listened. Keeping his feet shoulder width apart he readied himself for an attack but until they made a move, he figured it best to keep still.

"You didn't have to go and break the door!" The man groaned. "You could have knocked and we would have let you out."

"Why was I in there to begin with?" Ed bit back. "Why was it locked!"

"To keep the young ones from pestering you… you've been traveling with us for the past two days. You… You don't remember anything do you?" The man blinked and sighed. "My brother and I found you in the tunnels beneath the city. We were in hiding there but ever since the death of Fuhrer King Bradley there's been talk of rebuilding so we're heading home. It was right when we decided to leave that we found you… and, in truth, we debated whether to save you or leave you to death…" He grew quiet and Ed's eyes narrowed.

"So what made you decide to drag me along with you?" He asked.

"You were naked. And you were delirious and you kept calling for you brother." He admitted. "I recognized sincerity in your voice and even though I've suffered much heartache at the hands of your brethren, I know what it's like to be separated from a brother." He glanced at the man by his side and Ed's resolve wavered for a moment and the tears that were still threatening to push through nearly succeeded.

"So you pitied me?" He said in a darker tone than he'd intended. "And where the hell are we right now anyway!"

"We're at an outpost city. It was abandoned shortly after the Ishbalan conflict and we figured it would be a safe place for us to make camp. There's not many of us traveling and we would do poorly against real bandits, so we figured staying indoors was best, especially for you. No offense, young man, but it was our belief that you were a criminal. You were crawling through the muck of the side roads, shaking and shivering. We assumed you'd escaped from somewhere, what with your tattoo and all!"

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence." He took a step back and then perked a brow, "Tattoo?"

"Yeah, on your back. It's a bunch of lines and circle and it's blood red. Seemed like something an Amestrian would brand one of their own kind with. A rite of shame, we figured." He explained but his prior tone softened. No doubt he could see the look of pain on Ed's face.

"Does it... does it look this?" He asked and then knelt shakily to the ground and drew with his left hand, the mark he'd drawn inside a suit of armor to anchor his brother's soul in this world.

"Yeah. It sure does. What does that mean?" The man cocked his head.

"It... means..." Ed could barely breathe.

It means goodbye.

By the time his body collapsed he was already well into unconsciousness.

Pain…

Darkness…

Whispers from an outside world…

Memories of heat and terror… colors of beloved flames… he really did love the colors, the warmth, and all the science… the transmutations. He could lose himself in the tomes that spilled the knowledge of it in ciphers. The very thought of reaching for a favorite text of his profession ignited excitement within him and he felt like, no he could sympathize with the light he saw blaze within Edward's golden eyes when he mentioned something of particular interest to the teen.

Roy felt himself smile but it felt like such a far off expression, like he wasn't quite certain where his body was. Perhaps he was afloat in the darkness. The whispers came again, faint and muffled. Maybe they had seen his body and therefore could tell him where it was so he could return to it.

As if that one thought could have yanked him from the in-between where he felt things even if they didn't quite register but his thoughts were a little clearer, it was enough. Roy Mustang felt the pain again and remembered. It was a like one of Maes's punches of reality to his face. Right in the left eye only much much worse.

For a moment he thought he saw his best friend in the corner of his eye before the darkness faded. The visage of the man seemingly telling him it wasn't time yet with a mere look. He'd always thought it strange how Maes could say so much with so little, without a word, and that he always understood.

Edward's expressions often spoke volumes… no perhaps it was his eyes… Better yet it was the combination of the two. But then sometimes Edward wasn't as secretive with his emotions as he thought. He wasn't always so well guarded…

But thoughts of the golden burst of lively shortness turned to mist and the hammer of agony pounded and stabbed through him. He felt it in his face, in both arms, his left shoulder just under his collar bone, and his left leg.

Roy gasped and even that little bit felt like hell. He tried to open his eyes, to move, but a gentle yet firm hand pressed against his stomach.

"Mn…" The sound came through gritted teeth.

"Sheska, get the doctor." That was Hawkeye's voice. He seemed to remember it somewhere in his memories, seemed to remember her sobbing and crying out for him. How different it sounded now… almost calm.

"Is he finally awake?" A sleepy voice asked from his right.

Roy moved since his eyes didn't seem to obey his commands to open no matter how hard he tried to see them.

"General, be still." Riza ordered.

"Thank goodness," Skeska breathed and scurried from the room. Roy could hear her calling for a nurse or a doctor.

Roy wet his dry lips and found that his mouth tasted awful and felt like he'd eaten a wad of cotton. A warm hand gently lifted his head and he groaned from the pain the small movement made. He felt a cup at his lips and drank. Riza cautioned slowness, cautioned mere sips where he wanted to gulp it all down and have more. To his dismay she took the water from him before he could have more than a little and eased his head back down.

"More," he whispered and to him, he sounded hoarse.

"In a moment," she promised, "You've been unconscious for a couple of days. I didn't know if you would ever wake up. Don't you ever do this to me again, Roy Mustang."

It was a warning however softly spoken and every word dripped with the bitter taste of honest, unbridled fear.

Before he could say anything or even think of some appropriate retort or even whine that she should take pity on him if only for the pain he felt, a man, by the sound of his voice and sound of his heavy footsteps, entered the room.

"General Mustang," The man said and before Roy could reply, he felt a firm grip on his wrist taking his pulse. "On a scale of one to ten, can you tell me the level of pain you are feeling?"

Was this man serious? Did he really want him to put a number to it? Even the medics on the battlefield didn't ask something so stupid. They patched up the wounded and gave them something for the pain. If he could have something for the pain, at least for a moment before it really kicked in, he could get a brief assessment of things, get his bearings and plan for whatever came next.

"10," he found himself croaking.

"Nurse," The doctor said and a pair of feet Roy hadn't noticed shuffled off.

"How bad?" Roy asked, wanting to get to the heart of it. He could remember some injuries but they were a blur now that he was awake. He knew it couldn't be good, knew some would be worse than others, but he also knew that no matter how bad off he was physically, there was much more to deal with.

"And why can't I open my eyes?" That was the next pressing issue for he was awake and he'd like to see whom he was speaking to, see how many people were in the room, see where the next danger might be coming from. Yes, it was fair to say that he was beginning to feel paranoia and in remembering, in his mind's alertness, and even the throbbing, biting pain, he was just about to slip into his most guarded self. The place he went during the war to protect himself when most vulnerable. But he needed to see.

"You won't be going anywhere anytime soon, if that's what you are getting at. You've sustained several deep gashes to both arms and one to your left leg all of which have required stitches. The muscle damage alone will require several weeks of downtime and therapy. You were lucky with the saber wound to your left shoulder. It was rather nasty but a clean cut and easy to sew up. However, I am not going to dumb it down or soften it up for you, General-"

"Doctor, please," Riza interrupted nervously.

"He's a grown man and after what he's been through, I think he can handle it. Besides, it's never been my manner to drag it out. It is better to get the harsh blow out of the way so recovery can begin sooner." The doctor said with curt honesty but Roy felt the man gently pat his hand to portray some sense of sympathy.

Before Roy could demand they get on with it the Doctor did.

"Your left eye is gone, General Mustang. There was no saving it, the bullet decimated it, and as it stands, you are a very lucky man to be alive. I've done what I could to repair the damage to your cheekbone. It wasn't totally shattered, however, it's enough that I had to do a little reconstructive surgery. I won't lie, it's not going to be pretty and you will have some scaring but as it heals it will look much better.

"Now, I've wrapped your head and covered both eyes on purpose. I think you will do much better for a day or so if you just rest and not put a strain on the right eye. Then we will take it slow. You'll probably have some head aches for awhile even after the pain from your missing eye subsides. That'll be from the right eye compensating. You'll have some problems with depth perception as well. But knowing you, you will adapt very quickly and be causing trouble for my nurses sooner than you should be."

Roy recognized this man now, Doctor Adam Rousseau, the Chief of Staff at Central's Military Hospital, also the best surgeon for miles. He supposed it was comforting knowing this man had been the one to operate on him, to keep him alive, and even try to lift his spirits with light joke of his womanizing… but the news prior struck his heart and mind the most. So much so he found himself gripping the sheets.

For Roy, he knew he could live with scars, hell, some women thought they were sexy. He knew he could live with recovery periods and therapy to get him back on his feet. He could live with many harrowing things but to lose apart of himself… That was something altogether different. Oh he knew he would adapt, he had to, but just for a moment, maybe even several now and several later, he was in shock.

A missing eye meant more than just loss of depth perception… It meant loss of half his peripheral vision. It meant people could sneak up on him from the left and he'd never see them. It meant having to retrain himself alchemically and defensively. Driving would be a problem… so many things would have to change or alter…

Roy swallowed and took a deep breath. He could do this… He must do this, he had to, one foot in front of the other...

It was just an eye and others had lost a lot more and moved forward with a lot less, he told himself. If Edward Elric could live with an auto-mail arm and leg and his brother live as a soul attached to a suit of armor, and still run rampant all over the country to achieve their goals, then he could lose an eye and do the same.

The thought of the blonde alchemist halted him a moment. When was the last he'd seen of either of the brothers, together or otherwise…? A new sense of panic began to well within him as he realized that the last he'd seen of Edward was an odd, morose sort of farewell. He didn't like it, not now. Before, he'd been alright with it due to the path he'd been on, the thing he'd had to accomplish, but now.

"Hawkeye, where are the boys?"

"Edward and Al-"

"Yes, where are they? Have they checked in? Have you seen them?" He demanded, interrupting her.

"N-no, I haven't heard from them… My focus has been on you." There was a hint of surprise colored shame in her reply, even a little confusion as if his asking for the Elric brothers at such a time were unexpected.

Roy's hand shot out, swimming in the air until her slender hand clasped over it. He griped her tight.

"Find them, find out what happened. They are my responsibility. They still need our help, Riza. We can't leave them on their own."

"Alright," She breathed, "Alight… Sheska, find Lt. Colonel Armstrong and tell him to find the Elric brothers."

"Riza," Roy began.

"My first priority is you, Sir. Don't worry, Armstrong will find them and keep them safe." Her hand shifted until she held his.

Roy shook his head, "I want to see them."

"Soon, I promise. You and Ed will be bickering soon enough and we'll have to find a home for another of Al's stray cats."

"I kept the one." Roy whispered, "So Al wouldn't have to say goodbye. He doesn't know, neither of them do."

"I know," She replied, "Sheska, would you mind stopping by my house as well as the General's to feed our pets?"

"I wouldn't mind at all." The books worm of a girl Maes had hired, replied.

"That's quite a turn around; I thought you hated me, Sheska." Roy said dryly.

Dr. Rousseau decided to cut in. "You know, I don't usually promote this since some animals aren't so house broken, but pets have proven to be therapeutic. You should bring General Mustang's cat."

The General in question almost protested but he kind of wanted something familiar and soft. Something he could touch and draw some sense of comfort from. But all of that was neither here nor there as Sheska left and someone else entered. None of that mattered when his body reminded him of the flood of throbbing agony pulsating throughout.

He felt the tiny stick of a needle, the push of something entering his veins, and knew it was pain medication. He also knew he didn't have much time.

"Hawkeye, what's the status of things?"

"A lot has happened, mostly confusion, but the country isn't in total disarray. We will not be arrested but…" Her voice grew farther and farther away as the meds kicked in and drew him back into the darkness.