Disclaimer – Don't own Full Metal Alchemist. Making no money. Please don't sue. See Author's Notes at the end of the chapter. Original anime-based MOSTLY, spoilers through Conqueror of Shamballa.

This is the fourth and post-final story in this one-shot trilogy, and if that statement doesn't make sense to you, you need to pick up the original never-ending one-shot Perfect After All, and its sequels Perfect After All: The Fusing Alchemist and Perfect After All: Price of the Past. Trust me. The gang's been through a lot, and this story cannot stand alone.

-x-

Krozeburg, North Amestris, Present Day

THWAAAAAAAANNNNG!

She stared at the violently vibrating thing a moment. Walnut handle, long tapered blade, terminating at least an inch into the doorframe, on the inside wooden panel.

Unless you were standing inside the office, you'd never see the mark.

She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to swear. "What if I had been Colonel Kirkpatrick?

There was a very undignified, rapid, and high-pitched male giggle.

"We'd have smelled him coming a mile away, Kaylie. It's bourbon o'clock."

"Seven past bourbon o'clock," came a deep, resonant voice to her left, and Second Lieutenant Kaylie Berton marched into the office, completely ignoring the letter opener, which was still oscillating gently in the doorframe. The door closed behind her, perhaps a bit smartly, and she didn't so much as look at any of them, heading straight to her desk. The major was leaning comfortably on the west wall, at least twenty feet from the door and that made the throw truly excellent, he'd be bragging about that one all night –

Not that she was going out with them. Not tonight.

Her officemates were right; it was past bourbon o'clock, and the odds of seeing the colonel again that afternoon were slight to none. And they knew it; Jordan's feet were propped up on his desk, and likely a gun magazine was balanced on his legs, Vincent was still giggling like a little girl, and Lucien seemed committed to holding up the wall. Anissa was stationed at her desk, actually writing, but she could have been working on any one of the three events she was running during her off hours. It was Thursday, their reports for tomorrow had been written and approved that morning.

Not much to do but wait for the big hand to hit the six. 1730 couldn't come fast enough.

"Come now, surely that was worth a smile."

She set the folder – with all the required signatures, finally – in the bin marked Primary, and then folded her hands primly on the desk, fixing Major Lucien Fischer with a disapproving look. "Am I smiling?"

He certainly was. "No. You're constipated. You were gone so long I figured you had taken care of that little issue-"

She eyed the pen in front of her, wondering if it had sufficient weight to make it across the room.

"Your sister you are not," Lucien continued, obviously following her gaze, which set Vincent off again. "Tell me, will Emeline stay through the winter break?"

That was a million cenz question if ever she heard one. "No idea." And another cut on top of all the others she'd suffered recently. Mom and Da still weren't back from Aunt Lina's, which mean nothing good. If LIna wasn't able to take care of herself, then there was no reason Emeline wouldn't end up staying in Dantoga with her. At least until after the holidays and classes resumed.

Hell, they might all end up spending the holiday with Aunt Lina. Except her, of course, because the Amestris military didn't shut down for a month due to the solstice. And their base would be no exception, since they were the closest support to Briggs. She had no hope of getting any kind of extended leave this close to the holidays.

Awesome.

"I see I have done the opposite of make you smile," Lucien observed regretfully. "My apologies."

"I've told you," Anissa Lee sniffed, absently freeing a strand of hair caught in her sergeant's bars. "She's going to sulk until she's done. It's like grieving. Leave her be."

Oh yes. A headache was definitely on the night's agenda. Kaylie placed a fingertip on the bridge of her nose, just between her eyes, and willed it away. "Thank you, sergeant. In fact, thank you all. You've been so helpful."

"Aww, come on." Though Vincent Allen had the world's most offensive giggle, his speaking voice was surprisingly low. "I know you had your heart set on it, but you realize if you'd gotten that transfer, you'd be out the door. Then who would Loon torture? Me?"

"From your lips to the ears of the gods."

"You don't believe in gods."

Every head swiveled towards Jordan, who responded to the attention by unhurriedly turning a page.

"Aaand that is the first and last we're going to hear on the matter. Good talk, Coop." Vincent shook his head at their more conservative sergeant, then refocused on her. "Seriously. We know you're bummed, but is it really so bad?"

He did kind of – maybe – okay probably – have a point. A small one. That she didn't really give a shit about. It wasn't so much about running from as running toward, and none of them – not even Nissa – were the kind of people she could explain that to. She shook her head, forcing her forehead to relax, then her eyebrows, then her eyelids, then her cheekbones, and by then the tension drained down her neck to her collarbone.

It was the only way to get rid of the frown she was pretty sure had been permanently molded into her jawbones.

"I guess I kind of would miss you guys," she relented. "You know, like an annoying cat that pisses on your pillow every other night, but then it dies, and your pillow never smells like piss anymore, and you notice that you're not washing your pillow three times a week like you were and-"

"Aaaaand we're done here too. Nice talking to you, K." First Lieutenant Allen looked at the clock above their office door and moaned. "It's going to be a long afternoon."

"I want to hear more about the cat. Is this a cat in your life right now?"

Kaylie let her head fall to her desk, and brought her arms up around it. It did almost nothing to muffle their voices.

"Pretty sure the cat transferred to Central."

"Wait, is this like an allegorical cat? Because if you have a boyfriend who pees on the pillow every other night-"

"No, he's gone now. Weren't you listening?"

"Okay, I've had it," she growled into her arm. "I'm getting my rifle. Start running. I want you all to die tired."

Something slapped onto the desk beside her, and Kaylie cracked an eye open to see that a munitions magazine had magically appeared, sporting a custom FN 1910 with a lovely stainless steel finish on the cover. Within her line of sight, Jordan Cooper gave her a silent nod, and pulled the next magazine off his stack, casually licking his thumb and turning to the first page.

-x-

Central City, Amestris

"Well, that could have gone better."

Ed rolled his eyes - and his smarting shoulder - as his brother grinned down at him.

"Should we try it without the pointy end next time?"

"Keep talking. You have to sleep sometime," he snapped, accepting the hand that was offered and levering himself up. The announcements had gone flying, and he reclaimed his slightly crumpled notes as Alphonse stuck a toe under the shaft of what looked for all the world like a standard military issue lance. This one differed from the ones used in medieval Europe, however, in that the pointy end was very, very dull.

Which was very, very good considering he'd blocked the damn thing with his right arm.

His naked right arm.

Again.

Al flipped the weapon expertly up into his hand, and Edward continued to glower, easing the ache out of his right shoulder. This had been going on for weeks now, and his responses were not improving. If he thought about it, if he was ready, he was able to dodge Al's attacks every time without relying on automail - or armor - he no longer had. The problem was that most attackers probably weren't going to politely introduce themselves first. Which meant his reflexes needed to be retrained from nearly two decades of muscle memory.

Or really, lack thereof.

At least Al was enjoying himself, Ed noted darkly, as his brother calmly cast around for a trash can. There was almost no wood in the structure of the Amestris Academy of the Sciences – it was made almost entirely of stone, save the doors and window frames. That wouldn't normally be the case, but multiple generations of Armstrongs had been involved with the building's construction. Classes were currently in session, and adding the spear back to the nearest door was bound to cause a disruption. Al would have no choice but to decompose it, and since he couldn't incorporate wood into stone, it was going to end up a sad little pile of damp sand. He must have made it outside an hour ago, then spent his entire planning period literally waiting for his brother to happen to walk down the hallway -

Alphonse had been nothing less than ecstatic when the Tringums – and Dr. Dalyell, the board certified sadist – had finally cleared him for sparring. Russell had been spot-on with his initial estimate; it had taken months before Ed had finally felt like a human again, and it was still months after that before anyone actually believed him. He'd give his brother credit, Al hadn't pulled his punches even in their first match, and it became increasingly clear to them both that without the automail – or the armor – Ed's normal defensive and offensive forms needed an overhaul.

And that overhaul, in his brother's professional opinion, meant a true test of his reflexes. They had now entered week three of The Ambush Protocol. There was literally no place he was safe, no situation off limits. Cooking dinner? Don't lose an eye! Taking a shower? Prepare for decapitation! At least his disgracefully exuberant little brother had had the decency to get him in the halls before the 1 pm classes let out.

If the student body got wind that their headmaster needed some practice handling surprise attacks -

Al was still grinning even as his eyes slid past Ed, and he gestured with his chin. "I see your two o'clock is here."

He still had the spear.

Edward gave him a flat look. "That's the best you've got?" As if 'look behind you!' was really going to distract him-

"Seriously."

Ed fished his pocketwatch out of his trousers without taking his eyes off Al, flicking up the decorative lid before glancing – just a quick glance. It was ten til. Al's foot shifted, just slightly, and Ed tensed despite himself.

"Nii-san, this isn't going to work if you expect it -"

". . . am I interrupting?"

The voice had him turning before he'd even thought about it, and there, not ten feet behind him, was a young man with curly red hair and a rather round nose. If he was surprised to see two of his professors sparring - with a spear, no less - in the middle of the main Academy hallway, he didn't show it, and behind Ed there was the faintest whisper of leather on limestone.

This time Ed decided to follow his head, and he twisted his body towards Franklin, rather than towards the threat. He'd been right; Al had gone for a thrust, exactly what he would have knocked aside with his automail without a thought – back when he had it. Now the thrust passed behind his back, and Ed whipped around, grabbing the shaft – not the blade, this time – with his right hand before continuing to turn, yanking Al off balance.

Alphonse obligingly gave ground, taking a few steps closer to keep hold of the spear, and the two wrestled with it briefly before Ed just shoved it away and went straight for close combat. Al had anticipated, leveraging Ed's shove to help wedge the blade into the joint of the hallway floor and wall, and used the now braced shaft as a barricade. He parried Ed's swipe at his head, pressing the shaft out straight in front of him and gently bonking Ed in the face.

"Tag."

There was a clap, and then the spear was sand. Mess be damned.

"That's cheating."

"We all know that's what I'd do anyway." It really was just his immediate reactions – his reflexes – that were getting him into trouble. Particularly with bladed weapons, though his left knee was still black and blue from catching one of Al's axe kicks the previous weekend.

"Yeah, I know." Al dusted off his hands, then grinned at Franklin, inviting him into the conversation. "I'm still trying to figure out a way to test him with bullets. Any thoughts?"

The teen's eyes flickered between the two, coolly, as he approached. "A few."

It wasn't much, but it was progress. Any references to the West Conflict were usually met with awkward silence and brooding. That Al could joke with Franklin Sorn about bullets and actually get a response instead of a flinch spoke very highly of Al and the effort he'd expended these past seven months.

And true to form, Al took the reply in stride, as though it was nothing extraordinary. "I figured you might. Something fast enough and small enough but not hard enough to damage him too much. How rapidly do you think you could get a machine to cycle something like that at him?"

Ed's subordinate approached, and his eyes fell briefly towards Al's knees as he thought. "Not to the speed of automatic fire, if that's what you're thinking."

It probably was, and Al shrugged, using a foot to scatter the little sand pile towards the wall. "It's a start."

Any machine that could lob non-lethal bullets at the speed of an automatic machine gun would be potentially dangerous in the extreme. Ed mentally catalogued the uses. Riot or crowd control, though you'd probably accidentally kill some people, a non-lethal cover for a forward advance if you were afraid of shooting your own soldiers in the back . . . were there any uses for bullets that didn't end up militarized?

Construction, he supposed. You could modify it to shoot nails, maybe, or something to knock icicles off the Academy gutters in the winter so the alchemists would stop almost impaling the physicists and chemists –

"How about I get up to speed with blades before we graduate me to guns," he grumbled, carefully folding his wrinkled announcements as he watched Al's efforts to tidy up the mess they'd made. Now that Al had his back turned, the thin roll of papers protruding from his back pocket was obvious. "You have another class this afternoon?"

His brother nodded, apparently satisfied with the present he'd left for the janitorial staff. "Yeah, I'm covering for Hicks. Compressed Gases."

Explosions. Fun.

"Great. You can take these by the office on your way." Ed extended the now-folded page of announcements between two fingers, and Al shook his head with a half smile as he snagged them.

"I wouldn't want to deny you extra time with a certain someone," Ed continued innocently. If Al had just ratted him out to Sorn, the least he could do was repay the favor.

A strange expression flashed briefly across Al's face, but it almost instantly curved up in a grin. "Really, nii-san?"

Yep. Really.

Despite having delegated – and hadn't Al been on him about that too? – his errand to his brother, Ed headed with him back towards the main office, and after a moment Sorn trailed behind them. Once they were shoulder to shoulder, Ed was unsurprised to see his brother watching him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't missed it.

Al didn't miss much.

"You know," Al continued conversationally, "I was thinking of adding a new elective after the holiday break. Basic Alchemic Properties will be wrapped up at the end of this semester and all the students are passing, so there's no need to hold the 3 pm slot for remedial lab."

"Always the optimist," Ed murmured. "And what new class are you proposing, Professor Elric?"

"Well, Professor Elric, I was considering an alchemic combat course."

Edward kept his expression tightly controlled. Al was usually a little more subtle than that.

"PE?" He scoffed. "We're not running an elementary school." No matter how often it felt that way. "The alchemists have already been through boot camp."

"They're the ones requesting it," his brother countered, in a very reasonable tone of voice. "Now that the Academy is mandatory for the State Alchemists, at least until they graduate, they're spending a lot of time in class - "

" - that they would have spent in the library regardless-"

"- and Fletcher said he's getting fat."

Ed snorted. "Are you being serious here?"

Al finally turned to really look at him, his expression beaming sincerity. "I am. And not just for the alchemists. We finally have all the sciences under one roof. What if they see a way to neutralize a certain type of alchemy that we'd never think of?"

Ed stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe they weren't on the same wavelength after all. "You want . . . to create anti-alchemist weapons . . .?" Talk about escalating the alchemist/physicist pranks to a whole new level –

"Those have already been invented, nii-san," Al observed drily. "They're called guns."

Point. Not that they'd been too terribly effective against Craege Irving –

"I'm simply saying, it would be a good opportunity to enable our own soldiers to safely confront enemy alchemists, and it would also give us training on the off chance any of our enemies are thinking along the same lines."

Ed turned that idea over in his mind as Al watched him expectantly. That couldn't have been his brother's off the cuff response to seeing what they'd seen, Al had clearly been thinking about this for more than the last few minutes. Creta was still sulking from their defeat, which had left an overwhelming majority of their army untouched, and he'd eat his left shoe if they weren't actively recruiting alchemists to their ranks. Their western neighbor hadn't pounced just because Amestris was momentarily distracted by its own governmental evolution. They'd been thinking about it for years before Blane and Franklin had come along.

If they empowered the Amestrian military to combat certain types of alchemy, conceivably fewer alchemists would need to be deployed to the front lines. And they could develop defenses against those weapons that could remain internal to Amestris.

Because military secrets never got exposed –

But then again, the whole damn point of the Academy was to give them a chance to get ahead of the inevitable industrial revolution and temper the damage. Al was right; after the spanking they gave Creta, and their obvious continued interest in alchemy as a science, it would be foolish to believe that their neighbors were not eyeing every possible method of thwarting Amestris' National Alchemists.

"Let's discuss it later," he finally allowed. Al probably had his reasons for bringing it up around Franklin, too, and now that he thought about it, maybe that was indeed the more subtle way to offer his services to the skinny little parolee standing silently a few feet behind them.

The skinny little parolee who had obviously been on the receiving end of some anti-alchemist sentiment, if not weapons.

They started walking again, and Al waved the folded announcements at him. "Exam schedule?"

"Among other things." When marks would be due from the faculty, how they'd be communicated, the year-end banquet –

His brother grinned. "Such hard work, being the headmaster."

"When I'm not being jumped by my own faculty in my own damn hallway –"

"Professor, I have no idea what you mean."

Al soon peeled off to the left, heading into the main office, and Ed got a glimpse of several enlisted, in bright Amestrian blue, standing at the counter. He kept walking, quickly flipping through his mental index of outstanding reports. Was there something he was supposed to have submitted? Financials, maybe?

Dueys seemed to be handling it with her usual aplomb, and Mira Bansk was at her side with an armload of folders, so Ed left them to it, gesturing for Sorn to take the place his brother had vacated.

The Amestris Academy of the Sciences was well into its second year of operation, and he and Al had done a relatively good job of keeping it operating efficiently and, for the most part, legally. Much of that success had to do with the employees they'd selected, and while he gave them both some grief, the front office staff deserved most of the credit for the Academy's smooth operation. It was still two minutes before dismissal, and already, up ahead Ed could see that the lecture hall doors bore one of Paise Duey's bright pink messages, probably explaining that Compressed Gases was still on despite Hicks' absence and would be taught by a stand-in.

Al picking up another professor's class wasn't out of the ordinary, but the fact it wasn't an alchemist's was. He and Al had made a concerted effort before the start of the second year to attract some decent talent that wasn't alchemical in nature. Dr. John Hicks was a very well-respected physicist, and also one of the few civilian physicists in Central. It had been tough to pry him away from the State University, but well worth the trouble and cost, as it had helped Ed avoid what promised to be an awkward conversation with General Hakuro on why the Academy had an open position but strangely refused to consider any of the physicists that had worked on the uranium bomb.

Not that Ed was sure Hicks wasn't also interested in that line of research, given his other explosive interests. He made a mental note to ask Dueys if the good doctor had planned vacation or had had to skip his class for some other reason.

Ugh. Almost two years in an administrative role had made this kind of crap almost second nature.

And speaking of administrative crap . . .

His little red-haired headache had finally decided to walk beside him, and when they reached his office Ed continued right past it. Franklin slowed, clearly confused, and Ed waved him on again. "Let's get some air," he suggested quietly.

In less than sixty seconds the hallway was going to be swarming with students transferring to their two o'clock, and he didn't want to be caught in his office if those enlisted actually were looking for him.

They made it out the doors just in time for the bell, and Ed rolled his sleeves back down as the chill fall air finally hit. One of the downsides of their building, besides the fact that it didn't contain wood, was that it didn't contain wood. It was solid stone. It held its temperature for a little while, since limestone was a bit more porous than, say, granite, but certainly not as well as he would have liked, or as well as the more common wood and insulation structure would have. Last year they'd paid for that oversight with extravagant heating fuel costs.

This year they'd made a few modifications, and he was glad to feel the results on his prickling skin.

He led them around to the west, onto the large academy lawn. There were a few students dotting the green here and there, but they were easily avoidable, and the two o'clock sun was still high enough overhead to provide a little warmth.

Which Sorn looked like he could use. Despite the change in venue, there wasn't a single spark of curiosity in his green eyes. Thankfully they were at least back to actual green; his face had started to fill back out once he'd started eating again. Not that Edward thought his guardians were coaxing him to eat as much as forcing. Dolph and Madelyn Price were doing what they could for his body, that was certain.

His mind was another issue entirely.

The boy obediently followed him, and Ed decided to keep them moving towards the magnificent old sycamore tree that dominated the back lawn. It was easily a century old and at least 110 feet tall, and it had burst into deep golds that faded to a bright orange the higher up they went.

"Let's stick with a verbal report today." It was the off week, meaning he didn't need to submit Franklin's report to Mustang's office until next Thursday. It also generally meant he'd get even less detail out of his subordinate than usual.

"Where would you like me to start."

Ed watched the teen out of the corner of his eye. "How about with what you're actually working on."

Nothing, not so much as a sigh. "I'm still testing alloys."

For his springs, right. "Did you speak with Fletcher like I suggested?" He already knew the answer.

"Not yet."

"You're waiting for . . .?"

"Exams to finish." It was a very logical, reasonable answer. After all, Fletcher had taken on teaching a few tutoring sessions last semester, and a few labs as well, and he had to not only study for his own upcoming exams, but write the first years'.

It was also bullshit, which Ed knew very well.

"I see."

Ed let the silence thicken as they strolled towards the carpet of yellow. Seven months they'd been doing this. Every Thursday, at 2 o'clock, Franklin Sorn reported to his parole officer for a mandatory update on his status with his projects. His parole officer then determined if any of Sorn's projects were a threat to Amestris, and bimonthly filed Sorn's written report with the offices of the Prime Minister.

And every week, for seven months, Ed heard about Franklin's projects. He'd charged the teen with "using alchemy for what it's for." And alchemy was for the people. It had been as good a place as any to start with the Mechanical Alchemist, since it was the type of work he had done in his hometown of Jannai, and was unlikely to get him into any serious trouble.

They hadn't made much progress until the main line out east, that went through New Optain and Youswell, had been damaged by an earthquake. They were fairly common in the eastern parts of the country, where the rolling, rocky hills quite suddenly terminated in nearly flat desert. And trains were something that were right up the Mechanical Alchemist's alley. And so he had produced a machine for laying railroad track and ties to build a new line east. Then a new furnace and manufacturing line, to produce the track. Then a machine to improve logging efficiency for the ties. Once he'd exhausted the new train line itself, he'd moved on to a machine to braid more efficient and durable telephone wires, to support the teams building the east line. That hadn't taken long, so they'd moved on to cranes that could be shipped in a single traincar to sites and assembled in less than an hour with nothing more than hand tools, capable of moving objects up to a ton.

Hence the springs. Franklin was looking for an alloy that would allow him to increase the thickness of the crane structure – thus enabling it to move more than a ton – while still being easy enough for a four man team to assemble.

It was a task that should have taken him days, not weeks. Even without Fletcher's help, though admittedly his relationship with Winry was teaching the younger Tringum quite a bit about metallurgy.

Edward very carefully inspected that thought for jealousy and was reasonably certain his search came up empty.

"What do you want me to say?"

The truth. What he was really working on. What was getting him out of bed in the mornings. His grades at the Academy had always been top of the class and even with the sessions he missed during the West Conflict and his subsequent trial, his marks hadn't significantly slipped. Ed saw him in classes, of course, though now he'd chosen a seat near the back, as far to one side of the hall – the side with the door – as possible to facilitate arriving just in the nick of time and being the first one out. He wasn't sure how Sorn was able to move about the Academy without apparently using the halls, since he'd never caught the young alchemist there even in passing until today.

He knew what was going on. He knew why Sorn was making himself scarce, and why he was hiding injuries – poorly – from him and Al. His collar was turned up on one side but not the other. And being red-headed came with fair skin that reacted if you so much as touched it, so the collar wasn't enough to hide that something had inflamed the skin of his neck. Franklin had to know that until he stopped behaving like a kicked puppy, the other students at the Academy were going to keep kicking him. As long as he acted like he was guilty, they were going to continue to be reminded that he was. While most of the Academy only knew what had been published after the trials ended, they knew that he'd been there when their headmaster had been facing a firing squad. He'd been there and done nothing.

Of course, only three other alchemists in the Academy, and only four in the world, knew that Franklin actually could have done something. Outside of a few conversations Al had dragged the boy into, Ed didn't think Franklin had so much as considered transmuting without an array, let alone using his foot or another alchemist, since his time in Mustang's secret dungeon. His ring of wooden planks, with his most common arrays burned into each, hung around his belt as it always had. And Ed wasn't even really sure that Franklin was using those. All his recent inventions hadn't needed alchemy to design.

Maybe there was something to be said for Al's suggestion. That Sorn learn some self-defense. His brother had been a little more subtle about it earlier, but subtle was not Ed's style. He'd already threatened those lessons, if Franklin should fuck up, but to his credit, he showed up at 2 o'clock every Thursday on time. Even early, today.

Which was a little out of the ordinary, come to think of it . . . The bastard would have made some kind of heavy handed proclamation, like to whom do I owe the honor of your early presence, or I see you're moving quickly today, with such short strides, too, or –

"I'd like to know what you're actually working on," he said instead, in answer to the boy's earlier question. "It's not springs. I'm bored just thinking about it."

Sorn took a preparatory breath – a resigned one - and Ed made an impatient sound, cutting him off. All a breath like that would do is offer up more garbage.

"You're not fooling anyone with this, Franklin. Not me, not Mustang, not Hakuro." Which was kinda sad, since Hakuro was relatively easy to fool, at least in the alchemy department. "No one learns geography, astronomy, and complex biology almost overnight and then spends weeks working on a spring."

He'd done the math, while he'd been laid up in the hospital recovering. Sorn had learned how to transmute whole, perfect chimera in the span of weeks. Even with Tucker's notes and a pile of Incomplete Stone, that was insane. Franklin wasn't the one who'd gotten shot in the head, his brain was perfectly fine. There was no way that brain wasn't constantly at work on something.

Not that Hakuro or the prime pain in his ass had actually said anything about Sorn's reports.

Not that he'd given them an opportunity to ask. Or been available for either one of them to speak with, about Sorn or anything else. It was kind of nice, with the war over he didn't actually run into Mustang or Hakuro really at all. Another reason to continue dodging enlisted showing up on the Academy's doorstep, whether they were after him or not.

"I've been studying for finals-"

"You already know the material." In some cases, maybe better than his professors.

Franklin paused, and Ed took another two steps before he decided that the kid wasn't going to follow him anymore, so he turned. For once he had Franklin's eyes, though there was very little in them. "I told you before. I don't want to do this."

It was the same thing he'd said at his parole hearing, when he'd been assigned to Edward. What had Mustang said? He didn't care?

The corner of Ed's lips turned up at the memory. That was basically the same thing the bastard had said to him, when he'd had his own crisis of faith, not much younger than Sorn was now. It had meant something to him, back then. It had meant something because Mustang was someone he had respected, and when he was being totally honest, had feared. Just a little bit.

It was weird to think that was probably also how Sorn felt. That he himself was only a little younger than Mustang had been when a slightly younger version of himself had probably stood before him with the same look, the same feelings.

Only not really. There wasn't any fire left in Sorn. He'd had his dejected points, sure, but he wasn't sure he'd ever been this low.

He'd had Al.

And maybe he should leave this to Al. If they were getting along, maybe Al could make that inroad that Edward himself couldn't seem to. "And I told you before. If you keep things from me, or lie to me . . ."

He left it hanging, but he knew Sorn remembered. Or they'd work on his combat skills. The threat of a beat-down had always encouraged him and Al to stay on their sensei's good side, after all.

But he couldn't look to Izumi too hard here, either, because Sorn was much older than he and Al had been. Franklin was for all intents and purposes almost grown. And it didn't seem like beat-downs were much of a threat, since they were apparently happening anyway.

"I'm studying vocations." Without inflection. "I've been trying to decide what I'd like to do when – my probation is over."

Just the tiniest catch. Ed let it go, considering this new information.

Trying to think of a new career would be something his brain was probably doing. The problem was that it was probably also doing thirty other things at the same time. "Have you narrowed down your field yet?"

He lost Sorn's eyes as a gust of wind rushed through the branches overhead, bringing with it the softest sound of falling leaves, and the boy studied them a long moment, as if seeking a pattern. "I think I'd like to own a restaurant."

Huh.

Ed couldn't stop himself. "No one trusts a skinny cook."

The boy didn't even flinch. "Cooking isn't so much a science as a combination of science and art. I could make new tools, the railroad will bring new ingredients from the east . . ." Oddly, he continued staring up at the tree, and Edward followed his gaze, eventually locating a fat brown squirrel, staring down at them both contemptuously.

Of course Phillip was eavesdropping.

He'd probably also be in whole-hearted support. They did say alchemy began in the kitchen . . . and Madelyn and Dolph could certainly help Franklin set up a business. They were only bakers, it was true, but the basics of finance, acquiring ingredients, storage, all of that would be transferrable. And he was right, he was singularly suited to making kitchen appliances.

As a bonus, the cook didn't usually have to deal directly with the customers, so he could hide in the back with his staff and live a quiet life.

On the flip side, cooking was very much not as scientific as the logical, pragmatic Mechanical Alchemist usually preferred. Sure, you could get making a grilled cheese sandwich down to a science, exactly how hot to make the griddle, exactly how long to toast each side assuming the same thickness and consistency of bread and cheese every time, but you couldn't have a successful restaurant that served only grilled cheese. Real cooking, there was something that truly did take mastery, and while he was a hell of a lot better at it now than he had been as a child, Edward could easily see making an entire life out of learning to cook properly.

Maybe the kid really was on to something. Not that he could even pretend to believe Sorn would actually tell him something like that.

"That was a fairly decent lie. I think Hakuro might even buy that one."

Finally, he got a snort, and Franklin dropped his eyes back to somewhere around Ed's chest. "You asked."

"I asked for the truth."

"Technically I was only ordered to tell you what I was working on. Not everything I'm thinking."

Ed barked a laugh, and received a warning chitter from above. "Technically I was ordered to determine if you were a threat to Amestris, not just to read your reports."

The boy shook his head, glancing back at the Academy to avoid having to look at him. "And you really think I'm a threat?"

Roy would remain silent. Izumi would have answered bluntly, and softened it with her expectations. Neither response felt quite right. "I think you're a genius. Genius is always a threat."

He knew Franklin could turn that around on him, and Al. And the truth was, Hakuro didn't like him or Al for the same reason he didn't like Sorn. He didn't trust them. The general had never come right out and said it, but their abilities – and their tendency to ignore authority – meant they were difficult if not impossible to control. And the amount of damage he could do, he had done, Al had done –

Franklin had done.

"I think that you're hiding things from me because you don't trust me." Which, quite frankly, he didn't deserve. He had been more forthcoming with Sorn than Mustang had ever been with them. "And I know what you're capable of," he reminded the boy quietly. "That's what I'm thinking."

He wasn't expecting reciprocity and he didn't get it. Phillip, however, was apparently quite offended by the silence, as he landed heavily on a lower branch, showering them with leaves while letting loose with a long series of squawks that Edward was sure would sting if he actually spoke squirrel.

Phillip, so named by the student body, was the unofficial mascot of the Academy, to the point that several of the faculty had even suggested putting him on the background of the Academy seal. He was the most singularly ornery creature Ed had ever encountered. The sycamore spread was welcome shade in the spring and summer, and a popular place for students to study, relax, and eat. When Phillip wasn't long diving into lunch sacks he was literally stationing himself directly above his target, compensating for wind, and nailing his victim with an incredibly accurate stream of urine.

In fact, Philip was such a right bastard that he had even driven all of the nesting birds out of the tree. It was his and his alone. No Mrs. Phillips, no Phillips junior. Just a grumpy fat bachelor, angry at the world.

Sorn glanced back up at the squirrel, finally wearing an expression – exasperation. "You know, I could make a trap. A humane one," he added, almost as an afterthought.

The squirrel continued to rant at them, fleeing to slightly higher branches and still raining down leaves, and Ed shook his head. "He was here first, I guess." He'd certainly been in that tree the entire time Ed could remember.

He might have been pissed off because this tree was probably where Al had taken the wood, come to think of it –

The breeze picked up again, rustling through the leaves and partially drowning out the tree's crabby resident, and Franklin seemed to remember that looking up was exposing the marks on this neck, because he tucked his chin back down rather quickly. "I don't . . . think like I used to. It's more like this." He nodded towards the falling leaves. "Quick bits, in and out, and then they're gone."

Swirling thoughts, that Ed could relate to. Sorn was more than capable of maintaining high marks even if he was having trouble focusing. "Too noisy?"

Sorn was quiet again, for so long Ed didn't think he would answer. Then, ". . . nothing's interesting."

Ed felt his lips quirk. "Listen. No onefinds that spring interesting."

But he could relate to that feeling too. Once it seemed like his dreams, his goals had been out of reach, nothing else even came close. How could it? What Franklin had pursued was all-consuming. Everything he'd ever wanted, and the only way to make the consequences of getting there bearable. It was going to take longer than seven months to get over. He probably never would, not fully.

Not that he needed to hear that.

Phillip let loose with another string of rodent expletives, and Ed felt his eyes rolling.

"All right already, we're leaving." Before he took matters into his paws and starting peeing on them. Ed addressed Sorn a little more quietly. "If you want to pursue the restaurant angle, be my guest. Just make some damn progress on the crane already and then . . whatever makes you happy. A potato peeler. Surprise me."

The teen looked almost relieved, and Ed wondered exactly how much honesty he'd really just gotten. Maybe he'd have to change up the meeting location occasionally, maybe the office reminded Franklin too much of Mustang, or Blane –

There was an indignant squawk, and Ed cast a look over his shoulder as they headed back towards the academy. He could almost feel the squirrel glaring at him, and Ed scanned the branches a little more closely. Golden orange leaves waved at him innocently, shifting in the breeze.

. . . there was no way Al could have gotten out of the office and up into the tree without them seeing him.

Right?

Ed's gaze dropped thoughtfully to the stone and wrought iron fence, about thirty feet beyond the sycamore, that ran the perimeter of the lawn. He could have double-timed it around the fence, snuck over or transmuted a rope ladder –

Clearly the Ambush Protocol was having more of an effect on him than he realized. Ed shook his head, ignoring an ever so slightly inquiring look from the other alchemist. "You know, I may have an idea for you after all."

-x-

"I'm just saying, I think any reasonable person would find that suspicious."

Major Rollo Hurnsted shook his head, catching the front gate and swinging it open with a foot. "You think the worst about people, you know that?"

Cam shifted the parcels on his arm, trying to maneuver the load between the gate posts. "Look, it's getting close to the holidays, the weather's getting colder, you're working more and more 'overtime,' I'm just saying-"

"Nothing. There's no proof of anything. We're great. She's always there when I call, she's not hiding things from me -"

"That just means she's good at it-"

"Why do you always have to do this?" The major slid his foot out from underneath the gate, catching it on his knee before performing a pirouette that would make any dancer jealous and swinging his own load of packages over the garden fence posts rather than between. "I'm finally happy, Cam. I have a nice girl. She likes me. I like her. I might actually have a date for the Officer's Ball who hasn't been blackmailed there by one of my sisters –"

"I keep meaning to tell you, I heard –"

The major finished his graceful spin and headed for the front door, trying to tune the lieutenant out completely. There was another load waiting for them in the car, and it was going to be a long drive back. At least he could look to Mrs. Hakuro for pleasant conversation, even if only for a moment –

And the front door was slightly open. She must have heard them coming.

"- and I'm pretty sure that sounds like your middle sister's MO –"

"That's very interesting, lieutenant," he said, perhaps a bit loudly. "Let's finish this discussion on the way back to base."

For all that Lieutenant Cam Dunlap was a gossip – and a hell of a gossip for an officer – he was also a fairly good listener. The shift in tone from conversational to military had his mouth snapping shut immediately.

"Yessir," he replied smartly, and Rollo trotted up the three wide stairs and right up to the door. The general could arrive home at any time, he was playing hooky from Parliament today, and she must have been watching for his car and seen theirs arrive.

"Good evening, ma'am," the major called, over faint strains of music coming from the warmly lit hallway. "May we come in?"

He'd been working for the general for close to a decade, and he knew better than to simply assume a door ajar was an invitation. They wouldn't set foot in that house until Lucille Hakuro was ready to greet them.

Behind him, he heard the lieutenant shuffle up the stairs, and they waited patiently for their general's commanding officer to finish her current task. Hurnsted knew the entire family had come in a few days ago, and he had understood why the moment he'd seen Clara. She looked fit to burst right then and there, even her brother Luka had been a little wide-eyed.

But knowing the Hakuro family like he did – and there was no doubt that while Clara had taken Liam's last name of Hannes, she was a Hakuro from bangs to toenail – she was going to make them all wait until she was good and ready to be a mother, and if that meant waiting til the solstice, that was what she would do.

The record finished, though he heard no other motion from inside, and the major cocked his head. "Ma'am, we have a delivery for you."

Which was kind of an understatement. The administrative staff had certainly gone all out for the shower. Who knew a baby's things could be so . . . heavy? And for such small packages, too.

He shifted his stance, glancing inquiring into the gap between the door and the jamb, and the faintest whiff of spices came wafting out. It smelled as if cider had boiled over, or perhaps someone had spilled it on the stove – that must be what was keeping her.

"We'll just set these down and get the rest," he called into the house, and soft music started back up.

Rollo glanced over his shoulder at his partner, and the lieutenant shrugged and awkwardly deposited his armload onto the porch. Hurnsted did the same, glancing through the jamb again. It was only open a sliver to keep the warm air in, and the only thing visible was a strip of the hallway runner – a very festive fall one – and the hardwood floors.

The two officers headed back to the car, and thankfully the second load was lighter than the first, though the boxes were much bigger. They proceeded back in the much the same manner as the first time, with Rollo getting the garden gate, and yet by the time they'd retaken the porch, there was still no movement from inside.

Had something happened . . . ? Had Clara decided not to wait til the solstice after all?

Rollo set the second load down beside the first, glancing at Cam before hopping lightly off the porch, heading around to the side of the manor. The driveway was occupied, three cars and one was definitely a Parliament model.

Rollo kept his tone very conversational, eyeing the side door. It looked closed and secured. "Cam, do you remember if Tobias drove the general this morning?"

His partner had stayed on the porch, in line of sight, and he stared at him a moment, then silently eased the snap off his holster guard.

"Can't say that I recall," he drawled easily, and Cam nodded, drawing his own pistol. The other cars were civilian, probably Liam's and Luka's. If the general's car was here also, it meant there hadn't been an emergency trip to the hospital, and there was no fourth car, so no midwife.

Something was wrong.

Rollo proceeded quickly around the side, sticking close to the wall and out of sight of the second floor windows. The first floor windows had their curtains drawn, a nod to the chill of the early evening air, and he kept silent count in his head as he moved as quickly as he dared to the rear of the house. The back door was closed, which was quite unusual if Lucille was cooking dinner. She always complained the kitchen got too hot.

He made it to the back door with four seconds to spare, and he peered cautiously through the window above the sink. There was motion on the stove, a pot boiling over, and no sign of anyone tending it.

When his mental countdown reached zero, he tried the back doorhandle, unsurprised to find it unlocked, and he yanked it open, scanning the room.

It was empty. From further into the house he could still hear the record playing, even over the hissing of the cider. In the kitchen, the scorched cinnamon smell was much stronger. The pantry door was closed, and he edged into the kitchen, covering it as he pushed it open.

The door gave easily, but stopped about halfway when it caught on something, and a light kick resulted in the sound of a can being knocked over. Nothing seemed out of place.

He continued quickly into the adjoining dining room. The table was set for tea, there were crumbs on plates and the chairs were askew, so they'd been here a few hours ago. No damage, though; not so much as an errant teacup.

With the door to the kitchen closed, the burnt spice aroma was reduced, and finally, he smelled it. But he still didn't believe it, not even when he followed his nose through the servant's hallway to the informal sitting room. Cam had already found his way there, and he wasn't making a sound. Wasn't so much as breathing, and there in the room with them, the smell was so much stronger.

His eyes took count, and his feet carried his body out of the room, back down the servant's hallway to the phone perched there on a delicate lace serviette. His left hand unerringly dialed, though his brain couldn't think of the digits. Someone answered, said words.

His voice was perfectly steady. "Execute Cardinal procedure beta."

Alpha was reserved for the general. And he didn't even need to finish clearing the house to know that General Hakuro was not there.

-x-

Author's Notes: Well, here we are. A place I said I'd never go. Quite literally, I woke up one morning from a really effed up dream and plotted this. And then sat down and wrote the first chapter in one go. My real writing has been stuck since January, so if beating on the Elrics will bring my muse back, who am I to argue? There aren't any plotholes to fill here. I guess this one is kind of fanservice, except people die, so I guess it's crappy fanservice? If you've got plotholes I didn't cover in the previous PAAs, now's the time to let me know.

A lot's changed. They redid the anime to make it closer to the manga. (I read the manga. It was awesome.) There are some crazy detailed maps of Amestris now available, and I see that some of the PAA geography is effed up. I'm afraid this is going to have to stay its own canon. It's still basically the original anime + CoS, except now I'm adding Xing like I mean it. And the Briggs crew will make a more fleshed out appearance.

I bet you never could have made those predictions . . .

To say this won't get updated rapidly would be an understatement. I don't mean to be a tease. My recommendation is to put it on new chapter alerts, and maybe let a few chapters stack up.

And if any of the original crowd is still out there, I'd love to know. Because this? This is pretty much for all of you. =)