Hello, readers! Now, anyone who's read 'All is One' by yours truly, don't bother reading this. The title sounds familiar, eh? That's because this story was previously posted as a chapter of that story. I then re-thought it, and decided it was too long for a one-shot and gave it it's own story. This is it, 'kay? If you haven't read 'All is One', keep going and review, please!

You see those? * ** Those little asterix looking things? *** * Those are the Armstrong sparkles of censorship**. They cover up all the naughty ** words that Ed and Roy say, so I borrowed them from Major Muscles*. Because every * Fullmetal fan knows that courteousness, * politeness and manners (amongst others**) have been passed down the Armstrong* line for generations. These ** qualities, apparently have not *** been passed down the Mustang and especially not Elric (Ed's side anyway*; Al and Trisha are * a lot less swear-y than he) lines, so their bad* words must be sparkle*ified. We thank Major Arm**strong for kindly donating his * censorship sparkles. ** *** * * (However annoying they may f****** well be.)

Open your eyes.

Every movement is agony.

I can't feel anything anymore. Just pain; white hot, searing, blazing, blinding, tearing pain. Where the hell am I?

I don't know. I can't remember.

Open your eyes.

Every breath hurts. I can feel my heart beating. I can't see a thing. My mouth is dry. Throat's like sandpaper. No, like sand. Like a desert. Pain. Am I dead? Is this hell? No, it can't be hell. I'm not dead… Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not. If I am dead, then this is probably hell. What happened? Where am I?

Open your eyes.

Who are you? Why are you talking to me? Do you know where we are? Why does it hurt so much? Can you…help me?

Open your eyes.

I can't. I don't know where they are. I can't feel them. I can try but I don't know how. I don't know where anything is. Only pain.

Open your eyes.

I tried. I tried and I can't. I just…can't. I don't know where my eyes even are; none of my body is working. I can't move. Why won't you tell me who you are? Do I know you? Did you do this to me? Where am I?!

Open your eyes.

I can't! It's no use! There's no point in telling me! Ow! Why… Why do I hurt like this? Why does everything hurt? I can't tell. Did I get in a fight? I don't know. Did I get kidnapped? I can't remember. Why don't I know these things? I can't remember. Why can't I remember? I don't know.

Open your eyes. Please, Roy, please open your eyes.

Fine! Whatever! If it'll make you happy, whoever the hell you are!

"YIIAAAARRGHHK! Kahack…!" I let out a cry of pain, feeling a stab at the back of my head as I force my eyes open on blinding vision. "D-da…damn…"

Panting, I close my eyes again and bite down on my lip. Dammit, dammit, it hurts. Everything hurts.

Hurts like frikkin' hell.

"Colonel? Colonel!"

I clench my fists to try and brace myself against the endless waves of pain, but to no avail. Every movement creates it's own agony, rippling across my body like waves in a pond.

I have no idea where I am or how I got here. Everything is a blur. I can remember being in my office, filing paperwork. I can remember being sent out on a mission up north. I can remember trekking through a blizzard.

And then it all fades into white.

White pain, that is. Everything, pain, everywhere. Want a description?

Well, my head's about to burst with thumping, smashing beats of it, my chest is tight to the point of sharp, stabbing pains, my skin stings and burns like fury, my stomach feels like I've swallowed caltrops and then been socked repeatedly in the gut, my feet ache as if I've been walking non stop for miles and miles, my mouth, nose and throat burn like something straight from the devil himself, and I'm not even going to start trying to tell you what my sides feel like.

I suspect at least a couple of broken ribs.

"Colonel? Are you awake?"

"Nnghh…" I try to speak through gritted teeth, but all that comes out is a grunt of effort as I try not to scream again. "Kyeah."

"Are… Are you alright?"

There's a sharp intake of breath on my part as I give an involuntary twitch and manage to gasp out. "Hell yeah. Never better."

"Sarcasm intact. That's a good sign, at least…"

At this stage, my warped, barely functioning sense of hearing finally manages to distinguish who's voice it is talking to me.

"L-Lieutenant Hawkeye… Is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Guh…" I try to force my eyes open again, but it's too much of an effort. I can barely keep from passing out as it is. I catch a blurred, disjointed smudge of military blue, yellow hair, a bright red patch a little further away and a lot of black.

"Wh… What the hell happened? Where are we?" I eventually growl between my teeth.

"You got in a fight. We stumbled into a town after the blizzard, but we got ambushed. They were waiting for us. Your alchemy wasn't working because of the snow and I was already out of ammunition. He fought well, but—"

"Wait, wait. Back up," I order raspily, twitching my fingers (ow, s***!) in a weak attempt at a gesture. "You'll have to start at the beginning. I can't…ouch…remember a thing. Not even what the mission was."

Riza's probably frowning a little at this. Probably wondering why I can't remember.

"They must have hit a little hard when they took you out," she says eventually. "Alright. Two weeks ago, you were assigned a mission requiring two state alchemists. It was to travel north and investigate rumours about a rebel organisation planning on attacking Central. I went with you, and we caught a train as close to the designated location as possible. We then had to make our way onward by foot, so as not to get caught. A blizzard sprung up, and the three of us—"

"Three?" I echo, hating how harsh and hoarse the words sound coming from my raw throat.

"Three," Riza confirms. "Edward Elric accompanied us. His brother remained at Central."

"Fullmetal? Where is—gak, ow! Owowow!" I break off, trembling, panting and biting down on my lip again as another spasm of pain rockets through my frame. "Ah, ah, ah, ah! Ow!"

I feel something touch my face, then flinch and writhe in pain as firm hands grip my wrist. "Too tight! Too tight, too tight! That hurts! Don't touch me!"

The hands are gone almost immediately, and I cringe as a dull, zinging pain creeps up my arm, gaining intensity as it goes. Yup, I think that wrist's broken too.

Is there any part of my body that's not broken, dammit?!

"Sorry." Riza's voice cuts through the haze of pain again, bringing me back to my senses. "Regarding Major Elric; he's just over there."

"I can't open my eyes, Lieutenant. Even when I do I can't see. You'll need to explain a little better."

"We're currently situated in a small, concrete cell. You are laying on a thin, flimsy mattress stuffed with straw. I am sitting on the floor directly to your right. Major Elric is in the corner, shackled and apparently unconscious. He was awake a few minutes ago, I think. He appears to have received a fair beating from the ambush; his alchemy was strong and he fought long and hard, but he was no match for the whole rebel force."

I gingerly feel the ground beside me with my other hand, (which I can scarcely move, and this simple maneuver aches and burns up my arm and across my chest, hurting like hell in my shoulder) taking in the mattress Riza had mentioned and the icy-cold concrete beneath. "Lieutenant, how badly is Fullmetal injured?"

"There is a large amount of bruises covering his face, and he is sitting in such a position that I am tempted to think he may have damaged his leg in some way. There appears to be blood on the fabric of his cloak, thick and all over his shoulder. The wound does not look life-threatening."

I lick my dry lips, tensing my muscles a little at the next bout of pain that washes over my battered body. "A-ny-thing el-se?" I spit out.

"He is missing several digits from his auto-mail arm, and it is dented on the wrist and palm. I can't see the rest of the arm to judge any more damage. There is a gash on his upper thigh which still looks like it's bleeding. However, it is not deep. That's all I can see."

"And you? Are you okay?"

"Mostly, yes. I'm inclined to think my right ankle might be broken and there are several cuts, bruises and scratches all over my body, but otherwise I'm relatively unscathed."

This was the part I've been dreading. "What about…me?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but I'd say you're the worst of all of us. Judging from your reaction to my touch, your right wrist is broken. Your left shoulder also appears to be dislocated. You were beaten relentlessly even after you had been knocked out, mainly in the stomach, chest and head. I think one or two of your ribs may be broken, and it looks like your hands, feet and face have suffered some slight frostbite. You may have a mild concussion, and I think your right leg might have been twisted or beaten in some way, because it's swollen and your uniform is bloodstained around the area."

I let out a shaky breath. All I manage to say is, "Oh."

Riza falls silent.

"Where are my gloves?" I ask quietly.

"They destroyed them."

"And Fullmetal, can he use any…ow…alchemy?"

"No. His shackles are designed specifically to prevent the use of alchemy."

"Figured as much," I mutter, sighing. I can't see any easy way out of this.

I try to open my eyes again. Ouch. That…really hurt. But I can see now. I can see…phew. I can see.

At first, it's all a mess of shapes and colours, but it gradually gains clarity. It's still fuzzy and out of focus, but I can make out Riza's face and shoulders at my side.

I look to my left (the world blurs and sloshes around like water in a bucket, making me feel sick) and I can see Edward, whose arms are confined to a thick, rectangular metal plate with two holes cut in. He's sitting on his own messy mattress, propped against the wall with his head against the cold stone. His face is smudged with dirt and bruises, his lip split and dried blood caking his chin. His eyes bear dark purple surrounds, both from bruising and exhaustion. His clothes are a mess of shredded red and black, coated with blood.

In other words, he looks like s***.

I'm busy trying to take in the amount of black, blue, purple and red spread over his face when suddenly there are two dull specks of gold mixed in. They widen a little, and I figure they're his eyes. He's awake.

"Colonel?" he mumbles, straightening up slightly. "You're not dead yet?"

"Not yet," I manage. I allow myself a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "Damage assessment; your face looks like a dog's breakfast, you've been cut in the leg and shoulder, your auto-mail hand is broken and there's something wrong with your flesh leg. Is there anything else we need to know?"

"My ankle's sprained. That's what's wrong with it. There's nothing else, as far as I know. My…" Edward pauses to let out an exhausted yawn. "My auto-mail's busted the whole way from the elbow down. Can't move anything past that point."

As if to demonstrate, he shrugs his metal shoulder and rattles his forearm. His teeth glint white as he flashes me a grin. "Damage report; you look like crap."

"Says you," I reply, smirking wearily. "Take look in a mirror recently?"

Edward's cheeky grin remains as he says, "Whatever, bastard. You still look like crap."

"Feel like crap," I mutter.

"So," Edward shifts a little in his spot, wincing. "What about you, then? What did you do to yourself?"

"Still not one hundred percent sure," I admit, turning my head back to face the ceiling and closing my eyes. "Ask the Lieutenant. She seems to know. All I can feel is…"

Ouch. Again with the sloshy vision and nausea. And the flippin' rippling pain… Just wait it out… Damn, that smarts. Okay, okay, okay, yup, ouch. It's building now.

Yeah, the pain hasn't been this bad yet. I force my eyes open again and they land on the Lieutenant, whose face is laced with concern.

Edward's jerking up now, dragging himself across the concrete. Haha, he looks ridiculous, trying to come closer wearing those shackles with his leg sticking out and one arm hanging limp…

Crap. Vision tunnelling. Going fuzzy 'round the edges. Going black. Damn, I'm not gonna be able to…stay awake much…longer…

"Unnh…ack! A-hack!"

"Colonel?!" That's Riza's voice there… Always so formal…

"Mustang? Oi, Mustang?!" And Ed… Yeah, so crude. Even when I'm being torn up from the inside out. Cruel boy…

Not boy, even. He's like a grown up already…

"Colonel! Colonel!"

"…nht…dja…wan…" What? What do you want?

"Hey! Wakey-wakey!"

Tap tap.

"Mn…! Ow…" Ouch! My shoulder! Owowow! Crap! OUCH!

"Ed, don't do that! You'll hurt him."

"Crap! Sorry… I'll just…"

Prod.

"AAICK!" I let out an involuntary screech as a sharp, stabbing pain tears it's way across my side and chest. Shaking, my breathing speeds up into short, shallow pants.

"Ed!"

"I'm sorry! Sorry!"

"His ribs are broken! You can't just touch an injury like that!"

"Nngh… Kuh… Kuwai…waiet…" Quiet guys. Please be quiet. I just wanna sleep, so could you just pipe down a little…?

"Colonel? Are you alright?"

Shh. Tired…

"Mustang. Mustang! Don't do that! Don't you dare pass out! Hey! Hey! Stay in the room, bastard!"

Tap, tap, tap!

Now my cheek's on fire. Nice job, Ed.

"Ouch."

"Colonel?"

"What?" I mumble, cracking open one eye slightly. I can see Riza's face a couple of feet away, and Edward beside her.

Her expression is twisted into something stuck between anxiety and relief, and I sort of feel guilty for worrying her.

"What happened?" I ask raspily, feeling a pounding pain beating in rhythm with my heart.

"You just stopped talking, and then you sorta started panting and then you made a sound like you were in pain…" Edward explains. "And then you blacked out."

I nod exhaustedly, trying to breathe deeply, but my chest aches with every movement. "'Kay."

There's a short silence.

"Are you alright?" Riza asks me eventually. "Really alright?"

"I… I don't know," I sigh. "I'm just a bit sore… Actually, a lot sore. I know I shouldn't complain, but… Goddammit, this hurts!"

Edward's expression is strangely unreadable, something thoughtful. Odd.

"So," the boy begins. "How are we going to solve this one?"

He frowns and touches a hand to his chin, saying, "I can't use any alchemy with these on. You have no gloves, so that option's gone too… Wait, maybe if I scratch a circle onto the floor…"

"Ed—" Riza starts.

"Shh. Let me," I tell her. "Fullmetal."

"What?"

"Your quick and convenient use of alchemy's gone, and so are my flames. The Lieutenant has no gun. This means that neither I nor she can fight very well. We've still got our hand-to-hand, but that'll be no help against so many. You'll have to be drawing out circles to transmute, which will be hard with those things on," I say, panting slightly in places. "You won't be able to fight too well either. And besides, even if we did break out, how the hell do you expect any of us to be able to run or fight in this condition?"

Edward opens his mouth to argue, but I continue.

"You've sprained your ankle, the Lieutenant's is broken, I can't even sit up, let alone make a break for it. Hell, I'm having trouble breathing. And don't even try and act like you haven't lost loads of blood already. You can't argue with all that, Ed."

"So you're saying we just gotta sit here and wait?! Not even try?!" Edward near-shouts. "You want to give up?!"

"Edward." Riza lays a hand on the now-fuming teen's shoulder whilst I try to regain some form of steady breathing, her face sympathetically calm. "We'll figure something out eventually. Just hang tight until we can actually even think about trying to escape."

Edward's teeth grind together furiously as he absorbs this information. "So…you're saying there's nothing we can do?"

"Pretty much," I tell him.

"And you're not even bothered by that?!"

"A little, but it's happened to us before."

Silence.

"How exactly did we end up here?" I ask. "You got up to a blizzard, Lieutenant?"

"Hit your head, Mustang?" Edward bites out venomously.

"It would appear so," I reply. "But—"

Riza continues before we can break into a full blown argument. "A couple of hours into the blizzard, we came across a small, abandoned town. We decided to wait the night there, but it seems like the terrorist group had the same idea. There were about eighty, all of whom were fully armed. Your gloves had become damp with melted snow, we were running low on ammo since we couldn't carry that much,. You pulled out your last match and managed to bring down about ten of them head on before we retreated."

I close my eyes again, feeling infuriated as I realise I'd been made into a useless lump of dead-weight by that stage. My hand-to-hand never was that strong; I hadn't really needed it to be with alchemy at my disposal.

"They launched a surprise attack as we hid inside a building. You had dry gloves on by this stage, but there was no way you could use them in battle without destroying the place. You said it would end better if we surrendered, but Major Elric had other plans. He launched a direct assault before you could give the order and managed to take down a few more rebels before he himself was knocked unconscious.

"At the same time, we were also forced into combat, and you…you threw yourself out there and took a blow to the head that was meant for me. This in turn left you winded, and down on the floor. Yu got up, but were incredibly disorientated and couldn't do much. They finished you brutally, kicking at any vulnerable part they could reach until you stopped trying to fight back. You were out cold by this stage. You managed to guard your head quite well, fortunately. It was about this point where Edward fell, too. I was blindfolded and gagged, then we were dragged here. Literally, dragged."

Riza's tone lowers at this point, and she hesitates before continuing with, "These people really hate military folk. They pulled me along on a rope as soon as the blizzard died, and attached Edward to a sled which they tugged along. He wasn't treated so badly on account of his age and lack of uniform, but you... They went all out, tying you by your arms to the back of the sled and trailing you through the snow. Then they just threw us all in here. Again, literally."

"How considerate," I say dryly, keeping my eyes shut. "Must remember to thank them for their hospitality… Explains the frostbite, at least."

Edward has remained silent for the most part. My vote's on him feeling a little guilty because he's most at blame for what happened.

"Speaking of frost…" I open one eye. "Lieutenant, why can I not feel the cold anymore? Only the floor is below an average temperature."

She points at something behind my head I can't see. I turn my neck slowly, so as not to aggravate my light-headedness, and look directly along the floor…or up, from my position.

A few feet away there's a row of metal bars, a gate-like door set into the concrete wall. Beyond that is a roaring fire, beside which a stocky, slumbering guard is situated.

"How long's he been there?" I ask.

"The whole time. He hasn't woken up once," Riza tells me.

"Not even when I called him a dumb old fatso," Edward adds enthusiastically.

"Okay. What happened after we got here? How long was I out?"

"About forty-five minutes after we were locked here, Edward awoke. He complained about a sore head, and that he felt like Alphonse had fallen on top of him, before attempting to stand, failing, and spilling out a whole range of innovative and passionate curse words, some of which I've never heard before."

I snort, which in turn makes me flinch at a zing in my chest and abdomen, and say, "You really have such skill with swearing, Fullmetal."

"Pff. Whatever, dip-s***."

"Somewhere around fifteen minutes later," Riza continues. "You woke up."

"That's all I needed to know," I tell her. "Now…"

I turn my head left to look at her, my eyes half open with tiredness. "You don't mind if I have a rest for a while, do you? I'm a little sleepy."

"'Sleepy'?" Edward echoes. "Sounds like something a kid would say."

"Someone has taken my brain and replaced it with scrambled egg, Fullmetal. You can't blame me."

"Go ahead," Riza cuts in. "You need it."

"So do you. Both of you," I decide. "Okay. We should all rest… I think it's night out anyway. I get the feeling we're going to be here a while, at least until someone realises where we are and comes to get us. I highly doubt we need to keep watch; no-one'll attack us when we're already in this condition."

Edward gives a slight nod of comprehension before crawling clumsily across the room to his mattress and flopping down without a word.

"Come closer," Riza calls to him. "It'll be warmer."

"No," he responds to the wall. "I'm fine."

Riza shrugs. "Suit yourself."

She shuffles a little and settles herself on her mattress a foot or so to my left. The last thing I see out of the corner of my eye is her reaching up to undo the clasp that holds her hair in place so it falls around her neck and shoulders like a golden waterfall.

HA-WHOOOO…!

Icy wind howls and shovels truckloads of snow in my face, laughing at my struggling attempts to stumble through it's sharp white claws.

"Colonel!" Riza's shout reaches my ears from a couple of metres behind me. "Colonel, hold on!"

"What is it?" I yell back, pulling my thick coat closer around my body.

"I'm worried about Fullmetal's auto-mail!" she responds, looking over her shoulder at the teen stumbling along behind her with his eyes narrowed almost to the point of slits.

"Well, don't be!" he answers for me, his strong lungs making little work of being heard over the wind. "I'm fine!"

"You're sure?" I call back. "You might get frostbite from the metal!"

"I'm fine!" he insists, pointing to his arm. "I put heaps of layers around it, so it should be alright! Armbands, bandages, scarves… You name it, I'm wearing it!"

"And your leg?!"

"I'm not stupid, Mustang! 'Course I did the same there!"

I look to Riza - or rather, her blurry outline - and shout, "Satisfied, Lieutenant?!"

I get no audible response, so I suppose she must be. I grope around my side for the rope I know should be attached to the belt of my blue military trousers I'm wearing underneath this huge thick coat.

My fingers snag it, and I turn to hand the end of it to Riza. "Tie this through the loop on your belt, then pass the end to Fullmetal!"

She nods in response, reaching to her waist and then back behind her to the blurry red splodge that is Edward.

He takes it and I can hear Riza telling him what he needs to do, but I can't quite make out the words.

A minute later we're trekking again, trying to find our way through this mess of white. Edward seems to be complaining at the top of his voice the whole time.

I catch several snatches of his words:

"…they couldn't have picked somewhere better? Less cold maybe? Or somewhere with even a little relevance to the Philosopher's Stone? Ha, nope! Not our military…"

"…but no, we just have to get sent somewhere as dumb and pointless as this, to do something that's equally dumb and pointless! Geez…"

"…and what's worse, they made me leave Al behind…"

"…and I'm freezing my ass off in this flipping winter wonderland…"

"…and do they have any idea what it feels like to traipse two metal limbs through a place like this? No! Of course not! Because they're all snot-nosed, posh-tosh, fancy-pants ninnies up in command, who've never had to do a single thing for themselves and—"

"Shut up!" I nearly scream, sick to death of his constant whining. "Just! Shut! Up! Or I burn your mouth closed!"

Riza's irked expression tells me she's likely to give Edward's cloak a few extra holes if he doesn't follow that command.

Edward himself gives a great, frustrated, half-roar of irritation before reverting to silence. This in itself echoes my own fed-up attitude; I'd protested against being sent here with all my will, but in vain.

I got sent to one of my least favourite locations in the country all the same.

Eventually, through what seemed to be hours of endless, biting, mind-numbing cold, we stumble across a small, town. There's not a light to be seen, no signs of life, and all the buildings look to be empty.

It's been abandoned.

We don't give ourselves time to wonder why, simply making for the nearest building to escape the burning snow and wind.

Stumbling inside, we gladly set up camp in the centre of the room. Edward and I go around, scavenging whatever wood we can and dumping it in the fireplace.

I strike a match and light it, shivering.

"Not using the gloves?" Edward asks curiously. "You're already wearing them."

"Two reasons. One; I'll probably set the place on fire if I try. Two; they're damp. They won't light." To prove the point, I snap my fingers right in his face.

He flinches.

I smirk. Haha, amusing.

Trembling, the three of us huddle around the fire and silently try to gather some warmth from it. It's a freaking horrible 'freeze-half-to-death' night; all of us are cold and uncomfortable and wet. Wet. Damp, soggy, soaking, drenched, saturated, wet. I hate it!

Click.

Mine and Riza's heads jerk at the impossibly quiet noise and we simultaneously grab the drowsing Edward's fluffy hood and make a dive for the opposite wall, under the window. I swiftly kick a pile of snow over the fire as I do so, efficiently smothering it.

"Gak! What the—"

I slap a gloved hand over Edward's mouth and he resorts to blinking in confused shock at the two of us. I raise my free hand and make a shushing motion, then point at the window above our heads, mouthing, "Guns."

Edward's eyes widen in realisation and I remove my hand from his face. He glances up at the window, his face taking on a look of thoughtful worry.

Riza slowly reaches for her waist, for the pistol I know is holstered underneath the thick coat she's wearing. I rub my hands together furiously, trying to generate enough friction to dry off my gloves.

I succeed in making a wispy mix of smoke and steam.

Edward annoys me further by giving me a falsely sympathetic pat on the back, the smirk on his face saying, 'who's laughing now?'

Riza gives us both a soft kick in the leg and hands me the gun off her other leg and a couple of cases of bullets, whispering, "All I got left. Better hope your gloves dry."

I take a deep breath, cock the gun and give Riza a nod. "Ambush them?"

She nods back.

Edward claps softly. "Let's go."

We creep towards the door, guns aiming forward and hands poised to transmute. As soon as we step outside, the fight will be on.

CLA-CLUNK.

The cell door opens.

"In there. Treat those three; they're valuable hostages. Can't have 'em dying on us."

I open my eyes just in time to see the doors behind me close again, and hear the lock slide back into place.

A young man stands on the inside of the cell now, clutching a large case to his chest, and wearing a brown, fur-lined jacket and great furry mittens. He glances at the three of us, all now fully conscious, with nervous, midnight-blue eyes.

His hair is tousled and a blue-black colour, and he wears average sized, oval shaped glasses. His face is pale and a tiny bit round in the cheeks, but he looks pretty normal.

From what I can tell, anyway. In my perspective, he's a little bit sideways/upside-down.

"'Morning," is all he says.

"'Morning," I return, a hint of sharpness in my voice. "Who are you?"

"Shaydin Mackenzie," he responds quietly, looking at his feet. "I'm a medic. I was sent here to treat you."

"Thanks," Edward says coldly. "But no thanks. Who knows what you'll do to us?"

"Please," Shaydin murmurs. "Trust me. There's only as much chance of me hurting you as you are hurting me. I'm a healer, not a fighter."

We all consider this, Shaydin still pressing close to his case. He steals a quick glance in my direction, but lowers it when he realises I'm staring straight back at him. He looks to be quite shy.

"Alright," I say eventually. "But if you try anything funny, I'll…"

I trail off, sighing as I remember there isn't really much I can do.

"As likely to hurt you as you are me," Shaydin repeats, moving a few steps forward. He keeps his eyes on the ground and stops in the middle of the room, right beside me. "Direct me wherever you need."

"Him first," Riza says, pointing at me.

I look disbelievingly in her direction. "Not a chance, Lieutenant, not a chance."

"But sir," she starts, sitting forward. "You're the worst out of the three of us, you—"

"As commanding officer of this mission, I, Colonel Roy Mustang, demand that my two subordinates be tended to before me," I say authoritatively, blinking at Shaydin in a challenge to try and do otherwise.

"Can't argue with that," he says quietly, moving towards Riza and removing his gloves.

She narrows her hazel eyes at me in irritation and worry, but I return her gaze unflinchingly. I watch Shaydin closely as he sorts through his case and takes out a vial of amber-coloured liquid which, judging from how he dabs it on her cuts, is antiseptic or something similar.

I can tell it's probably stinging Riza, but I have my own pain to deal with. Nothing has improved since yesterday, except perhaps my head is a little less painful and fuzzy, I'm not as dizzy and the nausea has faded a little.

I see Riza bite her lip as Shaydin sets a splint to her injured left foot and bandages it, and a few beads of perspiration form on her forehead.

After this, Shaydin pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to her, gently saying, "Drink up. There will be food later."

She does as she's told, Shaydin packs up his case and moves over to the corner of the room to treat Edward.

This won't be easy.

"Hell no!" he exclaims as the medic draws near him. "I'm not letting you touch me!"

Shaydin sighs softly and sets his case down. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with—"

"Then scat!"

"—but I would very much like to dress your wounds—"

"Dress someone else, buddy!"

"—and I am sure you'd feel a lot better if I could see to your injuries, also—"

"I feel fine! Great!"

"—I'm sure your superior would prefer that I did."

"Nuh-uh! No way!" Edward exclaims, his tone angry verging on panicked. "You don't give a damn, Mustang! Tell him to go away!"

"Fullmetal, let the boy fix you up. That's a direct order."

"No! I'm good! I don't want him to!"

"Fullmetal!" I sharpen my voice now, and my calm, commanding aura has returned to me - of course it has!

Even when I'm lying on the floor, bashed beyond recognition, living in a world of pain and having difficulty breathing.

Edward looks from me to Shaydin, to Riza and then back at Shaydin, his face pleading. He lets out a defeated sigh. "Okay."

"Thank you," Shaydin mumbles, reaching forward to touch Edward's forehead.

"What're you doing?" he asks sharply.

"Checking for fever," Shaydin replies. "Do not worry, you feel fine."

Edward regards the young medic with great suspicion as he inspects his battered auto-mail.

"I have never seen auto-mail made this skillfully before," he admits. "Not in the town I come from, anyway."

"I have a good engineer," Edward tells him icily.

Shaydin nods slightly. "Okay. What hurts? Do you know what injuries you may have?"

"I sprained my ankle, got cut in the leg, got hit in the face a lot and… I um…" His voice drops drastically and he looks guiltily at his feet. "There's a bullet in my shoulder…"

Riza and I explode into action.

"There's a hunk of metal in your shoulder and you didn't tell us?! Idiot!"

"Edward, why didn't you say something? A bullet wound is a lot more threatening than a scratch!"

"You flaming dumbass! Don't you know when to tell us what the flipping hell is wrong with you?!"

"You shouldn't hide things as serious as this!"

Edward squirms and squeaks, glares and scowls. "Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Riza and I scold in unison, surprised at each other.

"Not to worry," Shaydin murmurs. "I can remove it if it is not in too deep."

"It's not," Edward mutters. "I can see it. Plus it was a really low-power gun. The bullet's small. Tiny. Miniscule. Itty-bitty. A eensy-weensy, teeny-weeny little insignificant—"

He pauses, his eyebrow twitches and he shuts up as he realises how many synonyms for the word 'small' he just used.

He removes his jacket and cloak as Shaydin tells him, then lays down on the mattress.

"This will probably hurt a little, but I have no anaesthetic or even painkillers to offer you," the young man explains. "For that, I apologise."

He begins by washing off and disinfecting the area around the wound, then grabs a mid-size pair of tweezers. "Please, try to hold still. I should be done quickly."

I exchange a glance with Edward, and am surprised to see a hint of fear in his eyes. I give what I hope appears to be a reassuring nod and say, "Don't worry."

Edward nods in return, cringing and gulping a little.

"And…I'll start now."

Edward immediately stiffens, biting down on his lip and in an effort to contain within his chest a cry of terror and pain I can see on his sweating face.

About fifteen seconds later, Edward gives a scarily childish-sounding whimper and Shaydin steps back. "Done."

The bullet is still pinched in the end of the tweezers, and Edward's face has taken on a deathly pale shade.

He looks weak.

Just…weak. Scary.

Shaydin looks back at the boy. "You have lost much blood. I am surprised you are so…energetic…in this condition," he comments. "I may need to stitch that back up…"

I didn't think it possible for a human to go any whiter, but Edward visibly blanches at the thought of this, any trace of colour left in his face draining away and his eyes widening like great golden dinner plates, his arms going weak at his sides. "No! Nononono! You aren't touching me with a needle! Don't even try it!"

Shaydin shrugs. "Very well. You are lucky that the wound is small and the bullet did not penetrate too far. I will let you off this once. A patch and a bandage should do the trick."

He binds Edward's left shoulder and my youngest subordinate sits up as the medic moves on to treating the slash on his thigh, cleaning up other scratches he finds on the way.

He says the wound is very light and doesn't require stitching, and Edward lets out a loud sigh of relief, sweat still beading his face.

Then Shaydin gives him a bottle of water as well, and a plastic bag packed full of snow to hold against his sprained ankle. Now he's coming for me.

Oh, joy.

"Hm. This does not look good," he comments.

"Doesn't feel good," I reply, watching him kneel down beside me.

"I can imagine. Do you know what is wrong?"

"I think I've broken a rib or two, there's something wrong with my leg, my wrist's broken, my shoulder's been dislocated and Lieutenant Hawkeye reckons I might be frostbitten."

"I see," says Shaydin quietly. "I see…"

He looks me up and down. "This won't be easy, you know. It is going to hurt any way I do it."

I nod as best I can. "You're the doc. Go crazy."

Shaydin nods and moves closer to feel my temperature. He puts two fingers on my forehead and two on his own. He stays that way for a while before his brow furrows and he says, "Hm."

That's never good.

"What is it?" Riza asks, shuffling closer. I can now see her face beside Shaydin's.

"A fever," he replies, tone solemn.

My heart skips a beat. "Oh. Do…do you know what caused it?"

"No," Shaydin admits. He looks at my leg. "But I have a hunch."

I attempt to look at my leg too, since that's what everyone else seems to be doing (except Ed, because he's busy being all shaken-up and frazzled in the corner), but this just hurts so I give up. "Problem?"

"Is your leg cut or sprained?" Shaydin asks me quietly.

"I don't know. I can't tell. I sort of can't sit up to check."

"Hm." Shaydin moves down to my leg and starts to work the fabric of my loose military trousers upwards to see the actual wound. I can feel it stinging intensely around my upper shin, and I guess that must mean it's been cut.

"Yeah," I mutter, clenching my jaw. "Cut."

Shaydin eases my trousers up further past it, and then stops. "As I thought," he says.

"What? What is it?" I struggle to raise my head the few centimetres needed.

"The wound is infected," says Shaydin.

I drop my head back down, groaning in annoyance. That explains why I feel so…so…blah. I feel blah. Just… Just blah.

Don't even ask.

"It must have been the new weapons they are testing; blades tipped with a certain herb that causes the wound to become infected straightaway," says Shaydin with a disapproving snort.

"What about Fullmetal? Is his wound—"

"It is fine. No signs of infection," Shaydin reports, sorting through his case. "But really, you should be more worried about yourself. This kind of thing can be fatal, you know…"

"I know."

Air hisses out between my teeth as Shaydin dresses the cut with all kinds of disinfectants and antiseptics and things, which stings like hell and starts my pain spasming again.

"I will have to sew this one," Shaydin tells me quietly. "Are you okay with that?"

"Knock-yourself ou-ut," I stammer, my voice cracking in and out as I try to suppress the pain in my body. "You kno-ow what you're do-ing."

He starts stitching the slash back up, and I cringe, feeling heat gather in my cheeks and sweat trickle all down my face and saturate my hands.

About five minutes later, Shaydin's done and he's bandaged the wound and everything. He's very skilled. And efficient.

I close my eyes, still clenching my teeth together.

"Alright," Shaydin's voice has become suddenly sharp, and I open my eyes. "I am going to fix that shoulder now."

I gulp. There's quite an awkward (and sore) process followed as he and Riza remove my thick blue jacket and set it aside for better access.

Shaydin analyses my arm and says, "Okay. I think I can put it back in it's place from this position. I suppose you're already in enough pain, and it is probably a bad idea to try and move you."

He judges my arm for a little longer before saying, "I will do it now. Try to hold still. This will hurt for a couple of minutes, and ache for a few days afterwards, but it will feel a lot better than if I do not fix it."

I nod slightly, a nervous queasiness settling in my gut. I'm not looking forward to this part. But anyways, it needs to be done.

"Do it," I order, my voice surprisingly calm.

Swiftly, Shaydin grabs my upper arm, shoves, and there is a sickening click as he puts my shoulder back where it belongs within seconds.

F***.

That. Hurt.

"Gghh... Gyaak! Rrrr..." My body jerks a little as a bolt of pain shoots across my chest from my shoulder and down my arm.

It hurts.

Damn, it hurts.

"AAAIIKH!"

"Colonel!"

Roy screams.

That's rare. I've never heard anything like that ever come from that bastard's mouth. Scary.

It's not a scream scream, not like Alphonse used to do (and still does when he sees a litter of kittens) when he was younger - it's not a girly wail.

It's a full-blown, from-the-belly yell, and it's laced with agony. His voice cracks and then he's limp all over again, trembling on the floor and drenched in sweat. He bites down on his lip so hard after it's gone that it bleeds, and now there's scarlet red running all down his chin.

I don't think I've ever seen him so…vulnerable. I don't like it. It isn't right. As much as it pains me to say so, that colonel is tough; he's a strong man. He shouldn't be like this.

Reduced to something so…weak.

Weak.

Mustang and weak. The two words cannot be put in the same sentence, unless there's an 'isn't' inserted between them.

"Hah…hah…hah…" Roy's breaths are coming short and sharp now, his expression set in a cringe. His face is red and dripping wet with both sweat and now blood, his feet twitching and writhing in total agony. Riza is at his side, as usual, coaxing him to try and calm down and take a deep breath.

He's hyperventilating.

And yet here I remain, in the corner of the room, silent and the only one to blame for why he's like this. Stupid Ed, stupid, stupid Ed… I sigh. Insulting myself has never helped anything.

"Sir! Can you hear me?" Riza asks in a strong clear voice.

Shaydin presses another pack of snow to Roy's shoulder, and he gasps, shuddering in the effort of bearing it all.

But he's losing his grip. His eyes are slipping closed now; his breathing's becoming softer.

"Mustang! You jerkface!" I call suddenly. "Don't black out, you ol' sissy!"

And then he's back.

His eyes aren't full of that sharp wit or hidden intelligence they normally hide, but they're open, awake and fixed on the room.

That's all I need.

"That…" Roy says, huffing for breath. "…really…hurt…"

"You don't say?" I mutter, reverting to my corner. I turn my head in the other direction, staring out the cell door. No-one needs to know I was ever even worried for him. Slightly.

I can't believe the guy sometimes. I pass him off as all kinds of things; bastard, pervert, slut, slave-driver, lazy, arrogant, know-it-all, even useless.

I know he hates that last one.

But I've just seen him go through with this…agony…and not show even a hint of fear. I flat-out refused in sheer terror at the thought of a needle so much as touching me, and he bears it without so much as a complaint.

And now he's just had his shoulder rammed back into it's socket, at the same time as having broken ribs, an infected wound, a broken wrist and possibly a mild concussion.

Unbelieveable.

I thought Al and I had seen almost all the pain the world could give us, but no. There'll always be more.

And as frustrated as it makes me to admit it, right now, I'm the useless one.

Now I know why he hates that word so much. This is a terrible feeling.

"Here." Shaydin holds a third bottle of water out behind him as he rifles through his case for some other medical tool. "There's medicine mixed in," he explains.

Riza takes it and shifts around to Roy's top half, easing his head slowly off the floor and onto her knees, urging, "Drink. You'll feel better."

Roy mumbles something unintelligible and twists his head a few degrees in a feeble attempt to tell her he doesn't want any, his face twisted with pain and exhaustion.

"Drink," Riza orders, her voice sharp. Even when she doesn't have a gun, she's still just as threatening.

Roy lets out a whimper that sounds eerily like a scolded puppy and closes his eyes, frowning. "No, thanks. Feel sick," is all he manages.

Riza is persistent. "Colonel, you know it'll do you good to have a little more fluid in your system after what you've been through."

"She is right…" Shaydin's light voice floats over his shoulder as he looks through his things.

Roy moans, seemingly giving in. He lets Riza give him a few sips of the water at long intervals before he closes his mouth and blatantly refuses to take any more.

Although he doesn't need his head propped up anymore, Riza stays there, letting Roy rest on her lap as Shaydin splints and bandages his wrist.

He only makes one noise this time, and it's a simple, "Ow."

Next, Shaydin hands Riza a tub of ointment and tells her to put some anywhere on his face that looks bruised or frostbitten.

I kindly point out that that's basically his entire face.

Riza thanks me for my input, then tells me I should lie down and get some rest, that I'll need it if we've got any hope of healing up and getting out of here.

Then I just go quiet again, the guilt of knowing this was my fault gnawing slowly at my gut. She… She shouldn't be worried about…me… No-one should…because I don't deserve it.

This stuff…that happened…all the stuff. Mom, Al, Lots o' stuff's my fault. Now I've got this to list as well.

Yay.

I can't even remember all the I that…stuff did…like a little white book. It doesn't work. I think it was broken, maybe? Winry didn't like it either… I wanted to, to… Alchemy, y'know? Alphonse, too, mostly.

That was a law, wasn't it? Not, a science one, it was a metaphor, I think. Mom said it when I skipped my homework. Something about a mumble? Everything that will go wrong, wrong…it can…whatever it was… Don't remember. The truth certainly did though.

And then there was fire… Fire like eyes, actual, legitimate eyes… Can you imagine that?

It's in his too. And Al's is fire. Just…fire. It's scary. Sometimes…I…can't…look.

You know, I'm really tired. My eyes are stinging and the room is a little blurry. Blinking. Won't. Stay. Open!

I can't think clearly anymore.

Damnloss, blood it. Haha, funny…spoonerism.

Why's it called that? What's with the spoon? What does language have to do with spoons? 'Spoonerism' sounds like some kind of dumb religion where people worship spoons…

I'm tired. I can't hear my thoughts.

In my…experience…blood loss…tends to…make…things…black.

Shhh…fwump.

Edward's now ragdoll-like body slides down the wall he was leaning against and hits the floor with a thump, leaving him with his stomach on the cold, hard stone.

His head is turned slightly to the side, just enough that I can see his dark-rimmed eyes flicker open once before falling still. He looks beat.

Just beat.

I want to go fix him into a more comfortable position, but…

I look at Roy's face on my lap. He's barely conscious, his glassy eyes fixed on a point in the air I can't see whilst Shaydin treats the frostbite on his hands.

"Lieu…ten…ant…"

"Yes?"

"'M sleepy. C'nai sleep?" His eyes flick to me, and they're so exhausted and filled with pain that I can't deny him. "Just…wanna sleep. Please."

"Go ahead," I tell him quietly.

"So tired." He nods once, so slightly I'm unsure as to whether it's actually a nod or not, before his eyes close and he goes limp within seconds. "…fanks…"

He's so like a little child at times it's unbelieveable. It can't be healthy for someone of his age and position.

His battered face becomes placid as he falls into the grip of sleep. I gently move his head back off my knees, but I leave his military jacket underneath his head like a pillow.

Shaydin watches as I limp over to Edward's unconscious form and slip my arms under his, pulling him onto his mattress and dragging both of them over to where Roy lies.

I flop down on my own mattress, letting out a huffing breath of exertion.

"Thirsty?" Shaydin asks, turning Roy's hand over in his own and inspecting his palm.

"No, thank you. I'm okay," I respond. "He's just quite heavy with the auto-mail and shackles and all."

"I see." Shaydin reaches across Roy's chest and unbuttons his thick, white shirt to inspect his ribs. After a few moments, he states, "Two broken on the left. Does not look too bad. They should heal more or less without assistance."

"You're very skilled, do you know that?" I tell him.

"Thank you…" Shaydin replies, looking startled. "I have trained for quite a while."

I watch him deftly treat the bruises on Roy's stomach and chest before saying, "You don't really want to work for these people, do you?"

The young man looks up, out the door at the once-again sleeping guard before answering. "No. Not really. I mean no offence, but I am not particularly keen on the military either, but not so much that I would want to rebel… Everyone nowadays… It seems that the only way to fix anything is to kill anyone and anything that dares stand in your path. Like an animal."

He looks at his hands. "I mean, the military rules with strength, power and bloodshed, and that is not what I think our country should be led by."

"I agree," I say softly. "And so would these two, I know… But why would you join this group, then? You know they're out for blood."

"It is simple," Shaydin says wretchedly, shrugging sadly. "Money. My mother and younger sister are starving at home; we are poor, you see? And they pay well here. I just need the money to keep them alive."

My heart almost breaks for this young man, whose healing hands could be put to much better use elsewhere. "Is that the truth?" I ask softly. Always be wary, I was taught. He could be lying to gain my trust.

"I swear it," Shaydin murmurs, placing a hand on his chest. "On my own life. I never want to hurt a person. Only heal."

I feel a plan forming. "Shaydin…exactly how many rebels are there in this group?"

"About a hundred and sixty… But you wounded about forty to fifty of them when they took you in. Why?"

"And do they have any forms of communication devices here?"

"Yes. There is a small telecommunications device that sends coded messages."

"Perfect," I say softly. "I have a job for you. It's of the utmost importance." I lean forward and whisper the rest into his ear, being doubly safe no-one will overhear.

Shaydin's eyes widen as I tell him, and as I draw away, he says, "Do you know what would happen if I was caught?"

"You won't be. Only East City uses that one. Only their devices will snag it. And anyway…" I gesture with my hand at Roy's body. "Believe it or not - I know, he's kind of a fool at times - but this man is going to change the whole way Amestris' military is run. Help us, and you might just have pushed the world in the direction you want. Peace."

I raise an eyebrow. "So. Will you help us?"

"If I get caught…" Shaydin whispers. "If I get caught, and they do something terrible to me…what will happen to my family?"

"You will not get caught," I assure him firmly. "Please help us."

He sits in silence for a moment.

"I… I'll do it."

I smile a little. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"…mmnnf…"

We both look towards Edward, who's lying on his back directly to our left.

He's cringing, teeth bared, his nails scratching at the floor and his head twitching slightly.

"What…?" Shaydin trails off, his eyes clouding with confusion.

"Nightmares," I say softly. "Not uncommon in our type."

Shaydin's brow creases a little. "How old is he anyway…?"

"Fifteen," I reply.

"What?!"

"And three months."

Shaydin casts his eyes to the boy beside him, his face aghast. "He cannot be military."

"He is. A state alchemist, actually."

Shaydin shakes his head in exasperation. "No way. That is not possible. I have heard the exploits of those dogs, how many people they killed in the East. I even heard there was a man who just snapped his fingers and - bam! - whole villages up in flames!"

I decided against telling him that the man he'd just described was lying right next to him.

"No," he says decisively. "Not even they would stoop so low as to enlist children."

"They would. But there are good people amongst them, you know," I say. "Soldiers who fight for the people."

"For the people…" Shaydin turns these words around in his mouth, as if to try and decipher the meaning. "Like the 'Hero of the People'? I have heard tell of a state alchemist whose exploits have helped liberate people all over from deception and the like. They say he is an Eastern soldier, but the stories reach the whole way out here. They say he is awful young, and travels with his brother, who wears a suit of armour."

I reach out and brush a clingy bang off Edward's forehead, wondering how on earth such a small person had spread his reputation so far. "Yes. Like him. The 'Fullmetal Alchemist'."

Shaydin looks from me to Edward, his eyes stretched wide like an owl's. "But is that not…what the Colonel called him?"

"The very same," I say in a quiet tone. "That's why it's all the more important that we get out. He's young, the future of our country. He gives people hope. Hope that we won't always be this way; war-torn and driven by lust for power. He knows exactly how much he needs for himself and exactly how much he needs to give to others, although he hasn't realised it himself."

"Al…" Edward mumbles in his sleep, his face creased with worry and longing. "Alphonse… Li'l bro…"

"And he's got a younger brother waiting for him."