Ed shivered as the bitter night wind tore at his clothes and hair. There'll be snow later, he thought. A few flakes were already slowly spiraling down from the dark clouds overhead. I better finish this up quickly. His automail was aching, and he could feel the frigid metal beginning to freeze against his skin. He didn't particularly want to be caught in the coming blizzard, but catching the serial killer that had been haunting Central for the past month would be worth it.

The murderer was targeting older women, and Ed was pretty sure there was a pattern in the deaths. To him, it looked like the killings were arranged in a transmutation circle - not the first time he'd seen something like this. He'd tried to tell Mustang his theory, but the Colonel had just waved him away absentmindedly. When Ed had threatened to go after the killer himself, Mustang had expressly forbidden him to leave Central Command without an escort. Ed had promised (reluctantly), left the office, and immediately set off to catch the criminal.

If Ed's theory was right - and Ed was pretty sure it was - then the killer would be striking again tonight, and he would be dropping the body near Ed's location. It would probably end up under a streetlight in front of a public building, like the other bodies. Ed ducked into an alleyway to wait for his quarry and envisioned Mustang's expression when he brought in the killer. I'll wipe that know-it-all look off his face, Ed thought, and grinned. He probably thinks I'm still moping around down at Central Command.

"It's too quiet," Mustang muttered to himself. He put aside the stack of paperwork he was signing and walked out into the hallway.

"Fullmetal?" There was no answer. Mustang frowned. Of course, the kid could just be sulking. He looked around again and theatrically raised his voice.

"Fullmetal, are you around? Of course, you're short enough that you're fairly easy to miss…"

He waited, but when he wasn't immediately accosted by an enraged Ed, his suspicions were confirmed. Ed had indeed left the building, and Mustang highly doubted that he'd taken an escort. For a moment, he considered just leaving the young alchemist to his mystery, but he was worried that Ed might actually find the killer. And despite what Ed seemed to think, this man was dangerous.

Mustang sighed and glanced out the window. Storm clouds boiled overhead, and a few snowflakes were already starting to swirl down in grey eddies. The storm would only get worse, and Mustang couldn't very well leave Ed trapped out there to face the weather on his own. He would have to go find him, to save him from the blizzard and the serial killer and his own stupidity, despite the fact that there were at least one hundred things that he would rather be doing.

Mustang pulled on his jacket, looked back once at his warm office and wished that he could stay there, and then stepped out into the cold to go after the kid.

The serial killer hadn't strayed from a fairly specific pattern so far, so he had a pretty good guess of where the murderer was going to be. He could only hope that Ed had figured it out too, because he really didn't want to be wandering around Central all night in a blizzard looking for him. Mustang was already freezing, so he couldn't imagine what the kid must feel like.

As Mustang was walking, he planned out what he was going to say to Ed when he finally found him. He had gone out looking for him in a blizzard, after all, so he figured he was owed a lot of time to yell. He cared less that Ed had disobeyed a direct order and more that he himself was now suffering for it, but as Ed's superior officer he could lecture Ed for exactly as long as he pleased.

Assuming the kid wasn't dead by the time Mustang found him, of course.

Ed was trying his best to think like a serial killer, which wasn't really his forte. He figured the criminal should be lying in wait somewhere around here, probably trying to find an unsuspecting victim that he could pounce on. The only problem was that the streets were empty because of the impending snow, and the only person wandering around was Ed himself.

Ed figured that that was going to make it rather more difficult to catch the serial killer. Honestly, as much as Ed hated to admit it, it was possible that the Colonel was right, and Ed shouldn't have gone after the killer today. He wasn't sure that there was actually anyone here.

Angry at both himself and the Colonel, he turned around and began to head back to Central Command. But a sound from an alleyway behind him made him pause. What had he heard? He backtracked and peered down the long brick passageway, but the shadows pooling at the back wall obscured anything that could be waiting there. He hesitated on the edge of the street, unsure whether to investigate a sound that he might have imagined. But then, something rustled from the end of the alleyway, and Ed made up his mind.

He entered the alley cautiously, peering around him as the passage became darker.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody there? I'm just a helpless victim…"

But nobody leaped out with a bloody knife and a manic grin, ready to disembowel him. Maybe Ed had misheard. He wished he was able to see a little better. Still, he supposed it wouldn't do any harm to make absolutely sure….

He felt his way forward, arms outstretched. Just as he was about to give up and leave the alley, his metal hand touched something that gave slightly.

Ed was moving before he really knew what was going on. His body reacted, and he whirled out of the way and leapt back toward the light. Instinctively, he raised his metal arm…just in time. A blow clanged off the steel, and Ed's shoulder shook with the impact. I think I've found the killer, he thought, and backtracked as the man stepped into the grey light.

The murderer was only about four inches taller than Ed. Looking at his sunken chest and slender arms, Ed was shocked by the strength with which he'd swung the knife. I can kick his ass no problem, Ed thought. And then the man raised his head and Ed saw the look in his eyes.

Ed had seen a lot of murderers in his short life, but he'd never really understood the phrase "the eyes of a killer" until now. Something about this man just seemed…wrong. No matter how hard Ed stared, he couldn't find a single spark of life in his opponent's eyes. He looks soulless, Ed thought with a pang of horror. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

The killer walked toward him, and his advance snapped Ed out of his shock. He placed his hands together and with a flash of blue light, his right arm extended into a blade. He raised it defensively and steeled himself for whatever was next to come.

The serial killer lunged forward. Ed was fast, but he was also still shocked and shivering with cold, and that made the killer faster. With a movement almost too quick for Ed to track, the man stabbed his knife towards Ed's stomach.

At first Ed thought that he hadn't really been hit. All he'd felt was a small sting. He sucked in a sharp breath and raised his hands again, preparing to go in for the attack. But then he felt a stabbing pain in his side, and looked down.

The killer's knife was still embedded in Ed's abdomen, blood welling slowly up around the blade. Ed felt his breath hitch, and the world swirled around him for a split second before steadying. He wrapped his hands around the hilt and pulled the knife slowly out, wincing at the squelching sound and the sudden pain. He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly ill.

The killer was staring at Ed with an expression of shock, probably mostly because Ed was now holding his only weapon. Ed held out the knife in a way that he hoped was menacing. Part of him wanted to go after the killer still, to make sure that he was brought to justice, but Ed didn't think that would be possible just now. He was afraid if he tried to step forward he would collapse on the spot.

But the killer, to Ed's relief, didn't seem to want to test him. He took a small half-step forward, and then turned and ran back down the alley into the darkness. Ed just stood there, too shocked to move and completely unsure of what to do. Pain from the wound was radiating up his chest, and his hands were shaking. He dropped the knife and tried to force himself to think. He knew he needed to try to get to the hospital, or at least somewhere where he would be safe and warm until the storm passed, but he wasn't sure that he would be physically able to. Darkness was eating away at the edges of his vision, and his legs felt like they were made of lead.

Around him, the snow continued to swirl.

Mustang had been walking for around twenty minutes, and he was starting to consider going back to Central Command. The snow was flying in his face and making it hard to see, and the wind was cold enough that it stung. He wasn't sure he would be able to find the kid in this mess regardless of the situation, and he was pretty sure Ed was smart enough to have gone somewhere safe by now anyways. He figured he would keep looking for a few more minutes, but if he didn't find him soon he would go home before the storm got so intense that he couldn't.

Then, as he was nearing the library, he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Ed was standing in the alley, snow collecting on his hair and shoulders, staring into space. Mustang marched forward, cold, angry, and wanting someone to blame for it.

"Fullmetal. I seem to recall ordering you to stay in Central Command."

Ed didn't respond, and Mustang clenched his fists.

"Are you completely incapable of acting like an adult? Thanks to you, I had to put a vital project on hold and go out in a blizzard to make sure you hadn't gotten yourself killed!" He paused, but Ed just stared at him, eyes slightly glassy. Mustang growled and stepped closer.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

And Ed crumpled. His legs abruptly seemed to stop supporting him, and he fell hard into the snow, not even making an effort to catch himself on the way down.

Mustang immediately forgot his anger and hurried over to the young alchemist. He knelt beside him and shook his shoulder gently.

"Fullmetal! Are you hurt?"

Ed groaned and blinked slightly, but didn't respond. Mustang checked him over for injuries. His red coat was soaked with melted snow, which at first concealed the stab wound in Ed's abdomen. But when Mustang pulled aside the fabric and revealed the ugly gash, he froze. No wonder the kid had collapsed. He needs to get to a hospital.

Without a second thought, Mustang scooped Ed into his arms and stood, staggering a little as he adjusted to the weight. Ed was heavier than he looked, probably due to his automail arm and leg. As he lifted him, Ed revived and made a squawk of protest.

"Put me down! I can walk!"

"No," Mustang said, seeing Ed collapse again in his mind's eye. Ed squirmed, then gasped in sudden pain. Mustang felt the young alchemist settle slightly into his arms, and he staggered out of the alley and into the street.

The snow was building up around Mustang's knees, making it difficult to walk. He suddenly wasn't sure he would be able to make it to the hospital. The walk would probably take at least an hour with Ed in his arms, and snow was still coming down so hard Mustang was having a little trouble seeing. He stopped for a second, unsure of what to do.

Ed whimpered slightly. His breathing was coming in ragged, panicked gasps. He was trying to put pressure on his own wound as best he could, but his hands were trembling and his gloves were slick with blood.

Mustang's decision was made for him. The walk to the hospital would do the kid in, he was sure of it. If he didn't bleed to death on the way there he would freeze, and Mustang wasn't sure if he could carry him all the way there anyway. He would have to go somewhere, anywhere, else. What was the closest place? Central Command? Riza's apartment?

Hughes. His friend's apartment couldn't be more than a twenty minute walk, and Hughes would know what to do, he was sure of it. If he couldn't get Fullmetal to the hospital until after the storm, at least Hughes would hopefully know how to keep the kid alive until then.

Ed curled into Mustang's arms, feeling sick with pain. He hated the fact that he was being carried more than anything, but at the same time he knew that he would be unable to walk on his own. His legs were shaking too badly to support him; he was sure if he tried to stand his knees would give way. Ed gritted his teeth against the pain, unwilling to scream in front of the Colonel. Every single muscle in his body was clenched tight.

Ed realized that he was hyperventilating a little bit, and it was making him feel lightheaded. He made the conscious decision to try to slow his breathing, but it was hard to take in any air around the pain at all. Every inhale sent spikes of pain radiating through his body, and every time his chest moved more blood seemed to well up between his fingers. He fumbled at the cloth of his jacket, hoping he could use the fabric to stop some of the bleeding, and made a small, involuntary sound in the back of his throat.

He closed his eyes softly, swallowing hard. Part of him wished he could just pass out already. That seemed like it would be easier.

"Fullmetal?" he heard Mustang ask. "Fullmetal, are you still with me?"

Ed nodded, but speaking seemed like too much work. His throat felt tight.

"Can you…can you say something? You're still awake, right?"

"I'm awake." Ed managed, voice tense with pain. "It's…everything is fine."

"It won't be long now," Mustang told him. "Just…stay talking."

Ed didn't think that was going to happen. Every ounce of energy he possessed was being funneled toward keeping himself from screaming in pain. He knew that if he opened his mouth, he would no longer be able to stop himself. So he clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth would crack and nodded stiffly at the Colonel.

The cold wasn't helping anything. It seemed to worm its way into his flesh like a physical entity, cutting deep. His fingers and nose were going numb, and the pain from his abdomen seemed sharper, as if to compensate for the dull feeling in the rest of his body. He watched his own blood slowly ooze between his fingers and hoped that Mustang was right, that it wouldn't be long now.

All that Mustang could hear was the ragged sound of Ed's breathing. He was clearly doing all he could to keep himself under control, but Mustang could hear the truth in the hitch right before he exhaled. He couldn't believe that Ed was still conscious. Most grown men he knew would have fainted by now. And if they were still awake, they would have been screaming. Ed hadn't made a sound.

Not that he didn't want to. Mustang could see the panic in his eyes, lurking right behind the pain. He wished there was something he could say, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't embarrass Ed. The kid was too proud for his own good, a concept that Mustang was intimately familiar with.

He reached an intersection and peered at the signpost peeking hazily through the blizzard. Hughes' street. He sighed in relief.

"This is the street," he told the bleeding boy. Ed blinked, slowly. Mustang wasn't sure if he'd heard. His chest tightened.

"Fullmetal? Can you hear me?"

Ed grunted an affirmative. Mustang knew that was the best he was going to get. He let Ed be and struggled up to Hughes' step. He rang the doorbell and waited, trying to shield Ed from the cold and snow as best he could. He could feel the kid shivering against him.

The door opened and his friend smiled at him. "Roy! What-" Hughes broke off as he noticed Ed, lying cradled in Mustang's arms.

"He's hurt, and I can't make it to the hospital," Mustang said quickly. "I…I need help."

For a split second, Hughes just stood there, looking shocked and overwhelmed. Ed groaned slightly and curled in on himself a little. This seemed to jolt Hughes into action, and he pulled the door wide.

"Come in," he said. "We can lay him down on the sofa here."

Mustang stepped through the door, careful not to knock Ed on anything, and followed Hughes to the sofa. His heart was hammering in his chest. Now that they were no longer trekking through the snow, everything felt suddenly much more immediate. He could feel the kid shaking in his arms, and Ed's breath kept hitching in his chest.

"Fullmetal, I'm…I'm setting you down now," Mustang said, unsure if Ed was even awake enough to understand.

Mustang began to lower the young alchemist onto the sofa, but Ed cried out when his body started to straighten. He grasped weakly at Mustang's arms in an involuntary attempt to keep himself from lying flat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…." Mustang whispered through gritted teeth, prying Ed's hands from his wrists as gently as he could. Ed squirmed on the couch, trying to find a position that mitigated some of the pain.

"What happened to him?" Hughes said, appearing at Mustang's shoulder.

"I…I'm not sure exactly," Mustang said. "He went after that serial killer on his own, and I…I just found him like this."

Hughes made a small noise of distress and knelt down next to Ed. He carefully peeled Ed's jacket away from the wound, his hands more practiced and gentle than Mustang's could ever hope to be.

"Do you…need anything from me?" Mustang asked. He wasn't exactly sure what he could do, but he wanted to make himself useful.

"Yes," Hughes said, not taking his eyes off Ed. "Get me a pair of scissors."

Mustang nodded stiffly and went into the small kitchen. He pulled open all the drawers at once, grabbing the scissors from among the knives. He left the kitchen in disarray and hurried back to the living room, where Hughes was still leaning over Ed. Mustang gave him the scissors, and Hughes began to gently cut Ed's shirt off. As he peeled it back, Ed groaned and weakly tried to push his hands away.

"It's okay," Hughes told the young alchemist softly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Mustang stood awkwardly behind his friend, painfully aware of his inability to do...anything. He'd never been good in situations like these, he never knew what to do, much less what to say. But Hughes...Hughes seemed to know intuitively. Maybe some people were just made that way. Mustang certainly wasn't.

"Roy!" Hughes' voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Go to the cabinet in the bathroom and get me the medical kit. On the way back, get a sheet from the linen closet. We need to stop the bleeding."

Relieved to have something, anything, to do, Mustang did as he was told. He set off for the bathroom at a run, trying to ignore Ed's audible whimpering as Hughes attempted to stop the flow of blood. It only took him a minute or two to return with the supplies, and Hughes immediately set to work. Mustang hovered uncomfortably behind Ed, unable to shut out his cries of pain, unable to do anything to stop them.

"Is there…can I help with anything?" he finally asked, hoping that the answer would be yes, even if he had to stitch Ed up himself. At least he wouldn't just be standing here. Hughes looked up at him and frowned.

"Go dry off. You'll catch your death of cold, you're soaking wet."

Now that Hughes mentioned it, Mustang noticed that he was shivering. But he didn't want to leave the room…. Surely he could do something here?

Hughes scowled at him. "I'll call you if there's anything you can help with. Now, go get a towel!"

"But-"

"Go!"

Mustang went. He knew Hughes was right, there really wasn't anything that he could do to help. He'd brought Ed to Hughes, and he'd brought him here so Hughes could do exactly what he was doing now. But still, he felt uncomfortable leaving the room, especially when Ed was curled on the couch writhing with pain. But he supposed it wouldn't help anything if he got sick, and once he was dried off he would be able to help better.

"You can put on one of my shirts!" Mustang heard Hughes call from the other room. "Bring one for Ed too when you come back!"
Mustang went into his friend's bathroom, where he stripped off and threw away his damp, useless gloves. He grabbed a towel from where it was hanging on the wall and rubbed it over his head, making his hair stick up crazily. Then he sighed. He didn't particularly want to put on one of Hughes' odd shirts, but Hughes was right, Mustang really did need to get out of the cold, wet clothes that he'd been wearing during the walk through the snow. Unhappily, he shuffled through Hughes' closet and came up with the most understated thing he could find, a typical button-down marred only by the fact that it was bright purple. He frowned and pulled it on, not wanting to admit that he felt better once he was dry.

Mustang didn't particularly care about Ed's dignity, so he grabbed the kid another button down with a strange, swirly sort of pattern all over it. Then he went back out to the main room.

Mustang started to ask Hughes how Fullmetal was, but Hughes cut him off before the words were out of his mouth.

"Roy," he said. "Come here. I need to give Ed stitches, but he's moving around too much and I...I don't have a way to knock him out. I hate to ask you to do this, but I'm...I'm going to need you to hold him down."

Ed knew that he needed to stay still. He wasn't aware of anything but Hughes' gentle voice, asking, begging Ed to lie down and not move so he could stitch the wound closed, but Ed couldn't. Every time Hughes got near the wound, Ed felt his body tense and automatically retreat from the touch, and as much as he told himself to calm down and toughen up, he...he couldn't get himself to stop.

Ed gasped weakly. The pain left him completely unable to catch his breath. He kept his eyes shut tight, and he was biting his lip so hard he was worried any second he would start tasting blood. Ed wanted to open his mouth, to tell Hughes that he was sorry, that he was trying his best, but he was afraid if he did he would be sick.

Mustang's voice cut through the haze of pain. "I'm...I'm sorry for this, Fullmetal." Then Ed felt two hands on his shoulders, forcing him flat onto his back, pinning him to the couch. Ed groaned. Involuntarily, he tried to push the hands away, but he was too weak.

Then, he felt a sharp jab adding to the already excruciating pain. Dimly, he realized Hughes had started the stitches. Without meaning to, he tried to jerk away, but Mustang's hands were on his shoulders and there was nowhere he could go. He felt the needle start to bring his torn flesh back together and the stitches in his side felt cold and foreign and wrong. He told himself that he must have been through worse, but that was then and this was now.

Ed choked back another cry of pain and jerked against Mustang's restraining hands once again. He tasted salt and realized he'd finally bitten through his lip. But, after what seemed like forever, the hands left his shoulders and Hughes was talking to him again.

"Well, Ed, that's it. The hard part's done." Ed opened his eyes and blinked away the haze to reveal Hughes smiling at him. His side was still aching horribly, but at least it shouldn't be bleeding anymore.

"Thanks," he managed, somewhat surprised to hear himself speak.

Hughes shook his head. "No need for that."

"Yeah, he'll make you pay for it plenty, now he's got a captive audience to talk to about Elicia," Mustang muttered darkly from behind Hughes. Ed smiled despite himself, surprised to hear the Colonel making a joke - at least he thought it was a joke.

"You can't leave either, Roy," Hughes pointed out. "That blizzard isn't going to let up until morning."

Mustang looked so despondent that Ed actually laughed, then cried out as pain shot up his side. Immediately, Hughes and Mustang were beside him.

"I'm...okay," he said haltingly, despising the mixture of fear and pity on their faces. Hughes must have seen some of his embarrassment in his eyes, because he smiled a little and turned away. When he turned back to Ed, he was holding one of his own shirts, one with cool swirls all over it.

"You must be cold. Here, take one of my shirts. Sorry, it might be a bit big…" He moved over to Ed and gently helped him sit up. It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much now. Ed silently appreciated Hughes' assistance as he put on the shirt. He wasn't sure he could have managed it on his own. Raising his arms to put them through the sleeves was hard enough, he didn't think he could have also focused on trying to pull the sleeves over his hands. He didn't think he could have also focused on using his strength to sit up.

Once he had the shirt on, Ed lay back down on the sofa with a groan of relief. He was still dizzy with blood loss and pain, and he was having a hard time catching his breath. But at least he didn't have to worry about dying anymore, or at least he didn't think he did.

With fumbling hands, Ed lifted the corner of the shirt so he could actually see the wound. It was the first time he was really looking at it, right after it had happened he had tried to avoid examining it too closely and all he had seen was the blood. Now, most of that had been wiped away. All that was left was a neat circle of stitching, holding the wound closed and making it look much more manageable than it had before. The skin around the injury was still angry and red where the needle had entered it, but at least his whole side was no longer soaked with blood.

Tentatively, Ed tried taking a deeper breath. It hurt, but it was manageable. He hadn't completely been aware that he'd been breathing shallowly in an attempt to head off the pain until suddenly he didn't have to anymore.

"Alright," Ed said, voice still a little shaky. "Thanks for fixing me up. Time for me to get back now."
Ed swung his legs over the sofa and stood up, looking towards the door. But before he could take a single step, he felt his legs buckle beneath him. He tried to catch himself on the sofa, but missed, and he would have fallen if Hughes hadn't managed to grab his shoulders and ease him back into a sitting position.

"Where are you going?" Hughes almost yelled.

The act of standing had made Ed dizzy, and he was having a hard time getting words out. "I need to get back to Central Command," he said, as firmly as he could. "Al is still there."

Ed saw a flash of sympathy cross Hughes' face, but he shook his head. "Ed, you're in no condition to travel. We still need to bandage your wounds. And it's snowing like crazy out there. No one would be able to drive on the roads, and there's no way you could make it walking…."

"But Al…."

"Fullmetal, as your superior officer I am ordering you to stay here, at least until it stops snowing," Mustang broke in. Ed realized there was no point in arguing. Sullenly, he leaned back on the couch.

"I'm going to get bandages," Hughes said. "Wait here for a second." Hughes seemed to think that Ed was still at risk for simply walking out, because he looked at Mustang as he said it. All the fight had gone out of Ed when he'd realized the truth of what they were saying, but part of him wondered what Mustang would do if he did try to leave again. Would he tackle Ed to the ground? Physically bar the door? Just grab Ed by his gigantic shirt and drag him back to the couch? Ed could see any of the above situations happening, and he wasn't eager to see which path Mustang would choose. And he was at least a little relieved that he didn't have to try to make it all the way back to Central Command in the middle of a blizzard with a freshly closed stab wound.

Still, he didn't want Mustang to think he was going to make a habit of passively accepting his orders. So he made a point of sighing angrily and (carefully) crossing his arms. He hoped the Colonel got the message.

Mustang watched Ed showily slump into the cushions and suppressed a smile. If Fullmetal was going to all the trouble of acting difficult, then he really must be feeling better. For the first time since Ed had collapsed in front of him, Mustang relaxed.

But just a little. After all, even though Ed seemed to be out of immediate danger, he was still awfully pale. Lines of pain were still cut into his face, and every movement he made was slow and deliberate. Mustang knew he must be in an incredible amount of pain.

Stupid kid. If he had just listened…. But Ed never listened. And Mustang had known he wouldn't listen, he'd known Ed would go after the killer anyway. And he hadn't stopped him. Now, Mustang felt responsible for every halting breath the kid took, every grimace of pain he made. He frowned. Very soon, he and Fullmetal would have to discuss the meaning of the term "superior officer."

But not yet. On the couch, Ed's eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly and deliberately, as if to prove to himself that he still could. He looked terrible. Mustang didn't want to feel bad for the kid while he was yelling at him. He could put off the lecture until Ed looked better.

Hughes emerged from the back of the house with the bandages, and Mustang was relieved to no longer be alone with Fullmetal. He was never quite sure how to handle situations that crossed the barrier between his work and his personal life, and Ed seemed to force him into those situations quite often.

Hughes returned to Ed, and Mustang watched as he sat down next to the young alchemist.

"Can you lift up your shirt?" Hughes asked, and Ed nodded. Carefully, using the opposite hand, he pulled Hughes' shirt up to reveal the crisscrossed stitches against the red scar. Hughes carefully began winding the lengths of bandages around Ed's waist. Ed winced visibly each time Hughes' fingers accidentally brushed against the wound. The boy kept his eyes shut tight, face tense. His lower lip was a little bloody, he must have bitten through it in an attempt not to scream. Mustang fought down a wave of sympathy for the kid. He...he didn't want to watch this anymore, not when he felt so useless.

"I'm going to...go make tea or something," he finally said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mustang had just stepped into the kitchen when all of the lights flicked out and the room was plunged into darkness. For some reason, his first thought was that it had been caused by some sort of practical joke by Hughes, and his eyes narrowed.

"Hughes?" he called out. "Not right now."

"What?" Hughes called back, his voice clearly still out in the other room. "Did you say something? Roy, come back in here. I think the power went out."

Mustang backtracked into the main room, where Hughes had apparently finished applying Ed's bandages and Ed was now lying limply on the couch, eyes closed.

"What happened?" Mustang asked.

Hughes shrugged. "I...I'm not exactly sure." He looked down at Ed. "Ed, are you going to be alright here for a little while by yourself? I want to go downstairs and see if I can figure out what the problem is."

Ed nodded, face pale and set, eyes still closed. One hand was wrapped gently around the wound in his side.

"Are...are you sure?" Mustang asked. He had a sudden, irrational image of him and Hughes emerging from the basement only to find that the kid had expired on the couch. Mustang couldn't let that happen, because Lieutenant Hawkeye would murder him if for no other reason.

Ed managed to push himself up into a half-sitting position, groaning a little. "I'm fine," he said, "really. Just go...fool around with the fuse box, or whatever it is you want to do. I'll keep resting here."

Mustang nodded, and followed Hughes down into the basement. It was dim enough that Mustang was having trouble seeing, and he wished desperately for a light.

"You can't...make a flame right now, right?" Hughes asked as they came to the end of the rickety stairs.

"No. Once my gloves get wet, I can't use them again, and I need an external source to make the spark. You don't happen to have a book of matches on you, do you?" Mustang asked.

Hughes shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not."

They made their way through the darkened basement toward the back wall, stumbling over electric cords, boxes, and other assorted junk.

Mustang stepped over a rocking horse. "So...where is Elicia?" he asked. "And Gracia?"

Hughes didn't say anything for a moment, then sighed a little. "Are you...just now realizing that they're not here?"

Mustang didn't reply, and Hughes continued. "Gracia took Elicia to visit her aunt in the country for a few days."

"Alright," Mustang said. He paused. "Where's the fuse box?"

"Over here," Hughes said, his voice sounding oddly loud in the empty room. Mustang squinted into the dull light and thought he could make it out. A street level window set high in the back wall of the basement was letting in a vague grey light, enough for them to dimly make out their surroundings.

Hughes reached out and opened the fuse box. The door swung open to reveal a mound of crisscrossed wires, disappearing mysteriously into the black depths of the fuse box. Hughes and Mustang stood back and regarded it dubiously. The fuse box sat enigmatically on the wall, giving them no guidance.

Mustang tried to remember if he'd ever learned anything about electronics. He didn't think he had. After a few minutes, he experimentally poked at a protruding red wire. Nothing happened.

Hughes shook his head authoritatively. "No, I remember reading somewhere that you're supposed to turn it off and back on, but you're supposed to make sure that all the other switches are off. Or maybe on. Or maybe some off and some on?"

Mustang peered at the fuse box, but all of the switches looked equally important and equally dangerous.

"We should turn everything off before we touch any wires," he said. This was the only thing that he was really certain of. "If we touch the wrong thing, we could get electrocuted."

Hughes, who had been fiddling with one of the trailing wires, dropped it immediately. He stepped back slightly, and they stared at the fuse box, trying to plan their next move.