Hohenheim placed his hands on Trisha's stomach. She was pregnant. He was going to be a father. She was fast asleep at the moment, but Hohenheim just couldn't help but to stay up and stare at her. She was just so amazing and beautiful. In all his years, he had never been as happy as he had been with her.

His brow furrowed as he checked her health. While Trisha herself was okay, the baby… he wasn't doing too well. His heartbeat was too slow, nearly non-existent. If something wasn't done, it would stop altogether. But there was no natural cause for it, that much Hohenheim was sure of. No, the problem stemmed from Hohenheim himself. Being who he was, what he was, he had been afraid that it would result in not being able to have children, or baby dying before birth. But he was determined not to have that happen.

As gently as he could managed, the immortal slipped his hand into Trisha's stomach, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Luckily, she remained asleep, though her brow furrowed.

"Aiden, Knute, Cicely, Gaius, Aurelio, Akim, Iman, Mattoe, Myrcella, Jaako. Please, save my son."

oOo

God, he couldn't die.

He had a wife, a daughter.

His little, dear, sweet Elicia.

Fatherless.

His beautiful, kind, loving Gracia.

Widowed.

God, no no nO NO NO NO NO NONONO!

He couldn't leave them!

But the bullet, the shot fired from that, that thing wearing his wife's face like a cheap mask…

He was bleeding too much.

Why did there have to be so much blood?

He couldn't make himself breath anymore.

His lungs refused to move.

The world didn't exist to him anymore.

Was consciousness ever something he'd experienced?

If he was more aware, he'd know that something was digging into his bullet wound.

He'd feel something pulling out the bullet.

And something replacing it.

As it was, he was able to realize voices whispering at him, no more than whispering, rest.

He rested.

oOo

Maes Hughes.

That was his name. How strange that he'd forgotten it. Then again, he'd likely died. So perhaps that would explain it. It would look like he'd failed his wife and his daughter. Because if he had somehow managed to survive, he would feel crappy still. As it was, he felt no worse than he had before the lady with the ouroborus tattoo attacked him. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. What if he was a ghost, or in Hell? Surely he couldn't go to Heaven, not only because of the massacre that was the Ishval, but because it would never be complete with his wife and daughter.

You should wake up.

It was no more than an echo of a whisper. It was probably his own though. If his thoughts suddenly weren't in his own voice. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath (could the dead really breath, or was it just habit?) and opened his eyes.

A ceiling. But… if he died outside… shouldn't his ghost be outside? Eh, he was still new to all this dead stuff, what did he know?

He was in a bed, which felt real enough. So maybe not a ghost. Hell then? A hotel in hell perhaps? Or maybe he was just a really powerful ghost that could make itself tangible. That'd be pretty sweet. And then, he could use his ghost powers to protect his family and strategically place leaves or something into a message for Mustang. Ha, joke was really on his killer. As a ghost he'd be more powerful than ever!

"Oh, you're awake."

Crap, how did ghosts turn invisible? Because that's what he needed right now. Maes was now sitting upright, hands reflexively positioned to hold knives that were not in his sleeves. Whatever he was wearing didn't even have sleeves, which also seemed wrong. Weren't ghosts stuck in the clothes they died in?

The guy who had spoken was a man of broad shoulders and decent muscles. His hands were in his pockets (possibility of weapons: high). He was wearing a dress shirt (folded sleeves - much harder to hide a weapon in) and a vest (not extremely loose - small or thin weapons possible). The man had long golden hair and eyes and a pair of glasses (old eyes, smart eyes, dangerous eyes?) and there was something very familiar about the man that Hughes just couldn't put his finger on.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." The man said carefully, something sad in his eyes.

"You didn't." Maes reassured him. He didn't even know this (possible threat) man, but his instincts were telling him the man wasn't a threat. "Just startled me a bit."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I'm guessing I'm not dead then." Maes reached for where his bullet wound had been, but even when his hand touched the spot where it had been there was no pain. "Did you heal me up? Some kind of alchemy?"

"Some kind of alchemy." The man nodded. "With a bit of alkahestry thrown in for good measure."

"Well, thanks." Another pause. "I'm Hughes, by the way. Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes." Maes put his hand out.

"Van Hohenheim." Hohenheim looked at the hand as if trying to remember what it was for before reaching out and shaking it. It was a firm shake.

"Thank you again for your help. Would it be okay if I use your phone? My wife and daughter are probably worried sick about me." Maes's hand went to reach into the inside pocket of his military uniform for his picture of his family but only succeeded in brushing across his chest. Right. Apparently not wearing that. What he was wearing was a plain t-shirt and what seemed to be pajama bottoms. His uniform was probably covered in blood anyway. That didn't stop the moment of panic of oh-God-I-don't-have-any-of-my-things, weapon or otherwise. "You should see my Elicia, she is just the cutest little girl in the world. When she gets older she'll be beating the men away with a stick."

"She sounds great." Hohenheim chuckled, but it sounded sad. "But I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that."

If Maes hadn't been on guard before, he definitely was now. His eyes began to dart around the room. Escape routes: unguarded door, slightly ajar, and window right next to Hohenheim. Weapons were few and far between. A pen, a book, an empty vase, and the chair the man was sitting in. Maes' hands curled into fists.

"And why would that be?" The words came out bitterly. Hohenheim sighed, eyes not meeting Hughes.

"Mr. Hughes, you nearly died. Don't you think they will try to take your life again if they find out you're still alive?"

"Won't they notice the lack of a corpse at the crime scene anyway?" Hohenheim didn't respond. "Wait, are you telling me-"

"That I faked your death for you? Yes." Maes was speechless. How was one supposed to act in this kind of situation?

"But, where'd you get a b-, oh God, it was alchemy wasn't it." Maes rubbed the bridge of his nose. What was even going on. "Look, I think you thought you were doing me a favor but I know somethings - really important things. We're talking conspiracy that goes straight to the top." The man stiffened.

"What kind of conspiracy?" Oh, Maes did not like that new edge in the voice.

"You probably wouldn't believe me."

"Then humor me." Hohenheim looked at the other man over the rims of his glasses, eyes definitely now looking dangerous.

"I'm no alchemist, but I can recognize a transmutation circle if it's looking me in the face, and Amestris? It's a giant one. And none of it looks good to me." To the Lieutenant Colonel's surprise, Hohenheim just sighed.

"Then you really can't go." Maes was now standing, fists shaking and wanting very much to punch the man in the face. He had a family to get back to and a friend to warn. He didn't really have time to debate with this man.

"And why not?!"

"Because the homunculi will go after you again. They'll chase you down and then they really will kill you." The man sounded desperate. He was standing now too, hands still in his pockets.

"And it will be worth it!" Maes was very much shouting now. "Because if I can get this to Roy then we can start planning! Even if I die, Roy will still fight and plan and stop whatever this is! I can't just sit by when my family could very well be in danger!"

"Then don't." Hohenheim was looking at him again. "You can't do much if you're dead. But I'm already working on countermeasures for the circle. If you join me, we can save Amestris."

Maes could only stare. The man was completely serious. They barely knew each other.

"Why do you want my help?" Maes couldn't help asking. "This is alchemy stuff, and as I said earlier, I'm no alchemist." Hohenheim shrugged.

"The road can get a bit lonely at times." He adjusted his glasses. "I know it would be hard. You'd have to drop any contact with your family, travel discreetly to avoid detection, live on few belongings with few breaks. But you'd be doing something more than lying in a grave."

Maes was quiet.

"Well?" Hohenheim's golden eyes stared deep into Maes soul as he continued. "Will you join me?"