Title - Overdue

Disclaimer - Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters are creations and properties of Hiromu Arakawa, and I don't claim any ownership over them or the world of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Warnings

- Explicit sexual content.

- Adult language.

- Male Original Character x Mustang. In that order. Dub-con. Gerantophilic sex. Masturbation, fingering, desk sex.

- (Mentioned) Clemin x Mustang. In that order. Dub-con. Rough sex. Burn kink.

- (Implied) Hughes x Mustang. Light ship tease.

I was dressed in my military blues, but I didn't salute. I came here not as a soldier or a patient, but as a man. A man with a question. From another standpoint, it didn't seem that way, but everything I did up to this point was of my own will as an individual. The old man at the door blinked a few times, as if trying to adjust his vision despite the glasses that were already perched on his nose. He was confused, but it definitely wasn't because of my showing up at his doorstep. Any earlier, perhaps he might've been - a shadow of the past hung over him. But not now.

"Dr. Hugo Schmeisser."

Thin-rimmed glasses, a hairline receded to the crown of his skull, bushy eyebrows that framed gentle eyes, a thick nose curved into a hook, large ears that stuck out on either side of his head, a pristine suit, a scent of antiseptic. The image of a retired doctor in his sixties. I would've thought that if I didn't know better. It was the first time I came to see him. He didn't know much about me but I knew him. Very well, in fact - better than most of the world. I had to admit I was a bit surprised to see him standing at the door to his rooms - most people were convinced he wouldn't answer the door. I did, too, but for different reasons. They thought he was incapable of it. I thought he had people to do it for him.

"… Little Roy." His lips spread into a smile. "Late, as usual."

By nearly two hours, yes. It was a difficult habit to shake and I was itching to prove that I did kick it, but to no avail. There were things that were out of my control, and the gentle admonishment reduced me to a boy who wet his sheets. "My apologies. Something came up."

"It can't be helped - you're a busy man, I'm sure," he said in the same level voice I heard on the telephone. It was older, but no different from the last I heard it an odd fifteen years ago. "Well, come in."

He stepped back and pulled the door open for me, allowing me to step into a narrow corridor and hang my coat. All was quiet – it seemed the doctor lived by himself. The walls were papered with elegant mint green, and I took note of the quaint decor: pictures of the countryside framed on the walls. I recognized them well – they were taken out East. The door locked, rattling on its hinges, and Schmeisser followed behind me, indicating I enter the room at my left. It was his study, if the desk in the center was any indication. My eyes immediately fell on the papers neatly piled atop it - they were what I came for – but I resisted temptation. I didn't want to come across as an impatient child - there was still something I had to do. That and curiosity got the better of me when I noticed the papers were facing away from Schmeisser's chair. I knew the man had his oddities, and I wouldn't put it beyond him to include reading upside-down in his repertoire.

"Scotch?" Schmeisser offered, turning to the alcohol he kept by his desk.

"No; thanks."

As I listened to the liquid pour into a snifter, I interested myself in the collection of memorabilia at the corner of the room. Pictures of Schmeisser in his younger days, a plate with the Amestrian Dragon engraved on it, medals and decorations I only read in books. The locals saw Schmeisser counting the days as a decrepit stuck in an armchair. Colleagues remembered him as a distinguished doctor who served in the country's most notable wars. I knew him as a former member of the East Amestrian Secret Police. A man who found things that didn't want to be found.

"How is she?" the elder inquired before taking a generous swing of his drink.

He was referring to the Madame. It was through her I knew him - he was a fellow informant, as well as a frequent client before he was stationed in Ishval. After the war, he retired and settled down in Central. Over time, his location became a mystery, but the State Military kept tabs. It took a bit of effort to find him.

"Same as always. Snippy with the menopause, but when hasn't she been?"

A shared laugh, one that caused Schmeisser to choke on his drink. His hack reminded me of a cat hurling a hairball, but a thump to the chest fixed that. "Sor– excuse me. Continue."

"We… changed our clientele."

"So I've heard. What was it again?"

"A hostess bar." When life in the East once again bore a semblance of normalcy, the Madame returned her business to Central and reinvented – she saw no need in maintaining the brothel. The war was over and the soldiers were satisfied. It was time for growth and repopulation.

"The girls?"

"They're fine. Rosanna and Alex were able to find good men of their own. Dana is going steady with a stud from HQ – I'm keeping an eye on him, though. And Josie… Well, you know." I stuck a finger in my ear and wiggled it. Yep; still functional. I swore my eardrums ruptured every time I listened to her ramble.

"And you?"

I shrugged. The motion told him nothing, but everything at the same time.

"I see. Let's get on with business, then," he said, gesturing to the papers on his desk. "These documents are classified, so you can't take notes. You can read them afterward."

"In that case, I also have a request." I took the snifter out of his hand and put it down. "I'm pressed for time - there's a war council I have to get to." Of course I allotted enough time for this rendezvous, but I didn't expect that earlier encounter with Brigadier General Clemin to end the way it did. Of course I understood that when I faced someone higher up the chain, he told me the time. That's why Schmeisser and I couldn't just sit down and talk about the good old days. "So if you don't mind, I'll read those papers while we're at it." I didn't have the same gift as Hughes's subordinate, but, like in all things, I made do.

Schmeisser looked at me incredulously. I couldn't blame him - I'd think I was crazy, too. He probably thought I couldn't do it. Hell, I wasn't sure if I could either, but there was no better time to find out. "Then, let's start, shall we? You wouldn't want to keep them waiting. That goes for me, too." He paused, a glint of something all too familiar crossing his eyes. Worn, but it was the same every time I saw it. I recognized it well as anticipation. "Unarm yourself."

"Understood." I proceeded with reaching behind me to remove my standard issue pistol from its holster. I didn't need it, but the Lieutenant insisted. Probably because my gloves were next to go. I slipped them off my fingers and placed them next to the gun, on the chair in front of the desk. I then unfastened my uniform jacket and flanked it apart to reveal an extra pair of gloves tucked in an inner pocket. I didn't bother to remove them - I hung the entire jacket at the back of the chair. I wasn't completely unarmed yet - I still had the fountain pen clipped to the breast pocket of my dress shirt, and I can easily use that pen to draw a transmutation circle. I got rid of that problem by divesting myself of the shirt and draping it over the jacket. I knew what to do next - it was all standard procedure. A practiced movement. It wasn't that Schmeisser was afraid I might turn on him - it was his polite way of saying, Get naked. Everything else, the remaining articles of clothing, followed without incident, and before long, I was fully exposed.

The doctor placed a hand on his chin as he circled and examined me, first with his gaze before using that hand to touch. Hair… skin… muscle... Every square inch of my back. I could never get used to this kind of appraisal – most people didn't bother and just went on with it – but I passed it off as a quirk he got from his work.

He was directly behind me, but I knew he was beaming. I felt it. "You've grown. And in every way, too. This could be a problem…" It was true – I was much taller than him now. Bet he never guessed. "Tell me… What's your rank again?"

The insignia never changed since the turn of the last century. I'm sure he saw the ranking pins on my jacket - he knew what I was - but he had his roundabout way of doing things. That was the first thing we noticed in each other. I indulged him as a form of respect. "Colonel."

"And how old are you now? Twenty-five…? Twenty-six?"

"Thirty."

"Close enough."

"Knowing that, you still call me 'Little Roy'?"

The elder laughed softly. "When I look at you, it's hard not to think of that nip sitting at the bar. I was surprised – I thought you were smaller."

"Well, I thought you were dead," I jousted.

"Touché." He returned to my sights and that twinkle in his eyes told me he had a good comeback. He always did. "But you know… If I gave you a lollipop, it'd still suit you just fine. Baby face." He emphasized by patting me on the cheek a few times. Damn it; I had no time for this.

"If you don't start soon, I'll have to take those papers and leave." My threat was half-hearted. Even if I wanted to smack the guy upside the head, I didn't dislike him. Far from it. He was, at best, an uncle to me. A nut job of an uncle, but someone I cared about. More than I'd care to admit.

"Humor this old man, won't you?"

"What old man? I don't see one," I scoffed, not believing that comment for a second. The guy was a military spy who whipped up these highly classified documents in a matter of hours – playing senile with me would only get him so far. Hell, taking such lengths pretending to be senile with everyone else didn't help his case. Still, I let him do as he pleased – it was his right on my end of the bargain.

Silent and obedient like a patient during an examination, that was the key. No point in undressing him. Back then, he had sessions in between business, so he always kept his clothes on for convenience, though he got off seeing others undress. How he kept it in his pants at work was a mystery. No point in touching him back. He was a surgeon in control of another person's life. He also got off extending that control elsewhere, especially when it involved knowing he made others feel good, in more ways than one.

He placed his hands on my chest and explored, leaving tiny tingles on my skin as his fingers swept across my pectorals. I sighed, my breath ghosting over his hair as I let him know I liked what he was doing. "Your body is well-toned for a man who sits behind a desk all day," he remarked as he palmed my stomach, obviously pleased when his caress made my muscles tighten.

"If there's one good thing my parents left me, it's genetics." A quote from the Madame, though my exercise regimen also deserved some credit - it was all about maintenance.

"And this?" he questioned, fingers splayed on a patch of puckered and discolored skin. The burn scar, it was abnormally huge, and it ran around my entire left side. "Ishval?"

"No; nothing like that." A purr rumbled in my throat. The nerves were dulled, but when he swept his hands at my sides, I bristled all the same - he knew my ribs were a weakness. "Just… Mmn… A little accident…"

He'd never believe it, but he gave no further comment as he touched several points on my body, planting a kiss on each one. I assumed they were all scars – bullets, burns, brawls. It was an eye-opener - I had no idea some of them existed. "Beautiful. Even with so many wounds…" he whispered in my ear.

"Hmph. Hearing that from a man… a perverted old man…" I didn't bother to finish the sentence – it was embarrassing enough. Thank God I wasn't facing him - the doctor was behind me again and I knew he was ready to start. I could tell that much by the way his voice descended and his breathing thinned. I bent over the desk and stretched across the surface to reduce the height problem. Schmeisser gladly draped himself over me, clothed cock poking the cleft of my ass. Perverted old man, indeed. Not only was the guy alive and kicking; he was healthy. Very healthy. I gasped, elbows nearly giving out, and knocking over the desk lamp and a bottle of ink – somehow, he reached my ear and attacked it with his mouth. I kept my head tucked to my chest as I forced my eyes to focus on the print right in front of me.

3 October 1835

Mercy Memorial Hospital, Southern Border

List of Patients in Critical Condition:

Gary Shaw

Sarah Wright

James Clark

Erica Davis

Charlie Snider

Shit. I cried, throwing my head back, on reflex as he licked that spot between my ear and jaw. That gave him more access to my neck and he was exploiting that. "Bastard…" I hissed, grasping at words while he nipped at my throat. His chuckle vibrated across my skin - he knew I figured it out. The papers were arranged the way they were so I can read them from where I was – he planned to take me right on this desk, from the start. "Stop that – I can't rea- Ohh…" Damn it; I was helpless, and it didn't help that falling for it turned me on. I didn't realize I was tense and beginning to sweat 'til the doctor rubbed my back. An apology and to help me retrieve my bearings. He moved to my shoulders. They weren't as sensitive, so that gave me a bit of leeway.

Name: Charlie Snider

Age: 10

The patient was rushed to the hospital after his family was caught in the crossfire with forces from Hadrian and Aerugo. He arrived in a state of cardiac arrest caused by a bullet stopped next to his heart. No attempts were made to revive him due to the precarious nature of the injury, and he expired within an hour. His body was moved to the mortuary, but it disappeared during transport. The boy was found in the emergency room twenty-two hours later, searching for his parents. He was miraculously unharmed, with no evidence of injury. His adoptive father, Colonel Peter Snider, had the attending doctor court-martialed for gross misdiagnosis.

I turned the page to a newspaper clipping.

Simon Harris, the legally adopted son of Captain Bill Harris and named heir to the Harris Estate-

That was all I got - the reprieve didn't last long. Everything whirled again when Schmeisser moved south and stroke me to full hardness.

Kidnapped along with his father… 16 February 1855… 10-million-Cenz ransom… State's refusal to cooperate with the kidnappers… Captain Harris found dead… Simon missing…

I grunted, half out of lust and half out of frustration as I thrust into his hand - my body seemed to know what to do when I couldn't even get a hold of my mind.

Manhunt… West City… Police…

All I wanted was to lie prone on the desk and let the pleasure wash over me. I felt his ragged breath between my shoulder blades as he pumped me, putting some physical effort into it because of the height difference. He moved lower to fondle my balls before tunneling my length and stroking up as he twisted his wrist. I cried for more and he gladly obliged, timing his strokes with hips. My thrusts were getting desperate. Every time I was close to bursting, he slowed down to make me last longer. Then he'd speed up and get me to my high, only to deprive me of orgasm again. It was this push and pull that got my knees shaking and elbows rusting. I had to fight to keep myself up. It felt good to be so engorged. I needed more contact. I was a jittering mess. I couldn't take much more.

"Please…"

After two firm strokes, I hit my climax, spurting into the other man's hand and up my stomach. I probably got some under the desktop, too. I turned my head to look over my shoulder and find the doctor positively beaming. Well, someone was pleased. And we haven't even gotten to the best part yet.

"A hostess bar. Are you sure?" He observed my semen dribble down his hand before coating his fingers. "Do you still do this often?"

"… When I have to," I replied, not quite looking at him. One of those cases included Schmeisser himself, of course. Some silence passed between us before the elder frowned and disappeared from view. He spread my legs – he was definitely up to something – and while I waited, I hoisted myself on my elbows and leafed through the papers. Simon Harris' adoption papers. The next page contained a follow-up report – the results of the manhunt, from the previous article.

20 February 1855

It was confirmed that kidnappers cum murderers of the Harris Case were found dead, in the outskirts of West City. One sustained numerous stab wounds to his torso while the other was expertly mutilated with an unidentified weapon. There was still no sign of Simon, sole heir to the Harris Estate.

I went through a few more adoption papers.

Michael Andrews – 1845 – Dublith

Drew Sanders – 1865 – Youswell

Gregory Weathers – 1885 – East City

John Lexington – 1895 – New Optain

Louie Anderson – 1905 – Central City

All of different names, years, and locations. The ages of the boys in question ranged from six to eleven years-old, though they all had similar height and weight, and eye and hair color – the exact same physical characteristics. If only there were photographs to confirm their identities… Then maybe… Just maybe…

"Tch!" I flinched as sharp pain lanced through my backside. Damn; the painkillers were wearing off.

"Little Roy." Schmeisser's voice was flat, a lot like how my mother sounded when she busted me. He knew. There was no use hiding it now. "You're still wet and wide open," he continued in that tone, delicately pushing a semen-slicked finger inside me. I whimpered noiselessly, willing the burning sensation away as he prodded my walls carefully. "You're bleeding – tearing at 12 o'clock." The finding sounded so revolting coming from someone else's mouth - I knew what he was trying to imply. I've investigated cases like these before, and there was no mistaking today's victim.

"… It's not rape, with my consent." Denial. No; it wasn't a crime in the strictest sense, but I was violated, nonetheless. Broken.

"You know better to bite off more than you can chew." A euphemism for, Don't stick such a huge cock up your ass. It would've been easier if he said it flat out. I deserved the disgusting truth. It made it easier to accept. Sometimes, being kind was just too cruel.

"… I did what I had to do."

I did this to myself.

He didn't say anything, but I knew he can see them, too, the marks. Black and blue blots on my hips and ulcers under my right ass cheek, right where it was going to hurt whenever I sat. A constant reminder. Red craters with pink halos. Burns. Cigar burns - some old, some new. "Was it worth prostituting yourself for?"

I went for a vague answer – even I wasn't sure. "It must be." I played nonchalant – that was what happened when I slipped into defensive autopilot. "My job, my position, my subordinates…" At the cost of my innocence, my dignity, my humanity... But what little I held onto was so precious; it wasn't a question of what I'd give, but what I wouldn't. Even my body didn't belong me alone. I've gotten used to it, that disgusting act. It was something I learned aside from killing and lying to people. There were no feelings like lust or love involved – everything was merely an action. Of course it wasn't fair, but this was the path I chose – I needed to follow orders. I needed to climb the ladder as quickly as possible. Get to the top no matter what. That was the only way I could justify my next breath.

"Another client... So that was why you were late…"

My silence confirmed his suspicions. Clemin was a monster. In the end, he took me four times just to give away the doctor's location. He wasn't just huge; he was ruthless. By the end of our "meeting", I utterly felt like shit. I turned my stomach inside out. I still felt filthy after two showers. I lied to the nurses to get the drugs. If it weren't for the painkillers, I probably wouldn't have made it out of HQ. But as long as I had my reason to live – the people who need and support me, by my side – I can keep doing this. The worst obstacles became nothing. It made the situation surreal. Beautiful, even. In that twisted sense. That was how I started to view it. I've become so… depraved.

"I'm sorry." And for once in how long I've known him, he sounded like he truly meant it. He continued moving and found my sweet spot. He brushed it, but just barely. This wasn't right - he was losing the mood. "We should continue this another time."

"Don't." One simple word, but it conveyed all my resolve. I knew the man wasn't deaf, but when he didn't respond, I bucked against him – fucked myself on his finger – to get the message across. "Don't. Nngh… Don't. Pity. Me," I growled, punctuating every word with a twist of my hips. I smirked at him as he stared back – I was getting to him. "Wipe that stupid expression off your face. Look , I won't have sex with just any old bastard." Our eyes met. "I'm doing this because it's with you." The smirk never left my face. Despite all doubts toward myself, I was sure of one thing right now. "I want this. I want you. I want you to fuck me."

I want you to save me.

It was like waiting for the words to sink in before Schmeisser burst into that merry laugh, sans the choking, thank God. "Is that- Haha! Is that an order?"

"Want me to make it one? Didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

"You drive a hard bargain, Colonel." He was teasing back. Good.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Service me." I impaled myself on his finger. "Service me 'til I'm content."

"Hey, wait; I thought I was the client here."

"You thought."

"Getting even, are we?" He retaliated by adding another finger.

I bit my lip as he stretched my entrance, but I was soon rewarded when he pressed harder on that spot that made me thrash. I arched my back, alternating between purrs and growls as he got me hard again. This was part of his expertise, prostate massages. It wasn't long before I was panting, my pelvis in synch with his movements. "Heh. You think… Haaaa… You can satisfy me… with just this? A-Ahh…!"

"Pushy bottom."

"You like this."

The decisive sound of a zipper being pulled down was his answer. I couldn't say I wasn't disappointed when he withdrew his fingers, but all thoughts of that flew out the window when the head of his cock circled my entrance. Once he was poised, he gripped my hips firmly but tenderly. The bruises from earlier didn't seem to ache as much anymore. "I'll be gentle."

"I know you will." He always was. After our first time, I asked him why, and he said knowing how the human body functioned allowed him to treat it right.

Even if I'm like this, I still wish to be treated gently.

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed a cry as he brought his hips forward. He must've noticed the pain I was in – he brought a hand to my front to masturbate me. "Don't," I repeated, placing a hand over his. A gesture of complete trust. "I know you'll make me feel better, doc. So please…"

He understood. He returned his hand on my hip and buried himself completely in one thrust, taking advantage of my stretched state. I felt like I was on fire, but the pain was eclipsed by pleasure once we formed a rhythm. His arms went around my chest and middle. His mouth was on my shoulder to stifle his cries. I met each thrust, making sure he felt all of me as he nailed my prostate. Papers be damned – my mind was too far gone. I thought of nothing but this shape… this size… this sensation... He never lost his touch – he still knew how to make me scream.

"On your side…" A command through gritted teeth.

I didn't know exactly what he meant, but I followed - I twisted my torso to bear the weight on my right elbow. It was easier to breathe, but the angle from the back was awkward. He fixed that by grabbing my left thigh and turning my lower half, all while still pounding into me. I was on my side, spread eagle - he held my leg above my head while the other dangled uselessly over the edge of the desk. He wasn't particularly large, but I felt so filled – the pressure in my gut…!

"Sto- Ahh! Deep! So deep…!"

My mouth went wide in absolute ecstasy. Moans I didn't recognize as my own escaped my throat. I was gripping on the edge of the desk. I couldn't feel my hands. Everything was rocking. I was so dizzy. Lost in the throes of passion. Something fell. I couldn't tell what it was. Not with my heart pounding so loudly in my ears. Everything felt so hot. My blood was liquid fire. I couldn't get enough of that heat.

"M-More… Harder…!"

Let the pain and pleasure that comes with each thrust be my punishment and pardon.

The rhythm turned brutal without missing a beat. Bodies colliding in mutual comfort. Out of our minds but still in control. A moment far too precious to be lost. The primal desire for sinful pleasure. It made me human. Someone wanted me. I felt alive.

I climaxed. Hard. My entire body seized and went rigid, ass muscles clenching for dear life. The doctor followed suit and bit my shoulder as he shot his load into me. I couldn't take the teeth - I kept spurting 'til my head finally hit the papers, smearing them with my sweat and saliva along with my semen. It was a bad idea, but I didn't care. Not like he did either. We stayed like that for a while, the other man sheathed inside me as waves of euphoria rippled through our bodies. I lolled my head to the side and let my eyelids drop, basking in the aftershocks. God; that felt good!

"You wanted to cum that badly…" I felt him brush away the sweat-dampened hair that had fallen over my eyes. I shifted ever so slightly, leaning into his touch. I was exhausted – I couldn't be assed to move any more. "You're all worn out." There was amusement in his voice. I hummed softly as he ran his fingers through my hair and ruffled it. He then moved his thumb to the corner of my mouth, wiping it clean. He probably did that to get rid of my drool, but he had no idea how comforting that was for me. "Rest... Even lions need to sleep." I didn't get what was with the sudden metaphor, but I obliged. I knew I could never truly sleep, but I found comfort in my last thoughts before drifting into unconsciousness.

For while… Just a little while… A catnap…

My eyes fluttered open and sluggishly came into focus as I woke to an astringent smell. Fresh flowers in a vase… White lilies - her favorites. Just like that time… She brought them to my room after that showdown with Lust.

"… Lieutenant…?"

Silence was my answer. I turned to the opposite side, taking in my surroundings. I was definitely in a patient ward, but it wasn't the twin room Havoc and I stayed in. So where exactly was I? I then noticed the walls weren't white, but mint green. That could only mean one thing…

"Up already?" The geezer was leaning on the door frame with that self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Will I never get a beautiful nurse by my side?" I grumbled in obvious exasperation. He laughed and I scowled, in return. I motioned to sit, but instantly hit the bed again – my ass was singing in protest.

"Careful. Don't aggravate it – I could only do so much."

"… No painkillers?"

"No," he replied firmly, crossing his arms. When he spoke in that tone, there was no use arguing. "It'd be unlucky for you if someone put a tack on your chair, in that meeting, and you didn't feel it." I read him like a book. It wasn't that he was out of medication – he didn't want to give me some.

Stop numbing yourself.

"Still doesn't beat my trick of lighting a fire up their chairs and making them think they pissed themselves," I joked as I righted myself gingerly.

It's okay to feel pain every once in a while.

The blanket fell away, and I found myself in my dress shirt and trousers. In fact, my jacket and cavalry skirt were neatly folded on the chair beside me, gloves placed on top of the pile. I looked to Schmeisser, in mild surprise.

"Your boots are over here." He gestured to the floor at the side of the bed. "Don't worry; I cleaned you up. None will be the wiser," he said, tapping the side of his hawk nose.

My harsh expression crumbled and I sighed, covering half of my face with my hand. Again, this man got one over me - I could never stay angry with him for long. "… How long was I asleep?"

"I'd say about… forty minutes."

"That long, huh?" I reached for the pocket watch in my jacket and clicked it open. A bit over an hour 'til the council. "I still have some time." Barely. I still had to get to town.

"Would you like some tea to wake you up?"

"How very quaint. A cup of tea after some kinky desk sex. Is this how you spend your afternoons?"

"We could always skip the tea and do other things…" he trailed, voice silky as his glasses gleamed.

"No; thanks, pervert - I think I'll pass today. Some of us have to go to work." He saw through the mock irritation and mirrored a small smile before leaving me to my privacy.

Once he was out of earshot, I flopped onto my side and buried my face in the crook of my arm. Damn; I really did it this time. But that loss of control, that form of ultimate surrender Clemin couldn't force out of me, was finally released. That was what got him so pissed: He couldn't get me to cum - he couldn't get me to bow to him. But with Schmeisser, it was all right. Only when I was with someone I trusted could I show that brief moment of weakness. I knew I'd be safe with him. I knew he'd take care of me, and here I was in one of his beds. I breathed in deeply, recognizing this scent as antiseptic. Stale. These sheets were probably stuck in a closet for a while. Some things just never changed…

Once I finished dressing, I ventured into the corridor, and followed a sweet and gentle aroma to the dining area. Even this room carried the mint green motif, with matching curtains of a couple of shades. The doctor sat at a small but sturdy square table illuminated by a small chandelier. Raspberry tea with biscuits... How nostalgic. He gestured for me to take the chair adjacent to him, obviously because it had an extra cushion on the seat. I accepted the offer and settled down, though a bit stiffly.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" the elder asked as he poured and passed me a cup. He was obviously referring to the information he gave me.

"I'm almost completely sure, but that wasn't all of it, was it?" I fixed a pointed gaze at Schmeisser, but he remained as relaxed as ever, munching on his food. "I need a bit more to confirm all those boys were, in fact, just one person." I picked up my cup and sipped my tea as I waited - the geezer always took his time when it came to delicate matters.

He swallowed and responded slowly. "A small boy with dark hair and dark eyes shows up at an orphanage. He's adopted by a prestigious family and disappears after a few years. He leaves the records just as I enters: with nothing. No birth or death certificates."

"Yet, he makes his next appearance a few years later, and the cycle repeats. He can't stay long because he'll be discovered, so he moves from one city to another to live a new life. Same face, same age, same story. The only thing that changes is his name."

"What are you implying, Little Roy? Are you saying he's immortal?"

"Not only that. My Lieutenant tells me he's not human." My eyes narrowed. "He's a Homunculus."

"… There's no such thing."

"There's no such thing as no such thing. Artificial human beings with unfathomable regenerative abilities, I've seen one with my own eyes." My hand ghosted over my burn scar – memories of that incident always brought a dull throb to my side. "This is what I got for crossing one."

He frowned. "How unfortunate…"

"My subordinate was worse off." I bit back the guilt that always tried to overwhelm me. He almost died. If I were more vigilant, we could've walked out of there on our own feet. It was my fault – I should've protected him. I failed in my duties as a commanding officer, as a soldier, as a friend… "He was severely injured in the spine – his lower half is completely paralyzed. He… can't walk again."

"He had to retire, eh?" the doctor surmised grimly. "Soldiers with permanent disabilities are given discharge."

"Tch." And soldiers who die in the line of duty are given State burial. The military honors during his funeral were a different matter – that was the State just bullshitting him. "… A dear friend of mine," I said, staring into my cup, "was also assaulted by a Homunculus. You know… you're both alike - he was in intelligence, too." I clenched my jacket to still the shakes, but it was no use. "If only wish he got to live as old as you…"

"… What was his name?"

"Maes Hughes."

Every time his name rolled off my tongue, that guilt returned in full force. Not only that; I was simmering beyond the surface, just waiting to explode. I was angry. Angry with Hughes for being so kind. Angry with the Homunculus for killing him in cold blood. But most of all, angry with myself for realizing things too late. While everyone was fighting by my side, the man who supported me most was in the shadows, alone where I couldn't see him. I couldn't protect him either. I kept thinking there was a way I could've saved him, even if that was impossible.

"A fate that befalls a man who knows too much… I'm sorry to hear that." Schmeisser looked at me sadly through his glasses. "So Maes Hughes was your comrade... I've heard of him – it was all over the news. Honestly…" He breathed in deeply through his nose. "Sensationalizing such a shameful act of killing a ranking man... And yet… you say he was killed by a Homunculus." He took another bite out of his biscuit and swallowed some tea. "There's something rotten, correct?" He sniffed it out, the pile of corpses upon which Amestris was built. "How troublesome. Just when I thought I could retire in peace..."

I looked to him and found he had a different look in his eyes. I saw a spark. Something that ignited the flames that once blazed within him.

"I can see he's very important to you. Is that why you're working so hard?"

Do you love him?

"I made a promise."

I do, but it's different from the kind of love you're thinking. It's the same as the passion I have for you, my loved ones, and this nation.

"I see." He smiled knowingly. "Your determination to honor your promise, it gives old folks like me something to do." His glasses caught light as he pushed them up his nose. "Expect a package from me - I'll call when I have it ready. I suppose it's about time I pay Chris a visit, too – let her know I haven't kicked the bucket yet."

"You better not regret this, old man," I said, accepting his offer, but also giving him the chance to back out. It was now or never. "I don't want to find you in a body bag, as a traitor the next time I see you."

"Don't take me so lightly, Colonel Mustang," he said, tapping the side of his nose again. "All I need is a name. Do you have one?"

"Hmph." I smirked, matching his enthusiasm. I had to admit his spirits were contagious. "The boy is currently in Central. I'll have to be careful. Chances are, he'll be close by to watch over me and the Lieutenant during the council at the Presidential House."

"Selim Bradley." Count on Schmeisser to pick up quickly – he was definitely a force to be reckoned with. He was back in the game. And that young soldier framed on the wall had nothing on him.

Notes

- Like most military personnel in the series, Schmeisser's name has its military origin. He shares his name with Hugo Schmeisser, a German infantry weapons developer, as well as a .25 caliber pistol used in an assassination plot against Adolf Hitler. The name Hugo means "intelligence."

- I haven't set the age Mustang left home to study at Military Academy, so I set it to fifteen, for convenience. I'll edit this later when I figure it out.

- The First Southern Border Conflict occurred in October 1835.

- The years listed coincide with the ones written at the back of Selim's photographs in the anime.