Disclaimer: I don't own D Gray Man or Fullmetal Alchemist.

Author's note: The title is actually also a title of a song by The 69 Eyes, which has nothing to do with the story. But The 69 Eyes are awesome, so go and listen. Also, this story is just an excuse for me to write another version of Alma's and Kanda's happily ever after (without romance). If you're into that, I strongly encourage you to read "9 bitter years" and "Garden of fruitless blossoms"!

Framed in blood

Ch 1

General Roy Mustang was a very busy man. That was what he always said although some claimed that he was mainly busy avoiding work or chatting up young, pretty women. Neither of the latter statements was completely untrue, but it was a fact that his recent promotion came with an increased workload, leaving him much less time than he would have liked for pleasures. For one, he became the highest ranking State Alchemist and thus directly responsible for the whole structure. It happened right on time for the yearly assessment exam, also, tripling his workload at the very least.

The skills and work of many State Alchemists was known to him already, making part of the assessment easy. Armstrong's test was a mere formality and so was Elric's. The latter took a long time because the least Mustang could do for the prodigious teenager was to let him stay home and take care of his brother until Alphonse was in good form. He went to Resembool to conduct the test, arranging to test most of the State Alchemists who were stationed outside the Central on the way.

Now, however, he was back in his comfortable office and had the most daunting task to do: the assessment of the State Alchemists involved in science rather than combat. There was a portion of science teams of which he hadn't even heard until recently. He scheduled exam after exam and Hawkeye constructed a punishing schedule of reading he needed to do for each exam, to not make a fool of himself. He appreciated her thought, but, as he read through yet another thick holder, he wished he could make a fool of himself.

'There is another one for today,' Hawkeye said, coming into the office with a folder. Mustang groaned. 'It is rather thin, sir, the Healing Alchemist has only been nominated last year,' she added and Mustang found his curiosity piqued by the title. Healing was certainly something few alchemists invested themselves into, with the notable exception of Marcoh, who had been cheating. He put away the thick folder and took the thin one, ignoring the disapproval on Hawkeye's face.

'Thank you, Riza,' he said absently, engrossed in the text from the very first sentence. James Teller has come to the Central a couple of years ago with the desire to become a State Alchemist. He had failed the entrance exam twice and was going to fail the third time, until another applicant got gravely wounded and Teller administered a potion of his creation, instantaneously healing the unfortunate man. Later on people said that the applicant would have died without the potion, but that wasn't confirmed.

In consequence, Teller was granted the State Alchemistship and the title of the Healing Alchemist, since then providing the army with his magical potion that instantaneously healed any wound and returned the men from the brink of death, literally. Humbly, Teller requested only small research facilities within the working Second Lab, to better his recipe. He was of course granted his request and chose the smallest lab complex, containing barely three rooms, saying he didn't want to abuse of the government's hospitality.

Too good to be true, Mustang thought, skimming through the reports of eye witnesses of occasions when the potion was used. It worked, alright. Multiple witnesses confirmed its efficacy. There was no way it was a scam, but how could someone create something like that and why had his predecessor never wondered about the nature of the potion? There were no details of the preparation or the ingredients whatsoever. Indeed there was nothing of interest in the folder. Mustang was certainly going to ask questions, he decided and, with a sigh, went back to the thick folder detailing the stumbling research of the Bone Alchemist, who seemed to be the complete opposite of the Healing Alchemist. He only skimmed through the numerous reports full of empty words and promises, deciding that if the man had nothing interesting to show he would fail straight away.

Maybe, if he was done fast enough, he would manage to get a drink that evening, he thought hopefully, getting up and putting on his coat. The meetings weren't planned for three more hours, but he was the damned general. It had to be good for something, like coming unannounced to see the work in progress, for example. Maybe he would shake up either of the two alchemists and get some amusement out of it? Anything was good.

Everybody looked up when he entered the front office, six pairs of eyes widening in surprise of varying degree. He smirked and most, except for Hawkeye and the newest addition to the team, a very promising youngster, relaxed, going back to their work. The only female in the room got up and asked if he wanted to proceed earlier than planned, to which he replied positive.

'I have my medical visit now, sir,' she protested. 'I cannot follow you to the assessment exam.'

'I'm sure that neither of the alchemists is going to attack me, Hawkeye,' he told her with fondness in his tone that was reserved only for her. 'I'll take somebody else,' he added when she grimaced with displeasure. He could almost hear her thinking that "the alchemists are not the only people you will encounter, sir." She was probably right also, so Mustang looked at the others seated in the room, suddenly interested at the prospect of getting out of the office.

'I can go, sir,' said the newbie getting up, much to everybody's surprise. He was the youngest of them by far, suggested by Armstrong who only had good things to say about the boy, and so far had been rather shy. Mustang looked at him thoughtfully, glad that the youth was starting to feel comfortable enough in the presence of the illustrious Flame Alchemist, whom he had told Breda he feared a bit, to speak up. He saw the young man fidget under his careful gaze, but the dark brown eyes never left Mustang's face.

He nodded and motioned the other to go and they left the office without further hesitation. Hawkeye called after them to say she'd arrange a car and indeed a car was waiting, along with two standard guards provided by the new Führer to any officer going away on official business. Mustang ignored the guards, whom he knew would go with them, and motioned his companion to get in the back with him. It was a high time to get to know the kid, he thought.

As the car started, he glanced at the other, noting the focused, serious expression. Gone was the usual smile that he came to associate with the dark-haired youth. It was replaced by lips pursed in determination and a piercing gaze directed outside. Was he that worried about his task of protecting Mustang? It was amusing and touching in its own way, he supposed and cleared his throat to get the other's attention.

'You can relax,' he said in what he thought was a kind tone. 'We have a while to go and I hate silence on the trips like that. Tell me something about yourself,' he added, making sure to not make it sound like an order. The youth looked lost. 'Tell me how you got that scar,' Mustang suggested, watching a hand reach to the horizontal scar that ran across the other's nose. It stood out on the otherwise unmarred skin, weirdly regular in shape.

'Actually I had it since I remember,' replied the other with the faintest of blushes. 'My foster parents didn't know how I got it either, I asked,' he added with a shrug. Disappointing, thought Mustang, and asked about the life the youth had led before he came to the Central and why he decided to join the military. Visibly relaxed, the other answered and even dared to ask some questions himself and Mustang found that he enjoyed his company and enthusiasm that bubbled from the youth's words. Probably Armstrong was right that Mustang needed new blood in his team.

The road to the Second Lab, where both Alchemists had their research facilities, passed uneventfully and so did the first assessment. The Bone Alchemist was unable to produce an interesting result and started to cry when Mustang proclaimed him stripped from his title and privileges. Mustang kept a stony cold face, noting that it was difficult for his young companion, and left without unnecessary pleasantries. A flushed researcher showed him the way to the lab of the Healing Alchemist, clearly eager to not fall out of graces with the new general.

James Teller was a tall, thin man whose smug smile belied the humble profile that emerged from his file. He greeted Mustang with calmness and welcomed him into his main lab, where the general immediately noticed two guards standing by one of the other doors. Together with the two by the entrance to the main office they made an impressive guard and he mentioned it to the alchemist.

'A successful research induces much envy,' the man said cryptically, his bony face betraying dislike. 'As it is, general, you arrive right on time to witness my newest potion. I'm afraid I don't manage to significantly increase the healing rate, but I have managed to considerably decrease the costs,' he added. Mustang remembered the exorbitant cost of the potion and nodded in approval, despite himself appreciating the man's efforts. 'I have also managed to establish that it can be administered directly on the wound, which probably is the sole reason behind the faster healing I have observed.'

'I will need a demonstration,' Mustang commented. Teller produced a small dagger and handed it, hilt first, towards Mustang's young escort. The general turned right in time to see the brown eyes widen in surprise as the youth took a step back. The reaction made him frown slightly, making a mental note to ask the young soldier about it later. 'Why don't you use one of your guards,' he suggested, turning back to the alchemist, who grimaced. Privately, Mustang wondered why the alchemist didn't use his magical potion on himself if it was so amazing. Could there be something he didn't want on his skin or in his body?

'Of course, sir,' the alchemist said and called one of the guards from the entrance. A curious choice, decided Mustang, since there were two already in the lab. He was, however, distracted when the guard cut his arm without hesitation. The alchemist dropped a bit of his reddish potion and the wound closed with a hiss, some smoke escaping. Exactly like the reports said, thought Mustang, awed despite himself. With the corner of his eye he saw his escort looking fixedly at the guard's arm with that determined expression he wore in the car.

'If you permit me, Mr Teller, I would like to see the preparation of such a potion,' Mustang said. The alchemist visibly didn't like the suggestion and Mustang didn't believe it for one second when he said it took a long time to prepare. He didn't say it though. 'How about the list of ingredient's then?' he suggested instead, this time using a tone that left no doubts about his seriousness.

'The secret-' the alchemist started crossly.

'Is safe with me,' he cut him. It got him a glare. 'I am speaking from scientific curiosity, an alchemist to an alchemist,' he said in a friendly tone and it was only half-lie. He was half curious, half suspicious and gods help the Healing Alchemist if Mustang found even the smallest hint of the Philosopher's Stone anywhere in his labs. He withstood the unfriendly gaze without a flinch and the alchemist sighed in resignation.

'I would appreciate if your escort stayed behind, sir,' Teller said and Mustang nodded at the youth who was visibly displeased with the order. Mustang mouthed that he could protect himself, but the youth didn't look any happier. He was probably too influenced by Riza's fussing, he thought. He shrugged mentally and followed the alchemist to the guarded room, slipping on his gloves discreetly. He was not a complete fool after all.

The inside of the room was not at all what he expected. There was no bloody chamber for sacrificing humans, nor was there the smallest trace of the Stone. It didn't even resemble an alchemist lab, like the first room did, but rather a hospital room. There was even a thin bed, covered with a dark blanket but clearly containing a body. With an angry frown, Mustang told the alchemist to uncover it, which the man did, after some hesitation.

A human being was lying of the bed, tightly strapped with thick, leather belts. The person was a young man, seemingly untouched, as pretty as a doll and pale as though he was made of porcelain. He had long, dark hair and Xingese features. He was unconscious. There was little doubt as to his role in Teller's research once Mustang noticed a permanent IV port on the inside of the man's elbow. He felt his blood boil in fury. It probably showed on his face, because the alchemist backed off and stuttered that he could explain. Mustang ordered him to speak in a quiet hiss.

'He appeared out of nowhere one and a half year ago,' the alchemist said quietly, his voice shaking with fear he could not hide. 'I saw him fall from the sky, but there were no wounds when I approached. He never regained consciousness, but look,' he said and grabbed a small scalpel. Before Mustang could protest he cut the man's arm shallowly. It barely bled before the cut healed with a hiss and some smoke and it stunned Mustang speechless for a moment.

'I think it has something to do with this mark, because I have seen it grow,' the alchemist continued, profiting from Mustang's shock. He pulled down the flimsy, green shirt to uncovered a part of a tattoo-like mark on the man's chest. 'I tried to investigate, but other than taking blood samples I cannot do anything. He heals too fast. I'm trying to replicate his blood, but so far there has been no success,' the alchemist babbled, pointing towards the intricate machinery on his desk. 'I only need another year and then I will have a serum that doesn't require his blood,' he promised.

A homunculus. There was no doubt in Mustang's head although who and when could have made one was beyond him. Was it this man, this "Healing Alchemist"? The "fall from the sky" line was an obvious lie, but it seemed an insane loss of effort to create a homunculus only play a State Alchemist. Was it one that had somehow survived the fights against the Father? Regardless, it needed to be taken into military custody, as did the alchemist, to whom Mustang had stopped listening a moment ago.

'Karma, I need your help here,' he called out to his escort, ignoring the alchemist's desperate protest. Poor kid, he thought as footsteps neared the lab, he's going to get a shock of his life seeing this. He regretted not taking Havoc with him, especially when his escort froze in the doorway, eyes fixed on the unconscious man on the bed.