Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, or any of the other chows mentioned. All will be referenced in their chapters.

Notes: Hello again, everyone. Well, I said I'd try to come up with a sequel, and after mulling it over for weeks, I've finally come up with a chapter or so. For those who don't understand, this is a sequel to my story "Seeing Double". If uncertain of any references to past events, they will more than likely be in there, but I will attempt to keep them to a minimum. All you need to know is that Flame is the fanfiction version of Mustang, and Riza is the fanfiction version of Hawkeye. Flame was in the 'normal' FMA world for some time before dying, which sent him back to his own world, though the characters don't know that yet. Thank you for reading, and now, on with the story.

"Theme and Variations" or "Drawn Like a Mustang To a Flame" by Dailenna

Chapter One: Brigadier Generals, clichés, and necessity

Quietly, Havoc's pen tapped away at his work. His small, 'neat' – as his mother called it, anyway – scribble emerged over the page bit by bit. He could hear Hawkeye's pen moving with equal fervour across the other side for the room, and up at the big desk, the Colonel's pen was still for a short moment as he considered his phrasing. The other office boys had gone out on some practical mission that didn't need much attention, and now Mustang, Hawkeye and Havoc were the only ones left in the room.

A knock on the door disturbed the monotony known as 'quiet work', and after being bid entrance, a face poked in through the gap between door and doorway, soon followed by a body in uniform. The soldier in question walked up to the Colonel and handed him a note.

"The Fuhrer's condolences," the young man explained briefly, eyes on Mustang as though seeking approval – he must have been a new one to the forces to still be wearing that expression. How he got to delivering messages for the Fuhrer was beyond Havoc – normally that was saved for those who had attained some form of rank and needed a good dressing down. Maybe they'd finally come across a combination of Brigadier Generals who weren't entirely self-involved and had needed someone else to do the job.

Havoc watched as Mustang waved the messenger out the door, and opened the note, eyes skimming over the words and absorbing more than most would at first glance.

"What's in it, chief?" Havoc spoke up. "Ah, that is, if I may ask?"

Mustang gave a careless look in his direction. "The Fuhrer merely wishes to apologise for our having lost my 'brother' on a military mission, despite his not being officially involved in the military." The note was casually tossed to the side of his desk. "At least not in our military," he muttered.

Only days before, a visitor of theirs who was physically identical to Mustang in every way – which is how they pulled off the façade that they were brothers, to avoid any unnecessary explanations – had celebrated his death with an Amestrian military-style funeral.

The man had been, at times, an insufferable idiot who enjoyed tormenting many of those forced to put up with him, but he could be quite bearable from time to time, and the fact that Mustang and Havoc had been his host in turns led them to miss the fellow a little. A very little. Hawkeye, on the other hand, was undeniably female, and had had to put up with varying degrees of assault from the man as he attempted to 'charm' her. Although she did once begrudgingly admit that he was altogether harmless – outside of Flame's hearing, of course – Havoc did not think she would be regretting his absence in the same degree as he and Mustang did.

The stupid, annoying git! Why did he have to go and get himself killed like that? It was so inconsiderate and badly timed that Havoc could see how the thought would appeal to Flame when in one of his more aggravating moods.

"Do you ever get the feeling that he's not completely dead?" Hawkeye asked all of a sudden, setting down her pen and looking complacently at the ceiling as she thought.

Havoc looked up and stared at her. Was she crazy? Of course the man was dead! And if somehow he hadn't been before, a week in that coffin would have at least led to suffocation, and he would be dead now. The man had been stabbed in the chest – Mustang himself had seen the body, as well as the men who had had to carry it out of the house.

"Yes," came Mustang's voice, with a wistful tone twisting it slightly. "He's not the sort to up and go without one last laugh."

Head whipping over to look at his boss, Havoc's eyes widened. Was everyone going crazy? Sure, Flame did like to have a good chortle at those around him, but it wasn't like he could put off something like a violent, murderous death just to giggle at them all. "If he isn't dead, then where do you suppose he is?" Havoc challenged.

"Back in his own world, I'd imagine," Mustang mused.

That did make some sense. The man had bemoaned the absence of his precious Riza often enough that Havoc could see him being spirited away to her side so swiftly that he left his body behind. The idea seemed clichéd in its philosophy – back to his world, indeed! – but Flame was all about cliché. If he was anywhere, that's where it would be.

"So what are you going to do about it?" came a new voice from the open doorway – the messenger must have forgotten to shut it when he left, and now Edward Elric stood in the doorway, a secure smile most prominent on his face.

"Do about it?"

He nodded and strolled forwards lazily, waving gloved hands in the air as he spoke. "I mean, let's say that you could travel into another world and see for yourself if he was there . . ."

The three officers looked at the young alchemist intently, varying degrees of shock apparent on their faces. All at once they opened their mouths, uttering something along the lines of "Is it possible?"

Smug smile unwavering, Elric pushed up his right sleeve. "See for yourselves." Where before there may have been one well-crafted automail limb was now a complete human arm. Admiring the sight, he spoke before any of them could question his revelation. "An Ed I met in another world had discovered the secret to regaining flesh . . . without using the Philosophers' Stone. It took some convincing, but I managed to pry the details from him."

Various 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of approval emanated from Havoc and Mustang. Hawkeye merely looked on, with what looked suspiciously like pride shining in her eyes and congratulated the boy on regaining his limbs.

"How?" Mustang asked, his usually well contained shock seeping out into both his voice and his expression.

"I can't tell you that," Elric teased. "I promised Ed that I wouldn't tell – it's been his life work, you see. He only shared it with me because – well – because I am him."

When Mustang looked somewhat crestfallen, he took a step forwards. "Oh," Elric added, a twinkle escaping what Havoc now understood was a very reserved expression for the importance of the occasion. Elric's grin broadened considerably. "And have you met my brother?"

Three shocked pairs of eyes snapped onto the new figure creeping stealthily – creeping stealthily as opposed to clanking really loudly – into the room. The boy was positively emaciated, hardly an ounce of fat to his cheeks, but he looked as through he had just returned from the grooming parlour with a freshly chopped haircut and squeaky-clean smile.

"Alphonse Elric?" Havoc asked in amazement.

The boy grinned, his joy barely held back. "Yes, Lieutenant Havoc?" The one familiar thing about him had finally surfaced – his voice. There was no doubt that it was him.

A bout of friendly, excited laughter circulated around the room as each officer stood to greet and congratulate the new boy before them. The fact that he was no longer a hulking suit of armour with the disturbingly cherubic voice of a young boy would take some getting used to. Now he actually looked like the cherubic child the voice belonged to. Now he looked like Edward's younger brother.

"So, you wanted to find Flame?" Everyone's attention snapped back to the older – and finally taller, if only by an inch – Elric. "I assume that means you'll need research as to how to get to other worlds, and as I'm – ahem – retiring from the military, I suppose that you could say mine is up for grabs."

Havoc looked at the alchemist in shock, then went to exchange glances with Mustang, but Mustang was already exchanging glances with Hawkeye, so instead Havoc waited until they were done.

"No catches involved?" the Colonel asked hesitantly, as though afraid of what Fullmetal might ask of him.

"Nope. I'm just happy to have Al back."

After considering the statement, a smile spread over the older militant's face. "Your notes would be greatly appreciated, if you'd be able to get them to me."

Elric nodded. "I'll have them sent over to your house, then – so that these lot won't try to get their hands on them," he grinned, motioning in the direction of the higher officers' offices. He gave a polite bob of the head towards each of them. "Nice to see you all again. If you ever need to contact me – need to, mind you – I'll be in Risenbul."

"Goodbye Colonel Mustang; Lieutenant Hawkeye, Lieutenant Havoc! Thank you for helping us out all of these years!" chirped Al before following his brother's retreating back out of the door. "You're welcome to visit any time you want!"

From outside in the corridor, Edward's voice came back – "Only when it's absolutely necessary!"

The office quietened down with their absence, seeming fuller than it had before the Elrics had appeared. Finally back in their proper bodies – how had they managed that? Maybe Havoc should have asked before they left. Even if he hadn't understood all of the alchemy mumbo-jumbo, it should have made for a good story, and an excuse to not do much for the rest of the day.

"Well," he said, looking at his superior officers, "we were wondering, and now we have a way to find out about Flame."

Mustang rested his chin on his hands. "Yes, it looks like we might. How providential . . ."

Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled about in the sky outside. Havoc smiled at the weather's attempt to dull the mood. He didn't think anything much could bring them down from this high right now.

Flame watched the storm playing outside his window and groaned. "I don't have to walk home in that, do I? Can't you drive me, Riza?"

She sighed, handing him the new stack of paperwork she had just fetched from the office, and Flame idly wondered whether what she did was the same as any secretary. He did doubt that any other 'secretary' would shoot off their employer's means of reproduction, however, and so left the thought unsaid in an attempt to divert the aforementioned disaster.

"Roy, just because you're useless in the rain–" he sunk in his chair "–doesn't mean that every rainy day we have, I'll drive you home."

There were those words again. 'Rain.' Bleargh! 'Useless.' Ugh! Why did she have to remind him? It was plain insulting. But it did make it all the more fun when he proved her wrong – he wasn't entirely useless, after all. He'd just have to convince her to drive him home so that he could prove it . . . again . . .

"Pleeeease?"

"Oh, alright."

He blinked – that was quick. Had is always been this easy? Maybe he'd just spent too much time in Mustang's world – after all, Hawkeye was the epitome of stubbornness as compared to Riza. His Riza. Flame snickered.

"Are you alright, Roy?"

Whoops. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are we going home, or what?"