Greed leaned back further in his corner, safe in the half-light from the thick tallow candles and the flickering gas lamps

Greed leaned back further in his corner, safe in the half-light of the thick tallow candles and the flickering gas lamps. The place wasn't empty, but it wasn't crowded, either – it never was. There were few strangers here this evening; there was hardly anyone in the room he couldn't identify by sight. Some were allies – he paid them for their loyalty, or their indifference. Some of them were even on his side, whichever side that was. In any case, the perpetual drunken state of the bar's frequent denizens was his most effective shield against prying eyes; not much could penetrate the mire of mumbling voices, the half-sanity of liquor. Snatches of conversation and single telling syllables reached his ears. Freedom, he'd learned, was a dangerous thing, and it was always wise to have a place to return to, some wall you could press your back against when the chips were down.

And so Greed leaned back in the comfort of the shadow, and watched, and waited. Rumours thrived in this half-light world he lived in, but here and there truths trickled down through the drunken stories and rambling narratives. A change was coming; even now rumours reached him, rumours of brothers and alchemists, and he was intrigued.

But rumours weren't the only thing Greed was interested in tonight.

His eye was fixed on a figure in the far corner, in the far booth, near the entrance and closest to the bar. The light burned through the filmy glass shutters of the gas lamps and the fickle electric bulbs, but her face was completely concealed by the shadow of her dark, hooded cloak. Concealed, at least, to everyone but Greed. His eyes were keen – the darkness didn't matter to him. He could see quite clearly the curve of her pale chin, the dark lacy smudge of her eyelashes, the long undulations of her coiled hair that framed her oddly severe face. She sat with her hands quietly clasped on the table.

Greed ran his tongue along one long canine; he took a swig of his own glass, and waited. Waiting was never something he'd been too good at, but hell – he'd waited a century and more in that starving, senseless oblivion – he could wait a little longer. For this one, he'd wait.

In a few moments, one of the waitresses – the blonde one – arrived at her table. Greed could see the women quite clearly, even through the maze of bottles hanging from the ceiling and the stools and chairs still propped up on some of the tables. The dark woman – the woman in the booth – kept her heavy eyes lowered and after a few syllables on her part, the waitress turned back to the bar. She returned with a drink, something transparent in a small glass. The dark lady didn't thank the waitress, nor did she raise her eyes from the table.

Greed turned his head where he sat in the corner, twisting a little to better observe her. Her features were strong but pleasant; hers was not the kind of beauty you saw every day. She wasn't the type, for example, who looked like she usually spent her evenings in a dump like this.

There was something terribly attractive in the shy little way she was fingering her drink.

Greed grinned. If he hadn't been certain before, then the dance of fingertips on the rim of her glass would have convinced him. Freedom had a terrible price, but it was always worth it. Always.

For her part, the woman seemed intent on keeping to herself, but there had been eyes focused on her since she'd entered the bar – Greed wasn't the only one interested. Greed drained his own glass and stretched, and then ambled on over across the room to the figure in the shadows. He let the clank of his booted heels announce his intentions to the rest of the bar as he maneuvered his way across the floor. The bartender saw him coming, recognized the gleam in his eye, and vanished to the far side of the bar to strike up a conversation with some serious, somber men on stools. The woman noticed his presence only slowly; she looked up at him with a startled expression when at last he stood beside her, her pale mouth forming an "O" of mild surprise, her brow delicately ruffled.

Greed slid into the seat across from her. He leaned forward and with one flick of the fingers he pushed the peaked hood off the crown of her head. She did not stop him, nor did she seem surprised by his movements. Her eyes stared into his quizzically as he stretched his long arms across the back of the bench.

"Nice try, Envy," he said conversationally, "but no dice. How's my favourite little sociopath doing?"

The woman's eyes flashed – maybe with anger, but more likely it was just an effect of the erratic candlelight. There was a strangely delicate crunching noise as the woman's body shifted; her face fell away in slow, mesmerizing gradations to reveal the more compelling, less obvious beauty of Envy himself. Greed had always loved to watch him transform – it filled him with an uncomfortable delight to watch how easily the Great Deceiver slipped into a different skin, and one hundred years later, the process still had the same appeal. The woman's eyes darkened and widened, the nose became more pointed, the cheekbones more defined. The pale skin grew paler still, and musculature rippled beneath the plain black traveling cloak.

"That was an interesting face," Greed began. He used his best tone of commonplace pleasantry. The bar wasn't noisy, but the mumble and mutter of drunken conversation ensured that his voice did not carry far. Either way, all the louses and informants in this bar belonged to him; enough money bought a lot of disinterest, and the frequenters of this bar knew enough not to question Greed. He'd broken a few necks to manage it, and sure enough, nobody was interested in the woman any more. No eyes glanced up from any table, and nobody seemed to notice Envy's fae form materialize among them.

"I haven't seen it before," Greed continued, lighting himself a cigarette. "Then again, I have been out of the loop for a while. I guess I've missed a few things."

Envy shook out his long black hair and popped his shoulders back into place with a wince.

"It was a stupid gag, Envy, coming in here in all that get-up."

But Envy wasn't stupid; Greed doubted that Envy had expected his little parlour trick to work on him. More likely he was just testing, just playing. Sure enough …

"Oh, don't think I was trying to fool you," he sing-songed, in a tone too jaunty by far, once he'd readjusted his limbs. "I know you're too clever to fall for that old trick." He smiled at Greed – a poisonous smile. "But I have to ask you – " and here his tone turned dusky, and a slower sort of smile played on his lips – "how are you always able to tell when it's me?"

Greed exhaled, long and smooth.

There'd been a time – of course – when Envy had been able to fool Greed with his disguises as well as anyone, but Greed knew the expression in his eyes too well to be taken in now.

Even after a hundred years.

Greed leaned in and matched Envy's tone. "How do you think I spent the last century of captivity, Envy, if not thinking about your eyes?"

"Always the charmer, Greed." The grin again. There was no flicker of recognition in Envy's eyes as he raised his eyebrows at the other man, no hint of discomfort or guilt, and Greed felt vaguely irritated with himself for having expected it. But still … those eyes – that face – they'd been the last thing Greed had seen before Envy had sealed him away.

Fucking prick.

He remembered the silhouette standing before him, slender and distorted by the backlight. No laughter, no words, no apologies. Just that stare, the anger shimmering in his eyes, his movements swift and sharp, fueled by that seething fury. And then Envy had shut him off against the light and the life and he'd been left with his hunger boiling inside him. One hundred years.

But Envy was as unrepentant as ever, that coy and malignant bastard. His eyes glinted now as he leaned further across the table, head cocked to one side and that alluring smirk still lurking beneath the sweep of his hair. He fingered the rim of his glass. "You always WERE suave, in that crude, clumsy way of yours. But I'm being neglectful – can I buy you a drink?"

Envy had upped the ante; Greed responded with flat, painful politeness.

"Certainly."

Envy flagged down the waitress with gesture, and Greed took the opportunity to survey the closest thing he had to a kinsman. Even in the half-light of the bar, Envy looked exactly as Greed remembered. Crystallized for so long in the fury of his memory, it was strange to see him in person, up close, touchable … His dark, ramrod-straight hair had not grown, his body was composed of the same taut lines, and as the cloak parted from his shoulders as he turned in his seat, Greed could see that he still wore the same tight black shift. Vanity was not one of Envy's vices, and more was the pity.

Envy caught the appraisal, and raised an eyebrow. "You're looking well, Envy." They kept their tones light. Light and piercing.

"I wish I could say the same for you – but this den of thieves doesn't suit you."

"Well … I never was as posh as you." Greed stubbed his cigarette out on the table and let his last drag blow out in a cloud.

The waitress brought the drink; Envy dismissed her without a second glance. She paused, only for a moment; Greed gave her the tiniest of nods, a twitch of the fingers, and she fled. Envy raised an eyebrow at him.

"What was that about?"

"You can choose to ask me questions, and I can choose not to answer. I've got to say, Envy, it's a change to see you interacting with humans this way."

"What way?"

"Without killing them. You didn't do it like this in my day."

"They're dogs, Greed, and I don't do it for my health." Envy's tone did not falter; he replied smoothly. He smiled at Greed and sipped his drink. It was a cold smile, a shuttered smile. "So how are you enjoying freedom, little brother?"

Greed did not love freedom so much as he had hated captivity. He'd hated it, loathed it; unable to move or breathe or even think beyond the demands of his hunger. His greed had drummed against his brain until it immobilized him: his limbs had been crippled by the lethargy of lust. He'd wanted freedom, perhaps: or pain, or release, or death: anything and everything, and he'd wanted it so much it burned. He had always wanted everything, of course – desire was his natural state of being, his default mode, his basic programming. His first memories were of hunger, of that great gaping hole of desire in his gut … but trapped, unable to satisfy his hunger, if only for a little while … unable to own or possess or hold anything, perfectly still, immovable …into the void …that had been torture.

If he'd had the capacity for change, he liked to think that he'd have gone mad.

"Just fine, thanks."

"I assume these are all your people?" Envy gestured to the floor, where many pairs of eyes were looking in every direction but theirs.

"All the ones that matter."

"And what are you going to do with yourself now?"

"Depends. You haven't told me why you're here."

"No. Have you contacted any of the others?"

"Wouldn't you be the first to know if I had?"

"Have you?"

"No, but I'm sending them Christmas cards this year."

"Well," Envy whispered, pushing his own empty glass aside and linking his fingers beneath his chin, "we're play-acting very well, aren't we? You can blend in with humans when it suits you, it seems, Greed. I understand. It's so easy to pick up their silly conventionalities. Politeness, decorum, manners, things to be said and not said. Humanity is a veneer."

"Even for most humans."

"Especially for humans." Envy spoke too quickly; there was bitterness in his tone. Greed had intentionally struck a nerve, and Envy's anger, never far from spilling over at the best of times, was now visible on his face.

Playtime was over.

Greed stretched back and downed his drink. "Not that I'm not fascinated by your self-indulgent bullshit, but what are you doing here, Envy?"

Envy did not so much as blink at the abrupt change in tone; he knew Greed's mannerisms and habits just as well as Greed knew Envy's. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Greed's glass to clink down on the tabletop before he spoke.

"I'm sure this comes as no surprise to you, but Dante is still disappointed with you … upset ... one hundred and thirty years certainly haven't cooled her off, at any rate."

Greed was not surprised by this information, but he let himself laugh anyway. "Hah!" he barked, slapping a hand down on the table. "You're still panting after that old hag?"

Envy's eyes flashed fire and his anger visibly rose to the surface – but he knew how to modulate it, how to shape it. Greed, however, had known him long enough to read the look that flashed across his face, even in the grungy candlelight. Envy opened his mouth to speak but Greed waved a hand.

"Oh, don't get angry, Envy – she's a wasted old creature and she's the only one who doesn't know it. You know it, too – better even than I do, I'll bet. You're not as complicated as you like to think you are. Let me guess, and bypass what would no doubt have been a dramatic revelation – she sent you here to kill me, didn't she?"

If Envy was surprised at this, he didn't show it. He took a sip of Greed's drink. "You don't seem upset."

"Give me an answer: she sent you to kill me?"

Envy grinned and shook his hair back easily, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of anger in his voice this time. This was deep anger, self-inflicted; this was not Envy's usual fiery temper at work.

"Don't flatter yourself. I volunteered."

Greed fell silent. That hurt, but only a little more than he'd anticipated: Greed wasn't stupid enough to expect anything better from Envy.

"You treated her abysmally," Envy continued, masking his temper with an affected pout. "You betrayed her – you betrayed all of us. It's only natural for her to want to revenge."

"I love to hear homunculi speak of the 'natural.' I treated her the way she designed me to treat people." They were circling each other now, looking for the weak spots in the rhetoric.

"It's her fault, then?"

"I'm not going to play this game with you, Envy."

Envy smirked and cocked his head, but then he seemed to change his mind, and the brittle smile slid away. He looked down at the table. "Well … was it worth it?"

Greed grinned at the question. One of Envy's hands still rested on the table; Greed reached over and circled the wrist with his long, thick fingers. Envy looked up at the touch, met his eyes. There was a question burning in him. Greed lowered his head and breathed his answer. "You mean, was having my way with Dante – owning her for once, instead of the other way around, making her beg, making her scream – was it worth one hundred years of torture?"

"Fuck!" There was a sharp intake of breath from Envy, and Greed felt the bones crack beneath his fingers; he'd gotten over-excited. The memory still thrilled him. Yes, it had been exhilarating, taking it … taking what he knew, even then, was the thing that Envy wanted most. He let the wrist slide from his fist, watched as Envy repaired it with a grimace. The bones cracked as he twisted it back and forth.

Yes, taking Dante had been good … hearing her hard voice tremble had set his pseudo-soul into a frenzy … but it hadn't been good enough.

Nothing ever was.

"No, it wasn't worth it. Not in the end."

Nothing ever was.

"Well, that just breaks my heart," Envy sneered.

"And if you had a heart worth breaking, Envy, I might feel guilty about that." Greed paused. "Maybe. But that's not why."

"That's not why what?"

Greed leaned forward. "That's not why Dante sent you, and you know it."

Oh, it was true that Dante wanted Envy to try and kill him. Try. She knew he couldn't do it, of course, and Envy knew it too. Or maybe Envy didn't – maybe he was still deluding himself. Maybe he didn't want to think that Dante – his precious Dante, the mother he'd clung to after Hoenheim had rejected him – had sent him to his death.

Greed tried to find the answer in Envy's face, but his eyes were shuttered again. He was wearing a smile that was a little too knowing for Greed's liking, and when he spoke, it was in that poisonous whispering voice that Greed knew so very well.

"I'm hurt that you don't think that you, and you alone, were enough for my coming here, brother. I wanted to see you again, when I heard you were free – don't you believe that?"

"I see. So, you're not angry that I escaped your prison. You're just feeling nostalgic, and want to make up for lost time. You're not angry about my having Dante, when all you get are scraps. And you're indifferent to the fact that Dante sent you here to die?"

A spasm crossed Envy's face; only for a moment, but it was enough for Greed, who threw his head back and laughed. "You're just drowning in self-induced angst, aren't you? Oh, father left me! My mother doesn't love me!"

Envy's anger had taken hold of him once more. Envy visibly struggled to control the rhythm of his breathing, the rate of his heart. Slow breaths, in and out, but his fists remained clenched on the tabletop.

Greed knew Envy well – they'd been brothers, once, a very long time ago – and he knew what was at the heart of envy. The assurance of your own incompetence, the knowledge that you yourself were not good enough, that other people were smarter, faster, stronger, better. That other people – or in Envy's case, other homunculi – were of a higher caliber than you. Envy was a complex personified. And Envy, jealous of Greed's innate – imprinted – ability to take what he wanted, even as Envy vied for Dante's attention and affection, had been only too happy to take them away from Greed. If he couldn't have Dante's love, then neither could his brother.

Greed grinned. "You're content just to wallow in anger, aren't you, Envy? You sit, you brood, you sulk over your plots and complications, but you don't have the guts to do anything about it. I left. That's it, that's all – I just left, okay? I saw an opportunity and I took it. But you ... you're not built for doing. You're built for moping, for building up these great big reserves of hatred and just keeping them. What do you do with all that anger, big brother? You're painfully content with inaction. You're the eternal teenager, Envy ... as least until Dante runs out of red stones, or finds the Philosopher's Stone and doesn't need you any more. You fool – you should be trying to bury it, hide it, not sniff it out for her like a dog!"

"You know about the Stone?" hissed Envy, rising from the bench so quickly the table bounced, and Greed's drink slopped over the edges of its glance.

"Oh, I hear things, Envy. For instance, I hear there's a pair of brothers wandering around hereabouts, Alchemists both, who hold the key to the Stone."

"Don't talk about them in front of me! Don't you DARE!"

Envy's fury amused Greed. "I'll talk about what I want in my bar," he responded calmly.

"What use can they have for you, then?" he snapped. His sly tenor became a bellow: "You don't want the Stone – you're content to wallow in this hole with drink and whores and chimera freaks!"

"Sit down, Envy, and relax."

Envy sat, commanded by Greed's imperial tone more than his actual words. He'd always listened to Greed above the others, even – occasionally – above Dante. He'd recognized his superior when he'd seen him, and while he hated Greed, hated him enough to trap him for what he thought was all eternity, he respected him as well.

At least, much as Envy could commit to respecting anyone else.

"What's your interest in the Stone, then, Greed?" Envy panted. His anger had taken control of him – he was fighting to keep it down. It was a losing battle. Rage was something Envy kept close to his heart always – he couldn't help it.

Greed shrugged. "Bartering tool, maybe - nothing fancy. To think that people like you are getting so worked up over it … must be worth a fortune."

"Well, they don't have it, so you can stop wondering right there. They have the ability, but nothing more. So unless you can find the missing pieces of this puzzle game we're playing, I'd say you're out of luck."

"Not necessarily. I'd also take immense joy in fucking up any one of Dante's little schemes. What's her interest in the Stone, Envy?"

"I'm surprised you don't know, wise man that you are."

"Tell me, Envy."

That tone again.

"It's the ultimate transmutation device."

"Ah. And it could give you a soul, then, could it?"

"That … is the plan."

"That's your plan, you mean. And when Dante has the Stone do you think she'll keep you around, when she has no need for you? Or is Dante the only reason you're rushing around for the Stone? And who knows?" Greed continued, leaning back and closing his eyes in mock daydream. "Maybe she'll like you better when you're human. That is, if she doesn't simply decide to throw you aside with the trash. You always did like to think you were better than the rest of us, didn't you, Envy? You act like you're better than us because you know for a fact that you're not. You were her first version, a blueprint for the others. We're all improvements on you."

"Even you, Greed?" asked Envy in a treacherous voice, all slippery and lovely as his hands went back to playing with his glass. Greed looked down into his eyes, but they were shuttered. Envy was smiling. That could mean anything.

"Even me, Envy."

Greed knew Envy well, knew him too well to think that he might have changed. Envy was static. Envy didn't change. Envy couldn't change.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Depends. What do you want to do about me?"

"Depends. Can we go somewhere a little less … conspicuous?"

Greed paused for a moment, only a moment, but it was a moment of uncertainty and Envy saw it. Something terrible flickered across his face – something hungry and hot – and he licked his white, pointed teeth.

"Done."