Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I had several reviewers comment that they were a bit confused by a few details; as I mentioned last chapter, certain events surrounding the Promised Day have been altered. I can't go into it right now, since those changes are major plot points down the road, but I can let you know a few: 1) Ed and Al swapped which direction they went for research, so Ed headed East while Al went West; 2) Ed still has all his automail limbs; 3) The sacrifice which brought Al back from the Gate was made by someone else, which will be revealed later.

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Chapter 2:

Bandits

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He awoke several hours later, curled into a ball on the dirt floor of the tent. His back and legs were stiff from sleeping on the cold ground, and his head felt stuffed with cotton wool. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and longer still to remember why he was there. Suddenly urgent, he dragged himself to his feet to look at the transmutation array.

Nothing had changed; the tent looked the same, the monolith looked the same—it wasn't even glowing. The only difference he could see was the dull smear of blood he had left on its surface, dried now into red dust. He cautiously placed the palms of his hands on the edge of the circle, but there was no reaction. He sighed in frustration, What was that?

A sudden chatter of voices, combined with the brightness of the tent, made him realize that morning was beginning to break. He'd better get back to his own tent, or else he'd have some awkward explanations to come up with. After rubbing the dried blood off the array, he stuck his head out of the tent, looking cautiously around. There was no one on this side of the camp, and he took a circuitous route back towards his sleeping tent, detouring to the latrine on the way.

After he'd changed out of his rumpled, dusty clothes and splashed water on his face, Edward decided to hunt down some breakfast. It was still very early, but the clatter of pans and voices led him to the mess tent. He snagged a plate and a cup of coffee, and settled down to eat. Breakfast today was warm flatbread, served with chickpea paste and the fragrant spiced meat that was a regional specialty. The lean meat kept well in the heat, and the spices preserved it further; it had become one of Ed's favorite foods in the time he had spent with Professor Hawkins.

Jacques spied him, and dropped his own plate and mug across from Edward. The wiry archaeologist was cheerful this morning, and they chatted pleasantly about mutual acquaintances, how the dig was going, and whether they thought Xing was ever going to ratify the non-aggression treaty.

As they settled back, each with a second cup of coffee, Ed remembered his thought from the day before. "Hey, Jacques, do you have a field telephone I could use today?"

The researcher nodded. "Yes, but the signal's pretty terrible." He wrinkled his brow in confusion, "Aren't you leaving the day after tomorrow? Is it really that urgent?"

The teenager laughed, a little embarrassed to explain. "No, I just promised someone that I would call them once a week, and I hate to disappoint."

Jacques' face took on a knowing grin, "Oh, a young lady, is it?"

Ed laughed, "Sorry to break it to you, but it's just my younger brother. He's gone West to study new kinds of alchemy, just like I've come out East."

His breakfast companion shrugged, "Eh, I like my explanation better." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You and me both, friend."

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Jacques had taken him to see the cliff dwellings close up; Ed had to admit that they were much more comfortable and spacious than they appeared from the outside, with a rather clever system of ladders and ventilation shafts as well. They were picking their way down the talus slope at the foot of the cliff, Jacques regaling him with the cheesiest archaeological jokes he knew.

"…and so the grad student turns to the professor, and says 'But sir, the best thing about pot shards is that if you break one, then you have two pot shards!'"

Ed had to admit, Jacques' jokes were so bad that they came right out the other side and somehow ended up being funny, in a painfully geeky sort of way. "Did you hear the one about the alchemist and the pig farmer? This farmer goes into town to…" Ed cut himself off, realizing that his companion had stopped walking several paces ago. He looked back at Jacques in curiosity, "What is it?"

The man pointed across the valley to the north. "There, do you see that?"

Ed swung his head around to follow Jacques' finger. "See what?"

"That dust cloud on the horizon."

Fullmetal squinted against the afternoon glare; now that he knew what to look for, he could see it: a pale plume rising against the sun-bleached sky. "What it is? A dust storm?"

Jacques shook his head. "No, a storm would be wider. That looks like vehicles, or horsemen, moving at a fast clip. To put up that much dust they'd have to be on a road."

"What road's in that direction?"

"The only one I can think of is the old caravan trail. It actually passes within a mile of here before veering east." He put up a hand to shade his eyes, still watching the dust cloud. "Is it just me, or does it look like it's getting closer?"

Ed nodded, a sudden, uneasy feeling tugging at him. "Who'd be coming from that direction?"

"That's the thing, there's nothing really north of here. That area's been suffering a severe drought for the last eighty years, and the few towns that were there have long since dried up. The only people I know of would be…"

Ed's eyes widened in sudden realization, and he finished what Jacques left unspoken, "Bandits." He bolted for the camp, the doctor on his heels. They skidded down the last of the slope, rocks bouncing around them. As soon as he got within earshot of the camp, Edward began yelling for people to run. Jacques went one direction, and he went the other, each trying to warn as many people as possible. It was like kicking a hornet's nest, and the field workers (depending upon their personality) alternately began running around arming themselves, grabbing what research they could, or trying to find a place to hide. Ed knew that the scientists would be outmatched by even a small raiding party, and he began shoving everyone he came across towards the edge of camp with forceful instructions to run. Unfortunately, there was very little cover beyond low-growing scrub and the gullies and washes that made up the landscape.

Either the raiders were closer than he had believed, or their horses were uncommonly fast, for he was still chivvying the last of the hysterical graduate students out of camp when the first horseman swept in. Edward turned his back on the students, placing himself between them and the bandits in the hope of gaining them time to escape. He clapped his hands, intending to turn his automail into the usual blade.

His transmutation failed. There was the familiar blue crackle of light, but it was almost immediately snuffed out. No time, though, to figure out what had happened; he would just have to use his fists. He dodged around the horseman, using his superior maneuverability to duck and weave around the bandit, who sawed at his horse's reins in an attempt to follow. The thunder of hooves told Ed that he had more company, and he realized that his window of opportunity was rapidly disappearing. He feinted towards the horse, which reared back, almost unseating its rider. Edward seized the moment and ran past, making for the open desert.

He was seconds too late, however, and three more horsemen closed in around him. He circled liked a boxer in a ring, looking for any opening. For the first time, he got a good look at the raiders: dark hair and eyes marked them as being of Eastern descent, and though their clothes were ragged and motley, their weapons looked to be well-made. Their horses, too, seemed to be of a higher quality than a bandit's had any right to be. Well, maybe they stole them—was Ed's last thought before a sudden movement to his right, and a sharp, unexpected pain in his head left darkness blooming across his vision. For the second time in as many days, the Fullmetal Alchemist sprawled senseless on the desert floor.

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Edward's first thought upon waking was that he had broken his skull open. He couldn't think of any other reason for it to hurt as much as it did. His second thought was that he had better roll over if he didn't want to puke all over himself. This was easier said than done; he was lying on his arms, which were tightly bound behind his back. His automail was digging painfully into his spine, and his flesh arm was numb below the shoulder. He managed to rock onto his left side, taking deep, slow breaths to calm his stomach. He stifled a whimper as the blood began to flow back into his arm with vicious pins and needles.

He gazed around blearily, disoriented from the blow to his head. He was still in the camp, or at least what remained of it. Everything was in disarray, and it looked as though every paper in the place had been dumped on the ground. The cooking tent had managed to catch fire, and nothing but smoldering embers remained. Edward realized that he must have been out of it for longer than he thought if the fire had already burnt itself out.

As he came to his senses, he tried to look around more covertly, hoping to fool his captors into thinking he was still unconscious. He couldn't see any of the researchers around, only a couple of bandits picking through someone's duffel bag. There was smoke in the air, perhaps from a fire he couldn't see, and he could hear, distantly, the sound of someone screaming. It sent a knife of rage and grief through him, and he thought of all the friendly, curious people he had met over the last two days. He hoped, desperately, that the rest of them had managed to make it safely into the desert.

Someone must have noticed him looking around, for he heard the crunch of footsteps coming up behind him, and then a booted foot rolled him over onto his back once more. The glaring sunlight sent a stab of pain through his sensitive eyes, and he squinted up at the silhouetted form above him. He decided that a bit of bluffing was in order. "Please, don't hurt me. I'm just a scientist, I'm just out here to do some research. Whatever you want, you can take."

The man's head moved, blocking out the sun, and Ed could now see the cold calculation in his eyes. "We both know that you're not just a scientist." He pulled something from a pocket; Ed realized with a sinking feeling that it was his research notebook. "You're an alchemist." The man's eyes glittered with avarice.

Ed dropped the bluff. "So?"

His captor smiled unpleasantly. "You're worth quite a lot in the right hands." Ed lunged suddenly, or tried to, anyway. The attempt to headbutt the raider fell woefully short, and the man kicked him in the ribs for his trouble, then planted a foot solidly in the middle of Edward's chest to pin him down. He called over his shoulder, "Ghet! Dose this one. I don't want to have to damage him too much before we sell him." A bandit with all the good looks of a bulldog lumbered over and forced a wineskin into Ed's mouth. He poured something that tasted like a combination of grain alcohol and herbs down the alchemist's throat, covering his mouth and nose until he swallowed.

In burned like fire, and when he was released he began coughing up a lung. He finally regained his breath, but by this time the world swung dizzily around him. Colors seemed to smear, and the bandits' voices echoed hollowly in his ears. Everything after that was a confusing blur of motion and pain.

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The man strode purposefully through Eastern Headquarters, blond ponytail swinging in time to his steps. He paused only briefly to consult a note scribbled on a scrap of paper before knocking firmly on a certain door.

Fifteen minutes later Sergeant Kain Fuery stumbled through that same door, awkwardly attempting to unclip Black Hayate's leash while simultaneously shaking rain from his overcoat. He paused, realizing there was something amiss in the atmosphere of the office. A tall, broad-shouldered, and spectacled blond man stood patiently in the center of the room, a battered leather suitcase at his feet. Around him, the usual work of the office continued, albeit with frequent covert looks from the various soldiers scattered about the room. Fuery slid into his desk and leaned over to Havoc, who had a crumpled and unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Who's that?" he whispered.

Havoc shrugged, not taking his eyes off the stranger, "Beats me. Says he needs to talk to the Boss 'bout something. Damned if he doesn't look familiar, though." Fuery, now able to see the man's profile, couldn't help but agree.

Mustang's office door opened with a muffled click, and Hawkeye emerged, her expression betraying no surprise at the stranger in their midst. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Colonel Roy Mustang." The man's voice was a deep rumble in his chest, his words spoken with the precise care of an intellectual.

"It's Brigadier General Mustang, now. What is this regarding?" Half of Hawkeye's duty was to screen the surprisingly large number of people who wanted to meet with Mustang. Usually they were there for sound, professional reasons, but he had had his fair share of unstable visitors over the years.

"It's about the Elric brothers." At this, every eye in the room abandoned pretense and instead stared at him full-on.

Hawkeye managed to remain impassive. "Just a moment." She returned to Mustang's office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Roy looked up in surprise, "Did I forget to sign something?"

Hawkeye shook her head, "No, sir. There's a man outside who says he's here to talk to you about the Elrics."

Mustang's eyes sharpened. "Do you know who he is?"

"No, he didn't give a name." Her brow wrinkled in a rare show of puzzlement. "I do feel like I've seen him before, though."

"Show him in, but make sure you stay in the room with me." Roy hurriedly cleared a couple of classified files from his desk.

"Of course, sir." Hawkeye made a crisp about-face and strode to the door. Easing it open, she nodded to the stranger. "You may come in."

Roy stood at his desk, hand outstretched. "I'm General Mustang. You are?"

The stranger shook Mustang's hand in a single, firm grip. "My name is Hohenheim."

Hohenheim. That name struck a chord somewhere in Mustang's memory, but for the life of him he couldn't recall why. "May I ask what your interest in the Elric brothers is?"

The man tilted his head slightly, and the reflected glare slid off the lenses of his glasses, revealing the molten gold of his eyes. Roy had only ever met one other person with eyes like that—

"They are my sons."

Now that Mustang knew it, the resemblance was unmistakable. The man in front of him was the exact image of Edward, or at least of how Edward would look in twenty or thirty years' time. The sharp golden eyes, the determined mouth, the white-blond hair—even the straight and unrelenting set of their shoulders were the same. They had met in passing during the events of the Promised Day, but Mustang had been so preoccupied with other things that the details of the Elrics' father had slipped his mind.

Roy gestured Hohenheim to a seat, anticipating a long (and, he suspected, interesting) conversation. Hawkeye stood at ease beside the door, silent and ever watchful.

Hohenheim leaned forward in his seat, his voice almost regretful, "I will come straight to the point. Have you heard anything from Edward?"

Roy's eyes narrowed the briefest amount; he knew that Ed's relationship with his father was strained to say the least, but it seemed strange that Hohenheim would feel driven to ask the military for information about his own child. What was going on here?

Roy shook his head. "Not for several weeks." He looked over his guest's shoulder at Hawkeye; she shrugged in confirmation. "You understand, Fullmetal's no longer active military. We keep him on retainer for emergencies," and to keep tabs on the emergencies he creates, Roy added silently, "but he's not required to make regular reports. If he comes across something he thinks we need to know about, he'll contact us, but nothing beyond that."

Hohenheim settled back in his chair, his grave face striking a sudden stab of worry in Mustang's stomach. Roy's voice sharpened, "Why? Is there something going on with Fullmetal? Or is it Alphonse?"

Edward's father shook his head in negation. "Alphonse is fine, though he is the cause of my visit. We keep in regular contact, and when I called him yesterday he begged me to come down in person to speak with you. It seems that he and Edward have kept to a rather strict schedule of phone calls, only Ed is five days overdue."

Mustang shrugged. "Fullmetal's not known for his punctuality. He probably got distracted by something shiny and forgot what day it was."

"That's what I told Alphonse," He shook his head, "but apparently this is the first time in six months that Ed has been more than a few hours late in calling. Al tried to contact the people that Ed was staying with, but the operators say that the calls won't go through."

Roy pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from his desk, and slid it across to Hohenheim. "Write down everything you know about where Fullmetal's been staying, who he was last in contact with, and any other places he might have mentioned going. I'll make a few inquiries, see if we can find out what's going on. Most likely there's just something interfering with the phone lines, but it's worth looking into."

Hohenheim nodded gratefully, jotting down what he knew of his son's whereabouts. "I promised Al I would call him back this evening to let him know what you said. I'll see if he can give me any more details to add to this." He handed the paper back to Roy.

"Thanks for stopping by. Leave your contact information with my Lieutenant and I'll let you know what we find out." He stood, leaning across the desk to shake his guest's hand. Hawkeye escorted the blond man out, returning a few minutes later to find Roy scrutinizing a map.

"Sir."

"I know." He glanced up at her, his dark eyes hiding whatever emotion he was feeling. "I don't think those rumors were just rumors. They really have captured an Amestrian alchemist." Roy flattened his fist against the map, muttering to himself, "Damn it, Fullmetal. How do you get yourself into these situations?"

Hawkeye watched him silently for a moment. "Should I brief the men?"

Roy shook his head. "No, I'll do it. For now, tell them they've got half an hour to finish up any vital paperwork they've been putting off." He swept his hand across the map, "We have some travelling to do."

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Author's note: I'm still looking for a beta reader. Please let me know if you're interested.