A/N: Second chapter to potentially sick fan fic, even though I got no reaction whatsoever. :P I remind you all - a comments are always welcome and so are suggestions. Good or bad, I appreciate every one of them.

Also, since chapters are named after psychological terms, I will explain every of them on the beginning of the chapter. These explanations usually won't be mine, except I put them without quotation mark.

Enjoy!

II –Stockholm syndrome
..."phenomenon wherein hostages express empathy and have positive feelings towards their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them"

She didn't even try to get out of the bed. She was too weak and all she wanted to do was sleep.

But the sleep didn't come; for starters, she didn't like the fact that she had to sleep in her own blood. She curled down in the corner of the bed, her hands around her knees, and stared at the blood for hours it seemed. If someone were to walk in, they would've been disturbed by her thousand-yard stare - vacant, unfocused gaze.

There was nothing in her eyes; they were completely blank.

Yet behind their brown irises, there was a mess. Even though her thoughts calmed down a bit, the flashes of her memories were coming back now - slowly, one by one, like pieces of a complicated puzzle. If she had to describe the picture the puzzle created, she would've said it looked most like an impressionistic picture observed from close proximity – lots of colours, bright details, blurry masses, flashes and unshaped clouds, only supposed to represent a human. She was sure that if she could only step back from that picture and look at it from the distance, the things would've been much clearer. But she couldn't – therefore, she had to embrace the fact that that shape – that thing - didn't leave any memory of a face in her retention.

Yet, judging by inserts of the battle that played, like a short film, inside her head the thing wasn't human.

No, she killed it way too many times. It should've been dead.

But she was here and it was obviously there, somewhere, which meant it won.

The end of the battle was still hazy. All she recalled was a sharp, awful pain in her leg like – like someone bit her. But the wound was way too big to be a bite, she reminded herself. No, it was only a delusion. It was just because she was trying to subconsciously build her own memories.

The only thing she could easily recall was that it knocked her down unconscious, and brought her here.

Or had there been two of them?

She shook her head in order to shake the thoughts off. Silly thoughts, silly thoughts. She shouldn't have done that in the first place. Ethan always told her that there was no point in her research. There indeed wasn't, except her own greed and lust for knowledge and its secrets- and this particular secret was so awful that the thought of someone using it was too disturbing for her to even think about.

But there was a part in her that triumphed because of the mere fact that she knew it. She, alone, unwrapped the veil of mystery.

Sure, it was the reason why they locked her up, and it did take her years to put the pieces together, but she did it. There was something good about being the top of the class – all libraries and documents were open to her. Her charm, her knowledge and her determination made it much easier than it should have been. After she put together the details from the secret parts of many libraries, hints hidden in alchemical books and Ethan's memories of Ishbal war, it wasn't too hard to come to a conclusion.

The man was right – it did take years and years for some people to find the secret, but it was much easier when you knew the right people. A satisfied smile flashed on her face before she remembered what that secret could cause and – more importantly – that it was the reason she was imprisoned.

The sound of steps and door opening drew her back from her mind as the man stepped into the room. "Hope you could relax a bit," he politely said, smiling in a rather pleasant way, "I got you new sheets and some new clothes, in case yours are dirty. You might want to take a shower as well."

A shower. Just what she needed - a warm, relaxing bath. She took the sheets and the clothes he gave her and nodded. By the looks of it, it wasn't something she would usually wear; it was way too feminine. She must have frowned a little since the man explained, "You should be thankful."

"Thankful, eh?" she couldn't hold back any longer. Her voice was deadly serious and mordant – as it always was when she was pissed off. "Why, thank you for kidnapping me."

The corner of his mouth twitched, "Don't look at it like a kidnap. Think of it more like… surprise adoption."

If she wasn't as bitter as she was, she would've smiled at this. "Either way, can I know the reason?"

He raised his eyebrows, "You need a reason more than the one in the little black notebook?"

That was true – there was enough in that book for her to get killed, let alone locked up. Pretty much everyone with any alchemical knowledge knew how worth what in that book was, and letting her run around free did sound like an insane idea, if one was to put it that way.

But her mind was still yelling out the questions, one by one.

"Who are you?" she asked the next one in the line.

"Oh, how rude of me; I haven't even introduced myself!" he smiled and took off his hat, making a small bow, "I am Solf J. Kimblee or, if you prefer, the Crimson Alchemist."

This rang a bell somewhere in her head. Had she heard this name before? No, how could she? I probably just reminded her of someone… "A state alchemist?" He nodded casually.

She gasped as the voices inside her head began yelling louder and louder in fear. He was working for the state – he was following Fuhrer's orders – she was Fuhrer's prisoner! She didn't like the sound of this. At all.

"So," she said between two shaking breaths, "Why are you keeping me here if I am, technically, a prisoner of the state?"

"Ahhh, no," he shook his head, "You're not a prisoner."

"Oh, right, I'm an adopted daughter," she rolled her eyes.

Kimblee laughed at this while lazily walking to the armchair to sit down, "You can say it like that. But we're keeping you here for your own good. You mustn't be harmed." This was, perhaps, the most insane thing she had heard so far, not only then, but in her entire lifetime. It reminded her of the way parents – starting with her father - punished their kids when they wanted them to "learn something". It had never made any sense to her.

Noticing her shocked face, he smirked, "We feed you, give you clothes, keep you warm. I make you company. Above all, you're being kept in a house and not in a prison and I'm quite sure if you just cooperate I might even take you out for a walk down to the river sometimes. That doesn't sound much like a prison, does it?" he smirked again, this time at his own wit.

In her mind this kind of made sense - and yet, at the same time it didn't make sense at all. The question was still why did they actually want her alive. Surely there were more pleasant ways to keep someone alive than locking them in between four blank walls after nearly cutting off half of their leg.

But if you put it this way, she thought, it sounded way worse than it actually was. She did have food, she did have a warm bed – she even had a nice view of the river from the window. And this man, Solf Kimblee, didn't seem like a jailor or a torturer. She mechanically looked at him – he was, above all, a cavalier, sophisticated and charming. When he noticed her gaze he smiled very pleasantly – by now she nearly forgot that dangerous spark she had seen in his eyes.

That must have been her imagination.

But before she could analyze him more, he put his hat back on and looked directly at her. "But enough about me, I'm dying to know something about a peculiar girl such as yourself," he said and the expression written on his face could really be described as interested. "For example, what's you name?" It sounded kind of cheesy, yet still charming.

She wasn't a little girl and she wasn't stupid. She had learned a long time ago that revealing personal information to a stranger was bad. It was logical that when someone hurts you and lock you up, you are not friends. But any common sense that had used to rule her was shattered now. It was just a chat and what was the worse thing that could happen? They wouldn't kill her, since if they wanted they would have already done so and not drag her here. After all, this man knew about the stone – he wasn't surprised by it at all. Her inextinguishable lust for knowledge started to wake like a hungry baby. Reasons for and against were fighting in her head and her mind worked fast – she finally heard her thoughts again and perhaps the triumph she felt about that was what made her take a risk.

And above all, he was charming. There was no denying it.

"Imogene," she finally answered "Imogene Knox."

"Imogene," he spoke her name with caution, letting it role off of his tongue. "Nice to meet you, Imogene," he repeated once again and smiled, as if now that he knew her name he learned something great – like it was not only her name he owned, but everything else about her as well. "And what was a well-behaved lady like you thinking when exploring about the stone?"

Was this what they wanted to know? The name was a trifle – the stone was a real deal. She didn't want to tell him all, no, not yet. There must have been something to do and distract him.

"Shower," she said to herself as well as to him, "I would like to take a shower first, to clear my mind. Please." She even let herself bat her lashes a few times. Old trick.

As expected, his smirk told her he got through her game. Despite that, he got up from the armchair. "Of course miss, follow me," he turned and opened the door.

Enthusiastic that she bought herself more time, she stood up quickly, but her legs betrayed her once more and she fell to the bed again. "Ah, I forgot." Kimblee turned to gaze at her again with false surprise. "Need any help?"

She desperately wanted to say no as she remembered how inappropriate his touch had felt against her skin, but that would mean she would have to crawl to the bathroom. Instead of admitting she was helpless, she took her clothes under one arm and wordlessly raised her left hand, like a princess or a small child waiting for help. He took her, gently, underneath the armpit and supported her to stand up.

Now that she was on her legs she noticed just how taller than her he was. Trying to rely on her legs more than on him, she slowly walked, biting her lip every time the sharp pain beginning at her leg flew through her whole body. He did not push her; he tried to hold her as much as she let him.

When she stepped over the doorline, she gazed around as if a whole new world opened in front of her. There wasn't much to see. It was a small house, one could call it a cottage – down the stairs there were two doors beside stairs and "her" room was the first one on the upper floor. There were two more doors – the one right next to her room was the bathroom, small and cozy. He helped her enter it and lean on the edge of the bathtub.

For a brief moment she dared to hope he would leave her here. He noticed the trace of expectation in her eyes and grinned. "I have to make sure that you don't run away, don't I?" he explained, leaning on the wall. "If you are embarrassed, draw a curtain."

If she was embarrassed! How dared he - Why of course she would use the curtain, thank-you-very-much, what did he expect! To have a pleasing show! Her cheeks burned bright red partly because of the anger and partly because of this thought. As a response she angrily pulled the curtain between them.

The very moment she did this, she realized it was going to be rather hard to enter the tub by herself. She sighed a few times, trying to come up with a plan, but her inspiration ran dry'. She slightly opened the curtain. "I can't enter the tub myself," she admitted and instantly regretted it– if she was bright red before, she was certainly scarlet now. It was a feeling like her whole bloodstream flew to her face and she really couldn't remember the time when she had felt weaker, more helpless and more embarrassed.

Kimblee did smile, but said nothing, to her luck. As if he knew something like this was to happen he grabbed a near-by towel, "You can disrobe, wrap in this and I will help you get in the tub. Once you're in, you can take it off."

For a moment she stood there, leaning on the tub, her mouth open in surprise. He had spoken those words so reasonably, as if there was no possible chance to do anything else, like the idea of watching her strip was out of every question. The visions in her head began to mix – he was her guard, one of her kidnappers and, therefore, her enemy, yet she couldn't help but find him incredibly kind. A real gentleman. Ethan was never like that, no matter how big, clueless, good scout he was.

No, she mustn't compare this man with Ethan. It was just an insane thought: to even put someone who had kidnapped her and her generous boyfriend (for two-years!) in the same sentence. Trying to calm down her thoughts, she sighed and nodded finally, agreeing, "That sounds like a good idea." It was more than good – it was marvelous.

He gave her the towel and turned around. "Don't worry, I won't peek," he wanted to assure her, though there was no need for that. After everything, she was pretty sure he wouldn't do that.

She took off her shirt, noticing for a first time how sweaty it was. Also, it wasn't white anymore, but a light, muddy shade of brown, with few bloody stains. She was pretty sure that it was from the blood she had spat out earlier, since she could still taste it quite well under her tongue.

Her skirt was much bloodier, obviously because of her leg. It was also torn in a few places. But worse of all were her shoes, all covered in slimy mixture of blood and dirt that looked like it could never be washed down again. She sighed deeply – she liked those shoes.

Now that she was only in her underwear, Imogene couldn't help but raise her head from her shoes to Kimblee – he was standing there calmly, looking at the door, not even trying to gaze at her from the corner of his eyes. Fearful, she fixed him with a look as she took off her bra. 'His hair is so long,' she thought to herself out of the blue. She threw the bra to the floor.

And then, she just stood there.

What if he turned around that moment and saw her staring at him? Unaware of what she was doing, she licked her lips, trying to make herself believe that she was shivering because of the cold air. Yet she was still standing there, leaned on the tub, in her panties and her breasts bare. There was something in the fact that she was nearly naked and he was fully clothed – something, exciting, she dared to think.

Not moving her stare from him for a second, she finally took off her panties. Now she was fully naked in the same room with the stranger who kidnapped her. How bizarre could life get. A week ago this would seem frightening. Now it seemed eccentric, but also peculiar and… entertaining.

For a moment she even thought of calling him that very moment, but she took a towel and wrapped it around her naked body. "I'm ready," she spoke quietly.

Turning around, he let himself take a look at her. Smiling at the sight of her fragile body wrapped in the oversized towel that didn't suit it at all, he softly took her by a hand, supporting her with other one wrapped around her waist. Leaning on his hands she now raised her bandaged leg and stepped into the tub. While she raised her other leg, he let himself move his palm for a millimeter as if he wanted to just feel a tiny bit more of her body. Nothing inappropriate or rash. To her, it felt just like his hand accidentally slipped for a moment.

When she sat down in the tub, he drew a curtain again without a word and stepped back. "Take your time," he said.

Imogene took off the towel and placed it on the edge of the tub, behind her back. She put up a handle on the faucet and warm water started to steam slowly into the tub, over her legs. A small, excited chuckle escaped from her mouth. It was, right now, one of the best feelings she could thing of. It was amazing how much she appreciated a simple bath. If she could've embraced the water, she would have done so. Leaning back she let the water cover her feet and ankles, enjoying every single drop of it, as if it was something exclusive and luxurious. She could feel the dir abandoning her skin, washing off, inch by inch.

It passed some time before she took the soap in her hands and started rubbing it against her body. She rubbed fast and hard, like that would help her take off all the problems she was facing. The sight of brown water going down the drain was beautiful and relaxing. She took the shower-head in her hands and let the water go over her whole body, down her hair, in her eyes, over her neck, breast and legs. Smiling to herself, she felt like she hadn't enjoyed herself in a long time.

She drank a sip of water and tried to clean with her tongue as much of the bitter taste in her mouth as she could. Then she spat it out, along with crusted blood and mud. Although she could still feel the awful taste of it between her teeth, it certainly was better than before.

Finally, she made herself turn off the water and let it all go down the drain. There go all her problems and blurry thoughts, all the dirt and blood - she imagined and smiled.

But the truth was quite different and it was standing right in front of the curtain.

She sighed deeply and wrapped herself in the towel once again. "I would like to go out now," she spoke.

Not a moment passed before Kimblee's hand moved the curtain. He smiled down to her and bended to take her by the hand. "Is the bandage still in its place?' he asked in concern while she stepped out of the tub.

"Yes, yes it's fine," she said.

With a smile he turned his head away again so she would change. She noticed that now he didn't stand far by the door – he was closer to her now. Letting the towel to fall down to the floor, she took new underwear from a pile of clean clothes and slowly put them on. There was even a ribbon for her to tie her hair. Well, that was really considerate, she thought to herself, finally taking the dress. Daring herself to look at him once again, she put the dress over her head and let it fall down gracefully. It was a black, simple, feminine dress and fitted her rather nicely. She liked how it felt against her body.

"All dressed," she announced, picking the towel of the floor and drying her hair in it, so it wouldn't be all wet.

Kimblee turned around and analyzed her figure again. "It fits you. I would even dare to say you look beautiful." Approvingly, he nodded, "I must say I chose the dress well."

"You chose the dress?" she raised her eyebrows, tying her hair on top of the head.

He didn't say anything, just smirk and raise his hand to offer her help once again. She accepted it with less fear or disapproval this time and walked to the door, feeling the cold tiles under her feet. They went over to what was her room now. "You can sit here," he helped her sit in the armchair, "while I prepare you a bed."

"T-Thank you."

It came as a surprise to her. Above all, he was still someone who kidnapped her – no matter if they were Fuhrer's orders, she was kept here as a prisoner. Yet, nothing was wrong. This man was normal like any other man on the world – even more than that, he was nothing but sweet to her all the time. To thank him would be quite normal, wouldn't it? She would thank anyone who bandaged her leg, helped her take a bath, provided her with clean clothes and made her bed.

He smirked pleasantly at this. "It's nothing," he said, removing the sheets on which the blood had already started to dry. "You did not eat anything," he concluded in kind of a worried, father-like voice.

"I am not hungry." The piece of bread was still as repulsing as ever. Just looking at her untouched food reminded her how strongly she wanted to vomit. Even though she did clean her mouth with water during a shower, it didn't help her wash down the terrible feeling of sickness.

"Anything else you would like?" he asked walking to her so he could lead her to the bed. When she sat down on it, she squeezed the white cotton between her fingers. It was clean. It smelled really nice and flowery.

"A cup of tea, perhaps," she admitted while leaning on a pillow behind her. "If it's not too much of a bother"

Politeness above all.

"Not at all. I can get myself one as well and then we can talk," he answered in the same tone as before, but that "talk" rang inside her head. He obviously wanted to talk about something specific.

The unanswered questions about the stone.

But as he walked out of the door she tried to drown those thoughts. The man looked quite nice – not rough in the slightest. After all, he did work for the state and the state was the symbol for justice and rightness. If they put her here, perhaps there really was a reason to do so. They really did want to save her. But from what? She would have to ask him that and he would, naturally, speak the truth. He did look like an honest person.

Gentleman, real gentleman. Wouldn't hurt a fly.