1

3 Months Later

"Here's the key. I ain't moved nothing since your boys told me not to touch anything here. You gotta tell me when that ban's lifted, miss. Apartment like that's good money, dead woman or no. I want to get it on the market soon."

Laura did not have much sympathy for the landlord, but nodded as though she understood. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, but the investigation is still going on. There's still a lot I need to see in there."

"You thinking of moving in?" He said abruptly. "This is the fifth time this week you've been poking around here."

"No." She hid a shudder. "I have too little money and too many scruples to buy this place." He shook his head at that, but waved a hand as she went up the stairs. The place was familiar to her now and she did not need him to show her the way to the apartment that had once been occupied by the late First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

It was not entirely the investigation that called her back here. There had been several murders of military personnel, all found in similar circumstances. Hawkeye was not the first one to die in Central, that was Heymans Breda, whose case Laura had been on prior to this one. She was not the first woman to die either, that had been Maria Ross, in the West. It was her apartment, Laura supposed, that kept drawing her back. It reminded her in a strange way of her home. The sunlight streamed in from the windows and there was a quiet sense of order about the place, like her home used to be. At least that was how she remembered it, but her memory was becoming an increasingly unreliable thing.

It was Equivalent Exchange. Something had to be given in exchange for safe crossing, even if it hadn't been her choice in the first place.

She always had the urge to knock before she entered the lieutenant's apartment. It looked like someone was still living here, like someone would come walking through the door any minute now. She was an intruder here. Yet after all this, she felt closer to a dead woman she'd never met than she did to most people in this world. She knew quite a bit about Riza Hawkeye when all was said and done. Would they have been friends if they had met? She liked to think they would have. A naïve way of thinking, considering how things had turned out.

Riza Hawkeye's apartment had been untouched since she'd died and was as pristine as she'd left it. That in itself was telling. It appeared that she had been getting ready for bed before she'd died. She'd died in her uniform; there was a nightgown on the bed waiting for her. A small dog's bed was next to her own, but the dog was nowhere near here. He'd been taken in by someone else after her death. Apparently he got out at night and scratched at the door, howling to be let in.

Her throat had been cut quickly and deeply. She hadn't struggled. She was a military woman; it was unlikely she'd been caught so unaware. That implied that her killer was likely someone she'd known and possibly admitted herself.

Within that was the heart of the matter. It was the primary reason Hausman had sent her along with him when he'd informed Brigadier General Mustang; he wanted a second pair of eyes to see his reaction. Mustang and Hawkeye had known each other very well. There were rumors around Central that they had been lovers once, although that appeared to have ended once the General resigned from the State Alchemists and journeyed to a thankless post up north. Still, there were no whispers of bad blood between them. She would have let him in if he'd come by.

There was an alchemist array painted around her body. Laura knew almost nothing of alchemy, but she knew the language inscribed within the circle; it was Latin. She had learned enough of this world to determine that history had become skewed from her own somewhere along the line. The Romans had never risen to prominence; the empire here was Amestris'. Latin was unknown here. She wasn't a police officer or an investigator in the slightest, but once upon a time ago, she had been a student in Britain who knew something of Latin. That made her valuable to Hausman, at least temporarily, and that was why she had been roped into this investigation.

Five deaths, five soldiers, and five arrays. And they were still no closer to finding the killer.

Hausman was of the opinion that it was Mustang, at least for Hawkeye, and he was eager to make the arrest. He hated Mustang, although she wasn't sure why yet, beyond the fact that all of the former Fuher's supporters hated Mustang with a passion. You still could not just go and arrest a brigadier general though, not without evidence, even if he was a disgraced one, and even Hausman had said derisively that Mustang would have a hard time drawing this array with one eye.

It had become her job now to copy the design and to translate the words within it, which, considering the words were written in blood, was proving to be difficult. She tugged at her gloves, sketching out the lines as she sat on the foot of the late lieutenants bed. It jogged her memory a bit. Back to her home, which felt so distant now. It had been meeting those two boys that had started it all, when they'd showed up in the professor's office and turned the whole place upside-down.

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"Can I help you?" Her voice barely concealed her disdain. The day was practically over, and the last thing she wanted was to have people showing up in the library before she was due to leave. They were also sopping wet from the rain and dripping it onto her neat pile of books, which would require further cleanup.

"We're looking for Vittoria Black. You seen her?" The taller of the two boys spoke in an infuriatingly, self-assured manner. He still wasn't particularly tall. If she'd been standing, she might have been an inch taller than him.

"Professor Black is busy." The smaller one had the grace to look apologetic as she carefully wiped the water off of the desk. The taller one just gave her a sour look. "May I ask what this is regarding?"

"She's expecting us. We're the Elric brothers."

He said that like she should have heard of them before, which she hadn't. "You're Germans?"

"Oh no, really? What gave us away?" She said nothing. It was unfair that his nationality set her on edge, but there was a war going on. "We're not Nazis, if that's what you're getting at. My father's got all the visas. I've got papers from your government if you want to see them."

She did, and he passed them to her. Edward Elric, age 18. The brother was Alphonse, age 17. Both German citizens. None of that made it clear why they were here. "If the professor is expecting you, then she should be down shortly." She said, a little flatly. "You may take a seat if you'd like to wait."

"Thanks, we will." He sat down in a spare chair, looking with mild interest at the bookshelves. He was docile now, at least. What did they want the professor for? They didn't look much like scholars. Not like her… She sighed and went back to her work. She'd come here expecting to be an assistant to the professor and ended up as a third-rate Latin translator.

Something caught her eye at the edge of her glasses. Edward had stretched lazily, and she saw a quick flash of something as his sleeve fell down to his wrist. Metal? She must have gasped involuntarily, because he looked up sharply. "Sorry." She said faintly, realizing her rudeness. "I just- I thought I saw something."

"You aren't seeing things." He pulled back his sleeve, revealing a metal prosthetic that glinted in the dim light. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. He tapped it lightly with his other hand, making a pleasant 'ping' sound. "My leg's like that too."

"Who are you guys anyway?" Her voice shook a little, and she hated it. "What kind of business do you have here?"

He gave her a very wry smile. "Supposedly between your professor and us, we have knowledge of a weapon that would make Adolf Hitler weep with envy."

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In retrospect, that should have been her cue to leave, but that was only clear with the wisdom of hindsight. Things had gotten much busier after that; just like now, there had been an investigation. Professor Black had been called in to translate some Latin found at three murder sites, and as her assistant, Laura had followed. At the time, she had found it quite exciting and thought she was the lucky for getting such a great opportunity. The professor had been desperate for another Latin translator, and she took the first one she could get, which happened to be Laura.

It was only late that Ed pointed out the folly in that. There were hordes of out-of-work scholars who were too old to fight and who knew Greek, Hebrew, and Sanskrit over her meager 8 years of college Latin. There was no good reason at all for the professor to have hired her. When she finally realized what Vittoria had been up to, she was appalled to find that they'd all been used.

But that was another world away, and there was nothing she could do about that now. If Ed were here, he would have yelled at her to get her ass in gear, because there was work to be done. Of course, Ed would have bristled at working under Hausman; he hated working underneath anyone. But Hausman had money and influence in this world, and she was lacking in both. She wasn't a fighter or an alchemist. She didn't have any way out of this besides her wits, and those were probably lacking too.

There was a noise, quiet enough, but in this dead apartment, it grated on her. She'd been an idiot not to lock the door behind her. She looked around for something, and her eyes fell on the guns, still holstered on Hawkeye's nightstand. She sent up a silent prayer to the late first lieutenant, forgetting momentarily that she didn't believe in an afterlife, and loosed one gun out of its holster, holding it much tighter than she should have. Her father had taught her how to shoot once up on a time ago. Hopefully she wouldn't need too… It might have been just a simple noise, maybe the dog had tried to get back in, maybe… She inched her way to the door, still holding the gun tight enough to make her knuckles white-

-where she came dangerously close to bumping into a very bemused looking Brigadier General Mustang.

"Aaah!" It was not a particularly dignified response and later she'd regret it. "What are you doing here? I almost shot you!" She had come perilously close to saying she almost shot out his other eye, and felt bad for it instantly.

He looked a little more at ease now that he'd seen who she was. "You wouldn't have shot me."

"And why not?" She said hotly, feeling stupid that she'd overreacted.

"Because," He reached over and flicked a switch on the gun. She recoiled when he'd touched it, like it would have fired just from that. "You left the safety on."

She muttered something unintelligible, embarrassed for her mistake. "Why are you here, General Mustang? This is a restricted zone. Mr. Hausman would find it very suspicious that you're here."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she felt like a stupid child again at the age of 25. "And you?"

She tried to draw herself up to her full height and regain some meager scrap of her dignity. "I'm an investigator authorized by Mr. Hausman."

"No, you're not." He cut her off quickly and succinctly. "If you were, you'd be carrying your own gun." She was cursing herself silently and turned the safety back on. "I never thought I'd see that pointed at me again. I…" She followed his gaze to see that his eyes had fallen on the transmutation circle and he looked horrified. She realized that his face was ashen, as he realized for the first time where he was and that he looked like someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. "Is this- is this where-?"

"Yeah, it's-" She stammered, unsure of what to do in the face of his grief. "C-come on out of here; we shouldn't talk in here-"

He did look a little better once they were outside in the living room. It seemed as though he had realized where he was exactly and who she was. He exhaled, and his voice sounding heavy when he spoke again. "They drew an alchemic array around her with her own blood?"

He wasn't wearing his gloves, but it wasn't exactly an alchemic attack she feared. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see his reaction. "Yes."

"Why the hell did you not tell me that the first time you came?"

"Because Victor Hausman considers you his prime subject!" She said angrily. She'd forgotten herself for a moment. "And the fact that you even showed up here, scaring the hell out of me, by the way, is not going to improve your standings with him!"

He did not seem unduly concerned about that. "Clearly you don't, or you probably wouldn't have said all that."

"Tell me, General Mustang, do you know what 'regina deum' means?" She could tell immediately that he did not. "Well, that's one of the words in the array. That's a language that nobody seems to understand, although the fact that you don't know it won't be enough to solidify your innocence with Hausman."

"What dies it mean?"

"Queen of gods," She said absently, then cursed her mistake.

"So you know it."

"I'm not an alchemist." She said nervously. It was all coming rapidly undone. If there was anything she'd learned in gathering intel around Central, it was that she did not want this man as her enemy. "I could never draw something like that in a million years."

There was an uncomfortable period of silence. She tried not to fidget under his gaze, which was surprisingly piercing, eye patch or no. "Tell me what you know." His voice was low, dangerous. "I am going to find who did this to Riza. You're not going get in the way of that. Either you can help me, or-"

She did not want to know what 'or' entailed. "We're both after the same thing. I want to find her killer too. And it's not… just because it's my job. But I've got some other research going on on the side, and I have questions of my own I need answers for that. I'm not an alchemist, but I'm familiar with the concept of Equivalent Exchange. My position with Hausman is precarious. It would be unwise for me to give any information without gaining something in return."

"You're a spy." He said flatly. "You've been working for Hausman as an informant as well. Don't pretend not to, because I'm aware of what's been going on in Parliament. You're not from Amestris, you're not listed on Hausman's staff, and you're sure as hell not an investigator. Who are you and where did you come from?"

"I'm just a translator." She couldn't hide the bitterness in that tone. "And anything beyond that, I'm only what other people have made me. I only do what's necessary for me to survive." She had gotten to be a fairly good liar under the professor and Hausman's respective tutelages, when she never had been before. She could do it now without batting an eye or giving some other telltale sign of deception. But it was not in her heart to be anything but honest, at least not with this man. "My name is Laura O'Rielly. I'm not from this country. It's someplace you wouldn't have heard of."

"Try me."

"That doesn't matter now. We're both here for the same thing." She sighed irritably and sat down on the end of the lieutenant's couch. He looked like he wanted to tell her to get off of it, but thought the better of it. "I want to help you, but I need an alchemist's help."

"I'm not going to help you." He said harshly.

"Whatever I ask will not compromise your position in the military. It will not get back to Hausman either. In return, I'll tell you everything I know about Lieutenant Hawkeye's death and whatever else you need. I'll make a copy of my translation of the words in the array when I'm done with it." She had gotten her voice to sound quite calm, which belied everything she felt. "It is Equivalent Exchange."

She saw a muscle twitch involuntarily in his neck. There was loathing written all over his face and directed entirely at her, which, while not unexpected, was not something she'd wanted. "I'll give you something for free then. When I was home, there was a case very similar to this one that I was pulled in on for the woman I worked for. A man was murdering children there, and he was writing things in Latin and drawing designs like this one too." She lost a measure of her carefully measured calm there; her voice was giving much too easily. "There is no alchemy there, so it was just senseless. It had no point. There was only one boy who escaped. He didn't get a good look at the murderer, but he said the whole time he never stopped talking about his beautiful little daughter. I've heard there was a soldier who was murdered in Central who might match that description."

His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. The look on his face was like when he'd first heard about Hawkeye's death, but worse. She could practically see the gears churning in his head, and it did not look like things were going in a good direction. When she spoke, her voice sounded feeble even to her. "That's what I've heard, at least, but I haven't told many people about that potential connection. If it even is a connection, with a dead man… You're in the military, at least, so I thought maybe you'd know something more."

"Are you-" He coughed roughly. There was something in his voice that sounded suspiciously close to fear. "Are you familiar with the concept of a homunculus, Miss O'Rielly?"

"Ah!" One more piece fitting into the puzzle. She didn't understand the whole of it, but it was enough to a glimpse of the bigger picture. "Yes, I know about that. A failed human transmutation, right?"

"Correct." He said weakly.

"I see," She mused aloud, mostly for her own benefit. It helped sometimes, to better sort out all pieces of the puzzle. "Homunculi are sentient. They come from the Gate. It might be possible… I mean, where do homunculi go when they die? Maybe back through the other side to Shambala?"

"You're speculating." He said darkly. He did not look particularly pleased with the direction her theory was taking. "Speculation will not be enough to solve this."

"It can't hurt either." She picked up her discarded notebook, glancing at the still incomplete array she'd copied. "I'll send you this when I finish. It's been sent to alchemists already, but perhaps you'll know something more than they did."

"What do you want in return?" He said stiffly. "I'm not going to be indebted to you."

She couldn't say nothing, at least not yet. It was cruel to keep pushing like this, while he was still grieving his loss. But she couldn't show any weakness here, or she'd lose whatever she'd gained by crossing the gate. "Employment. That's what I want. Find me a place to work, I don't care where. I just don't want to work for Hausman anymore."

"The investigation-"

"I'm not finished." She said mildly. "Victor Hausman owns two brothels on 38th street and probably more than that elsewhere. The majority of his money is from human trafficking. Shut them down and you'll be a hero. Parliament will hate it, but they won't once Hausman's assets are dispersed among them. You'll be a hero to the common man, and they're the one's who elect the parliament. And then," She shrugged. "You can take over the investigation yourself if you want. It'll be unorthodox, but no one will gainsay it. All I ask is that you find me a place to go first. On the investigation or not, I don't care. I want to find how did this, but at this point, it'd be easier to do it on my own."

He didn't seem particularly impressed with that statement. "One of my subordinates will meet you with that information tomorrow then, if you bring that drawing with you."

"Of course." She smiled at him, but he did not return the gesture. "I'll be free around one o'clock. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish this before Hausman wants me back. You're welcome to look around the apartment if you'd like, but you'll not find anything useful anymore."

She went back to the bedroom, pencil in hand. He did look around; she hadn't expected him to pass up the opportunity since that was what he'd come here for. If he found anything worthwhile, he said nothing about it to her. A few minutes later, she heard the door click shut again, as Mustang left as quietly as he'd come in.

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In another room, not very far from Lieutenant Hawkeye's former residence, an older woman sat drawing the same array with the ease born of long practiced familiarity. She did not look up when another entered, but continued drawing, the lines flowing from her pen as easily and as delicately as a breath.

"Dante. I'm here."

"My dear Lust," the woman murmured, still not taking her eyes off of her work. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, now. Thank you."

This polite deference pleased her. She had made a good deal of progress in a short amount of time. "Do you feel up to doing a certain task for me, Lust?"

"Of course!" Dante smiled at her exuberance. She ran a hand along the young homunculus' cheek, enjoying the look of contentment on her face. It was something akin to holding a baby, although it had been a long time since she'd had a baby and never in this body.

She released her hand. A look of disappointment crossed the homunculus' face, although it was masked quickly. Lust was very childlike now. It was unlikely she would stay that way.

"I'm very busy, Lust, and I have a great deal of things that require my concentration now. I give this matter to you, because I trust you so much. You are my own dear child, but I miss my other children too. Will you find them for me, Lust? Can you do this task for me?"

"Yes." There was great deal of fervor in her voice. So much the better. "I'd do anything for you, Dante."

"Good." Dante cupped her hands around the homunculus' face and kissed her forehead. "Then do so."