Thanks again to mebh and SJ Smith!

The train ride into Central sucked. He and Al spent much of the time sniping at each other; arguing about stupid shit that didn't matter, their metaphorical fur bristling because of the damned moon. Al was hungry, too, which didn't help. Ed could just about choke the train food down- over-seasoned and cooked to death- but it made Al throw up. It was too close to the change, and he needed meat, preferably raw, but they couldn't get that in a train station. So Al went hungry, and it made him miserable and twitchy.

By the time they got into Central, both brothers were on their last nerve. Al stumped into their hotel room and started a shower without a word. Ed dropped his suitcase and went out in search of a butcher. When he returned half an hour later, Al was sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and shorts, clenching his fists, his hair dripping.

"Food," Ed said, pulling out a paper-wrapped package and setting it on the table.

Al nodded, his body relaxing a little as he went to the table. He unwrapped the meat carefully, picked up the huge slab of steak that Ed had brought, and tore into it with his teeth. He ripped great chunks from it and swallowed them, grinning. After a while, Al looked over at Ed. His eyes were bright and happy, and his chin was dripping with blood. "Thank you, Brother," he said, gratefully, smiling over at where Ed was lying on his bed watching.

Blue, Ed thought. Al's eyes were supposed to be blue, not yellow. His little brother's face wasn't supposed to be smeared with blood. His teeth weren't supposed to be sharp enough to tear raw meat. "You're welcome, Al," Ed said. "Geez, you're a mess. Do you need help cleaning up?"

Al shook his head, licking his fingers and mouth contentedly. "That was good," Al said, sleepily. "Would have been nicer warm, but it was still good."

"I got another one, too," Ed told him. "You can have it for breakfast."

Al nodded. "I'm sorry I was being mean on the train," he said.

Ed shrugged. "It's fine," he said. "I understand."

Al frowned, licking blood from between his fingers. His too-long tongue curled around the ridges of his knuckles. "It's not fine. It's not an excuse. I shouldn't be like that to you."

"I was giving you shit, too," Ed pointed out, leaning back against the headboard.

Al smiled a little. "You always give everyone shit," he said. "I'm the one who's sweet-tempered."

"Ha!" Ed laughed. "Yeah, people think that."

Al frowned, looking down at the bloody butcher paper in front of him. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I'm not so sweet-tempered anymore."

Ed's throat felt suddenly dry. "It's- Al- I'm sorry."

Al's eyes narrowed. "What for, Brother?" he asked, licking the last of the blood from his knuckle.

Ed closed his eyes. "Never mind," he said.

Suddenly, Al was right in front of him. Ed's eyes snapped open, looking into round, yellow eyes. Round, yellow eyes that looked pissed. "It wasn't just your fault," Al hissed. "It was my decision, too. Why do you keep trying to take that away from me?"

Ed glared at his brother stubbornly. "It shouldn't have to be on your shoulders. I was older. I should have-"

"You're only a year older!" Al shouted. He grabbed Ed by the shoulders and threw him sideways onto the bed. "It was stupid, the whole thing was stupid, but I was stupid, too! I could have stopped you if I wanted to, Brother! I thought about it, but I didn't!"

"It was my idea!" Ed protested, rage bubbling up inside him. He clenched his fists, trying desperately to rein himself in. "It was all my idea, dammit!"

Al wasn't quite so good at controlling himself, either because his wolf was stronger or because he just didn't want to. He came at Ed snarling, barrelling his older brother to the ground.

Ed sucked in his breath as he hit. He twisted out of Al's grip and flipped him, shoving him face-first into the carpet. "Al!" he cried "Alphonse!"

Al seemed insensible. He curled around, going for Ed's leg with his teeth. Ed pulled his leg away, and jumped back as Al leapt up into a crouch. Ed was growling now, too, he realized. Part of him was angry- unreasonably angry- that his little brother would challenge him like this. The wolf, not me,Ed told himself. "Alphonse," Ed snarled, trembling with the effort of holding himself still. "Calm down. Calm the fuck down, little brother."

Al growled and lunged at Ed; Ed leapt to the side and tackled Al, pinning him to the ground. Ed held his hand on Al's neck. "Calm down, Al," he hissed, his teeth bared. Ed hoped to hell that this would snap Al out of it; there was no way that Ed could last in a fight against Al for any real length of time, not at this time of month or any other.

There was a long, tense moment, and then all the fight went out of Al. He curled in on himself, hiding his face. Ed backed off, giving his brother space. After a long while, Al stood up. His eyes were unreadable. "I'm tired, Brother," he said, quietly. "I should probably go to bed. Don't forget to set your alarm; you don't want to be late for your meeting with Guardian Mustang."

"Yeah," Ed said. "I should probably get to bed, too."

Al was asleep by the time Ed got out of the shower, curled up on his bed. Ed sat down next to him and covered him with a blanket. Al relaxed a little, whether from the blanket or Ed's presence, Ed didn't know. "I'm sorry," Ed whispered. "I'll fix this. I'll make this right somehow, I promise."

Edward was late, of course. Roy suspected that he did it very deliberately. He imagined the kid accidentally arriving on time one morning and having to skulk around in the restrooms until he'd become at leasthalf an hour late- Roy smirked.

Edward glared at him. "What the hell, Mustang?" he said.

Roy shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, smiling.

Edward glared harder, those unnerving yellow eyes shining. "Do you want your fucking report or not?"

"Temper, Edward," Mustang said, sweetly, because he knew it would irritate the other sorcerer.

Edward's face went flat. "I left Al by himself at the hotel," he said, "and I still need to find a place for... for tonight. I don't have time for your stupid fucking games. Not today."

Roy felt a flare of anger, but tamped it down. "You might have considered being on time, then," he pointed out, acidly.

Then, for a split second, Edward actually looked embarrassed. "I forgot to set my alarm," he admitted, mumbling.

They sat in silence for a moment while Roy processed that confession. Edward seemed so young sometimes, even now. He had been barely fifteen when Roy had recruited him on the promise of a chance to cure his brother. Roy had been young when he had become a Guardian, but Edward had beat him by a full half decade. He was just nineteen, now. Mostly an adult, but still- still sometimes a punk kid. Finally, Roy smiled. "Your report, Elric, if you please."

There had been a hedge-mage up in the hills who had wanted to become a full-fledged sorcerer, apparently. He'd raised a demon, but not been able to bind it, and he'd become possessed by the damned thing. It had rampaged through New Optain before Edward had managed to destroy the demon and lay to rest the burned-out husk that had been the host. Roy shivered. If losing himself to the wolf was Edward's fear, that fate was Roy's.

"Good work," Roy said, curtly, when Edward finished. It sounded like a bloody mess, both literally and figuratively.

Edward nodded. "Now, if that's it, I need to get back to Al," he said.

Roy glanced at the time. "Wait a few minutes," he said.

Edward crossed his arms. "What are you up to?" he asked, suspiciously.

Roy cocked his head. "I'm not up to anything, Elric. You should trust me more."

Roy could feel Edward's wolf stir, just a little. "I don't know why I should," Edward snapped.

Xaphan murmured fire and rage to him, but Roy just leaned back and put his hands together. "It's served you well in the past," Roy pointed out.

"Maybe," Edward grumbled.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," Roy called.

The messenger stepped in, saluted. "Guardian Mustang," he started, and then seemed to register the room's other occupant. "And- er- Guardian Elric. The Emperor requires your presence at 1200 hours, in full dress."

"Thank you for relaying that wholly unexpected summons," Roy said dryly. "We are, of course, at the Emperor's pleasure."

Once the messenger had gone, Edward snapped around toward Roy. "How did you know about that?" he asked.

"Know about what?" Roy said, innocently. "It's lucky that you happened to be in town, Elric. It sounds as though the Emperor is gathering all of the Guardians. It would have looked bad if you had tarried on your way home from an assignment and missed it."

Edward scowled. "I need to check on Al," he said.

"You can't," Roy told him bluntly. "You've only enough time to change. You have your uniform here, I hope?"

Edward nodded slowly. "He needs food," he said, softly. "He can't go out, not today. And he needs to eat or- he'll be sick tomorrow."

Because, of course, the change took so much energy. Alphonse's metabolism was so fast that he generally needed to eat more than a regular human, but his needs were almost doubled around the time of the full moon. Edward's metabolism was nothing to sneeze at either. Roy sighed, and hit the button on his desk.

"Sir?" Hawkeye entered, efficient as always. She nodded to Edward, her eyes never quite leaving Roy's face.

"Alphonse isn't feeling well," Roy told her. "And Edward and I have been summoned to see the Emperor. If you've some time this afternoon, could you check on him? He'll need some lunch brought to him."

Hawkeye nodded. "Of course," she said, seriously. "I'm sorry to hear that Alphonse is doing poorly," she said, looking at Edward. Hawkeye knew about the boys' condition. She'd know what to do.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Edward said, with far more politeness than he ever managed to muster for Roy.

"It's no trouble," she told him. "Just leave me your hotel information and I'll see to it."

"We had best prepare for our meeting," Roy said, standing.

Edward didn't say anything.

Al always told Ed that he didn't feel well on the days that he was due to change. It was only sort of true. He didn't feel sick, exactly.

All the same, Al lay on his bed, fighting against the hunger and rage that threatened to consume him. That would inevitably consume him, Alphonse reminded himself. When the sun was up, the moon pulled on him viciously, but he could resist. When the moon rose, there would be no more resistance.

Al shuddered. Where was Ed? He should have been back by now, and he'd promised to bring food. Al was so very, very hungry.

He hated this. It wasn't so bad when Ed was there, but he was alone, and he was trapped in here because, dammit, anyone looking at him would know there was something wrong. He knew that. But there it was, making him shake, making his legs twitch: the need to run.

Sometimes, he thought that the wolf was afraid; that it knew what was coming and wanted to get away. Al had told Ed that he didn't mind the chains, but that was a lie. Every time he saw them, his heart started beating like crazy and he had to swallow the urge to just run, to be free, finally, after all these years- but he couldn't be free. Al knew that. If anyone ever found out, he'd be killed. There wouldn't even be a trial, because werewolves weren't criminals; they were just put down for everyone else's safety. Al twisted, curling in on himself. He was so hungry. He practically hadn't eaten the day before, and the meat Ed had managed to get yesterday hadn't been nearly enough. Ed had promised he'd bring more back.

Al trembled, trying not to think about what would happen if Ed didn't come back, either because he'd gotten himself killed doing something stupid or because he'd decided that he'd just had enough of taking care of a little brother who couldn't decide whether he was a man or an animal-

He smelled her before he heard her; perfume and gun oil and red meat. In another moment, she was at his door, knocking. Al scrambled to get up, suddenly realizing that he was wearing nothing but his shorts. He dithered for a moment, torn between bolting toward the smell of food and not wanting to be nearly naked in front of a woman- finally, he ducked toward his suitcase, grabbing for his pants and a shirt. "I'll be there in a moment!" he called.

At least I'm still human enough to feel embarrassed, he thought, a little sardonically.

When he opened the door- his shirt still untucked- Lieutenant Hawkeye was standing on the other side. "Hello, Alphonse," she said, mildly. "May I come in?"

Al opened the door. "Did Brother send you?" he asked, concerned. "He's alright, isn't he?"

"He's fine," Hawkeye assured him. "He and Guardian Mustang were summoned by the Emperor, along with the other Guardians. Edward was concerned for you, so Guardian Mustang asked me to come in his stead."

It took everything Al had not to grab at the meat she was carrying. "Thank you," he said, by rote. "It was kind of you to be concerned."

She set her bag down on the table in the room, hesitating slightly.

"You don't have to stay," Al said, a flush starting on his cheeks. "I- I'm not so good at eating politely."

Hawkeye smiled kindly. "I'm sure I've seen worse. But if you'd rather I go, I could wait outside and come back."

Al was finding it difficult to care what she did. There was food right there. He was so desperately hungry, and all he could think about was red, wet meat; bloody and raw- tearing into it with his teeth, the gobbets sliding down his throat, the blood running down his chin and fingers-

Hawkeye carefully pulled the packages out of the bag and stepped away. That was the end of his resistance. For a time, Al saw nothing but food. The meat was rich and red in his mouth. He bit into it with relish. It filled his mouth with wet, coppery blood. He curled his tongue around it, savoring the texture. It was marble, flesh, tendon, bone. The bits of bone, he crushed and sucked. He scooped out thick, pink marrow with fingers and tongue. He gorged himself, eating until he'd emptied all of the packages. He licked the last drops of blood from his hands and the table.

It was only then, his belly sated enough to give him some peace, that he was aware enough to remember Hawkeye's presence. He blushed red enough to match the blood spattered on the front of his shirt. Gathering himself, he turned to face her. Her eyes were unreadable. If she was horrified, if she was disgusted, it didn't show. Al, though, could smell the acrid scent of fear/anger on her. She was in control of her body language, but she probably wasn't even aware of the way her scent changed.

"I'm sorry," Al blurted out. "Usually, only Brother sees me at these times. I'm sorry."

"It's not a problem," Hawkeye said, smoothly. "Have you eaten enough? Are you still hungry?"

Al flinched, turning away. "It's fine," he said. "You don't have to stay. Please go."

Hawkeye moved around into his field of vision again. "Have I offended you, Alphonse?" she asked, frowning.

Al breathed, trying to keep himself calm. He liked Lieutenant Hawkeye. She was nice, and they usually got along well. But today was different. "No," he said, and he wanted to run, wanted to fight, wanted to get out of his skin somehow. He couldn't meet her eyes. "I know it's awful. Thank you for bringing me food. It's okay. I just- I just- will Brother be back soon?"

"I don't know," Hawkeye said, cocking her head as she looked at him. "They've been summoned by the Emperor. There's no way to say. I interpreted Guardian Mustang's orders to mean that I was to watch over you until Edward could return, particularly if their business keeps them out late."

The idea that Ed might not be back before moonrise shook him. Al jumped up, pacing the other side of the room.

"If you would be more comfortable, I could wait outside. But it might look odd. It would be better for me to stay here, if you can tolerate it," Hawkeye said.

Al put his hands on his head, pressing against his scalp, twisting his fingers up in his hair. The physical sensation grounded him, a little.

"Perhaps you should change your shirt," Hawkeye suggested. "And then I brought a deck of cards. Cribbage or gin rummy might pass the time."

Al stared at her. Her scent was regularizing; whatever distress he'd caused her earlier had faded. Perfume and gun oil- she smelled familiar and calming. He glanced down at his shirt, spattered with beef blood where he hadn't been as neat as he could have been. "I suppose it's too stained to wash," he said, mournfully. "I can never get blood out."

Hawkeye smiled slightly. "I might be able to help there," she said. "Let me call down to the kitchen for some salt."

Al got a fresh shirt out of his bag, and went to the bathroom to change. When he returned, Hawkeye had laid out his shirt in a bowl of cold water and was pouring table salt on it. "It's a trick I learned at the Academy," she explained. "The salt draws the blood out. We'll just leave it there for a time." She pulled a deck of cards out of her bag. "Do you prefer any particular game?"

Al shook his head. It was surreal, to be expected to sit and play cards on today of all days. It was civilized, and Al didn't feel civilized. He wanted to scream- to howl- with fear and pain and anger. But Hawkeye was there, waiting, and somehow, he mustered himself to sit in the chair across from her. "Whichever you like," he said, and watched her shuffle.