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Mustang wraps his arm over my shoulder tenderly, and I tense under the physical contact. He leads me through the muddy, slippery grass to a car, and I leave my brothers behind again.

The colonel drags his chair around the table to sit beside me. "You're not much bigger than Fullmetal, huh." He wields a bowl full of what appears to be noodles and some sort of seasoning. He spins the noodles around a fork and offers it to me. "How much did they feed you back there?"

He doesn't wait for my answer and practically forces the spaghetti into my mouth.

Truth be told, I was lucky to get a stale, molding loaf of bread a week. You really learn how to ration yourself when it's your life on the line.

The flavor explodes on my tongue and it's all I can do not to stick my face in the bowl as he resets the fork with the carbohydrates.

I'm still chewing when he offers the next forkful to me. "So, your name is Anabelle."

I nod and take another mouthful of spaghetti. We continue like this until the bowl is empty, simple yes-no questions and spaghetti. Through it, he learns the basics. I'm Anabelle Elric. Twenty years old. I know alchemy. I'm a dog person. I have an immense dislike of the Amestrian military. I don't trust him. I like the color green. I like reading. I like walking. I know that automail is a possibility.

He takes a napkin and gently wipes my face before sitting back. "How did you get yourself into that asylum, anyways?" He rests his head on his hands and I can see the dark lines under his eyes. He's just as exhausted as I am. "You don't seem crazy."

"I pissed off a few people that I shouldn't have." I answer truthfully. Death doesn't give you time to wallow in self-pity and time.

He gives a weary chuckle and rubs his eyes. "Well, I'd have to be an idiot to deny the fact that you're related to Fullmetal." He stands and stretches, rolling his shoulders with several pops. "You look tired."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," I challenge simply. The idea of sleep doesn't appeal to me anymore than staying awake does. For now, I need to find a mechanic to manufacture a decent pair of automail arms. When I was a kid, Pinako Rockbell was the best mechanic I knew. I don't know how she is anymore, though. Urey and Sara were killed in Ishval, and grief does terrible things to the mind.

He gives me a pointed look. "Well, I can't argue with that. Do you want to change clothes?" He's referring to the rags I wear. "A bath? Shower? How did you stay so well kept without arms? Your hair is up. I know you didn't do that."

I rest my forehead on the table. "Once a week, they need to clean out the cells. There is an alarm in each sector that releases the locks to our doors and the wardens herd us into the shower. A girl from my sector pitied me and would take care of my needs. Patient 312. She knows what it's like to be helpless." I grit my teeth at the word. Helpless helpless helpless help—. "Even crazies have a sense of right and wrong. She saw someone who needed help so she pulled up her big girl panties and helped." I sigh wistfully at the thought of wearing undergarments again. "You don't happen to have a female officer you trust, do you?" I ask plaintively. I'd much rather have a female stranger helping me change than a male one. Military scum or not, I do need the help.

"I was hoping not to bring her into this…but yes. I'd trust Lieutenant Hawkeye with my life." He states.

"I'd be more comfortable with the assistance of another woman," I apologize. "There are needs that she'll understand better than you will."

He full heartedly agrees. "I'll give her a call." He stands and grabs some loose change from the center of the table. "Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?" I nod and he returns the action. "Be right back." He disappears into outside.

I take some time to examine his apartment. It's clean enough with only some loose clothing strewn on the ground. Certainly a bachelor's pad. A deep yawn makes me realize that I'm plenty tired enough to sleep. Carefully standing and pushing back the kitchen chair, I make my way to the couch. It's soft compared to the floor I lived on for six years, but hey, anything is soft compared to concrete.

It's not long before my mind is numb and my head lolls. I'll just get some sleep now, and then…

The doorknob rattles, waking me from my half-consciousness. "Pssst," a voice hisses at the door, muffled. "2701. 2701."

I leap up from the couch and crouch defensively in a shadow. "312? Is that you?"

"Mmm," she hums in agreement. "Can you come unlock the door? I've brought presents."

I creep towards the door and face the lock. I don't remember hearing Mustang lock it, but it looks like he did. I scowl at the mechanism and kick my leg up to open it. It takes me a few seconds of toe-wiggling and cussing, but the lock clicks open nonetheless.

312 enters, carrying with her two grocery bags of supplies. "I followed you here. It's raining."

I show her in and nod. She's already changed out of her own rags and into a colorful dress. It hangs loose over her frail twig of a body with no curves or fat to cling to, but the deep blue and white colors compliment her fire-colored hair and deep-forest eyes.

She sets down at the table and empties the bags. "I took some clothing." She offers it up for my inspection.

"Took?" I quirk an eyebrow critically.

A wide grin spreads across her face. "If I can go unnoticed by The Warden, I can certainly go unnoticed by a civilian." A handful of unmentionables and a dress for me. I don't know what inspired her to be so girly and thoughtless about the attire. Even she knows that it's harder to move in a skirt than in pants. "Come now, there must be a bath for you around here."

I shake my head. "The man who brought me here is soldier. Colonel State Alchemist."

312 is less than pleased with my answer. "Does he trust you?"

I shake my head. "Doubt it. He stepped out to make a call. He'll be back soon."

"Then pray tell we need to hurry. Make you presentable. Men want to protect feminine girls that look like they need help."

I scoff. "State Alchemists aren't men. They're animals."

"Pray tell, isn't your brother the Fullmetal Alchemist?" She flutters her ginger eyelashes at me innocently.

I blink. "You really can hide in the shadows," I evaluate her once more. She's pale and sticks out like a sore thumb. How could I not notice her standing close enough to eavesdrop?

She smiles proudly as she lifts my raggedy dress over my head and sets to work. "The Warden really beat the shit out of you," she comments, examining my scars in the significantly brighter light of the kitchen. "Vicious bitch." From behind me, she straps a brazier around my shoulders and peeks around at my face. "How is that?"

"Fine," I tell her, inwardly laughing. I never hear her cuss like she is. Perhaps I've influenced her?

She beams and offers underwear for me to step into. I obey and she snaps the elastic-feeling waistband on my hips. "Clothing," she muses, unzipping the back of the dress. The door clicks open and a cloud passes 312's face. "I'm not done yet," she whines.

I turn and face him. His gun is once again drawn and he glares at 312 with the same suspicion he gave me when we met. "Who are you?"

312 tilts her head and examines him. "Neh, 2701. He's pretty cute for a state alchemist. Are you sure?"

I watch him carefully. "Is this a friend of yours from Marigold?" he demands.

"The best friend!" 312 roars fiercely, glaring back at him. I can tell she's mocking him. "You can call me Emma. I followed your car here."

I never actually learned 312's name. She was always 312, just as I was 2701. In Marigold, the wardens got suspicious when you got too close with the other patients. Suppose things are different now that we're out...

Mustang lowers his gun and eyes me wearily. "What's going on in here?"

"I'm making 2701 decent," Emma hmphs.

"Anabelle?" He glances me over and doesn't seem to mind the extra help. "Jesus, what happened to you?"

I look down at myself to see what he must see. Light scars running through my stomach, skin mottled in ugly bruises, scars of burns and stab wounds and tears and hatred. Looking back up, I repeat my previous explanation. "I pissed off the wrong people."

He holsters his gun and is unashamed of addressing my mostly bared body. "You're half-starved. Both of you." His black eyes show concern, worry. "Emma, can I fix you something to eat?"

She shakes her head. "The moon's secrets have filled my appetite."

I cast him a warning look, but he accepts her answer. Emma isn't the raving, murderous,lunatic kind of crazy. She just sees things that others do not, sees and hears beautiful things and wants to share them with others.

Continuing her previous work, Emma slides the dress over my head and presents me to Mustang. "Tada!"

I feel like I'm playing dress up in my mother's closet again, the clothes hanging loose over me like a bag. "With 31…" I stop and correct myself. "Emma. With Emma, I can slip out of Central. I'll get automail for myself and return as soon as possible."

"What will your brothers think?" He challenges, and it's a reasonable question. They finally saw me after 6 years, and now I'm disappearing again. It's unreasonable of me.

"I'm no help to anyone if I can't even feed myself," I argue.

Emma dances around me, taking away his chance to respond. "The shadows suggest we go to Rush Valley."

"Ed's mechanic is pretty good. Why don't we just have him call her in?" Mustang presents this information as he sits down. "Winry Rockbell, I believe. Do you know her?"

I smile vaguely. "Sara and Urey's daughter. Yeah. Ed and Al used to fight over which one of them was going to marry her before Al crushed Ed by proposing to me. Ed was crushed by Al's victory."

Mustang snickers, and then laughs. "Sorry, sorry," he tries to wave it away. "You surprised me."

Emma pokes her face into his, so close their noses touch. "You need to laugh more often, Colonel State Alchemist. It will help you have sex."

I give a surprised laugh and try to cover it with a cough. Emma spins on me expectantly. "Right. We'll be leaving."

I pause and recall what he's said. "My brother has a mechanic?" My eyes narrow until I'm practically squinting at him. "Why?"

Mustang's expression is somber. "Edward and Alphonse attempted human transmutation. He lost his leg. Lost his arm binding Al to that suit of armor."

The blood drains from my face and lean up against Emma. "My baby brothers..."

Emma rubs my back in consolation and kisses my temple. "You'll be alright, Any-banany. We'll fix you right up, right up, fix you. You'll see. You'll be all better in no time, and you can fix up those sweet babies too. You'll see. You'll see."

Mustang watches us respectfully, no longer arguing with me. He must know that I'm right, that I can't be watched after every day. "I'll explain the situation to them. They waited six years. They can spare a few weeks."

I take a shuddering breath, still shocked by this discovery. To know that the perfect, round baby-faced children I'd left had seen something as vile and painful as the Truth hurts me. I wish I could go back in time and fix this. I wish that they could be the little babies I remembered, sweet and young and so full of blissful innocence. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. See you soon, Colonel."