Chapter 3

"Ed. Time to eat." Havoc slid the tray table over and sat on the edge of the bed, gently shaking the motionless body. Amber eyes lowered slightly, barely interested, as if they were too heavy to move. One finger lifted with the barest of intention of touching Havoc's coat, then dropped.

Havoc took Ed's hand to guide it with both of his, making the fingers rub the cloth of his jacket. The small spark of recognition widened Ed's eyes and his face masked with pain and sadness. Havoc raised the head of the bed and helped him sit up, bringing the straw to his swollen lips. With his jaw still wired shut the liquid was barely sustaining him. He swallowed once, then twice. His face and lips went slack and when his eyes closed, Havok set the glass aside in helpless frustration, gently lowering Ed back down to rest. The thin, threadbare blanket he pulled up to the ice-cold and crudely sewn chin was a joke, its softness and warmth washed away a hundred launderings ago. The message was clear, as always. The men of the military were a valuable, cherished resource in the battlefield, and nearly valueless chattel in any other setting. No expense was spared on the weaponry. No expense was allowed for the humanity.

Havoc stood and unbuttoned his jacket with quick flicks of his thumb and forefinger as he had done a million times, holding his arms back to let the heavy garment slide off of its own accord from gravity's pull. He draped it carefully over Ed's silent form, careful not to touch it to his injury, and positioned it to cover as much of the thin body as it would.

Ed shifted then, turning slightly sideway. His flesh hand moved, blindly grasping into the soft lining still harboring significant body heat and the very familiar smells of one Jean Havoc. His face grew peaceful, and just for a moment Havoc could see clearly how adorable Ed must have looked as a small boy, before grief and guilt became the defining emotions of his everyday life.

The small gesture of kindness brought comfort to both of them.

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Mustang finished reading and shuffled the papers on his desk, sighing heavily. For once, Hawkeye set aside her work as well, sighing just as hard.

"So what does the report say about their condition? Does it make any sense at all?" she asked.

"Considering that his vital signs were marginal when we brought him in, Al is doing quite a bit better physically, but his mental status is still poor. At least he hasn't shown any evidence of that ungodly rage or violent behavior. He doesn't seem to remember a thing since they found the red stone. He only knows that they were about to use it when they were overcome by the homunculi, that it was terrifying, and for him it's like it happened yesterday so he's still freshly traumatized. He's been spared the experience of being buried alive, or so the shrinks hope. He asks about Ed repeatedly. They're not sure, in light of what's happened , that Al's strong enough to face these events. They just tell him that Ed is alive but isn't well enough to visit. The sight of Ed, with all those scars, half out his mind…Alphonse isn't nearly strong enough for that yet. Perhaps they'll never tell him about the things he said and did to Ed, if Edward doesn't remember."

Hawkeye sighed again.

"As best as I can piece it together, Ed buried Al to hide him with the stone, and to prevent him from getting his body back while he was at risk of being tortured. He even transmuted a coating of heavy grease to prevent his metal from deteriorating. I'm sure that for Ed to do something like that, he must have been desperate for a way to save his brother, but I think he was also aware the he was doing something horribly cruel, and I'm pretty sure he did it against Al's will. From Al's point of view…" Mustang shuddered. To be buried alive like that, perhaps while struggling against it, was the stuff of gothic nightmares. To remain buried, fully aware, unable to move, unable to even die to make it all end and with no way to know if you would ever be released…he couldn't even fathom it. He had to admit, he never would have believed that anyone had gotten more of a raw deal than Ed after witnessing the fresh aftermath of his hideous torture. But this, this might take the cake.

"Those boys have been through hell."

Havoc walked up to report in, puffing on his cigarette and humming unemotionally,

"He drank a few ounces, and I sat him up for about a minute. I think he has some small amount of recognition."

"I just don't know if telling him that Al is back in the flesh would be good for him right now." Mustang shook his head. "Especially since his own limbs weren't restored."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. There's no point in telling him anything. I don't think he'd make heads or tails out anything with multiple syllables, much less full sentences. He truly is out of it." Havoc took a long draw on the cigarette, daring either one of them to make the usual demand for him to put it out or get out. He was ready to get out the minute they said the word. It was all too damned depressing, that's what it was. He needed a break from it, big time.

Hawkeye frowned, looking down the hall. "Do you mind, Colonel? If I go sit with him for a bit?'

"Not at all, Lieutenant," Mustang smiled stoically. "It will relieve me of the same impulse so I can take care of the rest of these." He shook the stack of papers, remembering too much for one painful moment. Rebellious sparks had lived in those caring, intelligent, stubborn eyes when Fullmetal indignantly brought him reports to throw on the pile. The boy always fought to maintain his own sovereignty in spite of his subordinate status.

He'd given everything to protect the person most dear to him; bore the burden of a horrific act, survived torture and waged war with total madness to keep a shred of his mind primed to fulfill his promise and take the last steps to bring his brother back.

How it must have shredded his soul as his brother cursed and threatened to kill him, blamed him for the premature burial, forced him to bear the terror of a return trip to the Gate and initiate the restoration of Al's body - while Ed was denied the return of his lost limbs.

He dismissed Havoc with a wave of his hand and a nod, exactly the action the man was shifting tiredly from foot to foot waiting for. Finally alone, Mustang knuckled the corners of his eyes, rubbing away the tears of eyestrain (he insisted to himself) and settled back into reviewing the requisitions. He couldn't concentrate, the words refused to make their meaning known to him. He scribbled a few signatures on the low-dollar requests, then let the pen fall and put his head in his hands.

Once upon a time it seemed that if they could just get Al's body back, no matter what else happened, Ed would have his victory. His absolution from the guilt that ate him nearly in two on the best of his days. But now even that was far too simplistic, it seemed. In spite of Al's restoration, Ed's own agony was at a high-water mark.

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Ed stood tall and strong, an iron fist held aloft. It gave him no joy, no feeling of power. He hung his head in defeat, his chin clanking against his iron chest.

Al hissed at him, calling him names, spattering him with blood from the socket of his missing arm. The arm he'd gladly sacrificed to inspire the Gate to seal Ed up in his old armor.

"See how YOU like it! Fucker! Four years, you live in there like a can of crap for four years. Then get ready. Because then I'm going to bury you for a year. Or hell, I think I'll just leave you down there. Forever!"

"No, Al, I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen to you. I know it's all my fault. I know I screwed up, I'm pathetic, a waste. Please, just let me make it up to you. Somehow, some way, if you let me be your brother and help you, I'll find a way to make this up to you. Please Al." he was sobbing, frantic, and inconsolable. The tearless glowing orbs in his metal head were unable to issue the drops that were streaming in his mind.

"You can," Al said, in a voice suddenly soft, magically sweet. "Of course you can make this up to me."

Somehow even Ed's huge metal paws felt the warmth of those words, and his revived courage opened his heart. Al still cares, hope cried out in the cold of his metal breast…he still needs me.

"Die for me brother," whispered Al, kissing his armored hand with an electric charge of affection. "If you die you'll show me how much you care, and I will feel love for you, and we can share our bond again."

"You will?" Ed breathed, gasping both in and out of his dream, tears rolling into his ears in fact. He struggled to maintain the nightmare in vain, his body responding to the intrusion of touch.

The strong hand on his arm was all wrong, it wasn't Al, and he didn't want anyone else in their intimate moment. He didn't want to wake up, because no matter how terrifying Al became in his dreams, it was time with his brother, and it was all he had left. He made a long, gutteral, frustrated cry and came up swinging, struggling, upset.

The face that swam into view startled him and he grew quiet.

Mustang's face, full of concern, shocked him into the realization that there was someone else besides Al he held an attachment to. Not someone he had to live every minute of his life to help, but someone who seemed to want to try and help him.

Something warm and caring in the dark eyes soothed his stark pain; and in a jarring flash of will to live he threw his arms around the strong neck and clung for dear life. The man's arms encircled him and drew him close, holding him protectively while he sobbed and trembled. The deep, rich, smooth voice said his name, and he knew that voice was familiar. He clung even harder, afraid to let go.

"It's okay Edward. You're all right. I'm here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." The sobbing tore into his heart far more than he would let on. This show of feeling was different. This was extreme sadness, fear, sorrow, regret, but not madness. Not like before.

"Edward. Ed. It's me, Ed. Look at me. Please." he gently tilted Ed's head up, still holding him securely with his other arm.

The shiny amber eyes, rimmed in red, flanked by the swollen cheek and blackened jaws, did something remarkable. They looked at Roy, and through the pain and fright they clicked in recognition. The pain seemed to pulse in them as he cried awkwardly through wired jaws, "Colonel!" and sobbed even harder.

"Yes, Ed, it's me. I'm here, and I've got you. I won't let go. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me and we'll work this out." Ed curled back into his chest, crying less frantically, seeming to take some comfort from the secure embrace. Roy rested his cheek on the bowed head, hoping this was the break in Ed's isolation that they had so long awaited.

Ed clung in confused desperation, afraid that if he let go his world would return to strangeness and he would be lost and alone again. When Mustang shifted and tried the settle him back on the bed he panicked and clawed, fighting to hang on. The larger man gave up, shifting over to the bed himself and easing the muscles cramped from supporting the slowly calming blond. Ed was relaxing into him, getting settled, breathing in his scent as he buried his face in the neck of Mustang's shirt.

Roy was determined to keep Ed from sliding back into insanity, uncharacteristically unconcerned with how this looked to anyone. He waited patiently, knowing in another hour Havoc would be here, and most likely Hawkeye would be by to check even sooner. If Ed recognized them now, they could take turns keeping him in the present as well. If not, well, Mustang would stay as long as he could.

Havoc couldn't believe his eyes, Mustang sleepily cradling Edward on the small cot, the younger man curled up and clinging to the shirt with a muscular arm holding him securely.

"S-sir?" Havoc said quietly. Mustang shifted, stiff, stretching a little while being mindful of Ed's composure.

"Ed," he said softly into the ear below his chin. "Have a look Ed, another friend of yours is here."

Ed jerked as his muscles clenched and the words put him on red alert, fearful and uncertain. His clutching hands dug into Mustangs chest, pinching painfully.

Mustang endured it. "Look here, Ed. See Jean?"

Ed's eyes flashed up under his bangs, reluctant and afraid.

He thought, from the glimpse, that it was a face that was not anything bad. He looked again, a second longer. Oh. That face. That Jean. He looked up again, met the gaze for a second, then two. The face smiled .

"Hey Boss, it's just me."

Ed's eyes held some recognition, but when Havoc held out a hand he tightened his hold on Mustang.

"You recognize Jean, don't you, Edward? You know who we are now, and you know who you are. Show me you understand, Ed. Nod if I'm right."

Ed slowly nodded, the act of communicating shooting his chest with terror and cracking his composure with tears and fresh trembling. Havoc's hand slowly smoothed his hair and Mustang let him fall back against his chest, patting his back.

"That was good, Ed, very good. Nice work. Stay with us. We want you back where you belong. You belong here with us, Edward. We've missed you. "

Neither man noticed Hawkeye at the doorway, brushing back her unmilitary tears at the heartbreaking scene and the implication that Ed was finally coming back to life. She turned and made for the ladies room, a hand over her mouth in reaction to the hope and sadness battling in her tightening windpipe.

The Colonel never ceased to amaze her.

Havoc wasn't able to take over for Mustang, but he was able to touch and talk to Ed as long as he was being held. It was Hawkeye that finally got the Colonel free when she returned, Ed seemed entranced by her voice as she spoke with uncharacteristic softness, and he held the hem of her jacket in respectful solemnity. Unless he'd had some secret crush on her, it seemed she probably reminded him of someone else.

Whatever the case, she was able to help him bathe and dress, drink his meals and prepare for the visit to the infirmary. He was cooperative and silent for the most part, and only panicked once when she bumped the tray in such close quarters and it made a loud noise when it fell. It took several minutes to coax him away from the storage closet, but to her relief he seemed to recognize her the whole time.

They removed the wires from his jaws during the trip to the infirmary. The mild anesthetic unexpectedly knocked him out cold, and after an hour they still could not awaken him. The hospital admitted him for observation.

They placed him in the same ward as his brother.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Al's body. Malnourished, weak, riddled with pneumonia and open sores, the body he reclaimed was not returned to him in top-notch condition. His condition was improving every day, though, strength and health building up over time.

Guilt was a factor now, too. In painful bits, the time missing from his memory was being filled in, returning in random order, with very little provided by the doctor. When the Colonel visited he would not comment, saying that it was best that Al remember on his own. Al knew a few more things, but not enough. He had been informed that Ed was alive, had been surviving without him for nearly a year, and that his brother had gone insane. He was unbearably afraid that Ed wouldn't know him.

But now it might be the only way to see Ed. Ed had experienced some improvement recently, and there was fear that the shock of seeing Al would throw him back into madness. Desperate to see his brother, to find some way to heal the wounds between them, Al grew stronger every day. He didn't recognize himself in the mirror, so how on earth would Ed, in his alleged battered state?

Al had been listening, paying attention, asking careful questions. He knew when Ed was placed here in the same ward. That he was under restricted access, and in a room secured so that he could not get out. There couldn't be many patients with those kinds of restrictions. Such a room should be easy to locate.

As soon as he was mobile enough Al waited for the evening shift to retire and for the skeleton crew that manned the graveyard shift to come on duty. At eleven-thirty, after the last pill and bed check, Al crept into the hallway, hospital-issue socks slipping silently down the cold linoleum hall.

The warning placard looked right. He stole a glance into the small observation window embedded with chicken wire - there he saw a tangled fall of blond hair, a metallic gleam at the foot of the bed where an automail toe poked from beneath the sheet.

Al sucked in a pained breath. I really did that, he thought, deeply regretting the validation of that particular memory. I did prevent him from restoring his limbs.

His hand shook as he thumbed the latch and slipped into the room. The thin form didn't move as he crept in, still unused to how easy it was to move in silence on soft fleshy feet. He moved closer, eyes burning with the need to see his brother breathing and alive.

It was a double-edged sword. Alive, breathing, sleeping in relative calm. Here, close by, in a safe secure room. It should have been such a heart-warming sight.

But the body screamed a different story with the evidence laid out all across it. Deep scars had rendered the body Al knew better than his own a total stranger. Even the handsome face was changed, jaws and chin striped with lines in the aftermath of deep gashes and the pale forehead blotched with purplish marks.

He saved me from that, Al anguished. I hated him for stopping me when we were heading for the gate, I didn't understand why he buried me…but this is what would have awaited me when we returned. I would not have survived it. I'm not sure I would have wanted to, if I had endured it.

He did exactly the right thing to get my body back. Hid me from his torturers, who would surely have stolen the stone. They probably tortured him to try and find out where I was. And he bore it. And then he maintained the last shreds of his sanity long enough to make good on his promise.

The figure on the bed made a small noise and shifted. Al leaned closer, and his heart stopped when the eyelids fluttered.

I should hide! But he didn't. It was selfish, it was wrong, but he so desperately wanted to see and be seen by Ed. He couldn't breathe when the eyes opened slowly and the rich amber orbs gave him a sleepy look.

"Hi," Al said, voice so hushed he doubted Ed heard it.

"Uhn," Ed grunted in return. His dry lips rubbed together and Al grabbed the water cup, bringing the bent straw in reach.

Ed sipped weakly and sagged back down flat on the bed. His eyes closed and his expression was relaxed.

Al reached out then and touched the flesh hand, patting at first and then holding tight. The sensation was overwhelming. How long since they held hands and ran through the fields near their house? How many years since Ed guided him through marketplace crowds with clasped hands so he wouldn't get lost? Since the last time they clutched at one another in the warm flesh and cried over the grave of their mother, before they lost their bodies and their home?

He knew his hand was warm, he'd been growing stronger every day. By comparison Ed's was so weak and cold, unresponsive. How the tables had turned.

He was about to let go and retreat when the eyes opened again and a gentle pressure grew in his palm.

The hand slipped down and captured a fold of his hospital gown; the thumb began rubbing the cloth.

A little more aware, the eyes searched his but looked disappointed. There was no recognition in them.

"Hey," Al said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Ed's lip trembled and he looked away, pulling his hand back. He wrapped his arms, flesh and metal, around himself and curled up reclusively on his side. His expression was nakedly sad and pained. For all that his expression and body language cried, he said nothing.

Al watched, torn. He had no idea if offering comfort to Ed would help, or if it would hurt him even more. He touched the thin shoulder and it flinched away, as if to repel him. Al stood silently and watched for a few more minutes.

"I'll come see you again when you're feeling better," the younger boy said finally and trudged to the door. Please feel better soon, Brother, he thought. He wasn't sure whether to wish the return of his memories or not.

He stepped into the hallway and cringed as he heard familiar voices. Al scurried down the hallway and slipped unnoticed into his room.

tbc