REALLY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: So you know that I'm a writer, but did you also know that I'm learning to draw too? Well, teaching myself. Point is, since I'm having a difficult time writing AND drawing, I decided it wasn't bad idea to combine the two. That being the decision, I have committed to doing one drawing for each of my fanfics. That includes this one. Please support me in this, and hopefully you'll enjoy this fanart project as well. (And yes, this means that all my old stories get fanart as well. Be on the look out! More details on my profile.)

My DA: dantemorose. deviantart (. com)/ ? rnrd =217983

Fanart for ch. 3 of "Again - Delay": dantemorose. deviantart (. com)/ art/ Too-Little-Too-Late- 684672183

Remedy: something that corrects or counteracts

"I can't do this again."

"You don't have to."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He had no idea what he was committing to.

Ed's finger contracted on the trigger.

Wait.

"Again."

"EDWARD!"

BANG!

.

.

.

Truth didn't say anything as Ed strode back through the Gate.

Colonel Roy Mustang could count on one hand the number of times he'd felt genuine concern for his subordinates. He had hand-picked each of them, and not only because they worked well as a team. In their own ways, they could take care of themselves without babysitting, and overall, they were low-maintenance, which was good since he required an unsightly amount of caretaking himself. (Not that anyone but Hawkeye did anything about it.)

So when Mustang opened his eyes to find himself once again sitting at his desk with a foggy memory of getting there, he was surprised by the inexorable rush of urgency he felt. Every beat of his heart, every breath he took, even the pounding headache in his temple – it was all consumed by one thought.

Help Edward.

With what, he didn't know, but the rush was demanding, and Mustang didn't question it for a second.

The last time he had, Hughes had ended up dead.

Mustang picked up the phone and dialed for the front desk at the dorms.

"Hello? This is Colonel Mustang. I need you to send a message to room 2B. Yes, tell him to report to my office immediately."

"Colonel, you just called them," Hawkeye noted.

Mustang glanced up. Hawkeye had stopped cleaning her gun and was looking at him with a concerned puzzlement.

He did? He didn't remember doing that.

"Yes, that's all. Thank you." Mustang replaced the phone in its cradle and gave Hawkeye a look. One that he hoped would pass as a normal smile of confidence for him. Not one of balling worry and agitation. At the opposite end of the room, the door opened. With the ever smug expression still pasted on, he turned.

Standing in the doorway like a ghost from a horror novel was Edward Elric, and the sight of him made Mustang's gut turn to ash.

He had been right to worry. Ed was walking – WALKING – a speed unknown to him. Ed sauntered or ran, limped or dashed. He was a fiery ball of courageous defiance, with shoulders square and eyes on the end goal.

Mustang stared, mind grinding in overdrive trying to figure out what and why this nightmare was happening. Ed stood in front of his desk, utterly broken. There was only one other time in his life that he'd held that hopelessness in his eyes. Mustang had talked fire into him that time. No amount of words would fix this junk pile of scrapped emotion standing here now.

Mustang wanted to fix this. Needed to, but he couldn't think of anything to say. It was like his own functionality had been stripped away, leaving him bare of rational decision. It was frustrating, and it only made his headache pulse louder.

"I need to talk to you."

Had Edward said that? His lips shaped the words, but the tone was eerie.

"Privately. It can't wait."

Mustang didn't disagree. Something was very wrong with this picture. He led them into his inner office and took a seat in his chair. Ed opted to stand, shifting from foot to foot with his gaze darting everywhere but Mustang's eyes.

"What do you need to discuss, Fullmetal?"

Mustang waited, and Ed told him. Explained everything. And for some reason Mustang's mind wandered to the image of a phone booth, with Ed slumped on the ground in one corner pounding his fist into the pavement again and again and again. And something greater stirred in his memory. Something much darker than he wanted to remember. But he had to ask. Wanted to be sure.

"So how do you die?"

Ed told him, and with his words, sealed his fate.

"You kill me."

… … … …

In his realm of white, Truth watched. It was most certainly not chewing nonexistent fingernails. No, Mustang was not getting this close to joining the loop by association. And why would anyone even think of accusing Truth of being worried?

It knew everything would all work out fine. It was Truth after all. But just like knowing the end score of a game, the replay was still intense.

Truth silently gnawed off the long fingernails of Ed's right arm; and in the distant fog of white, Al's body shook his head and wondered if Ed would figure everything out in time to save them both.

-Dante