"And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't tell them to grow up and out of it"

- "Changes" by David Bowie

Chapter Four

"- and that's how she got away."

Ed stared at his hands on the table, clenched around each other, as he finished speaking. He was rather proud that he'd managed to keep his teeth from chattering during the whole tiring speech. His automail ports were aching from the cold again. The sitting room window had only been fixed about twenty minutes ago. The frigid winter air had chilled the house so that all four men could see their breath as they sat in Mustang's kitchen, despite the roaring blazes Hughes had built in both the fireplace in the sitting room and the potbellied kitchen stove.

No one was saying anything. The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the stove and the metallic plinking of Al adjusting himself nervously next to him. Ed's head was feeling better for the silence, even if he did feel rather floaty. He wasn't sure which was more at fault for that, the blood loss or the painkillers Al and Havoc had insisted he take.

"So…" Mustang began at last in that careful, distant tone that meant he was not at all showing what he really thought. He was sitting across the table from Ed and Al, fingers steepled. "You're certain she was related to the attacker from last night."

Ed nodded sharply once, biting back a sarcastic remark.

"You realize what you're describing here is highly unorthodox," Mustang said.

"Well fucking duh, Colonel," Ed snapped, hunching his shoulders.

Havoc snorted into his coffee mug. Mustang shot him a quelling look.

"Do either of you boys have any theories on what this… woman might be?" Hughes broke in.

Ed glanced at him, then back down at the table. It was so obvious. It just couldn't be true. He shook his head.

"Not a clue," Al added, and Ed could feel his brother's gaze on him.

"I dunno, it seems pretty simple to me. Haven't you ever read Dracula, boss?"

Ed snapped his head up to glare at Havoc. "Don't be stupid. Vampires are nothing more than fairy tales meant to scare children and weak-minded fools."

"That fairy tale just took a chunk out of you," Mustang remarked dryly. Ed turned his glare on the man who was watching him with hooded eyes.

"Don't tell me you believe that some kind of… vampire cult is the reason for all the missing people," Ed said in shock. Out of all of them, he'd thought a fellow alchemist like Mustang would be the hardest one to convince that Ed wasn't going insane.

The Colonel shook his head. "Fullmetal – "

"Now wait," Hughes interrupted, holding up a hand of his own. "Perhaps we shouldn't dismiss that possibility so quickly."

Every head at the table turned to stare at him. He blanched and scratched the back of his head nervously.

"What I mean is, this case has all the earmarks of a supposed vampire attack. These things have increased strength and speed, and they drink human blood through their fangs. I find it hard to rationalize that away. Even supposing they were some kind of human and animal hybrid chimera, what kind of animal could they be combined with to gain those characteristics? Not even vampire bats have those qualities," he explained.

"You're forgetting something, Hughes," Mustang broke in, sounding as he himself had just remembered it as well. "This girl attacked Ed during the day. Vampires are supposed to burn up in sunlight."

There was a pause as everyone digested this fact. There was something niggling in the back of Ed's mind, some detail that he'd forgotten to mention. When it hit him, his right hand slammed down on the table hard enough to make all the men jump and stare at him.

"She was wearing sunglasses," he explained tensely. "I thought they were part of her disguise, to hide her weird eyes. But maybe they were more than that."

"Sunglasses, eh? Too bad you didn't ask if they had ultra-violet protection," Hughes mused.

"I don't have to ask. They fell off in the fight," he explained, moving to stand up. "They should still be in the other room."

Al clamped a giant hand down on his automail shoulder and forced him back down in his seat. "Somebody else can look for them. You should keep resting."

Ed looked up rebelliously into his brother's metal face, but the rant about independence died at the worry he saw in Al's glowing eyes. He grudgingly relaxed. Mustang shot a glance at Havoc, who sighed and got up. Grumbling about grunt work, he left the kitchen to search.

"It's not much of a clue, but it's a start. If we find those glasses, we can start checking all the opticians around the city for the maker, maybe get the name of the buyer," Hughes said.

"It's the only clue we've got," Mustang said, shaking his head. "I don't like the looks of this. Not one bit."

"You'll like it less when you hear my next suggestion," Hughes replied.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Ed asked, a smirk beginning to play on his lips. Anything that made the Colonel uncomfortable was fine by him.

Hughes took a breath and plunged in. "You should hole up in a hotel somewhere."

"Come again?" Ed asked after a beat.

"Look, these people – things, whatever, know where to find you. They know you're military thanks to that article in the paper, so if they can't find you here, they'll look for you on base. They also know that this is the Colonel's house, and they could be planning on coming back for him, too. The way I see it, this place is too risky to stay in until we get things sorted out," Hughes explained, grinning as if it would lighten the blow.

Ed would have been at more a position to laugh at the Colonel's slack-jawed shock had he not been horrified as well. He thought he heard a tinny snigger from Al's direction, but his brother, his own flesh and blood, wouldn't betray him like that. To make sure, he stomped on Al's foot. For all the good that would do.

"No way!" he shouted, pointing accusatorily at Mustang. "We're not going to some – some run-down shack of a hotel with that."

"For once we agree, Fullmetal," Mustang said, recovering his composure enough to fix his friend with an impressive glare.

"Tough. You'll just have to cope," Hughes said. "After all, it's only for a few days. I have faith that the two of you can learn to cope." His smile turned to a full-on grin as he went on, "Besides, this way, Mustang will be able to make sure this doesn't happen again. Right, heroic Flame Alchemist?"

Mustang glared and commented with acid calm, "That's the idea, isn't it, Hughes?"

"Like hell," Ed argued a bitter taste in his mouth. "Al and I did just fine by ourselves today. We don't need Mustang to baby-sit us."

Hughes and the Colonel exchanged a lightning-quick glance that gave Ed pause. He was just about to demand to know what that was all about when Al shifted nervously.

"Uh, Lieutenant," Al piped up uncertainly. "You said the two of them. What about me?"

Ed's head snapped up to look at his brother, then at the other two at the table. He replayed the conversation, and sure enough, Hughes had carefully not mentioned that it was supposed to be three of them at the hotel. And it was supposed to be three. Not just he and Mustang, of course not, that was just insanity.

"Well, the point of them getting out of here is so they can be incognito," Hughes said. Gently, he continued. "No offense intended, Al, but the fact is you aren't the most easily disguised individual."

"They'll be after him, too!" Ed objected, finally realizing that Hughes was insane. "That woman saw him, too, you know."

Hughes held up a hand, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Ed, but he would attract too much of the wrong kind of attention in a public setting."

"But I want to help Brother find out what these things are, and who's going to make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble –"

"Whaddaya mean, wrong kind of attention? As long as we're together, we can keep each other safe –"

"Fullmetal, Alphonse," Mustang's stern voice cut through the simultaneous objections. "Hughes is right. They know what he looks like. Two people fitting our description checking into a hotel is a coincidence, but two people and a suit of armor is a red flag they'd be idiots not to notice. The less we advertise our presence, the safer we'll all be."

"So… so where am I supposed to go?" Al asked, his voice quivering a bit.

"I'll take you to stay at Schezka's place. No one would suspect her, and she'll be glad of the chance to pay you guys back for getting her a job," Hughes said with a placating smile. "Plus, I'm sure she'd love to get out of work to take you to the library to work with Ed."

"If that's the case, why can't I stay with Schezka, too?" Ed demanded.

"I'd like to say you could, but this is too dangerous," Hughes replied earnestly. "It seems it's either you or Roy these… people are after. The woman mentioned both of you by name. And it's going to be risky for Schezka to have just Al around, but if you were there as well, the chance of something happening would increase dramatically. Please, Ed, try to understand."

"No! Find a new plan, because there's no way I'm abandoning Al –"

"Brother," Al said quietly, and Ed stopped short at the defeated note in his voice. "It's all right. They're right."

"Al…" Ed tried to form a logical argument to trump Hughes's, but it wasn't working. Especially when all he could think about was how helpless he'd been that afternoon – not all that long ago, to be honest – before Al had come back. His own peace of mind was not something likely to sway the older officers' calculations, and he certainly wasn't going to admit such a telling weakness in front of Mustang.

"I know you're upset, Ed, but this is the best way," Hughes said at last, not unkindly. "You and Al will both be safe, and you can still work together on this. And as for staying with the Colonel, you've been under Roy's roof for almost a full day already and you haven't killed each other yet."

"But is it really such a wise idea to press our luck?" Mustang asked wryly. "And anyway, I have a date tomorrow night. I suppose if we got separate rooms -"

"You are not bringing your women to the hotel!" Ed seethed, all too happy to have some kind of outlet for the impotent anger that filled him at having to part ways with Al. Even if the reasons for it made sense, and the fact they did only made him angrier because there was nothing he could do about it.

"Women?" Mustang raised an eyebrow. "As in more than one? Well, I'm flattered that you think I'm man enough, but I generally go about these things one at a time," he finished with a smirk.

"You're disgusting," Ed accused to cover the blush he felt rising in his cheeks thanks to the man's deliberate misinterpretation.

"And you're short. We all have these little failings," the Colonel retorted easily.

"What did you just say!"

As the argument escalated, Al stood to head for the hills. He called over his shoulder, "I'll… just go pack Brother's things, then."

"Quiet, both of you," Hughes commanded. "Cancel your date, Roy. And quit baiting Ed. We have more important things to worry about right now."

Ed swallowed the diatribe that was still fighting to burst free, and slumped heavily against the back of the chair. He winced, mentally cursing himself for forgetting the state of his back, and leaned forward over the table again. He glanced up just in time to catch Mustang's eyes for a split second before they slid to Hughes. He frowned. Certainly Mustang didn't just look… guilty. He put it down to too many blows to the head.

"I guess we'll go to the hotel," he grudgingly muttered, ignoring the facts that Al had already decided for them and there hadn't really been much of a choice to begin with. "But it has to be one near the First Branch. I don't care how much you guys seem to think that these things are supernatural, there are no such things as vampires. I'm going to find a way to fucking prove it to you."

Even as he said it, he felt doubt digging into his mind like fangs. He had a sinking feeling this was the start of something big. Something ominous and threatening in more than just the physical sense. And he didn't like his absolute belief in alchemy and science shaken like this. He couldn't let it be shaken. These things had to be explained by alchemy, or the world really didn't make any kind of sense or follow any kind of law at all.

He shivered. No. He wouldn't even think like that. He couldn't afford to. He swallowed hard, feeling the ache in the wound on his throat beneath the bandages.

"All right," Hughes said. "Any preferences on your part, Roy?"

The Colonel shook his head. He looked distant, as if he was disinterested with the entire conversation now, and that just made Ed want to snarl at him some more.

"Then I'll make your reservations. Ed… Why don't you clean yourself up a bit?" Hughes finished with a tactful nod at Ed's still-bloody braid.

"Right," Ed agreed tightly, and he braced his hands on the table to stand. He was glad he did, because sitting still while the medication had worked its way into his system left him unprepared for the wave of light-headedness that came with the movement. He swayed and clutched at the table.

"Ed, are you all right?" Hughes asked. Both he and Mustang had half-stood, either to go about their business or to catch –

Definitely to go about their business. Ed gritted his teeth against the dizziness.

"I'm fine. It's not like this is the worst that ever happened to me," he growled, and slowly released his grip on the table. Dammit, he hated being doped up, especially when he needed to be sharp.

"Well, I'm going to go pack some things for the week," Mustang said airily, stretching upright at last. "Hurry up, Fullmetal. You'll have to fix the floor before we leave."

Ed sneered through the suddenly much more obvious fuzziness in his head and swaggered – not staggered, he wanted to make that clear – to the door, brushing past Mustang as the man paused with a mocking gesture for him to go ahead. The bastard was smirking again. Leave it to Mustang to reduce both of them to bickering even when their neat little scientific world had just been turned on its ear.

He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling as if his legs were made of some kind of noodle. The Colonel clomped along behind him, and Ed noted with irritation that despite Mustang's impatient words, he was being perfectly quiet about Ed's pace. This was followed by the sudden conclusion that perhaps Mustang was following him on purpose, and Ed's temper flared hot and clear.

He didn't need Mustang of all people looking over his shoulder making sure he didn't pass out on the stairs. It wasn't as if the man even gave two shits about him beyond what he could do for his precious reputation. He saw Ed as a commodity, an asset, practically property. And then unbidden memories entered into Ed's mind: how Mustang had invited him over last night, the tea, the lack of smart remarks this morning, how quickly he had arrived after Al had called Hughes, and that odd look he'd caught in Mustang's eyes just minutes before. Not to mention how he'd basically opened the doors of his home to Ed and Al.

Anger, suspicion, and vague guilt swirled inside Ed, fusing into a confused, tense lump somewhere in his solar plexus. Dammit, why did the Colonel have to pick today to be multi-faceted? Knowing him, he had planned it just to aggravate Ed that much more.

This really wasn't helping the dizziness at all, either. Ed's hand on the banister was white-knuckled as he half-stepped, half-dragged himself up the last stair. Why the hell was he so fucking woozy, anyway? He'd taken the dosage recommended on the prescription…. But then, that dose hadn't taken into account the shortage of blood in his veins, and that meant the medication was more concentrated in what was left of his bloodstream.

So it only made sense when the hand on the banister went just a hair too limp and he listed sideways. His vision was tunneling, and there was a rushing sound in his ears. It wasn't the first time he'd fainted in his life, but he was not going to faint, not here, not now. He threw an arm out to brace himself for the collision with the floor or the wall -

Only to find his left hand pressed to Mustang's chest through his uniform coat as the Colonel grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling. Ed took it as a sign of how out of it he was when he didn't raise his right hand to punch the asshole in the face. Instead, he let himself be steadied, not that he really could do much else in this state. He fought to retain consciousness, trying to focus on something, anything to avoid the worse than death fate of fainting in Roy Mustang's arms. Shit, he wouldn't be able to look himself in the eye.

"-llmetal. Edward. Breathe," Mustang was saying, voice sounding as if it was filtering through cotton.

"'M breathin'," Ed mumbled thickly, and tried doing that more.

"What's going on? Brother!" Al exclaimed, and Ed heard him rattle hurriedly out from the guest room. "Brother, are you all right?"

That question was really starting to grate on his nerves, but he couldn't even manage to glare right now so he tried just nodding. The darkness in his eyes started to fade after a few moments, and he found himself peering into Mustang's face from a much closer distance than he was used to. There was a tight look about the man's eyes and mouth, but when he saw Ed blink at him, the lines relaxed in a flash of something that might have been mistaken for relief. It was gone in a second, regardless, and Ed was positive he was imagining things again.

"Can you stand?" Mustang asked in a calm, low tone.

Mustang's eyes were very close. Ed had never really paid much attention before, but they were very dark, more so in the dimness of the hallway. They seemed to go on forever, and Ed almost thought he was passing out again, like he was drowning.

It was at this point that Ed's mind and motor skills both decided he'd had enough.

Jerkily, awkwardly, he shoved himself out of Mustang's grip and found himself tilting again. This time, Al's familiar oversized hands caught his arms and held him upright. The chill in the air was all the colder because he could feel the absence of a warmth he hadn't even registered until it was gone.

"I'm fine," Ed said, but he sounded out of it even to his own ears.

"I can see that," the Colonel said in a tone that implied just the opposite. "Alphonse. Get him cleaned up."

"No, I don't need –"

"Yes, Colonel," Alphonse spoke over Ed's objections, and when the hands on his shoulders began to tug him towards the bathroom, he had little choice but to follow. Mustang stood in the hallway, his expression inscrutable as he watched until Al closed the door behind them.

As soon as he heard the door latch shut, Ed sagged with such rapidity that Al gave a little wordless cry and caught him roughly in his haste. The jarring movement drew a wheezing near-whimper from Ed. More gently, Al pulled him to the bathtub and leaned him down against the porcelain.

"Brother," Al said, his tone a mix of consternation and concern. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard."

"Fucking drugs," Ed grunted roughly when he could. The swimming in his head was only getting worse. "I hate being doped up, I hate it, hate it, hate it."

"Isn't it better than being in pain, though?" Al asked as he began to shuck his brother's black jacket and undershirt.

"Depends on who y' ask," Ed said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and words were getting harder to form.

"Brother… Are you mad at me? For agreeing with them about going to Schezka's?"

"…No, Al. Not mad, but… I just don't know what I woulda done. Today. If ya di'n't show up when ya did," Ed admitted in voice so low it was almost a whisper. He felt Al's large fingers undoing his braid, heard the crunching of the dried blood matted there. He shuddered, goosebumps peppering his exposed skin.

"But you'll have the Colonel with you," his little brother reminded him. "I know you don't like him, but he wouldn't let something bad happen to you, you know."

"Huh. Saysssyou," Ed slurred. His eyes felt really heavy, like they'd been transmuted to lead when he hadn't been paying attention.

"It's stupid to keep hating him at this point, don't you think? You're wasting a lot of energy on it." Al cranked the bath's tap on. "You'll have to tell me if it's too hot or too cold, okay?"

"Ah.. uh-huh."

"And honestly… I don't know if you saw it because you were too busy shouting, but he is really worried about us. About you. You'll have to trust him sometime."

The water was too warm for it to be really comfortable when Al leaned him further back to start washing his hair, but he found it soothing when the rest of him was aching and numb and cold all over. Even if the position was uncomfortable, Ed felt himself relax even more as Al's hands massaged his scalp firmly.

"'Snot that I don' trust 'im," Ed heard himself say but it was hard to tell if it really was his mouth that was moving. "Smirkin' bastard jus' getssson m' nerves. Can't figure him out. Dunno why he does th' things he does."

"It's simple isn't it? He cares about us."

Al's voice seemed to be coming from a down a long, echoing hallway. Ed couldn't help a sarcastic smile at that even as his eyes finally drifted fully closed and stayed that way.

"'M holdin' my breath f'r th' Valentine," was the last thing he remembered saying.

---------------------------------------

Slim, gloved fingers folded themselves over a copy of the evening edition news that had Colonel Mustang's self-satisfied picture smiling on the front page. The thin, regal man sat correctly in his elegant chair at the dinner table. The silverware and china on the table were gleamingly immaculate, unsoiled by food. He was a man raised properly, after all, and even if he no longer needed such vulgar nutrients as steak or asparagus, the niceties must be preserved. At least he still had use for his heirloom crystal snifters.

His spectacles had been set aside when the sun set, so there was no barrier between his displeased gaze and Mercy's despairing one as she stood miserably at the far end of the long dinner table. Neitherworth stood at what passed for attention to him near the door, picking his teeth with a knife and watching with mild interest.

"You have failed me, my dear. I thought you of all my children would be more than enough to deal with an uncouth lout of a child, but I have overestimated you. It will not happen again," he said, mild regret dripping from every word.

"No, sir, it will not," Mercy replied, dropping her eyes submissively even as a tremor ran visibly through her.

"Or perhaps I have underestimated this brat-alchemist. His amazing deeds have traveled far and wide for a reason, after all, though I suspect the tales have grown taller in the process," he said, a wintry smile gracing his features.

"Sir?"

"Fear not, my dear. I will see to your punishment myself," he reassured her. The tremor became more pronounced. "Neitherworth."

"Yessir?" came the answering rumble.

"Go to the Mustang house. They may try to flee, and I do not want to lose their scent. Bring me news of what you find, but under no circumstances are you to be seen. It is time for a gentleman to step in, little as I like to dirty my hands." He curled his lip slightly at that, and just a hint of fang showed between his slender lips.

"Yessir. Anythin' else y' need me to do?" Neitherworth grunted, sheathing his weapon somewhere in the inside folds of his non-descript grey trenchcoat.

"No," the thin man said with a stern warning glance. "Subtlety, my dears. That is what is lacking from this situation. An all-out attack this soon would be foolish now that their guard is up. If we cannot bring Fullmetal to us by force, we must lure him. To do that, we need some time to know our enemy, as it were. Every man has a weak point, and Fullmetal shall reveal his in time."

"Yessir," Neitherworth agreed in the bored tone he got every time he did not understand his master's orders, but followed them anyway. "I'll just leave now, shall I?"

"If you would be so kind," he replied, so polite that it had to be mocking.

"I'll call on the telly-phone if'n I find somethin'," Neitherworth called over his shoulder as he exited at a good clip.

The thin man relaxed his hands, staring at the picture of the Colonel, a hint of an ironic smile around his mouth. It was a pity the man was so beautiful and not in his possession. Perhaps something could be arranged.

"Sir," Mercy spoke, low and uncertain.

"I do not recall giving you permission to speak," he responded icily.

"With the utmost respect, sir, there is something more I need to tell you," she said.

He looked up, eyes narrowing. Mercy was not looking at him, still staring meekly at the fine Xingian rug.

"Why did you not mention this earlier?"

"It is something that I felt deserved discretion, sir," she said.

He raised a refined eyebrow. "Do explain, child."

Mercy hazarded a fleeting glance at his face, and then spoke. He listened to her recite an encounter with an unknown man, and he felt his mouth actually water when she described the sheer amount of power this creature possessed. When she finished, she looked up to gauge his reaction. He carefully kept his face blank. After all, the help always gossiped more than any of the ladies in Society.

"I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said into the pause. He picked up his brandy snifter and swirled the dark red liquid in it thoughtfully.

"It is my pleasure to be of service, sir," Mercy replied quietly.

"Hm. In light of this new information, I will be too busy this evening to punish you properly. You may consider yourself lucky, my dear. However, you are to refrain from visiting the city until further notice, and no sneaking in a bite on the sly. My home is not your personal buffet," he admonished.

"Of course not, sir."

He waved a hand vaguely. "You are excused. I must have solitude while I digest."

"Thank you, sir." Mercy bowed low, and crept out of the room.

A sip at his glass helped sooth his stirring emotions, and he licked his lips almost daintily, savoring the taste.

So, what the first half of the tablet had referred to obliquely was true. There were more perfect forms to be attained. Perhaps this enigmatic youth would be able to further advise him on how to achieve such flawlessness, though from Mercy's report the creature had nothing but contempt for them all. Besides, there was no way to trace the creature back to its lair, or its master. Unless he popped up again, they would just have to bide their time.

Although, this did give him a tingle of danger. After all, the creature did seem to know their weaknesses, the flaws in their design. He'd tried his hardest to rectify those with modifications of his own – for example, the resistance to sunlight had been due to his ingenuity. Though, with Mercy on probation, it might be prudent to lighten Kerwin's sentence as well. For all that Neitherworth was a man of many talents, he could not be everywhere at once. They would need all the numbers they could get.

But once he had the stone, none of this would matter. A creeping smile wreathed his face, which he propped on his fisted hand, and he chuckled to himself. True immortality was at hand, and then he would prove his superiority to all these military fools, with not an iota of refinement to their brutish names.

It was in his blood, after all.

---------------------------------------

Roy scrubbed his face tiredly as he sat in one of the two semi-comfortable cushioned chairs beside the small table in the hotel room. The phone sat on the table near the wall, and he wearily picked up the receiver. While Hughes and Havoc had their orders to fill Hawkeye in, he knew he would be in for it if he didn't muster the will to at least apologize for skipping out on the better half of the day.

But first, there was something else he had to attend to. The phone in his hand began making an irate buzzing sound that let him know it had been left off the hook too long. He started minutely, then reached over and hit the cradle to regain a dial tone. He dialed and listened to the rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi there," Roy purred in his best purring tone, the one he saved for occasions when he wanted to avoid being on the receiving end of a hysterical rant.

"Roy, baby. It's good to hear from you. I read the paper today. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Not a scratch on me. Were you worried?"

"Only a lot, you big jerk. You could have called sooner."

"Sorry, but duty calls."

"I suppose I'll let you make it up to me tomorrow night," came the answering purr.

Roy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "About that… I'm not going to be able to make it."

"Oh. I see." A long sigh. "Well, I guess I understand this time what with the attack and everything. But you're going to make it up to me, right?"

"We'll see how everything goes. I'm going to be swamped for a long time by this, I think. The police may still want my help, and I've got a lot of paperwork to sort through because of it all," Roy embellished shamelessly. "I'll call you when I have a minute to breathe."

"…Did you just give me the 'don't call me, I'll call you' speech?"

"Jared, be reasonable. You know how busy my work keeps me –"

"Oh, no, you don't get to pull that on me. That's three times in a row you've cancelled on me. If you don't want to see me, just say so already."

Roy frowned deeply, sinking in his chair a bit and pressing the fingers of his free hand to his forehead. He was not in the mood to deal with this now. "If you're going to pick a fight, then I don't want to see you."

"You asshole! How could you –"

Roy hung up the phone abruptly and leaned forward in his chair.

"That… could have gone better," he muttered. He already regretted it a little. Jared had been one of his better male lovers, very discreet, very passionate, and very attractive. Oh well, the way his life was shaping up these days, he'd be lucky to have some 'me' time in the shower. And how awkward would that be, knowing his youngest subordinate was sleeping only feet away?

A slight rustle made him look up. Edward, having passed out an hour before at the townhouse, was sleeping like the dead in the farthest of the two double beds, sprawled ungainly across the top of the comforter. He had not roused when they carried him into the car, nor when they moved him into the hotel, nor even when Al tried to wake him to say goodbye.

Havoc sheepishly admitted he should have checked the warning label on the prescription – sure enough, it warned in bold letters 'May Cause Drowsiness.' Roy just shook his head at the quack that had assigned such a medication to someone with a concussion who should be woken constantly. Roy frowned worriedly. Fullmetal had taken a number of knocks today on top of the damage of last night and it was all coupled with the blood loss and medication. He fervently hoped that Edward did not fall into a coma while he slept.

Speaking of which, it was something of a novelty to see Edward this quiet. In the dim light of the table lamp, he seemed robbed of his usual irrepressible energy and drive. His hair was still damp from the wash Alphonse had given it, unbound and fanning and tangling against the white pillows. His face was relaxed as it never was when he was awake, and he looked… less young than Roy had expected him to.

A little unnerved, he peered closely. Yes, indeed. It seemed Edward was finally starting to outgrow his childishly round face, the cheekbones and chin becoming more pronounced and refined. He was turning out to be more elegant of feature than Mustang had anticipated. His mouth was open slightly as he snored faintly, and the pink tip of a tongue darted out to wet slightly chapped lips. Roy couldn't help the way his glance lingered there for a second too long.

He looked away, thoroughly unnerved at this point. He had not just wondered if Fullmetal, of all people, had ever been kissed. And even if he had, it was merely an absent thought, idle curiosity. So what if Edward was outgrowing his childlike comeliness and into a striking adulthood? It would take a blind man not to notice, and Roy was not blind.

Not by a long shot.

He realized his eyes had slid back over to Edward and he tore them away again.

Good God, he must be more shaken up by all this vampire nonsense than he thought. It wasn't like he was… attracted to Fullmetal. That notion was so inappropriate as to be ridiculous. Besides, when he felt the need to walk the other side of the street, he was much more careful about it than his womanizing. The only people in his command who knew he played for both teams, as it were, were Hughes and Hawkeye, and they only knew out of necessity - if they were going to support him to the top, they had to be made aware of what could possibly be used against him, after all. Somehow he didn't think it'd fit their ideas of prudence if he seduced Edward to his bed. Which he was not at all considering in the first place.

Fullmetal chose that moment to make some kind of sharp, exclamatory noise and twitch onto his side. Roy jumped, and he stared at Edward, who was now facing him and still fast asleep. His eyebrows were drawn together and his teeth gritted together. He made another gasping sound, and Roy decided that Edward was probably not going to fall into a coma because as far as he knew, coma patients didn't have nightmares.

"Nnno," Fullmetal murmured, voice soft and blurred by sleep.

Roy sighed again and stood. He didn't know if Edward would be dreaming about today or one of the many horrifying sights he'd seen in his short lifetime, but he did know that he himself was not going to listen to it. For one, it would be hard to get to sleep if the other occupant of the room was groaning and thrashing around, and secondly Roy felt that Edward had had a rough enough day today without adding nightmares into the mix.

He walked around his bed and came to stand beside Fullmetal. He reached out a hand and closed it carefully on the flesh shoulder, shaking it gently.

"Edward, wake up."

---------------------------------------

Ed was falling, falling, falling. It was dark here, black as pitch, blacker than that, and the lack of focal points made him dizzy. He wasn't so much worried about the falling as he was about the landing, because landings hurt. Someone was with him in the darkness. He could hear them rustling behind him, and when he spun to see who it was, they were already behind him.

As he whirled yet again, they pounced. One hand trapped both of his and held him pinned to a wall he hadn't even known was there, and he wasn't falling anymore. He felt the press of a body against him, curvaceous and feminine and cold as a corpse, and he gave a strangled cry. She was back, and she was breathing her blood-soaked breath against his neck, whispering things to him that sounded like alchemical formulas set to the melodies of nursery rhymes.

He felt the scrape of her fangs along his neck and he cried out again, and then he was falling again and -

Someone caught him. Someone warm. The darkness was not so dark, and Ed realized his eyes were closed. He opened them.

He was standing in Mustang's bathroom, half-naked, and Mustang had him pulled flush against him. Ed did not find this unwelcome, exactly, but when he looked up into Mustang's face, he surged back.

Mustang's eyes were not black, not dark at all, and seemed to glow with the intensity of the fiery colors in his irises. He smirked toothily down at Ed, not releasing his hold and his arms were like steel bands. Ed was bending backwards over his arms, shoving with both hands.

"Now, now, Ed. Take your medicine like a man," he was saying as one gloved hand moved from around Ed's middle and reached for the bandages around his neck. They'd partly unraveled, and Mustang grabbed the hanging trail, pulling on it. Ed choked as he was drawn back up and nearer, nearer.

"N-no, stop it, stop it, don't, don't," Ed heard himself babbling even as he felt Mustang's warm breath caress his cheek, and all he could think of was the pain that was coming, the deep, bleeding wound he'd be left with and then -

Mustang kissed him, and something inside him exploded.

It seemed there were a thousand different feelings flooding through him, and he couldn't concentrate on any of them. Shock, fear, panic, confusion, anger, and more disturbing was the rightness, the desire, the incomprehensible urge to break down and cry – they overloaded his senses. He hung in that moment, both hands fisted in Mustang's uniform, frozen in the act of pushing him away.

"Edward, wake up."

Ed wondered how Mustang could talk while doing this. Well, the man was a certified playboy, maybe it came with practice.

"Wake up. You're dreaming," Mustang said.

Ed was confused. Someone was shaking him

"Fullmetal, wake up now," came the command from the Colonel.

Awareness came back at that, and Ed cried out as he sat up, gasping for breath as if he'd run a marathon. His eyes shrank from the light, and he covered his face.

A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Ed would later swear that he did not shriek. He did jerk away and scrabble to the other side of the bed in the blink of an eye. He glanced around the unfamiliar room frantically, feeling disoriented until his eyes settled on Mustang, who was wearing casual civvies and had a bemused expression on his face. It took all of his self-control to manage not to blush when their eyes met. He had to play it cool. There was no way the man could know what he'd just woken Ed up from, and Ed intended to keep it that way. There would be time to freak out tohimself later.

"What the hell? Where are we? What happened?" Ed demanded.

"You passed out from your meds while Alphonse was cleaning you up," Mustang explained, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "We tried to wake you up, but you were dead to the world. So, we moved you into the hotel."

"What hotel?"

"The hotel we were talking about going to before."

"No, really? I completely forgot about that," Ed sneered into the calming tone that seemed patronizing to him. "What hotel? Where are we?"

"Ah. It's called the Sweet Dream Inn; it's about three blocks from the First Branch," Mustang told him.

Ed couldn't help a snort of derisive laughter. "Sweet dreams, huh? Don't think much of their gimmick."

"No, I suppose not," Mustang agreed, something akin to humor sparking in his eyes which Ed couldn't help but check – they were black. Human.

But he most certainly did not let his gaze drop to Mustang's lips before he looked away. He had a feeling his postponed freak out was going to be a doozey.

Ed felt the lingering adrenaline from the dream begin to fade and he released his breath in a huffing sigh. He reached a hand up to run through his hair, which was not braided and a bit damp underneath. He scowled when his fingers snagged fast. Knots. His hair was full of knots. It'd take an hour to comb this out.

"And Al? Is he at Schezka's?"

"Yes. Hughes left her number for you if you'd like to call him."

Ed shook his head. He would wait until Mustang was out or in the shower or something, because knowing Al he'd find some way to pester the whole of this nightmare from him and fuck if he was letting Mustang hear that.

"Where's my bag? I need my fucking hairbrush," Ed said instead.

Mustang gave him a considering look and seemed about to say something. Ed narrowed his eyes at him, and Mustang closed his mouth. Good. Like hell he'd talk about something as personal as his nightmares with the Colonel, especially this particular one. As if the man needed more ammunition.

Mustang nodded his head at the corner of the room. "Your bag is over there, as well as some things Hughes picked up on the way. He said to remind you that we're incognito, and that means you shouldn't wear such recognizable things."

Ed stood carefully, remembering the dizziness the last time he'd done so. His head was pounding but not swimming, and he didn't feel nearly as floaty as he had before. Thank god for his quick recovery time. With a confident bounce in his step, he crossed over to the bags, rummaging through them in the search for his hairbrush. It took a while to dig through all the new things, which he decided he would look at more closely in the morning, but eventually he found the brush and retreated to the bathroom.

When he exited a few minutes later, feeling much better for his neat braid, Mustang was accepting a tray of food at the door. Ed's belly rumbled at the smell of it, and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, which seemed a million hours ago. He stared ravenously at the covered plates on the tray as Mustang carried it to the table.

"Well, don't just stand there," the man said lightly. "Dinner's not going to eat itself."

Ed didn't need any urging. He flung himself into the chair Mustang had not claimed and picked up his chopsticks. The crack they made as they separated was very satisfying. Mustang ate sedately while Ed devoured his food, barely even registering what it was.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Mustang said mildly.

"Shut up, I'm hungry."

"Can you even taste that?"

"It's better not to. Inn food is too chancy," Ed said through a mouthful of… some kind of meat. He washed it down with a gulp from the cup next to his plate, and then gagged. He glared into the cup, then at Mustang. "Milk? You bastard, you could have warned me."

"But then you wouldn't have drunk it," Mustang replied with a smirk.

"Asshole."

"Between your calcium deficiency and your recklessness, it's a miracle you don't break your bones more often," he mused, taking a bite of the chicken on his plate.

"I'm just that good," Ed retorted.

"Hm," Mustang said and continued eating.

Ed glared for a minute before doing the same at a more sedate pace. The silence in the room was not exactly companionable. It seemed more… awkward. Ed shoved some non-descript vegetables around on his plate. The tail end of his dream was threatening to pop back into his mind's eye at any moment. Given the choice between that and making conversation, Ed would choose the latter, but he had no idea what to talk about with the Colonel. Women? Pump him for information on the philosopher's stone? Pick a fight? They were good at that, but small talk was another kettle of fish entirely.

Fortunately, Mustang solved the problem for him.

"I overheard you and Alphonse this morning. I've been wondering all day what could be so interesting you two felt the need to debate it at seven in the morning," the Colonel said, the tilt of his head a question.

Ed blinked. This morning? It seemed farther away than even lunch. He frowned as he tried to remember what Mustang was talking about.

"Oh, that. We were talking about the transmutation of mercury into lead, and Al thought you could use the extended format Grundhauser Method's describes for a better effect…" he trailed off, a little self-consciously. "It's nothing important, really. Not even that interesting."

"That's where you're wrong, Fullmetal," Mustang said with a quirk of his lips. "It's been a while since I got to talk shop for the sake of it. Do go on."

Ed averted his eyes and told his face that if it blushed he'd beat it in himself. He was not thinking about how Mustang wasn't smirking at him, but smiling instead. And honestly, it was just a smile, nothing special about it. At all. Luckily, Ed's mouth had an autopilot for alchemic jargon, and it had carried on talking without his help.

To his surprise, the conversation went easily enough after that, and Mustang, while he was admittedly out of his area of expertise, had some good points to make. Soon Ed found himself wrapped in debate with the Colonel and actually enjoying it. The small part of him not obsessed with alchemy took time to be suitably shocked.

TBC