A/N: This chapter was fun to write- yay! I hope Ed was in character, let me know! Enjoy :) Oh, by the way, some profanity in this chapter. Please excuse the potty-mouths.

Edward sat next to the window, only half-watching the scenery as it passed. He was on a train bound for Risembool, where, after an agonizing thinking session, he had decided to spend his month-long forced leave. As rolling hills and grassy plains sped by and turned into blurs, the young alchemist's fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the windowsill.

Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

Ed let his mind go blank, completely absorbed in the little metallic sound. He just wanted to forget everything, if only for a little while- forget that he was a state alchemist, forget about Nicholas, forget that he was quite literally getting away with murder. What did those military officials know anyway- if they had been there when I killed him, Ed thought grimly, then they would have sentenced me to far worse than an extended vacation.

A grinding sort of vibration at Edward's feet broke his concentration. Throughout the compartment there were shouts of complaint and whispers of anxiety as the train slowed and then ground to a halt.

A raspy voice came over the intercom. "Hey there, folks, this is your conductor speaking. We uh, hit a bit of rough track a little ways back, and uh, it looks like we'll have to make some quick repairs before we get on our way. Please bear with us, we'll try to uh, get this done as soon as possible. Sorry for the inconvenience. Thanks." The intercom shut off with a loud clunk.

Ed sighed and settled himself down for a long wait. He knew from all his experience riding trains that repairs always took a lot longer than the conductor wanted him to believe. No sooner had he repositioned his aching rear end on the stiff wooden seat than a crash sounded from the back of the car.

Wearing black hoods and ugly smirks, two well-muscled men brandishing semi-automatic pistols stepped through the gaping hole they had made in the door.

"Well look-ee here, Ray," one said to the other as he grinned at the passengers. "We done got ourselves some richy-riches!"

"Heh, they look like they're a little tired. Ya think we should do what's proper, and ah, relieve them of their most expensive baggage?" Ray snickered at his own joke, but the other man looked at him quizzically. Ray sighed angrily. "Aw c'mon, Tristan, don't be a dumbass. It was a joke! It means we're gonna jack all their good shit!"

"Well, it's good to see that at least ONE of you knows his ass from his elbow." Ed was on his feet, scratching his cheek nonchalantly. "Ya know, you people really piss me off. How about getting a real job instead of setting yourself up for life in jail?" He shook his head. "It's a waste of time and effort, really."

Ray's face turned beet red. "You callin' us washouts, shorty?"

Now it was Ed's turn to change color. "SHORTY? WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL YOU CAN'T EVEN DISTINGUISH ME FROM A GRAIN OF SAND?" His chest heaved angrily as he and Ray stared each other down.

Finally Tristan clicked the safety off on his gun. " 'Nuff playtime! I'm bout ter get rich, and ain't no pipsqueak kid gonna stand in my way!" Leveling the pistol at Ed, he took aim and fired.

A loud ping echoed off the walls as a collective gasp ran through the audience of passengers. Ed stood with his right arm raised horizontally in front of him, over his heart. His sleeve was torn, and automail glinted through the gap in the fabric. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Whew, that was a close one," he muttered, before springing forward without warning and knocking the gun from Tristan's hands. It skittered across the wooden floor, and Tristan cried out with surprise as he was flung backwards into a seat. Ray growled and clumsily fired several shots in Ed's direction- it seemed that the pair had been relying on Tristan's skill with a firearm. Slug after slug buried themselves in the wall, the floor, the ceiling. Before Ray could take aim again Ed was there, his automail arm sailing through the air and connecting solidly with Ray's face.

There was a sickening crunch, and as Edward drew his hand back, droplets of blood made an arc between his knuckles and Ray's nose. The gunman fell to his knees, clutching his face.

"AUGHHH! You little brat! You'll get it fer this!"

Ed smirked, obviously enjoying himself. "Oh, really?" He clapped his hands together and placed them on the gun laying momentarily forgotten on the floor. Crackling blue light flooded the compartment. When it cleared, Ray let out a cry of surprise; the gun was now a block of iron bolted to the wood.

"Wh-what the hell? You're an alchemist?" Tristan had risen to his feet and picked up his own weapon. His face was contorted with anger. "Damn dog of the military… you people killed my little brother!" A guttural cry escaped his lips and he leapt forward, firing two rounds.

Ed's eyes widened as he realized the now-obvious fact that Tristan was Cretian. Ah, I see, he thought. The border dispute with Creta… his brother must have been an enemy soldier.

The next split-second found him clutching his automail arm as it shuddered and twitched, a bullet lodged in the joint. Jolts of pain ripped through his shoulder, bringing him down to one knee.

"Damn. Not so lucky that time," Ed growled, before launching himself at Tristan and pinning him to the floor, an arm behind his head. The gun flew out of the open door and out of sight while its owner flailed helplessly and spouted profanities. One swift hit, courtesy of Ed, to the back of Tristan's head sent him into unconsciousness.

The next moment, Ed was knocked sideways and slammed heavily into the wooden floor, Ray's meaty hands wrapped around his neck.

"Think you're gonna take us out that easy, punk?" Ray spat, his face still tinged scarlet. Panicked, Ed struggled, his one viable arm beating like a hummingbird's wings against Ray's grip. He couldn't breathe, and he was seeing spots, and this guy was gonna kill him and- WHACK! Ray crumpled to the floor, out cold, and behind him stood a very refined-looking gentleman holding a rather large cane aloft.

"Need a hand?" the man asked, extending his arm to the alchemist still sitting dumbfounded on the floor.

Still breathing heavily as he recovered from the attempt on his life, Ed looked up at his savior. The man wore expensive clothing and his graying hair was sleek against his skull. He was obviously very well off. Ed nodded gratefully and allowed the stranger to pull him up from the floor.

"Thanks."

"No, thank you. You're quite the handy fighter, and I appreciate your defense of myself and my family." He gestured to a middle-aged woman and two young boys sitting a few booths away. "We are in your debt. As a matter of fact…" As he spoke, the man drew a thin pocketbook from his jacket. "Please allow me to compensate you for your deed."

Ed was taken aback. "Oh no, sir. I can't take that, but thanks anyway-"

"Nonsense, of course you can."

"Seriously, no thanks. You just saved my life, I'm pretty sure we can call it even."

The man smiled and sighed, putting away his pocketbook as he did so. "I suppose I did. You are a good soul, sir."

Ed smiled sadly in return- accepting compliments felt treasonous. "Thanks."

I beat the system again, Ed thought without triumph. I should have died, but a random stranger saved me. If he'd known what I'd done… well, he probably wouldn't have interfered.

A/N: How'd I do with the fight scene? Haha I've never written one before! Reviews are love! :D