Chapter Five: Beating Black and Blue

…you can't say much about today,

Just that dark cloud coming back your way

And that your dreams are all worn thin

Cyndi Lauper, "Set Your Heart Free"

Edward was starting to wish Second Lieutenant Ross hadn't left Alphonse's room. Maybe with her here, this conversation wouldn't have fallen into a shit storm. He'd asked Mustang to come here to talk to Alphonse about the Philosopher's Stone, again. Instead, Mustang was trying to convince them to leave Central. Again.

"There's no way, bastard." Not until this was settled. Not until Alphonse was well enough to walk out of the hospital on his own. Not until he knew the bastard and his men were safe.

Mustang laced his fingers together, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. "I need to know your answer, Fullmetal. I must know if you're going to accept that discharge."

"The hell?" Edward snapped, leaping out of his chair, making it scrape across the linoleum floor.

On his bed, Alphonse winced, hunching his shoulders. "Brother. Not so loud."

He waved an apologetic hand at Alphonse, but didn't turn his attention away from Mustang. "What I do with my life is not what I asked you here to talk about."

Mustang narrowed his sightless eyes, somehow turning them unerringly at him. "This hospital isn't safe for you any longer, Edward. Neither of you. And you know it. Archer is gunning for the State Alchemists. Just because you weren't in Ishbal doesn't mean he won't come after you. You have a following, Edward, and the citizens, for the most part, adore you." His eyebrows twitched. "No accounting for taste, I suppose." Ignoring Edward's snarl, Mustang went on. "That doesn't mean their goodwill will keep you safe."

"I'm not worried about my safety, bastard." Edward paced along the mint-green plastered wall.

"Then worry about Alphonse's." Mustang pointed at him – well, close enough to be scary, at least. Even without Hawkeye's direction, he could still pinpoint Edward. Probably the sound of his mismatched tread. Automail didn't really sneak well. "These are dangerous times we're living in, Edward."

He stopped pacing to sneer. "Don't you mean 'dying in'?"

"Call it what you will." Mustang didn't rise to the bait. "I'd rather you retain your life." He turned in Alphonse's direction. "Both of you. Or would you prefer leaving your brother alone?"

"Shut the fuck up, bastard!" Edward punched the wall to keep from hitting Mustang, grinding his jaw when the pain exploded in his knuckles and down to his wrist. Hospital plaster sucked.

The door opened with a squeal, and Edward turned, expecting to see Hawkeye, with the way she always appeared when Mustang was in danger of getting his face punched off. Instead, he saw a blonde he hadn't been expecting, with Ross right behind her. Jaw dropping, he squeaked out, "Winry?"

"Winry!" Alphonse breathed out, but Edward didn't dare glance at his brother, not with the threat of a pissed-off mechanic entering the room.

"Edward," she rapped out, her eyes narrowing. "Why haven't you called me to tell me you needed a new arm?"

"I – I – I," Edward stuttered.

"I think I should leave now," Mustang said, smirking and getting to his feet. "Second Lieutenant Ross, would you please escort me back to my room?" He reached out his hand to her.

"Gladly, sir," Ross said, and she caught Mustang's hand, putting it into the crook of her arm to lead him out of the room.

Edward hated that they scooted out with huge smiles on their faces, leaving him to his fate. Fuck. "How the hell did you even get here?"

"And with Paninya?" Alphonse wanted to know as she came through the door, smiling at them both and waving.

Winry looked away from Edward then, tell-tale drops running down her cheeks. "Al." She dropped her suitcase and her toolkit with a clatter, leaping across the room to wrap her arms around him. "Oh, Alphonse." He hugged her back with those damned spindly arms, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. "I'm so happy to see you," she sobbed, "to see the real you, Al."

"I'm glad to see you, too, Winry." Alphonse pulled back a little bit to wipe his eyes. Edward had to turn his head and clear his throat. "Don't cry," Alphonse said, touching Winry's cheek. "Please."

She laughed brokenly, catching his hand and squeezing it. "Happy tears are okay, remember?"

Swallowing hard, Edward grumbled, "That still doesn't explain why you're here, Winry. With that little thief." He jerked his chin at Paninya, narrowing his eyes at her.

Paninya paid him no attention. Setting a pair of suitcases on the floor, she hopped into the bed with Alphonse. "Al! My goodness, you're so cute!" She slung her arm over his shoulders, giving him a cuddle as Winry slid off the bed, facing Edward. "We have to fatten you up, but still!"

"The nurses are trying," Alphonse assured her, snuggling closer. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in Risembool, and when I found out Winry was coming to see you, I had to tag along. I've never seen Central!"

"Really? Why were you in Risembool?" Alphonse asked.

"Well," Paninya sighed. "That's really Winry's story to tell."

Edward ignored Paninya and Alphonse, focusing on Winry. "Why are you here?"

She took a deep breath, and Edward wished he hadn't looked so closely at her. Dark circles ringed her reddened eyes. "Ed," she brushed a hand over her face. "Maybe we should…" She tilted her head toward the door.

"Don't worry about us, we can take care of ourselves, right, Al?" Paninya asked.

He leaned into her, asking in a mock-whisper, "Does that mean we're gonna let Winry yell at Ed without us watching?"

"It depends." Paninya shrugged without dislodging Alphonse. "I mean, if they go somewhere else, they can have some privacy so they can fight and make up."

"You know, they never actually make up," Alphonse told her.

Edward asked Winry through gritted teeth, "Would you like to step out into the hall?"

Her mouth tightened and she nodded jerkily, walking out ahead of him. Edward couldn't help but look at her ass, and the way the ends of her hair brushed against it, then he forced his eyes up. What the hell was she wearing, anyway? He couldn't remember this much black in her clothes before. His gaze lingered at her waist and the flare of her hips, and he had to swallow again, for another reason entirely.

As the door closed, Winry spun around to face him, and Edward yanked his gaze up to meet hers. Fine lines bracketed her down-turned, trembling mouth. This wasn't all about Alphonse, nor him, it couldn't be. "Winry," he said, reaching out to her. "What is it? Why did you come here? You knew…we'd be coming back, right?"

Her hands fisted and opened again as she hiccupped, "Granny's dead, Ed! Den, too. They didn't wake up after," she twirled a finger in the air. "We tried to bring Granny back, and nothing worked, Ed. She's gone. I buried them both, and I couldn't…I tried to reach you! I called and called and," Winry put her hands over her face. "I tried," she whispered. "I wanted you guys there, for – for Granny, but I couldn't get through."

The two steps to reach her seemed to take as long to cross as the whole country, but Edward made it. He laid his hand on the crown of her head, sliding it down to pull her against him. "Winry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know." He buried his face against her shoulder. "You shouldn't have been alone for that." Pain swelled in his chest, keeping him from saying anything else. He held her tightly to make up for it.

Winry shivered and her hands came up to clutch at his sides. Her tears soaked into his hospital shirt. Edward rocked her slowly, trying not to think on how horrible it had to have been, alone at Pinako's gravesite. He'd failed her, again. "I'm sorry," he grated out. "We should've…I should've been there." If he'd listened to Mustang, maybe Alphonse and he would've been there for her. He should've called. He should've done so many things differently. "I'm so sorry, Winry!"

She cried against him, not the great, racking sobs when she'd found out Scar was the man who'd killed her parents; no, these were almost silent. His heart splintered inside of him, aching for the loss of the old woman who'd done her best to raise him. How had Winry dealt with it by herself? That little thief had been there, and he hadn't – how backwards was that? Edward rubbed her back and nuzzled her temple. "Winry…"

"I know." She let go of him, pushing back to wipe her eyes. "I'm b-breaking our promise."

Edward fished in his pocket, finding a napkin left over from his lunch. He used the cloth to wipe her eyes. "You didn't, Winry. I did – I could've called you, but." He kept stroking his thumb over her damp cheek. Her skin was so soft. He sighed. "Everything's all fucked up, Winry, I'm sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect – Al healed, and the country safe."

"That's why I'm here, Ed." Winry caught his hand, like she'd taken hold of Alphonse's, but squeezing it tight. "Your Dad."

"What about him?" He couldn't help but bridle at the mention of Hohenheim.

"He's…he's dead, too, Ed. He came to the cemetery after Granny's funeral." Winry sniffled and took the napkin, wiping her nose with it. "He…he's the one who told me to come to Central. To get you and Al, and to leave Central City." She frowned up at him, the cloth still pressed to her nose.

Something cold curled in Edward's stomach. He had to think past it. He couldn't let himself react right now. "What, him, too?" Edward growled, turning away from Winry, throwing his hand in the air. Hiding his eyes from her, so she wouldn't know how he felt. "Mustang's telling me the same thing – to get out of Central. But Al's too weak." He couldn't say anything about the Stone, not to Winry.

Winry wadded the napkin in her hands, glancing back toward the elevator. Toward the two soldiers watching them. She turned back, licking her lips. "Your dad meant it, Ed, he said it wasn't safe. Not for any of us."

Edward rubbed his chin, scowling. Both the bastards thought it was bad. And Hawkeye, too. He'd believe her, but the other two – okay, Mustang was truthful up to a point, but he had his own agendas. This time, whatever he was doing could lead to his own death. Edward'd read the papers, about how it was lucky that so many State Alchemists had died (been killed by Scar, Edward had amended to himself while reading), so it would save the Amestrian people the trial costs. Hohenheim sending Winry here, to Central City, well, it meant he thought something bad was going to happen, too. His bastard father knew the best way to get his attention was through Winry, but Edward hated to think that both Hohenheim and Mustang might be right.

"Ed?"

"Sorry, Winry." Sighing, Edward ran his hand over his hair. "I guess we need to talk to Al."

"Yeah." Winry mustered a smile that turned into an annoyed grimace. "And I need to install your arm."

Edward gnashed his teeth at her. "I lost it saving the country, just like you told me to do!"

Winry punched him in the chest. "You idiot!" she said, and Edward quailed back. Were those more tears in her eyes?

"Why am I an idiot now?" he snapped. Anger, that was better than tears, it had to be, right?

"Because you." She sniffed again.

Damn it, those were tears. "Winry, please." Edward half-raised his hand, not even sure what he was going to do.

"Because you did it, Ed, you got Al's body back, a-and you saved the country." Winry blotted her eyes.

Edward's heart sank right down into his stomach. Fuck, that hurt. "Yeah, but I had help. That stupid prince, and that shit colonel, and even my bastard father. And Al, and the little bean girl. Ran Fan, too." He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time looking at Winry. "I didn't do it all alone."

"But you did it." Her reddened eyes shone, and Edward gulped. Winry was so pretty, even with her face all blotchy from crying. Why hadn't he ever realized it? No, maybe he had, he'd just – shoved it aside, because he couldn't think about that sort of thing, not until Alphonse had his body back. He has it now. She smiled tremulously. "Thanks, Ed."

He managed to get out a gruff, "You're welcome." Edward realized the soldiers were paying a hell of a lot more attention to them than he wanted. He squinted, not recognizing them. Scowling, he turned back to Winry. Her fingers laced together. Dressed all in black, she wore mourning clothes. How the hell hadn't he noticed, aside from the way the fabric hugged her curves? The silence between them stretched like taffy, and Edward wasn't sure what to do. Should he smile, or hug her again? "Uh."

"I guess we should tell Al."

For a split second, Edward felt relief that Winry said something, then he realized they'd have to actually explain to Alphonse about the old hag, Den, and Hohenheim. "Yeah." He couldn't help himself, though; he ruffled her hair, letting his hand slip down to her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Winry put her arm around his waist, just like she had up in Briggs, and leaned against him. Stupid as it was, it seemed like his heart lightened a little bit. "Yeah," he repeated, mentally preparing himself for how his brother might react to this news. "Let's go talk to Al."

X X X

"Here we are, sir," Ross said, leading Roy off the elevator, "your floor, and your room is just a few doors down." She lightly patted his fingers, tucked into the crook of her elbow.

"Thank you, Second Lieutenant." Roy caught a familiar scent in the air, and hid his smile. "Ah, First Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Sir." He wondered if she wore her uniform, and took a subtle, deeper inhalation. No hint of wool in the air, so she was in civilian clothing. He wondered if she wore a dress and mentally mourned the loss of his sight – Riza Hawkeye's legs were a glorious thing to behold. "I was wondering if you would like to go on a trip around the park next door."

Roy squeezed Ross's elbow. "Thank you, Second Lieutenant, that will be all."

"Sir," Ross said, and Roy had no doubt she saluted.

He saluted back, listening to the whisk of her uniform as she walked away. Cocking his head, he held out his hand. "Well, Lieutenant? I'm all yours."

She took his hand, guiding it to her elbow. "I'm sure you're enjoying this, a chance to get closer to all the women."

Roy smirked. "Why, Lieutenant, you wound me." He started walking with her, their steps in sync. Military training. He could hear the elevator shifting and whining in its tube and knew Hawkeye was leading him there. "It will be nice to get outside." Behind them, he heard someone trailing, not a doctor, not with those cadenced steps. Breda? Brosch? Or someone else? He'd heard strange voices outside his room this morning, and Brosch had told him there were new soldiers at the end of the hall, 'to keep order'. He wondered if Alphonse's floor also had guards. Edward hadn't mentioned them, nor had Ross. He'd have to ask. Guards would make everything more difficult.

"I thought you could do with a little sun." Hawkeye broke into his thoughts. "You're paler than normal, sir."

"Ouch."

They stopped in front of the elevator, and Roy heard it approach; its whine and ringing bell announcing its arrival. The doors opened with a whoosh; a faint, foul odor preceding their entry. "Ready?" Hawkeye asked.

He nodded, and they walked into the lift car. It shuddered, and Roy heard Hawkeye touch the button to take them to the ground floor. "Isn't my guard coming with us?" The car jolted, then started down. Roy swallowed.

"I thought you would appreciate a walk without an audience," she said, "so Breda and Ross decided to detain them." As he digested this thought, Hawkeye admitted, "I don't like elevators, either."

"I don't like losing control of my descent rate," Roy admitted.

"You don't like losing any control."

Roy tightened his mouth almost imperceptibly, hearing the soft rush of Hawkeye's exhalation – the only amusement she'd allow herself to show at this point. "You're right," he finally said in agreement.

"Don't expect to get it back any time soon," Hawkeye warned him as the elevator stopped with another jerk, the doors sliding open.

This floor was definitely noisier, and held a scent of fresher air. Roy tipped his chin up slightly, listening to the general hubbub and intercom announcements that let him know they'd reached the ground floor. He squeezed Hawkeye's elbow as she stepped off the elevator, leading him along with her. "It's crowded," she said.

"I can hear." He wrinkled his nose at the smell. Some of the people could use a bath. The fresher air kept the odors moving, something of a relief. The sudden thrum of tension in Hawkeye's elbow alerted him. Roy asked softly, barely moving his mouth, "How many soldiers are in the lobby?"

"Three," was Hawkeye's prompt response.

"I see." Roy tightened his jaw, thinking how much easier this would all be, if Grumman hadn't died. With him out of the way, and Frank Archer not being part of Bradley's inner circle, the major general was one of the few higher-ranked officers not in prison or hospitalized at the end of the Promised Day. He'd been made Fuhrer pro tempore of Amestris. Why wouldn't he want to keep control of that power?

"Doors," Hawkeye warned him, and guided him to push his way through the rotating doors. They stepped out into the afternoon sun. Roy turned his face toward the warmth, taking a deep breath. An unfamiliar smile spread across his face. He could taste the humidity in the air. It must've rained a few hours back, a light, spring rain. Cars running along the streets splashed through puddles, and Roy heard someone curse, knowing the man had to have been spattered by a passing vehicle. The grainy smell of horse droppings caught his attention, and he wondered who'd made a delivery in this district.

Hawkeye said, "We have to cross the street. I'll warn you when we reach the curb."

"I would hope so," Roy told her. How long they'd be out here? How long it would be before his guards broke free of Breda and Ross, to come looking for him? "Were you aware that Fullmetal's mechanic is in town?"

"Winry's here?" Hawkeye didn't hesitate, but her voice changed slightly, as if she'd glanced at him when she asked her question.

"Yes. And for some reason, she was very upset with him losing his arm."

"She puts a great deal of care into the automail she creates."

Roy turned his head as if he could read Hawkeye's expression. "You seem to know a great deal about it, Lieutenant. Have you been in contact with Miss Rockbell?"

"I've only met her twice, sir, but she left an impression on me. She's very dedicated to the Elric brothers."

"And they, her." Roy remembered the meeting they'd had with Fuhrer Bradley, before the Promised Day. The implied violence in Edward's reaction to Miss Rockbell's being made a hostage spoke volumes about his feelings toward her. At the time, Roy had thought Edward needed to learn to control his emotions, but that wasn't Edward's way. He felt, intensely, and everyone knew what he was feeling. Particularly when he was annoyed with someone.

"Curb, sir."

They stepped down and onto the street, and Hawkeye advised him when they had to step up again. The smell of green, growing things tickled Roy's nose, making him sneeze. "Have our friends rejoined us yet?"

"Coming out of the hospital doors now," Hawkeye said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I daresay they'll be busy, though."

The squeal of tires and a horrible, crashing sound made Roy turn automatically. "What happened?"

"Someone lost control of her car," Hawkeye said. "Don't worry, Rachel won't have been hurt, and she didn't hit anyone. But the soldiers will be distracted."

Rachel was one of the attractive young women employed by Madam Christmas. "By a lovely woman in distress." Another smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Roy let Hawkeye lead him deeper into the park.

They marched quickly along the path, until Hawkeye said, "Sir, precede straight ahead twenty paces. There is a park bench, and someone waiting to meet with you."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He released her elbow and began walking, wondering just who would have taken such elaborate precautions. When he touched the bench back, he felt the flaking paint, the dampness of the wood from the rain, and, then, a shoulder. "Good afternoon."

"Mustang," Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong said, in her low, velvet-rough voice. "Remove your hand unless you want to lose it."

"You wound me," he said, grinning.

"I'd rather stab you with my sword." She moved out from under his fingers and stood. Roy didn't hear the tell-tale rattle of that saber, and wondered if she could actually be in civilian clothing. Damn it, this loss of sight couldn't have come at a worse time. "But, as I know those guards of yours aren't going to give us much time, I thought I should let you know that my brother will be taking care of the Elrics."

"Good." Edward trusted Strongarm, and probably wouldn't give him too much grief. And the sheer mass of the man would make the guards hesitate, giving the Elrics a chance to get out of the hospital without much trouble. At least, that's what Roy hoped. "Anything else?"

"Oh. Yes." Armstrong slammed something into his chest, making him gasp. "Alex Louis thought you needed flowers."

Roy coughed, grasping the pot of what smelled like freesia. "Tell him thanks," he managed to spit out.

"If I remember." She stood up. "I suppose I should tell you thank you, Mustang. You have helped clear my way to the Fuhrer's seat."

"I didn't do it for you." Setting the pot on the bench next to him, Roy didn't bother hiding the pain in his chest. "I did it to protect the people of Amestris."

Armstrong made no response to that; instead, she went off on a slightly different tack. "You know, you could have disappeared, you and your entire team. Alex Louis would have helped you vanish. And I know about your aunt, and her abilities to transport items across this country and into others. There is a tunnel that surrounds Amestris, and you know how effective it is, to hide not just people, but entire troops." Roy heard a rustle of fabric, and guessed she folded her arms. "So, the question becomes, why are you not taking advantage of any of these choices?"

"Sometimes, running away isn't an option." Roy tilted his head up toward her. "Besides, you'd find me even more distasteful if I cut and run, even if I did it to save my men." Smirking, he added, "And I don't want to be any more distasteful to you than I already am, Olivier."

The bark of a laugh let him know he'd struck close. "I suppose you're right, Mustang, though I hate to think you'd do this just to try and impress me." She lowered her voice. "You're simply not my type at all."

"You have no idea how disappointing that is to me, Olivier. I'm wounded." Roy clutched at his chest, wincing for real at the spot she'd hit with the potted plant. He got to his feet. "I don't suppose you could lead me back to Hawkeye."

"I'm not your guide dog, Mustang," Armstrong snorted. "Stay here, and she'll come find you. Maybe. Or, if not her, your little friends. That little display of leg and crumpled metal won't keep them distracted for long."

"You are a cruel woman, Olivier."

"I am not a dreamer. I am practical." Roy could feel her looking down on him. "You and my brother, even Fullmetal, you're all romantics. That's what's going to get you killed."

X X X

The tall hedges around the park provided an excellent shade, and Kimblee took advantage of it, settling onto a bench backed up nearly against the yew. Soon, he knew he'd need to enter the hospital, or leave the area; his bladder already protested the too-sweet cold drink he'd had from the vendor earlier.

Birds pecked around on the sidewalk nearby; mourning doves and robins, taking Kimblee back to his childhood and how he'd entertained himself with such small animals. He'd been an inquisitive child, very intrigued by the way things worked, and that included the mechanics of muscle and bone, not to mention how creatures reacted to certain kinds of stimuli. Over time, he'd learned he could make people react by simply using words – a fascinating discovery, and one he employed as often as he could. Kimblee supposed that as part of the reason he'd sided with the homunculi – it wasn't just the thought there would be a brand new world if they'd won the battle, but their reactions, or at least Envy's, were so very extreme.

Kimblee sighed through his nose. There were definitely times when he missed Envy, and the company the homunculus offered. Envy's shape-changing abilities would have been helpful at this point. Pride had been amusing, in its own way, but not as direct in its hatred of humans as Envy had been, and, its childlike appearance aside, it didn't enjoy playing the games Envy did. Kimblee wondered what might have happened had he met Envy earlier in his life. Now, he, himself, was the only one left of that group, and only because Pride had swallowed him. Its lack of control once reduced to an embryonic state by Edward Elric surprised Kimblee. He thought Pride would've fought harder to keep its life. Instead, its body remained behind, some remnants of its Philosopher's Stone fueling both it and Kimblee's lifeforce, but Kimblee discovered his own force of will was far stronger than Pride's – despite the creature's name.

A movement at the doorway caught his eye, and Kimblee glanced that way, tucking himself back deeper into the shadows when he realized Hawkeye and Mustang were exiting the hospital's rotating doors. The soldiers at the entrance moved to intercept them, but, with impeccable timing, a car appeared around the corner of the building, revving down the street as if the driver had lost control of the machine. The tires squealed as the car swerved, leaping the curb, and crashing into the hospital wall.

Kimblee smirked to himself as the soldiers hesitated a second, then turned to investigate the car and the lovely blond woman within it. Flame and his adjutant walked toward the park, just a few meters away. Kimblee hoped his signature white suit didn't attract Hawkeye's attention. Then again, being as close as he was to a hospital, maybe he'd be mistaken for a doctor.

As it was, she seemed far more solicitous of Mustang than watching her surroundings, making sure he crossed the street promptly, but with care, too. As Hawkeye led Mustang deeper into the park, Kimblee took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of leaking petrol, the stink of hospital's furnace, the faint, sweet smell of green, growing things. Kimblee tapped his fingers on the bench, and made his decision.

Before he could actually rise to his feet, he spotted something that he hadn't expected. "Strongarm?" What reason did he have to visit the hospital? Frowning, Kimblee got up, heading to the nearest telephone booth. He thought he could convince Archer to send a few extra soldiers to handle the alchemists, or at least, make a show of handling them. When he got through today, Kimblee planned on at least one of them being dead.