Author's note: Thank you to all the reviewers who took the time to leave kind and helpful reviews. It really does inspire me to keep writing!

Chapter 7

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x

Two girls sat gossiping in the crowded lecture hall, watching their classmates mill around before class started. "Ooh, who's that? He's cute." chirped one girl, pointing to a young man who'd just walked in with a briefcase and pile of papers. He began unloading everything onto the long table at the front of the room. He handed the papers to another young man, who began distributing them onto the desks.

"I don't know, maybe he's Professor Jorgenson's TA? Mmm, I wish I had hair like that. It's wasted on a boy."

"Not that wasted, he's pretty handsome. Wait, Jorgenson? I thought Tung was teaching this one?" The chatter continued until the clock tower bell struck nine o'clock and students began settling into their seats. The young blond man cleared his throat, and the students obligingly fell silent.

"Good morning. There's been a slight schedule change; if you're here for Professor Tung's class on Organic Composition, that's now being held in room 223." A brief clatter in the back signaled the departure of a misplaced student. "For the rest of you, welcome to Advanced Composite Arrays. Professor Jorgenson has decided to retire a semester early, so I'll be teaching this class. I'm Professor Elric," he turned to write his name on the board behind him, followed by dates and times. "You should all have a syllabus in front of you; my office hours are Monday and Wednesday afternoons between-."

"Excuse me, sir." A student shot his hand up in the front of the room.

Professor Elric turned around, looking a bit put out. "Yeah? Gotta question?"

"Are you Edward Elric?" A few students began whispering to their neighbors. Emboldened, the young man expanded, "The Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"No, I am not the Fullmetal Alchemist." There was a bite of sarcasm in his voice now, and the student began to sink into his seat, disheartened. "I don't go by that title since I retired." The boy shot back out of his chair, looking ridiculously thrilled. The whole room was taken up with loud whispering, and dozens of hands were in the air now. Those who had heard of the Fullmetal Alchemist were informing their more ignorant neighbors, and several of the girls (and a few of the boys) looked in danger of swooning.

Ed rubbed his face in exasperation. "Okay, quiet down." There was no noticeable diminishment of the noise level. He slammed his metal hand onto the oak of the lectern, and bellowed, "Quiet down!"

The room was instantly silent, except for a few nervous giggles. "I appreciate that this is the first day of class, and you're all very excited to be here, but we have a lot of stuff to get through. If you have any questions, either ask my assistant, Mr. Matthews," he indicated his rather mousy-looking TA, "or come find me during my office hours, which, as I was saying, are Monday and Wednesday afternoons between 1:30 and 2:30."

Though the whispering never completely died down, Ed was able to wrap up class without diverging too far off-topic. He assigned some heavy reading as homework and escaped to his office, dodging a few determined students. He collapsed into the beat-up armchair that occupied a good chunk of his office space, and buried his head in his hands. "Ugh. I am not cut out for this." he groaned to himself.

"Don't worry, it gets better." Ed looked up to see his department head leaning against the doorframe. Dr. Hanley was round, balding, and jovial, just a tweed jacket and pipe away from being the stereotypical university boffin.

"You do realize that I haven't gone to school myself since I was eleven, right?" The younger man gave a tilted grin to his new mentor.

Hanley shrugged, "Nobody expects geniuses to be normal. Especially not genius-prodigy-war heroes. We're just happy to have someone of your alchemical caliber here."

The former State Alchemist snorted. "Hardly a war hero. I was just a dog of the military, and I did what needed to be done. I made a hell of a lot of mistakes along the way, too."

"Son, that's what heroes are; people who did what needed to be done, even at great risk to themselves. I've been following your career ever since I heard about the child who was brilliant and foolhardy enough to pass the State exams. I know how much you've sacrificed for this country."

Ed shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to deal with this kind of praise. "I know people who sacrificed a damn lot more than I ever did, but they'll never be in the history books."

Hanley straightened, stepping away from the doorframe. "In any case, you're still the beloved young People's Alchemist; it'll help ease your transition. If you find yourself having any real troubles, my door is right down the hall." He smiled, his face easing into wrinkles formed by a lifetime of geniality. "You'll do fine." The older man wandered out into the hallway, humming to himself.

Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He checked the schedule that Matthews had helpfully written out for him, and saw that he was free until his afternoon office hours. The University had agreed to let him work a part-time teaching schedule, with the remainder of his salaried hours going towards research time. He rather felt as though he were being treated like a prize, though he appreciated the open schedule. With that in mind, he made for the University library and a long afternoon of hunting down Xerxian history.

x

Late that afternoon, exhausted from poring through the special reserved section of the library and a brutally overbooked office hour with his students, Ed staggered into his apartment and collapsed face-down on his couch. The University had offered to provide him with on-campus housing, but the young alchemist had chosen to put part of his military pension towards a loft studio in an old building a few blocks from the school.

Fifteen minutes later Al came in, fresh-faced and cheery from whatever he had decided to do all day; Ed mumbled a greeting into the cushion. "Are you okay? How was your first day?" Alphonse leaned over the back of the couch, smiling at his brother.

Ed flopped over onto his back, an arm over his eyes. "Fine, but I don't know if I can handle all these students."

Al frowned in concern, "Were they mean? Did they not listen to you? Just because you're a little young…"

Edward cut him off with a snort of ironic laughter. "No, totally the opposite. They act like I'm some kind of big-time celebrity. I had sixty students show up to my office hours today! I don't even teach all of them; a bunch were just people trying to get into my class."

His younger brother smiled. "That's great, though! That means they like you."

"Yeah, they like me so much they won't let me get a word in edgewise. I could barely get through class today because of all the stupid personal questions. Don't even get me started on the girls, they were the worst." He shuddered at the memory.

Al pulled a pillow from the end of the couch and hit him with it. "Oh, poor you, having girls swooning over you." He laughed at his brother's outraged expression.

"You don't understand! They kept asking me all these questions about what kind of music I like and what I do in my free time. And they kept touching me!"

At this Al broke down into full-on giggles, imagining his tough elder brother at the mercy of a bunch of pretty young co-eds. "Brother, you're nineteen! You're going to have to learn how to talk to girls eventually."

Ed sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I know how to talk to girls, Al. I talk to Winry, and Hawkeye, and Mei, and lots of other girls all the time. These girls, though… it was like watching a bunch of lionesses stalking their prey, and I'm the gazelle."

"So you're unhappy that they like you?"

"That's the problem! They don't like me, they don't even know me!"

The younger Elric's giggling quieted down, and he thought for a moment. "Well, you are pretty famous… and the newspapers used to print all kinds of things about how wonderful and brave you were back before the Promised Day…" Ed muttered something about how the journalists should've had a word with Mustang. "I guess they just like the idea of you. I bet that once you've been teaching a while, and they see what you're really like, they'll stop liking you so much."

Ed nodded, "Yeah, you're probably right… Wait, what do you mean by 'once they see what I'm really like?' Hey!" A brief wrestling match ensued, which Alphonse inevitably won. He used the tussle as a chance to secretly gauge his brother's health; even after two weeks of recuperation, Edward was still unsteady and a trifle pale. He did a good job of hiding it, but Al knew him well enough to see the uncertainty of movement, the hesitation upon standing. Alphonse had tried to bring it up several times, but each time Ed passed it off as residual effects of his imprisonment, effects he claimed were fading. What was unknown was whether Ed was getting better, or just better at concealing it.

As both boys lay panting on the living room rug, Al made a suggestion. "Let's go out to celebrate your first day of teaching!"

"Sounds like a plan, brother." The boys smiled and hauled themselves off the floor.

x

"What about that one? He's kind of cute in a nerdy-accountant sort of way."

"Nah, not my type."

"That one's pretty built."

"And also wasted. No thanks."

"Jeeze, you're picky. What about…. Ooh, there's a hot blond! Part of a matched set, too, mmm. Want me to take the short one?" The girl's nasal voice cut through the early-evening noise.

Al snickered into his beer as Ed glared over his shoulder at the loud, drunken girls at the table behind them. "Next time, we need to find a better bar. This one's full of dumb-ass college students."

"Aw, come on! They were checking us out. Or are you afraid Winry'll hear about it?" The younger Elric elbowed his fuming brother.

Ed blushed, but did not rise to the bait. Alphonse had been trying to get him to talk about his relationship with his winsome mechanic for days, but he was having none of it. Things were too… up in the air… to discuss it, at least until Winry was able to get away from Rush Valley. He decided to change topics. "I'm pretty sure they were checking you out, Al. You were the 'hot blond' and I was the 'short one' in that equation." The last few words were said through gritted teeth, though mercifully without the fury that would've accompanied them a few years earlier. "Which is totally unfair, because you're barely an inch taller than me now." He tossed back the dregs of his beer.

"Sure, Brother, whatever you say." Al smirked through his beer mug, his face belying his pacifying tone.

Edward slammed his empty glass onto the bar. "I'm gonna hit the john, you wanna order another round?" He threw some coins onto the counter and slid off his stool. Al was reaching for them when Ed staggered, seemed to briefly catch his balance against the back of his bar stool, then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Brother!" Al was instantly on his knees beside his prostrate brother, carefully flipping him onto his back and checking for any injuries; though Ed was white as a sheet and unconscious, he seemed otherwise unharmed. "Brother! Edward! Can you hear me?" There was no response. Al looked up frantically at the bartender, who was leaning over the counter to eye the young men warily. Alphonse ignored the crowd of curious onlookers and asked the publican to call a taxi right away.

"Taxi's not gonna want to drive you if he's throwing up." The man had obviously seen his fair share of drunken customers.

Al shook his head, "He's not drunk, he's only had one beer. Please, something's wrong."

The barkeeper caught the current of fear in the young man's voice, and took a closer look at Edward's pale face and limp body; he strode quickly to the phone and began punching in the number for a local taxi service. Al supported his unresponsive brother, mumbling unheard reassurances.

In the end, the bartender had to help drag Ed to the door and into the waiting cab. Al sat in the back with his brother's head in his lap, fretting all the way to the hospital. Once there, the orderlies wheeled Ed away for testing, and an admissions nurse interrogated Al about his brother's medical history. Once she sent him to the waiting room, he hunted down a phone.

The phone rang four times before it was picked up, and the voice on the other end was gravelly with fatigue. "Mustang."

"Oh, General, sir, I'm really sorry to be calling you this late, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Alphonse?" Roy looked at the clock; it was just past ten, well before his normal bedtime, but late for a personal call. He spoke more sharply into the phone, "What's wrong?"

"It's Brother. He's collapsed; I took him to the hospital, but they're not sure what's wrong with him, and he won't wake up." Al's voice was shaking.

"I'll be right there."

Fifteen minutes later found Mustang striding into the waiting room, trailed by Riza Hawkeye. Both were wearing casual clothes, though their military bearing was unmistakable. Roy spotted Alphonse hunched over in one of the chairs, blond head cradled in his hands.

"Alphonse."

The teenager looked up, a small measure of relief easing his features. "Sir, I'm so glad you're here." He spotted Riza, then gave the two a shy, considering look, obviously guessing that they had been together when he called. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, thank you for coming." Hawkeye smiled at him reassuringly.

Mustang got straight to the point. "What happened?"

"We were out at the pub down the block from our apartment, and Ed just lost his balance, and collapsed on the floor. I tried to wake him up, but he was completely passed out. He still hasn't woken up yet." The young man wrung his hands in worry.

"Are you sure he's not just drunk?" Riza's voice was gentle.

Al shook his head, "No, he'd only had one beer. He has work in the morning, so we didn't want to stay out late. He definitely didn't sound or act like he was drunk. He was just… normal."

"There was no warning, he didn't say anything about feeling sick?" Roy carefully stamped out any trace of fear from his own voice.

"No, nothing. But…" Al's voice trailed off, unsure.

"What is it?"

"He hasn't been the same since he came back from the East. He's been really pale, and not eating as much as he used to. I think he has trouble with his balance sometimes, too."

Roy and Riza shared a look over the boy's head; the symptoms sounded very familiar. "He didn't say anything about it?"

Alphonse shook his head. "I asked him if he was feeling okay, but he said that it was just some side-effects of what the kidnappers drugged him with, and that it was wearing off. He said the balance problems were because his leg was a bit messed up, and that Winry was going to come fix it as soon as things slowed down in Rush Valley." He ran his hands roughly through his hair, and when he spoke again there was a touch of self-loathing in his voice, "I'm so stupid! I knew something was wrong, I should've made him tell me. Stupid!" He looked up at them, desperation in his eyes. "What'll I do if he doesn't get better?"

Riza sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He's probably right, it's most likely just some residual effects of the drugs the kidnappers gave him. He just started a new job, so maybe the stress just made the symptoms a bit worse."

Al hunched over, wrapping his arms around his stomach and staring at the floor. "You don't know that." He whispered, "You can't assume that he'll just get better."

Mustang frowned; sure, some fear was normal for something like this, but Al seemed almost terrified. "Alphonse, what is it? What are you so afraid of?"

The boy looked up, a haunted look in his eyes. "Because I've seen it happen before. With Mom. She was fine, and then one day she just collapsed. She never got better, and after a month she… she…" He clamped his mouth shut, unable to continue. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice now a whisper, "They never figured out what was wrong with her. What if it's genetic? What if Ed has it?" His voice failed him completely, and he huddled, shivering and miserable in his chair. Riza stroked his head, a soothing, maternal gesture.

Mustang made a decision; he knelt down in front of Al, bringing himself into the boy's field of vision. "How much did Fullmetal tell you about the time he was kidnapped?"

Al looked up, confused. "Not a lot. He just said he went out to look at an archaeological site, and that while he was there the dig was attacked by bandits, who kidnapped him. He said the kidnappers gave him some drugs to keep him quiet, and beat him up a bit, but that other than that he was fine."

Roy frowned; it wasn't like Fullmetal to keep so much from his brother. "Did he tell you about the array he activated?"

"What array?" The boy's tone was bewildered now.

The older man sighed, moving to sit next to Al. "The archaeologists had discovered an ancient array carved into a stone column. It was Xerxian, but Fullmetal said that it didn't look like any transmutation circle he'd ever seen; something about it needing blood, the right blood, to activate it. The scientists tried, but nothing happened."

Al's eyes widened, his thoughts racing ahead of Roy. "Did it need to be Xerxian blood?"

"That's what Ed assumed. He snuck out late at night and used his own blood to activate the array."

The younger Elric groaned and covered his face with his hand. "Of course he did. Brother, you idiot." He sighed. "What did it transmute into?"

Mustang shook his head. "That's the thing, Ed said it didn't seem to do anything. It began glowing, and then he blacked out. When he woke up several hours later, everything looked the same. The only thing that was different was…" Mustang's voice hardened, as though to cover some other emotion. "Al, Ed can't transmute anymore. He's lost his alchemy."

Alphonse's head snapped up, his eyes searching the General's face. "Then does that mean… that Brother was the thing that was transmuted?"

Roy's mouth tightened into a thin line, unwilling to speak his thoughts. Hawkeye shifted next to him, the slight movement from the normally unflappable woman speaking volumes of her concern.

Al continued, speaking more to himself than to them, "But… that would be human transmutation, wouldn't it? There would have to have been a sacrifice, right?" His voice was wrought with fear.

Mustang gripped the boy's shoulder, trying to calm him. "Alphonse, we don't know that that's what it was. It might have just been a backlash from a failed transmutation; that array was hundreds of years old, and who knows if it was even diagrammed correctly in the first place. There's a good chance that Fullmetal will recover naturally. He's also been doing a lot of research at the University library to see if he can reverse the effects."

"He's known this for weeks… how could he not say anything? Why didn't he say anything?" Al's voice was shaky with fear and betrayal. He dashed tears from his eyes, anger beginning to take over. "Damn it, what was he thinking?"

Hawkeye rubbed his back soothingly, her rare maternal side showing. "He was probably trying to protect you. He didn't want you to worry."

Alphonse snorted. "No, he didn't want me to be mad. I'm going to kill him when he wakes up. Brother, you idiot!" It was almost shocking to see the normally gentle boy so angry, but Mustang shot a relieved look at Hawkeye; without realizing it, Al had gone from worrying that Ed wouldn't wake up to threatening his life when he did. Roy was of the firm opinion that anger was almost always better than fear. Anger spurred on action, while fear stifled it. Now if the target of his anger would just wake up…

x

Author's note: What was your favorite part in this chapter? What questions do you have that the story hasn't answered yet?

Also, I bought a house yesterday, so the next update might be a little slower or shorter. I promise, I'm still working on this, and the story will continue!