A/N: Warning! Torture, non-consensual sex acts, flashbacks.


Is it ever gonna be enough?

It had been years since anyone from his order had visited the shrine and for good reasons too; the journey was long and arduous even in the temperate summer months. It took a young, capable body to be able to scale the Stair, a winding, treacherous staircase that snaked up the side of the mountain to the monastery and church on the plateau. The monks did their best to maintain it, but they didn't use it often, relying on hot house methods to grow what little food they needed. Whatever else they lacked could be hauled up from the nearest village by an automated pulley system.

It had been quite some time since the order had initiated any new brothers—the move towards science had significantly dwindled the number of boys and young men willing to dedicate their lives to God and His mission. One of the requirements of their order was to take a pilgrimage to this holy place, where it is written that God touched the Earth and breathed life into the land.

Going up the Stair showed a commitment to one's pilgrimage and penitent aspect, but that didn't make the young brother any less winded. It was imperative to make the journey in the summer months when the gale force winds calmed themselves to cooling breezes. Sitting on the steps, he could feel the chill seeping through his travel leathers and breathed heavily before peering up the sheer rock face of the plateau. It was a long way to fall. Shaking his head at that thought he stood and readjusted the pack on his back.

"Up we go," he muttered to himself, wiping the sweat from his brown eyes.

He spent the day and half the night to reach the top as the sun rested above the horizon. It wouldn't properly set for another few months, which the young man appreciated. He was certain that he would've lost his footing a number of times without the summer light. A low rumble came from his stomach and he hoped that the monks had received his letter in time to prepare for his coming. Hot food and a real bed were blessings that he desperately needed.

Ten feet away from the top of the Stair was the entrance to the monastery. It was a simple wooden door; the isolation was defense enough although the high walls surrounding the compound gave the impression of a fortress. Trudging to the door, he knocked hard on the door and it swung open, squealing on its hinges.

Well that's unusual. He slipped through the opening in the doorway, not wanting to make any unnecessary sounds and looked around the courtyard in shock.

There was nothing there. A gaping hole that only left a jagged, foot-wide perimeter along the walls was left. The compound and church were sunk deep within the plateau. A cracked spire and enormous slabs of stone jutted from the pit. Trembling at the sight, the brother fell to his knees and cried out against this sacrilege of the holy place. He knew that relic was long lost to them now.

After sitting for what seemed an eternity, he began to take in smaller details of the destruction. Vines and weeds had already taken root at the top with many of the most exposed rock almost completely covered in ivy. Rust reddened any exposed metal and the elements had softened the craggy edges of the tumbled stonework. This must have happened years ago, how did we not hear about this? Setting down his pack, he stood shakily and began to pick his way across the ledge jutting from the wall. From his westerly vantage point, he noticed that one of slabs had strange sweeping lines across it, unusually dark and vivid given the amount of weathering the surrounding stone had taken. It didn't look like anything he had seen at a monastery before, but was clearly part of a circle and a large one at that. Could it be…alchemy?

He had only seen it a handful of times himself, but he was certain that what he was looking at was a transmutation circle. The most sacred place in the world had been defiled by an alchemist. Rage bathed him in a hellish fire, consuming his grief and shock in the conflagration. He trembled, this time with fury. I won't let this…monster get away with it!

A most unholy purpose loomed before Brother Vadim: revenge.


It took ten days to get to Ishbal from the capital of Xing.

By the eighth day of seeing nothing but rolling sand dunes, Ed wanted to crawl up the walls in boredom. He had forgotten how mundane traveling was without a companion or at least something interesting to look at. While he was fluent in several different tongues now, he was an introvert by nature and had no interest in mingling with the other passengers because that was tiring. Exercising, reading, cards, writing, even meditating was tried before Ed settled for pacing around his suite. Some shred of his former reckless self urged him to climb on top of the train, but the adult in him knew that was a really bad idea, so he made serious efforts to resist it. At the end of his rope, he pulled down one of the bunk beds, toed off his black loafers, and stretched out with his hands clasped behind his head.

Eventually the rhythmic rocking of the train car lulled him into a light doze, but peace wouldn't visit him and wakefulness seemed out of reach.

A fist squeezed around his esophagus for the fifth time as ice-cold water threatened to drown him. He wanted to scream, curse, howl, but the water kept coming. It stopped as abruptly as it started and his torturer's voice, as well known as any lover's, demanded in gruff Drachman, "What waits beyond the eye? Hell? Your master?" Ed couldn't answer, only it wasn't from defiance, but lack of ability. He was so cold, a deep chill that had settled in his bones and caused his automail port to ache and burn icily. He gasped weakly for air, the thin cloth over his face making each bid for oxygen a battle, one he was losing.

"So difficult. But it's to be expected from a golden-eyed demon." More water and hot tears streamed from his eyes. Pain coursed through his body like a river of needles and he arched against his bonds in a pathetic attempt to get away. His hands and foot had gone numb long ago, his captors keeping him hungry and cold, never allowing him to truly attain a normal body temperature. Once again it stopped raining and he prayed to a god he knew was just using him for perverse entertainment that this would be it, so he could slink back to his hole and resume his half-existence.

But it was never enough.

The cloth was ripped from his face and a muscular, brown-eyed man with a bushy black beard that had streaks of grey leaned over him. Sergey, Ed had heard him called. Rank fumes washed over his face as his tormentor breathed, "Months, you've held your tongue for months. You should start talking soon, fiend. Otherwise you will die here." Old rebelliousness flamed in those golden eyes: Ed knew all about death and wasn't afraid to stare it down again. A calloused hand roughly gripped his face, "Don't you look at me like that you damned beast, I'll keep you alive if death is what you crave." He smiled as fear bloomed in those gilt depths. Now the hand was stroking his face, and Sergey added in low voice, "If you weren't so pretty, I'd have gouged out your eyes, a fucking blasphemy to God, a long time ago. You should consider yourself lucky."

Ed smiled weakly. Lucky? Yes he was the font of luck: he committed the ultimate taboo and came out a winner in the end. But for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction; in order to receive, one must give. This is what he lived by, his scarred and maimed body proof of his conviction. On some cosmic level, Ed figured that spending six years of his life being punched, kicked, and stabbed wasn't enough. It was almost funny. In fact it must be funny by the dead man's cackle that erupted from his throat, shaking his whole body.

"What the fuck are you laughing at demon? Answer me!" Ed couldn't stop and he watched through slit eyes as Sergey walked away, whispered to one of the men on watch and left, the iron door screaming on its hinges. The chuckles dying on his lips were effectively extinguished by a sound bludgeoning across his stomach. Ed was gasping again to the delight of the guardsman standing over him as another one undid his restraints and promptly linked his wrist and ankle manacles with a heavy chain.

The delighted man pulled him off the table and shoved him on his knees making the chain rattle disconcertingly. Ed closed his eyes and received a right hook in the jaw for it, but not hard enough to break; they were too practiced for that. The stone floor grated against his knee, but he was used to it now just like he was used to the sound of leather scraping metal as the guard undid his belt.

Too many months of malnutrition and sleep deprivation kept Ed from fighting back. Besides, he wouldn't get away and only receive worse treatment for it. Not that it mattered anyway. No, he laughed in desperation at the farce that was his current existence and for that he would be used to relieve the frustrations of the good men that guarded him. Sometimes that meant being a punching a bag, sometimes it was public humiliation, and other times were like this.

The smell of sweat and unwashed flesh assaulted his nose as he got to work.

A man doesn't eat if he doesn't work.

Gold eyes snapped open, dark like honey from things best forgotten. Ed rolled over in his bunk and sighed in appreciation that the rolling dunes were white and blue under the moonlit sky. Swiping his sweat-dampened brow with the back of his sleeve, the blond sat up and took several deep breaths. His tattoo tingled like it always did after those…dreams. Some part of him refused to acknowledge them as memories, as if that would make them hallucinations of a demented mind. I shouldn't bring this into Al's home, Al's life. He shook his head to clear it.

The collar of Guilt just got heavier.


Roy was studiously attempting to ignore the cramp that was slowly forming in his right hand as he signed his signature again, when suddenly his lap was full of bouncing little girl.

"Daddy!"

"Hello there princess," Roy chuckled as he hugged his daughter. He was as bad as Hughes and he knew that the man was saying 'I told you so' from beyond the grave. "To what do I owe this special visit?"

Gold-flecked hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. "Auntie Riza said I could take you home early today because you weren't being a 'slacker'. What's that?" Roy looked over Ana's head at the woman who watched over him like her namesake and smiled at her in gratitude. It had been difficult over the past couple of weeks since he had sent Viv into rehabilitation. Ana couldn't seem to remember what had happened to her and was genuinely upset when he told her that Mommy was very sick and had to go away for a little while.

"It means someone who doesn't like to do work. I love to work, but I love you more." He tickled her sides and laughed as she squealed and wriggled.

Only Riza and the entrusted staff of the Fuhrer's estate knew the truth of the situation, to the public his wife was gravely ill and in need of the healthy sights and sounds of the Aerugian coast to comfort her while she recovered in a seaside hospital. The blonde woman gave him a small smile in understanding as he she watched the Fuhrer get out of his chair, daughter in arms and sweep out the office.

"Have a good day, sir. Goodbye Ana."

"You too, colonel." He tossed off a wave to the rest of his staff as Inani fell in step behind him.

"Bye everybody," Ana called over his shoulder as they stepped into the hallway.

"Daddy, can we go see Mommy today?" the light of his life asked. He pressed a kiss to her temple before answering. They made their way down the halls of Central Command and the Fuhrer nodded at the sharply snapped salutes.

"I'm sorry princess, the doctor said maybe in a few weeks, but right now Mommy needs as much rest as she can get." He hated lying to his daughter, but he had done much worse to protect people he cared for, why not this? Ana leaned back to look in his face, her large hazel eyes searching his charcoal ones.

"Mmm, okay." She seemed to think that over, chewing on her bottom lip. Roy sighed; he was pretty much going to die from sugar-shock from watching his little girl be the cutest thing ever. "Can we make a 'get well' card for her?" He suggested and she visibly brightened as a light bulb went off. "Maybe we can pick flowers for Mommy, too!" A black, featureless car awaited them and when the driver opened the door, he put her in and buckled her seat belt.

"Anything you want princess," he said warmly before getting in on the other side.

Ana chattered for the rest of the drive and Roy interjected here and there, but ultimately just enjoyed this rare, innocent time with his daughter. They had tea with sugar cookies, made a get well card with lots of glitter (Roy was certain he'd be picking glitter out of his hair until the end of his days), and cut flowers from the garden. Dinner was a casual affair, but bath time was much more exciting and involved copious amounts of bubbles. Roy was just happy he foresaw the need to change prior to the event. Then it was story time.

Ana was definitely a girl who appreciated the finer things in life, such as afternoon tea on the veranda, in this she was Roy's daughter. Being Roy's daughter also meant having a keen interest in her father, the Flame Alchemist. This, of course, led to questions, which in turn led to stories of his own 'brave' deeds. Now that she was older, this meant story time involved the action-packed escapades of other famous Alchemists, violence and all. He tried to clean them up as best as he could, but if he went too far, she would give him a perfect imitation of his 'I-will-burn-you-to-a-crisp' glare plus pout. Tonight she wanted to hear about her all-time favorite, other than her father, the Fullmetal Alchemist. He was the youngest, bravest, most courageous one of them all, how could she not love him? Unable to deny his daughter anything, no matter how much recounting those tales made him want to pickle himself in scotch, he told them; dramatics and all.

When her thick-lashes rested on top of her roses-and-cream cheeks, he tucked her into bed, pressing a loving kiss on her forehead before standing up and turning off the light. Casting one more glance over his shoulder at her contented sigh, he smiled and closed the door. Padding down to his home office, he strode towards his desk and looked at the card and flowers. Pulling out his key ring, he unlocked a drawer in his desk and slipped the card inside a false compartment before pulling out a white glove, crimson stitching delicately picked out on the back.

He pulled it onto his right hand, feeling the silk-lined ignition cloth slide over his skin. Focusing on the bouquet, he snapped.


Sleep kept its counsel from Revenge, leaving Brother Vadim capable of a swift decent down the Stair, for which he was grateful. Unfortunately, fear was a much greedier thing, stealing the blood from the young apostle's limbs as he faced a bridge that would take him to his destination. Forcing his earthy gaze towards his target, he moved foot in front foot with all the grace of a marionette. Every creak and shudder of his path sent spears of ice into Tomas' belly. He desired to be one with the Creator, just not yet.

If he had gone ten paces, he had walked ten thousand, and sweat liberated itself from the brother's skin. Finally he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in soft whoosh as his booted feet found purchase on solid rock and scrubby grass. Looking over his shoulder at the deceptive looking walls, ominously declaring its false strength to the world below, the young brother set his mouth in a grim line and swung his gaze back towards the village that huddled in the shallow valley before him.

It was unlikely that the order would approve his request to hunt down the man that desecrated God's gift to lowly Man. They elders would be wrought with grief, but couldn't and wouldn't shake their pacifist oath to meet out justice. Vadim suspected that whoever did this wasn't even Drachman, faithful or not, and therefore it was unlikely he would be in his homeland for very long. Provisions could found and letters sent from the little pocket of civilization. There was no turning away from his mission.


In the dying light of the sunset, Ed ground his heel on the step absentmindedly and peered up at the house that his brother had built. It looked largely the same, the dark blue shutters had faded somewhat and a new tire swing was hanging from a maple off the side. Al's living his happily ever after; do I have a place in it? He knew his younger brother would never turn him away, but that didn't mean he shouldn't. Ed had felt the darkness that had birthed itself along with that monster all those years ago grow, fostered by loneliness and guilt, until it had nearly filled him up. Getting Al's body back, knowing he was happy, had helped to dispel that darkness as had Ling's unconditional friendship and loving caresses. Those were bright spots, lifelines in the blackness, but should he be here? Ed didn't have time to ponder the question further because the door opened to reveal a young version of himself clearly on a mission outside of the house.

The boy eyed the man on the porch suspiciously until he noticed the color of the man's eyes. Gold like his and Papa's.

"Uncle Ed?" Charles cocked his head to the side. The man's eyes widened in surprise and then he grinned.

"The one and only. What's up nephew of mine?" Charles couldn't help but grin back, before running into the house calling for his father.

Al was sitting in front of his typewriter, begrudgingly pecking out his latest paper on cellular regeneration in alchemy when he heard feet pounding in the hall and Charles calling for him. Said offspring threw open the door with a crash. Al missed a letter and cursed under his breath.

"Papa! You won't be—"

"Charles Edward, how many times have I told you to knock and enter at significantly less velocity? We've had this discussion and I'm not doing the calculus with you again," Al said without turning around. The boy reminded him of Ed sometimes: all action and bluster.

"But Papaaaa, listen to me—"

"No, you listen to me young man. I won't have you banging doors and running around like a lunatic. I me—"

"Uncle Ed is here!" The boy finally blurted out once he realized that his father was in an expounding mood.

"—an really, you're as bad as your…" Al turned to look at his son and a figure in black with long blonde hair came up behind him. He had that cocky grin and self-assured stance with his hand in his pockets and his hips jutting forward ever so slightly. Al took all of these things in as his brain slowly recognized his brother.

"Brother!"

"Al. Long time no see, huh?" Al got up from his desk and strode across his office, pulled his arm back and punched Ed solidly in the jaw. Charles looked over his shoulder at his uncle and shook his head.

"FUCK! What the hell?" Ed was sprawled on his ass and rubbing his soon-to-be bruising face.

"That's for leaving for ten years! And this," he knelt in the hall in tugged Ed into a fierce embrace, "This is for coming back safely. I missed you so much."

After a moment, Ed wrapped his arms around Al. "I missed you, too." A sigh came from behind them.

"Well at least you won't be so mopey Papa. I'll tell Mama what happened," Charles said in a put-upon tone. With his hands clasped behind his head, he strolled down the hall and out the back door to Winry's work shop, leaving the brothers to sit in the hallway stunned before breaking into side-stitching fits of laughter.

After their uncle recovered from a wrench 'accident', the whole Elric family had a lively dinner, mostly filled with stories of Uncle Ed's travels for Liesel and Charles, who sat wide-eyed and riveted on this strange, new man. All too soon, it was time for bed. Wanting to give the brothers time to talk, Winry herded her children up the stairs for their baths and bed. Ed watched with an amused look on his face as his brilliant niece and nephew tried to make a sound argument about how house dust was really just sloughed off skin and therefore not really dirt, so a bath wasn't really necessary.

Al had been examining his brother all night and found things that disturbed him. There was a tension in his shoulders and a diamond hardness in his gaze that hadn't been there before. His smiles didn't quite reach his eyes and, overall, the vibrant life force that was Edward Elric felt subdued. Al reached across the table to rest his hand on Ed's, who looked over at him somewhat startled.

"What's up Al?" Ed asked nonchalantly.

"I'm not sure. You seem….different, but I can't quite put my finger on it," Al finished lamely.

"Yeah, being gone for ten years does change a person," Ed quipped.

"No, not like that. I don't know how to explain it to you…" Al trailed off. They sat in uncomfortable silence and the brothers withdrew their hands. What is this? What's wrong with me? It's Ed. He's just….different. Ed cleared his throat as if he was going to say something, but closed his mouth and looked around the dining room.

"So, uh, how's Granny? I sent my trunks over to the house, but I came straight here after I got off the train." Ed saw a shadow flit in the bronze gaze of his brother. "What? What is it, Al?"

"Ed, Granny passed away four years ago," Al said quietly, barely able to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. "There was no way to reach you."

Ed's eyes darted away from Al's face. Edward Elric was a man of intense emotions, but the man who sat at the kitchen table simply felt numb.

"Passed…away," he said in a monotone and stared unseeing at Al. Alarm stole over his younger brother at this unusual behavior; it frightened him.

"Brother, where were you? What happened in those years you didn't write? Please, tell me," Al begged. What is wrong with him?

"Is she buried next to Mom and…Dad?" Again the monotone droned.

"Yes. Don't try to change the subject! We can talk about that later. Brother? Ed? Where are you going?" Panic had crept into Al's voice, but it didn't faze the other blond.

Ed got up and left the dining room, picking up speed until he got to the front door. He swung it open and ran outside and let his mind go blank as he ran as fast as he could to the cemetery. Someone was calling for him, but he ignored it as he welcomed the burn in his thighs and the harsh bass line in his chest. Ed felt like he could run like this forever, no thought, allowing his conscious to succumb to the minutiae of living. Breathe, beat, run, breathe, beat, run, breathe, beat, run, run, run.

Run.

Two wooden posts were the only sign of the cemetery's entrance. Panting heavily, Ed tentatively stepped through and walked down the neat rows of headstones. His golden gaze flicked over the engravings until they rested on the names of his parents and then the Rockbells, and finally Pinako's. He fell to his knees in front of it and just sat in silence. Reaching one hand out, he traced the letters engraved so carefully into the granite. The texture sent a jolt up his arm and sent him back.

Rough stone ground against his hands and knee as he crawled across his cell to the straw pallet on the floor, his chains seemingly determined to catch on every crack and hole in the floor. It was easier than trying to stand and limp, his port radiated pain into his thigh from the frigid, damp air and he needed to conserve his energy. At least the drugs they forced on him made his senses dull enough to try and sleep.

The shriek of rusted iron startled him and he blinked slowly at the sudden light, and then glared at the familiar face of his captor.

"Ah, the smell of unbroken spirit. Tell me demon, do you like parties?" The bearded man said. Ed hadn't figured out his name yet, he'd only been there for a few days. The blond kept his mouth shut, talking back only brought punishment and he needed his strength if he was going to escape. "I hope you do," the man continued in his northern-accented Drachman. "Because you are going to be the life of one."

Confusion must have been apparent in his face because the man gave a harsh bark of laughter before signaling to someone outside of his cell. A tall, slender woman came in; clearly of Drachman descent, her slightly bulbous nose and elongated grey-blue eyes were attractively counterpointed by her slim, shapely lips. That small mouth curled in disgust and her eyes narrowed, but that didn't mask the distaste, anger and fear swirling underneath her dark blonde lashes. She had a black bag from which she withdrew a metal collar and chain with the same heavy links as the ones that linked his manacles.

Even on the dank floor of a window-less cell, nude and shivering, Ed didn't flinch when the woman stepped forward briskly, whip-like braid swishing, and snapped the collar around his neck. The dark bag was shoved over his head, shrouding the already dim cell in black.

His drug-hazed mind couldn't keep him from sprawling against the floor when she jerked the chain on his collar. He fumbled the first few crawls, his knee filling the room with sound of metal scraping stone before settling into a leaden rhythm.

Despite the cloth over his head, he could feel the shift in light and knew they must be outside of the cell. Two pairs of boots thudded loudly in the stone corridor next to him, providing a dismal beat to the chiming rattle of his chains. The skin on his knee was beginning to burn as they turned down a sixth hallway. Ed was sure they had doubled back at least once, but the drugs kept him from forming a complete mental map. Snorting at that, he missed the first step of stair and almost bit his tongue off when his chin crashed into it. The woman didn't wait and jerked his chain as if she was forcing a dog to heel. Growling in frustration, Ed bit back the urge to call her a number of four-letter words when his other captor began to laugh.

"So you do have a voice demon. Even if it's as intelligible as an animal's. Is that what you really are? Some hellhound that escaped from his master?" Ed didn't answer; it seemed the safest option until a boot connected with his left thigh. He gasped and lurched as lighting shot up his leg, white hot. "Answer me!" The man growled, but collected himself and continued, "We'll find out what you are eventually. Come, Natalya. Our demon pet is eager to join the party." Prepared this time, Ed clambered up the winding, long flight of steps as best he could, but his muscles began to shake with effort before long. Mentally cursing his weakened state and truly missing his alchemy, he tried to just focus on the present and realized they had stopped. He waited on the landing until he heard a door open and another hard yank pulled him forward into the noise and heat.

"Ed! Ed!"

Ed's eyes focused on the headstone in front him. His arm was still outstretched and he looked to his left to see Al kneeling next to him, worry written all over his face. A warm wetness streamed down his face, when had he started crying? Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he took a deep breath of the warm summer night air. Summer had been Granny's favorite season, it made good weather for smoking and drinking she said. Grief was a hard lump in his stomach, but he knew that it would lessen in time without ever really going away. His mother's death had taught him that and since he hadn't learned his lesson properly the first time, Hughes was a hurtful reinforcement.

"I wasn't here," he whispered. He clenched his fists in anguish, rage, and guilt. If he had just come home, just left that last lead….would he have made it in time? "I wasn't here for any of it. I'm sorry, Al."

"I know, but I can't forgive you, yet," Al said quietly, his bronze gaze unwavering. Ed blinked in surprise, a mix of hurt and relief welling in him. "If I do, you'll only punish yourself more. You're going to have to work for it." He took in a breath as his eyes grew bright with pent up emotion. "What's the point of you giving me my body back, my life back, if you aren't there to share it with me? I know how much family means to you, so why are you running away from it?"

"Al, I—"

"No. I know what he did, but you can't let that break you. You're stronger than that." Underneath the reprimand was a fierce faith in him that would have taken him aback, but for what Al said.

"Who did what?" Ed cocked his head to side and his face pinched in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You—you don't remember?" Disbelief had sent Al's eyebrows to his hairline.

"Remember what? Just tell me, Al," he replied, failing to keep the frustration out of his voice. "What is it that I'm supposed to remember? Or who?"

Al studied his older brother for a moment, uncertainty roiling in him. It was tempting to lie or let this slide into oblivion, but he couldn't do that. His brother had fought for the truth for most of his life; he wouldn't betray that effort now.

"I think he should tell you himself, but I'll be here to pick up the pieces. Besides, you have a summons to Central Command anyway," he finished with soft smile while looking up at the night sky. "We should go back, it's getting late and if I know my twins, they are going to have you up bright and early." He stood and brushed the knees of his pants. "Goodnight, Granny."

Ed considered the grave one more time and sighed. "I miss you, Granny." He stood as well, knee popping as he followed his younger brother back up the road to the house. Clasping his hands behind his head, he cast sidelong glances at his brother. Ed wanted to ask about this mystery person in Central, but Al seemed confident that everything would work itself out and he was usually right. He smiled to himself at that: it was Al's unshakable faith and confidence in him that had pulled him through all those years of searching for the stone. He hadn't realized how much he needed that pillar of quiet strength.

"So what about this summons?" He asked as if he didn't have a storm of emotions and thoughts howling inside of him. He might as well have been talking about the best method of carding wool.

"First, let me preface this by saying, I've been reading your mail for years and only out of necessity. Not that you get anything important anyway." He laughed as Ed pushed him to the side. "But I saw that it's from the department of education in regards to some application." Ed wasn't fooled, Al knew exactly what the application was for-he just wanted him to come clean about it.

"Yeah, I'm opening a school. Well, not really, it'll be more of a research, think-tank type thing, but with students in an independent study program. I'm hoping to get some grants through, maybe even a couple of government contracts. But apparently, since this new government was established, people have to have licenses to teach. So I have to take this test and submit even more paperwork and pay even more fees." He let out a dramatic sigh. "The things I do for my love of alchemy." He froze at his own words. Should I tell Al I got my alchemy back? Sinister images flicked across his mind that he quelled in desperation and dropped his arms, sighing. Not yet, I'm not ready yet. Al was looking at him now, brows drawn in concern.

"Brother?" Ed could see the house on the little hill, lights twinkling merrily in the windows. He shook his head.

"Um, I know I stopped writing four years ago and you have every right to know what happened." He paused and took a breath to steady himself. "I can tell you some of it, but there are some…things that I can't...that I don't…." Ed startled at the warm hand clasping his own.

"It's ok. I know you'll tell me when you're ready. I'm sorry for pushing so hard earlier."

"Nah, it's alright. You can't help being a big worrywart," he said cheekily and grinned, his thanks clearly evident in his expressive gaze. Al chuckled and opened the door to the house. Again, Ed hesitated before stepping across the threshold as if his very presence would ruin the peace that his brother had found.

Stifling a yawn, he said good night to Al and pulled out his ponytail, sighing as he scratched his scalp. Suddenly, he realized that all of his stuff was at Granny's….. his house and groaned. He ran a hand back through his bangs. That would take some getting used to; he had never owned anything more than a few books and the clothes on his back for so long. Now, he had a whole house and a large one at that.

Ed let out another yawn as he shuffled to the guest room, but when he saw the bed he frowned. The dreams about that place were more frequent than ever lately and it made him hesitate. Sometimes he feared that this was a dream and was still in a cell. That fear was what drove him to work in Ling's court; he needed to be busy. When he stumbled upon the emperor two years ago, for all of Ed's bravado, he was falling apart, mentally and physically. Somehow his friend knew this and took him in, never prying or asking questions, just letting him live a somewhat normal life.

It was also that fear that made him want to open a research lab. In the publishing of papers and doing mundane things like signing off on payroll, he could prove his existence.

He knew that sleep wouldn't come easy and what little he would get would be filled with nightmares, so he grabbed the towel on the bed and headed to the shower with the hope that he could clear his head. On his way out, he noticed a stack of mail, the topmost one addressed from the department of education. Throwing his towel over his shoulder, he picked it up and quickly scanned the contents.

"Thirty days, huh? And a special interview with the Fuhrer," he muttered to himself. Great that meant he had to dress up. He supposed he should be grateful for his experience working in a royal court, he had learned a lot about how to deal with heads of state and diplomats. When he thought about it, his manner around 'very important people' was similar to someone he once knew… Shaking his head, Ed found a welcome distraction in looking over the rest of his opened mail. Most of it was birthday cards, invitations to weddings, fundraisers, other people's birthday parties, and photos. All of it predated 1929. I guess Al let everyone know I was missing. He knew that they wouldn't have been able to search for him, it was an abuse of their positions in the military and they didn't have jurisdiction outside of the country. Besides, given where he was, Ed doubted they would've been able to find him anyway. Not even Drachmans went that far north unless they were on pilgrimage.

He put the stack of mail back on the desk, his thoughts and emotions blowing through his mind so quickly that he could only feel an alarming confusion. How does a person come back to their life ten years later? Ed doubted that his friends in the military would still be the people that he left behind. They would have changed so much. Apprehension sliced though the maelstrom in his head like a guillotine, going back to Central would be much more difficult than he had originally anticipated.

No. He would deal with whatever waited for him there. I'm tired of running. It stops now. He felt more like himself than he had in years, not just a hollow shell that was endlessly searching and running.

Freshly showered and dressed for sleep, Ed found himself lying in bed, wide awake in the moonlit stillness. He was exhausted, but he couldn't make his brain shut down and his thoughts chased each other endlessly. A soft knock on the door broke his reverie.

Al's muffled voice came through the door. "Brother?"

"Come in." Al stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Everything alright, Al? You didn't have a nightmare did you?" Ed propped himself up on one elbow to scrutinize his younger brother's features for the telltale signs of fear and denial that came after the harrowing visions.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about our conversation," he replied thoughtfully before perching on the side of the bed. "I don't believe I'll be able to until I know why. Why couldn't you come home once during your travels? I just don't understand." Ed winced at the hurt and confusion lacing Al's voice. "It seems like ever since I recovered after I got my body back, you've been leaving me behind. First it was the Ishbalan Reconstruction and then ten years of rambling around looking for books?" Al dropped his head in his hands. "Please say something Ed."

Ed sat up next to him and sighed. He hated seeing Al like this and the fact that he was the cause of so much distress made guilt roil through him. "I don't know what to say Al. I…I wanted to come home so many times, but I'm just fucked up like that father of ours. Every time I wrote, every time I even thought about coming home, something held me back. At first I thought I just wanted to travel or have some perverse quest of knowledge, I don't know… but that wasn't it. It was like I was broken inside… completely shattered, and trying to find a way to fix it. I've put you through enough with the whole 'losing your body to the gate' fiasco, I didn't want to make this your problem, too." Ed sighed again and fell back on the bed letting the guilt consume his other emotions. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm selfish, Al. That's all there is to it."

Al didn't say anything for a long while. "No, you're not selfish. You're one of the most selfless people I know, sometimes to a fault." He turned to look at Ed who looked back at him in disbelief. "You are. You should've let me help you. Now that I look back at the months you were home after the reconstruction: all the signs were there. I was so happy to have you here with us and the kids; I guess I wanted to believe that everything was perfect."

Now it was Ed's turn to be silent. He let his mind drift back to those peaceful months. It had been nice being with Al and Winry and he remembered being as taken with the twins as they were, but something had been missing. There had been many days of sitting on the roof, just looking at the sky and the rolling fields and herds of sheep. It had reminded him of the summer days when he and Al were young, before Mom died, so ready to take on the world and explore the mysteries of alchemy. It was as perfect as it was going to get, he surmised.

"It was, in its own way, I guess," Ed finished. He tilted his head back to look at the clock on the bedside table. "It's really late. You should try and get some sleep." Al snorted in amusement.

"I'm raising twins, Ed; I think I can take care of myself."

"I know, and they're turning out great of course, but I like to pretend that you still need your older brother every once in a while," Ed replied sheepishly.

"You don't have to pretend, Brother. I'll always need you." Al took one Ed's hands in his own and squeezed it gently before standing. "I want to continue this conversation before you leave for Central, which I'm not happy about since you only just got here." He gave Ed a pointed look and sighed. "But if you're really not happy in Resembool, I'm not going to make you feel guiltier than you already look. Oh, don't look so surprised, Brother. I've known you my whole life remember? You're a genuine guilt monger, don't try to deny it." Ed sat up and frowned at that. He wasn't a guilt monger, it's not like actively sought to feel this way.

"You make it sound like I do it on purpose," he muttered. Al chuckled, which made Ed feel a bit better, and turned to the door.

"Night, Brother."

"Good night, Al."


In the heart of Central, the Fuhrer lay awake in his enormous four poster bed as the specter of sleep mocked him. He wanted a scotch, his thirst a gnawing, nagging ache, but he had quit after Ana was born. It was amazing what love for another person could do. Ed had also made him feel that way, that he could be a better man. Roy remembered that dazzling smile that he had once believed was only for Alphonse shine for him. His chest tightened, it had been years and years since he'd last seen the blonde in person, but that didn't seem to make the hollowness his daughter couldn't fill any less empty. It was more than just yearning for his former lover, Roy missed his friend. His mess of a relationship with Ed turned into one of the most intimate friendships he'd had since Maes. Not even Riza was that close to him. He couldn't break down in front of her like he did with Ed on Maes' birthday.

It wasn't one way either. Roy knew himself well enough to know that such inequality would make him feel resentful. But Ed willingly shared his fears about staying in Resembool, that somehow he would ruin Al's happiness or that he wasn't really a genius or a prodigy, just a fake who got lucky more than most. He whispered how guilty he felt over resenting his younger brother for trading his Gate for Al's body, even though it was only for a second, because he held to the belief that it all his own fault in the first place. Despite that hidden darkness, Ed was the sun and showed Roy everything that he would give him, but the then general turned away from it at the last minute because he was weak. He couldn't control the fire of his ambitious nature.

Being cut of Ed's life so completely and abruptly was a near impossible pill to swallow and Roy realized that he'd never truly accepted it. It hurt to not be able to share his joy over his daughter's birth with him. It nearly broke him when he couldn't turn to him when his wife's drug addiction started. He'd lost countless hours of sleep to nightmares after hearing that the one person the world could rely on went missing. Now Ed Elric was back and coming to Central and it was almost too much to bear. There were too many things Roy wanted to say, which were only shadowed by the tangled mass of emotions that he was too tired to deal with. So he just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing sleep would release him from his self-inflicted misery, the worse kind really, while trying not think about Ed's scent or his butterscotch voice that rasped in just the right way.

Giving into that dark, chill feeling that came to him in these quiet hours, Roy turned on his side to face the empty expanse of his bed and imagined Ed there, golden hair a sleep-tousled mess, his dark lashes resting on his cheeks, even his soft, open-mouthed snore. This wasn't a new tactic, it had been years since he and Viv shared a bed and it allowed him some small measure of comfort.

But it was never enough.

When he was finally too weary to keep his heavy lids from shutting, the sky was still dark, but he could hear the birds chirping brightly.


A/N: Sorry this took so long to update, real life called and wanted me to return. I want to give a special thank you to xNeissax and Le Petit Usagi whose continued support makes me keep going even when I want to just kill everyone off and be done with it.

Title of this chapter is a lyric from the song "Gold, Guns, Girls" by Metric, obviously I have no rights to that...

I hope this wasn't too confusing, I'm trying out non-linear story-telling. This is why I need a beta reader! Anyway, enough rambling, that's all for now and I hope to keep to my once-a-week schedule from here on out.

Please review!