Many apologies for the long delay. Your R & R is so very encouraging, many thanks!

Chapter 10

Al startled hard at the sound at the door. It was dark out, although the hour was not late. He had been trying to distract himself by re-reading a book he'd read some time ago about alchemy. For some reason, he still couldn't get it to make sense. He could only read a couple of sentences, and then his mind would take off elsewhere, leaving his eyes and hands to go through the motions. It was totally disorienting. More than once, he would be unable to break out of his thoughts until as many as forty pages had been 'read' without perceiving a single word. He began to worry about his ability to read at all. He kept at it, going back to the last thing he read and understood, over and over. In three days, with numerous attempts, he had only absorbed the preface, the index, and four pages.

The book, on page thirty-six from his current shift in auto-pilot, hit the floor. His mind let go of the circles it had been chasing as well.

"Who is it?" he called out, his voice a little strained.

"It's me, Al," Havoc replied loudly, and the key began to clink into the door. Al let out a relieved breath and jumped up to greet him.

Havoc looked down at the brown eyes with a sympathetic smile and took it all in as he pulled off his rain slicker. In spite of their bickering earlier, Al looked at him like his long-lost friend. The fear in his voice when he called out had been quite evident.

He had made a stop to see Sciezska and read up a little on 'sensory deprivation' - he supposed that he shouldn't have been so surprised to find it categorized under torture. The things he learned made him feel like a monster for being so insensitive. And it explained a great deal.

A good forty hours of total sensory deprivation was all that was needed before professional military men began to crack and reveal their secrets. Men that held out longer often began to suffer psychosis. And men who were placed in deprivation cells and left there for much longer periods truly lost touch with reality. When forced to interact under normal conditions after those periods, brief intense incidents of uncontrolled behavior often erupted; episodes of violence, paranoia, even hallucinations were noted. It certainly helped to explain Al's aggressive, vicious outburst when he was freed; it had been after a year in the silent dark without even the sound of his own breathing or the blood pulsing in his veins for company. In the metal armor, he had suffered deprivation in a purer form than any mere human body could ever experience.

Those intense symptoms tended to fade quickly in the majority of subjects the researchers had followed. Also true in Al's case, particularly the blind rage and uncontrollable violence. But depression, anxiety, nightmares, lack of self-discipline and inability to concentrate were prevalent in the long-term. That dovetailed with Al's impulsiveness, the dark circles under his eyes, and his desperate attempts to re-connect with his brother with seemingly callous disregard for the trouble it caused.

Al was suffering from all of the classic after-effects. And suffering was the right word for it. Havoc held up a small roll bag and shrugged, keeping it as low-key as possible.

"Thought I'd keep you company tonight. I brought some cards and potato chips. We can eat the ante when we're done that way."

Al gave a cautious smile.

"I wasn't sure if you would want to stay after today."

"No one expects you to be one hundred percent yet. I think you're doing really well, actually. Lets not focus on the slip-ups."

Al bent and picked up the book, smoothing a page that creased from the fall.

"You startled me, and I, you know, dropped it," he said lamely.

Havoc nodded, casually picking up a stray leaf that had come in on his shoe and taking a trip to the waste receptacle near the door to the latrine. He got a good look in the container when he opened it, confirming another one of his suspicions.

The majority of Al's dinner was in there, looking untouched. He made a mental note to ask Fuery if he had actually witnessed Al eating those big morning meals he was supposedly downing.

Well, that explained why Al had stopped gaining back his weight. Al had been left out here on his own on the assumption that he mostly stable and just needed time and rest to recover.

In the light of what Havoc was putting together, this treatment bordered on neglect. Al was a minor, a severely abused minor at that. Unwittingly, they had just sort of hung him out here to dry.

He wandered back and made sure to keep it casual, giving his attention to the boy in small, purposely indirect doses. Al was so nervous it was almost tangible. It wasn't apparent whether he was nervous about having company or just disturbed in general. He excused himself to use the bathroom a second time, and this time Havoc was indiscreet. He went to the doorway and listened, and heard what he suspected, Al was having stomach troubles.

"Hey, Al," Havoc said, finished now settling his things in and making up the second bunk. "Not feeling well?"

" It's just how it is, I'm not sick or anything," Al said nervously, standing by the foot of his own bunk. "You won't catch something from me."

"I wasn't worried about that." It sounded like Al needed assurance that he wouldn't change his mind and leave. "If you're tired, we can sack out early. I've had some long nights lately."

Al was torn, and he couldn't decide what to say. He would love to sleep, especially with someone else there who was an expert at keeping watch. He doubted it would happen, though, and the earlier they turned in, the longer he'd have to lie awake pretending to be asleep.

"Cards, then?" Havoc stopped. The look on Al's face froze him in his tracks.

There were noises coming from the roof. Something was up there, scuttling on the curved metal, and Al was clearly alarmed.

"They're magpies, that's all," Havoc said reassuringly. "They sound like buffalo on that metal."

"Are you sure?"

"This used to be where we assembled the night before being deployed. The birds were always up there; then they attracted bigger predators, like raccoons and cats. Seems like there was always a tussle going on up there. Sorry, I should have warned you."

Al nodded, giving one last look up, still a little pensive.

"I feel like I'm making you uncomfortable. Kick back for a little bit, Alphonse. I'm going to." Havoc settled on the bunk, hands behind his head, and waited.

After a moment's hesitation, Al did the same. When the room remained quiet, he realized that the noise outside had stopped. Havoc was humming softly, low in his throat. The minute Al got relaxed enough to drop his guard, he fell into exhausted sleep, as if someone had flipped off his power switch.

Havoc rolled on his side and watched Al's chest rise and fall, and the expression of worry smooth away from his face. He looked even younger with his pale, soft complexion. It seemed that all of his scars were on the inside. It made it harder to have sympathy for him; you could hardly help but feel bad for Ed the minute you saw him. But with Al there was the additional factor that his face was unfamiliar. He looked a little like Ed, but not that much. He looked nothing like the suit of armor, of course. He really was quite estranged and alone here.

Outside, a large black bird sat motionless and listened at the roof vent, scarcely believing his ears. Did the man say Alphonse? Was this Alphonse Elric he was talking to? It did sound like him. If it was, why on earth wasn't he staying in the main building with Edward?

That was a fascinating mystery indeed. Alphonse was alive? Why was he hidden in here with that strange boy and Mustang's underling Havoc?

He needed to stay here close until he got the whole story. Regrettably, from the silence it sounded like the people within were turning in for the night already. Alphonse didn't sleep, but wouldn't be up talking to himself while everyone else was asleep; so he probably wouldn't risk missing anything if he moved on to see what Ed was up to.

Eyes glowing red, he lofted into the air and flew to the cedar tree. He was not disappointed. The lights within were all on, and Edward was easily visible in the hallway, standing with his hands cupped around his eyes and pressed against the window in order to see out without the mirror effect of the inside lights.

Ed saw him, too, of course. He had shifted into an owl on the way, making him a more appropriate sight for the time of day.

Yet Ed seemed to sense he was something more anyway. That was amusing. It appeared that Ed suddenly realized the position he had put himself in, vulnerable and exposed, easily seen at the window, but terribly handicapped in the ability to see out. He went windmilling backwards, started to dart into his room, then changed direction and fled down the hallway. He disappeared from the windows in the opposite direction from the way Mustang usually went. Envy found that curious. Ed seemed to be attached to the old perv from what he saw. He rather thought that if Ed were frightened, he'd look to the Colonel for help.

Well. That would be the logical thing for him to do, of course. Edward still had that disturbed look in his eyes; he was nowhere near sane enough for more interrogation yet. And now it didn't look like he even had the wits to run to someone for help. That was disappointing indeed.

Envy waited, ruffling his feathers. Ed must not have been yelling or making a commotion, because no one came looking after he took off.

It was like waiting for a punch line. Eventually, someone would come, and find Ed missing. Hopefully before daylight, so it would be easy to watch them bumble around. He briefly considered shifting into a generic soldier, or Havoc, and doing the searching himself just to see what was going on. While it was tempting, it was too much of a risk for nothing. It wouldn't do any good to take Ed yet, obviously.

When it got closer to dawn, he would return to monitor the barracks. Alphonse was the better subject. He sounded lucid. And he had been the last one with the stone.

It had been fun figuring out how to torture a soul trapped in a metal shell. He was terribly proud that he had succeeded in making the disembodied boy feel excruciating pain and mortal fear. Damn that Fullmetal for interrupting and saving him. Watching that torture had put Edward into orbit, and fueled his Herculean effort to battle them off long enough to somehow make his younger brother disappear off the face of the earth.

But now Al didn't have his little defender to help him anymore. And Envy knew just how to make that metal moron scream for mercy. While it would be interesting to know the situation here, he really just needed to get his claws on Alphonse.

Then he could wait to take Edward; if he didn't need to be interrogated, they just needed to keep up on his whereabouts so he could be easily retrieved when the time came to use his unique skills later.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mustang had left Ed there, stuck at the window. He didn't seem upset, just locked in place, and he just got agitated at any attempt to pull him away. He was safe here where it was familiar, and Al was definitely not going to be showing up unannounced, not with Havoc as chaperone out at the barracks. So the Colonel saw no real harm in leaving him to his old hobby; the man had tons of work to do, after all.

He was looking for something. Ed didn't know what that something was, but he knew he had to be vigilant in watching for it. Sometimes, he saw men taking care of the grounds, or people passing from building to building. He watched them closely, but knew immediately that they were not it. Maybe it was the sky, the weather. He had a clear, stomach-clenching memory of the agony of waiting for the right weather conditions to retrieve Alphonse. This felt so similar. The rain had called up that memory, and provoked him further. He just couldn't look away yet. Minutes ran together, became an hour, then another. Time crawled by and the day passed; it was getting dark outside early, from the cloud cover. He had to shield his eyes and get right up to the glass to see out; otherwise, all he saw was his own reflection. The outside lighting, yellow and faint, came on and it was just enough that he could still see the area if he stayed like this.

The owl came on heavy, lazy wings, and just as it began to alight on the tree, he saw it. The flash of red in its eyes. His intuition caught something else as well, a subtle change in the atmosphere. Alarms went off in his head, and for a brief moment, he was thankful to be safely inside.

Then it slowly dawned on him that he was completely exposed in the brightly lit window, and that he was having difficulty seeing out into the deepening dark. The crimson glow of the eyes in the tree seemed to intensify and look straight through him. Ed gasped and backed away. Now lights overhead intruded in the sudden strain to look out. He couldn't see the bird at all; only his own ravaged, frightened face and the moving pair of red glowing dots that were barely visible through it, too obscured by his reflection to tell if they were coming closer or not. He realized that this image was exactly what the view would be from the outside. He jolted with the shock that he was alone with no one to turn to and it magnified the danger of being watched with evil, amused intent. His mind finally provided an identity to go with that piercing stare. Envy!

The hall was too bright, it suddenly seemed to hurt his panicked eyes. Any second, the glass would shatter, and the owl would transform and drag him away. He spun to find a hiding place, a defensible space out of the open.

He started for his room and balked. Too small, only one way in and out, the interior visible from the windows at an angle. The quick reverse in direction made him stumble, and when the momentum carried him past the door along the hall to the right he just kept going, his socks slipping on the polished flooring. They didn't let him wear shoes when they left him unattended indoors now, to remind him he wasn't allowed to go outside on his own.

He made it away from the passageway windows, his blood thundering in his ears. This was the direction of the library and he dashed down this familiar path. The doors, normally wide open, were shut but not locked. He scrambled in, flung the door back shut and ducked behind the librarian's desk in the dark, the layout ingrained in his memory so that the lack of light was not an issue.

His own hard breathing sounded loud, loud enough to alert the whole building as to his whereabouts. He struggled to bring his panting into control. Even nerve in his body was vibrating with the need to put up a defense. With his alchemy he could turn the walls to steel, seal up the doors, prevent anyone from entering.

Mustang's voice came to him immediately when he raised his hands, with that tone so low and sincere; it was the only thing stopping him from launching an all-out defense. He had made Ed promise not to do any transmutations. He had promised to keep him safe.

Every nerve screamed at him to throw up a barrier and arm himself quickly. It was agonizingly difficult to suppress the frustrated sounds rumbling up from his chest. He darted around on hands and knees and peered back at the doors. Still closed. His breathing had quieted enough that he felt he could hear if someone was coming. He still hadn't heard any glass breaking. In fact, other than his own sounds, he didn't hear a thing.

The pitch black in the library began to trick him. His active imagination saw a shape move in the corner of his eye. He began to hear something rhythmic. It sounded like fast breathing, close and loud; he failed to recognize it as the crunch of blood pulsing in the veins in his head.

He rolled back and his hands flew out into empty space. Whatever it was, it wasn't as close as it sounded.

The black of the room began to call up the images of the black hands of the gate. His imagination, pumped with trapped fear and adrenaline, swelled to fill the room with those reaching arms. A small whimper of fear slipped out and he truly began to panic then. He'd made a sound. He had given himself away. It was just a matter of time before his tormentor would have him.

He whipped his head around at the shuddering sound of the central heating coming on and knocked his face painfully into the corner of the desk. The intensity of his conviction that Envy would burst through the doors any second was beginning to liquefy his logic. He backed into the kneehole of the desk and yanked the chair as far in as he could.

"Don't take me," he whispered to himself. "If you do it, do it here, don't take me."

The owl, Envy's true form, Al's armor, his flesh form…what would burst in? Would it be alone?

"Don't, please, please…" Ed had his hand clamped over his mouth but was helpless to stop the words. He had to be quiet, he was committing suicide by revealing his location. Yet his words only grew louder, more emotional, harder to suppress at all. "Please! Don't hurt me again! Don't make me go with you. Leave me alone!"

The automail was turning his effort to stifle his cries into a bruising conflict with his own self. As his hands tried to press his mouth shut, he began to fight away. It escalated to a bizarre battle, a physical confrontation between the his logical, desperate attempt to force himself to be quiet and still to hide, and his reaction to being restrained, as if it were another person entirely trying to capture him.

He bit down hard on his own arm , and rolled out from under the desk to the middle of the floor struggling. He wedged a foot against the metal arm to try and get it away.

Yet another part of his mind watched his fierce self-battle, frozen in terror. If the homunculus did burst in here during this absurdity, they were doomed.

His rolling body crashed into a cart. He was growing louder in his distress, and the part of him fighting to try and enforce silence escalated its attack with each increase in volume. The library was too far away for anyone to hear his muffled cries with the doors closed; it was at the far end of the building, away from the Colonel working through the last of the piles of paperwork under Hawkeye's watchful eye. The man on watch was just coming on, replacing the last shift. He stopped by to report in to the Colonel before setting off on his rounds.

He found Edward's room empty and no sign of him. He checked the rest room, under the bed, in the storage closet. Nothing. He knew enough to report it immediately.

"Colonel. Is Edward in the infirmary tonight?" Armstrong asked formally.

The dark eyes shot up from the paperwork. "No. He should be in his room or nearby. I left him in the hallway, at the window. He's been there all day. Have you looked around?"

"I have, sir. He's not th…" he didn't get to finish the sentence before Mustang was on his feet and rounding the desk, heading out the door.

"Come on!"

The first thing Mustang did was check the hall door to the outside. It was secure. With the rain, and Ed's behavior…what an idiot, he berated himself. Ed could have run off, of course he could , if he had some sort of flashback or unresolved issued from his brother's burial.

"Check the briefing room and the medic's station; I'll take the entry and the mess hall area. Oh, and try the library and the bathrooms down at the far end; if you come up empty start from there and hit every office that isn't locked. Report to Lieutenant Hawkeye with your progress." With that, the Colonel turned away swiftly to update Hawkeye on the situation on his way to check the front doors.

Armstrong flicked on the lights in the briefing room and took a quick walk down the ends of the rows of chairs, to be sure that Ed wasn't down in between the rows. He pulled open the tall cabinet door, and checked behind the huge whiteboard. One room down, no luck.

xxx

Ed rolled and cried out again; this time, him voice was cut short as the automail fingers rammed into his mouth and began pressing hard , brushing the back of his throat brutally. He gagged , but the hand persisted. He kicked and rolled, twisting away, but his own hands were too strong.

He growing more and more convinced that he was going to die any minute now, die or face something much, much worse, as soon as the doors opened. He was losing miserably in his struggle to gain control, and he was a perfect target now.

A slice of light shot into the darkness with the opening of the door. At the realization that it had opened, Edward lost it completely. The fear of seeing Envy was so great that his sense of sight vanished at the shock of seeing the lights from the hallway outlining something in the doorway. He screamed even as the automail hand jammed into his throat and he rolled into the desk with a heavy impact, legs churning to roll his body with nowhere to go.

"Merciful heavens! Edward!" Armstrong never paused, as bizarre as the scene was when he snapped the lights on. He was on the young man in an instant, forcing the automail to stop its damaging invasion. Once the arm was pulled away, Ed's cries continued unabated. Mustang caught the sound from the other end of the building and arrived in time to see just how bad things were.

Ed was blind with terror, and the two men had little effect in calming him down.

"Hold him, Major. Carefully." The obscenely strong Alchemist had no problem securing Ed, in spite of the fact that the smaller man was working every muscle to its fullest strength to escape. "Don't let him get his hands free no matter what."

Armstrong nodded sadly. Ed's fruitless attempts to get away looked something like a fish out of water in its death throes. He seemed to have no concept of how much he could be hurting himself; would be hurting himself, if anyone less capable had him in their custody.

Mustang reappeared, kneeling next to Ed, pulling up his sleeve.

"Keep that arm still," he said, loud over the choking, keening cry Ed had fallen into. He administered a shot with a strong dose of tranquilizer into the pale flesh.

The volume reduced until Ed finally fell silent. His resistance disappeared, and he became a rag doll in the giant officer's hands.

"Careful with him, Major." Mustang said quietly.

Ed was tucking his head down and balling up, unsteady and rapidly losing consciousness from the drug.

"Can he…?" Armstrong began to ask.

"Shh," the Colonel hushed. "Wait. Let him drift off now."

Once Ed was completely unconscious, he had the Major carry him to his room.

"What a night for you to have to fill in on watch," Mustang sighed. "No idea what was going on, I suppose."

"He was on the floor pummeling himself rather handily when I found him. My appearance didn't dissuade him in the slightest."

"I see. Let Hawkeye know he's back here, hm? Then finish up your rounds. Thank you, Major."

Mustang sat at the end of the bed, shaking his head. Things had seemed better, but this…Ed looked like he'd been in a barroom brawl. He'd been completely out of touch with reality again.

Maybe it was vanity and foolishness to think that Ed was any better off in his care than he would be with Alphonse. Professional help was starting to look like a necessity. He had avoided it up until now, because there didn't seem to be any benefit that balanced the risk that they would commit Ed to an asylum as a danger to himself and others.

But Ed clearly was just that; a dangerously deranged man given to unpredictable acts that threatened himself and those around him. For every step forward, there seemed to be two steps back.

xxx

Envy hooted in amusement. Once the hulking Major with the handlebar mustache went in the right direction, it had been a very funny pregnant pause before the activity started. Mustang went tearing down the corridor, then back the other way to get something and ran back; …then here they come with Fullmetal, the unconscious man resembling a sack of potatoes more than anything…what a crack-up!

From the look of it, the show was over for tonight. Time to return to the barracks and see what he could find out there. With a powerful flap of his thick, grey wings he lofted into the air.

tbc