The Calm Before

Jean splashed cold water on his face and pat himself dry with a short towel. Staring into the mirror, he paused. The explanation Amelie had given had made everyone uneasy. Still, the General had his plan and had changed it in a gambit to bring Roderick out of hiding once and for all. He only hoped that they lived through it. Not as though they hadn't faced overwhelming odds before but this was something truly evil and misguided.

He knew the role he had to play for this plan to work and he was grateful to be on the front lines. The time spent away from the last battle had haunted him; he constantly wondered if there had been more he could've done had he still been able to walk. Would he have made a difference?

He only wished he could be near Amelie for this battle. Shook up as she was, being around the troops tomorrow would be difficult. While Hawkeye was probably the best one to protect her, he wished fervently he'd been called upon to do it. His body, his heart even, demanded he shield her from everything and anything; if it was a fear of the military he was perhaps the least likely one to exacerbate that fear.

The short walk down the hall towards his own room for the evening took him past Amelie's room. He paused for a moment, considering apologizing for grabbing her earlier in the evening. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Now, he worried he'd lost what little trust had been created. His knuckles poised to knock, he exhaled sharply and turned away, continuing his walk.

He heard a sniffle. A sob. He stopped to look back at that door, and knew the sounds of tears were coming from the occupant behind it. Turning back, he confidently placed a hand on the knob and gave a gentle twist to let himself in. Sure enough, Amelie was sitting in the bed and was drenched in moonlight, her tears highlighted by the blue glow.

"Amelie?" he whispered, closing the door behind himself.

She turned, startled, and quickly looked away again, rubbing her face with her palms, "Jean, hi."

"You okay?"

She nodded wordlessly and he could see the tension in her shoulders in the sob she held back. He kept walking closer until he stood in front of her to lean against the far side of the window frame. Her downward face was still glistening from salty tears she was trying to stop.

"You're not a very good liar," he tried to smile.

She finally looked at him with a defeated grin, "I suppose not."

"Sorry for just walking in but…I, well—"

"It's fine, Jean. I was just…scared…about tomorrow."

"Why?" he asked, although he was sure he already knew the answer.

"I don't want to be so close to so many soldiers. I don't want to be responsible for their lives."

"Hawkeye will be with you. She's the best shot in the army."

"She only cares for him. I won't be her priority if something goes wrong," Amelie stated with cold realism, "And if something goes wrong, I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You won't."

She looked away, "You don't know that. You don't know me."

He sighed, "Well, I saw you bring a warehouse down. Saw you save the General's life. Saw you go to the Gate and back. Saw you make diamonds out of thin air. Think I've seen enough to know not to mess with you," he tried to smile, hoping the lighthearted banter would work to calm her nerves. He waited, anxious. She only looked out the window at the falling snow. The light from the moon was ghosting across her ivory skin. She looked like a porcelain statue. Her countenance was so serene, so angelic, that he couldn't fathom not ever trusting her.

She sighed heavily, "It's all my fault."

"How?" he asked incredulously.

"I should've intervened sooner, before those terrorists even came to Amestris. I shouldn't have let myself get hurt in that bar. Even when Roy…it's my fault they tortured him; my fault I didn't know that he was walking into a trap…It's all my fault," she repeated, new tears overflowing her cheeks.

He wanted to console her so bad he had to fight with himself to make sure he didn't crowd her, "You couldn't have known these idiots would come after him. You saved our lives in that bar and the General made the decision to go after you."

"They used me to get to him. He never would have given up if they hadn't…" she trailed off, biting at her lips.

He knelt in front of her, feeling dread falling off her in droves, "If they hadn't what?" he prompted.

She met his eyes, "He let himself be chained to spare me, but they didn't…the didn't stop. They were going to rape me. Let him watch. He made a deal to save me. They tortured him in front of me and I couldn't even do anything to stop it."

A cold sweat dripped down his back; he'd had a hunch Amelie had been the bait to get the General in a compromising situation, but - his fists clenched in anger - raping just to prove a point?

She swallowed back the knot in her throat, "When he went down tonight, when I felt hollow, I wanted to use my alchemy. My whole life, I've wanted to be rid of it. Tonight was the first time I embraced it. And I killed people with it."

He touched her hands which were folded in her lap. The soft cotton of her pajamas was cool to the touch and he was grateful it calmed his indignant rage at what these terrorists, this Roderick, had wrought, "None of us blame you. None of this is your fault."

She was silent for a long moment, staring at the floors, "To be honest, I'd hoped you would be with me in that tower tomorrow," she admitted.

His heart jumped into his throat, "Well I'm not so good a shot as the Captain," he pulled his hand nervously from her lap.

"I feel safe around you. And I haven't felt safe in a long, long time," she sighed.

Ignoring the honey in her voice lest his give out, he cleared his throat and sat on the bed next to her, "The General's played this kind of poker a few times before. He knows what he's doing."

They sat in silence, staring out into the darkness and watching wisps of snow fall. His body was thrumming at how close she was. He could feel heat radiating from her like a fireplace and he took the towel off his shoulder. Even in his grey uniform undershirt, he felt too warm to trust his logical mind.

He cleared his throat again, "I wanted to apologize for earlier."

She looked at him, unsure, "For what?"

"For grabbing you the way I did."

Returning her gaze, he couldn't help but notice how close her lips were to his own. That last small distance between them was broached and he let his lips touch hers. They didn't give at first but then returned the kiss ever so gently and timidly. Warnings and encouragements ran through his dazed mind.

She pulled away, her hand to her slightly parted lips and he sat there, shocked at himself more than anything. His mind formed an apology. His heart was beating furiously in his ears. He readied himself for the rebuttal. Not only was she his commanding officer's sister, she had this huge trust issue with the military and he was crazy for thinking she'd even remotely consider him—

She leaned in softly and kissed him again. There was no hesitation. Only warmth. The spark in his gut transformed him, stoked by the rush of adrenaline. He touched her soft cheek, keeping their lips locked together. She melted against him. Between cloying breaths, he could feel her hands touch him back. She smelled like fresh rain, like warm, sun-kissed earth. In the haze he could hear her say 'don't' and he forced himself to stop in his gentle exploration of her exposed skin.

The cold returned and he pulled away, "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, I didn't…I just meant I haven't…I've never…been with anyone," she looked down, some pink tinge to her otherwise pale face, "I don't want to hurt you and I don't know…My alchemy is fueled by emotion."

He tilted her chin up slightly to meet his gaze, "You won't hurt me," he promised.

"But what if I can't control…anything?"

He kissed her gently and their foreheads touched after, "I'm not going to ask for anything you're not comfortable giving. But I'm willing to take that chance if it means being with you."

Eyes soft, she kissed him again. His hand cradled her angelic face and he lowered her to the bed. Her hand held him around his torso while he kissed every inch of her neck and exposed collarbone. She was silken, warm, and he could feel her fingers trail up his back to run through his short hair. Her balmy breath rolled past his ears with each little touch and hitched when he reached under her shirt. She was shivering even with the fervor she was igniting in him.

Eyes closed, lips locked again, he was overcome with lightheadedness and euphoria. His world was spinning. He opened his eyes trying to ground himself; he saw her softly lit from within with that same golden glow she'd displayed downstairs. Was this alchemy? In another dizzying wave of internal fervor, he leaned down and kissed along her neck that was bared to him. The tingling in his body was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Every sensation was amplified. Every moment lingered. Her soft moan and whisper of his name echoed slowly, rolling through his brain like a voice in a valley. The motions felt his body undulate and his mind lagged behind leaving him empty but filled with inebriated calm. Her body felt like a soporific live wire and each touch of her skin set off fireworks on his.

"Jean…"

"I'm here," he assured her.

"I don't want to hurt you…" she repeated breathlessly.

Hand on her face, fingers stroking her cheek, he smiled, "I trust you."

She surrendered. Whatever alchemy had been activated, Jean felt it encompass him, and her, wholly.

Admittedly, the Armstrong mansion was too opulent for his tastes. However, that opulence was coming in handy as Roy visualized his plans for the coming day on the full-wall, marble-and-gem-inlaid map of Central. It would be rough, and a lot of it depended on stroking Roderick's ego and ire. So long as Amelie made him look untouched, he had no doubt the plan would work.

He knew she could perform his alchemy. She'd deterred it and extinguished it in the past. Some of it wasn't too unlike her penchant for diamonds. The air was the ally and all she needed to do was control the composition of it. Still, she had to be close to him. Close to the soldiers who would no doubt be present. She was powerful but his confidence wavered in her ability to remain calm.

Initially, he wanted Riza to protect her in that tower. Amelie had protested, but he'd shut her down. Riza was the best shot and if anyone came to investigate them, she would be the easiest to escape without putting any lives in jeopardy. The last thing Roy wanted was for soldiers to come under fire for only doing their duty. That had already tainted Amelie and that trust was forever gone. Still, knowing that he was drawing Roderick out meant he was the most likely target.

Being a target without his Captain at his back left him uneasy. Perhaps Amelie's protest hadn't been illogical. Perhaps Havoc would be better suited to keep her guarded. She'd shown a level of trust with him that she hadn't shown with anyone else. The more relaxed she was, the less likely things were to go awry.

A heavy sigh proved to be his undoing. She was right. Hawkeye was better suited to be near him to avoid arousing suspicion. She would be happy to hear it. He walked towards her room. No doubt she would sleep easier knowing he'd changed the plan to accommodate her.

When he opened the door he wasn't surprised to see her asleep. He was surprised to see Havoc laying with bare chest to her back, propped up on an elbow and running his fingers through her tousled hair. The First Lieutenant quickly looked up at the soft sound of the door opening and they met each other's gaze. Roy backed out of the room and latched the door loudly. Standing there in the hallway with arms crossed over his chest he felt his heart beat slower while his eyes were dry. His jaw ached from being so tightly compressed. The door opened and shut again and Havoc stood there, half-naked with a blanket wrapped around his waist.

"Sir, I can ex—"

Roy held up his hand and welded his eyes shut, "Don't. You will be with Amelie in the tower tomorrow. Captain Hawkeye will remain with me. Is that clear?" he pinned his gaze on Havoc.

"Yes, sir, but let me —"

"I did not give you permission to speak freely, Lieutenant," Roy cut him off; his mind was running in a million different directions and none of them were civilized. Eyes wide at the brusque reminder of rank, Havoc's jaw worked and his brow furrowed, "I have always been gracious regarding the personal lives of my team. Do not take advantage of that. Am I clear?"

Havoc nodded, "Yes, sir."

Loathe to say 'as you were', Roy turned and sharply walked away down the hall towards his own room. He knew he'd seen it and still didn't want to fathom it. She was his little sister but really what right did he have to meddle in her affai—choices? She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Still, relationships complicated things. More than he cared to acknowledge or admit. Stalking away, he pushed the door to his own room wide open and saw a flurry of movement. Hand out, ready to snap, it was moot. The threat was in his mind, and his ignition glove was useless without the alchemy to amplify it. The drapes which surrounded the poster bed settled and proved to be the only animated thing in the room.

Lowering his poised hand, he rubbed the ache from his palm and crossed the room to the bed. His jacket was still tossed aside; the golden insignia caught the last flickering light from the hearth. Tomorrow he would lead his sister into the den of soldiers who would no doubt shoot her on sight should she be recognized. Tomorrow he would gamble. Tonight, he would forget all of that and sleep. If he was lucky, he'd forget what he'd seen.

A soft knock on his door and he looked up to see Hawkeye still in her uniform. She stood there for a moment and he only met her soulful eyes. She sighed.

"She'll be fine, sir," Hawkeye's voice said softly.

He sighed, "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. But only because I know that look."

"What look?" he asked defensively. He'd worked on this mask, on the facade of nonchalance that irked his subordinates. He'd gotten so blank he'd forgotten how easy it was to just turn on, like it was a look he never left the house without.

"Its the same look when you worry about us, sir."

He scoffed, "Don't know what you're talking about."

She walked across the room and turned her eyes to the winter white on the other side of the window. Her profile made him curious. It looked like her smirk was set in place and he couldn't hardly ever remember her keeping it on for so long. Usually, it was here and gone like lightening. Now, it seemed rooted to her smooth complexion. He walked up next to her, hoping to find some solace in the beauty in front of him.

He saw Amelie.

His heart jumped into his throat and he leaned forward, childishly pressing his hands against the window to see his baby sister better as the vision began to vanish. Her clothes were haggard and bloody, shreds of cloth and nothing more. She'd been standing barefoot in the snow. Hair unkempt. Eyes half-dead. He was sure he'd seen fresh blood trailing from her chest.

He couldn't say anything, his voice was too strained from the shock of seeing her. He swallowed away the fear and the pounding in his chest.

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked. Her smirk had been replaced quickly with a tight brow. Her hand was on his shoulder.

He looked at her, blank, "I thought...I thought I saw her."

Her eyebrows knit closer together and she looked out the window only to bring that scrutinizing gaze back on him, "Are you feeling all right, sir?"

His body stiffened and he sank back onto the bed, stationing his forearms on his thighs and looking down towards the floor, "Fine."

He knew he'd lied. So did she. But saying nothing, she only returned her mind to the scenery outside.

He hated it when he couldn't explain himself to her. He knew she had flashbacks, too. Only it seemed hers where of people she'd never even seen the faces of. Faceless victims of her long-range sniper's aim. He wasn't sure which was worse: knowing each face as it flashed by, or seeing nothing but blanks. Lives snuffed and forgotten. They both suffered that fate. Why did she look so worried then, at his admittance of seeing someone he'd abandoned? It wasn't like it hadn't ever happened before.

"She's not Maes."

His neck cracked, he'd risen his head to look at her so quickly.

"We protect who we can. Some, we lose. Some, walk away. But we were there for them as much as we could be. You haven't buried her, sir. Don't let yourself think otherwise."

It was her solemn eyes, her folded hands on the window sill, even her sweet, monotonous voice that made his throat swell in pain. He had to look away otherwise her lack of emotion would make his overflow.

"It's the right thing to do; letting Jean stay with Amelie tomorrow."

Roy cleared his throat, "How'd you know?"

"My room is right next to hers, sir."

"And why do you think it right?"

"Amelie doubts who I would choose to protect if something went wrong. No matter my orders. If something did happen, I would have to condemn one of you to death. She doesn't want that. I believe she knows the guilt you carry. Were she to die because of my choice, she knows you would lose both of us, sir."

Roy's heart had stopped beating the moment she'd said it. The moment she confirmed that choice being a possibility, he felt his skin go cold, his forehead drip with frozen sweat. Just inhaling, pulling in air, felt impossible.

Cruel as it was to make him face it, she was doing him a favor. Amelie had always known Roy's choice and now, Hawkeye's. Meanwhile it seemed Amelie would choose Roy every time.

Jean watched his commanding officer march away, an irritated line of a man. Much as he'd expected that reaction, he didn't expect it to be so short-lived. He'd thought he'd be in for a lengthy explanation of the dangers, with a few tacit threats peppered in for good measure. Taking the brief encounter as a boon, he ducked back into the room where Amelie slept on, undisturbed. He stood there, staring. They would have to be up before dawn to prepare for the plan the General had laid. Until then, he could at least appreciate what he'd experienced with her. Sure, he'd been with other women, but this was a league apart from any of those liaisons. He didn't know alchemy as well as the Elric's, and he couldn't claim much knowledge of her unique talent, but he acutely understood now that alchemy wasn't something she did - it was who she was. Her alchemy was never 'activated'. She lived it and the sensations she'd stirred in him were far from a manipulation. That desire and peaceful warmth in his body had been her. Her soul lit a spark in his.

Stepping across the marble floors, he clambered back into the oversized bed next to her. She rustled slightly; he placed his hand protectively on her temple and she smiled wistfully before curling up next to him.

Even that slight touch fueled the afterglow. Her alchemy seeped into him where they touched and when he pulled his hand away the aureate luminescence was clinging to his palm. His hand tingled, awoken like a limb previously denied blood flow. Emotions he couldn't describe made him lean over her and lay a tender kiss to her forehead.

She'd been described as a soulless monster. How wrong that was. She was life.

Amelie's eyes snapped open. Her brain fired off a million different questions, but the first and foremost was regarding the warm body shadowed behind her. Her body tensed for dangerous moment until she remembered Jean had stayed with her. Knowing he had, and was evidently sound asleep, made her frantic heartbeat slow to a bit more normal a pace. His hand was loosely draped over the dip of her waist. She laid her hand on his; he was warm. He didn't stir.

She didn't know what time it was, but her throat was dry. The constant arid heat from the fireplace had gotten to her. She softly lifted his arm from her waist and gingerly moved from the bed. Still, he slept. Leaning down, she gathered discarded clothes and slipped them back on. Barefoot, she walked from the room towards the kitchen. Her body felt like it were thrumming with a deep vibrato unlike anything she'd ever felt. She could feel echoes of Jean, but it wasn't as though she'd transmuted him. And the echoes weren't the same as those from others who'd she used alchemy on before. It wasn't memories she had. It was fleeting emotions. Soft pockets of thought and sensation. Hardly more than the feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket. Although even that was more comforting than anything.

Wandering into the kitchen, she looked to see her brother hunched over the island. He was still only in his white cotton shirt, his starched blue pants unceremoniously slack and wrinkled. His hand was tousled through his thick black hair with his elbow on the polished stone and his eyes were on something she couldn't see. Shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped forward gave away his exhaustion.

"Can't sleep?" she asked softly.

He pulled his head from his hand and looked at her, "No," he admitted after a pause, "Not having alchemy is unsettling."

She stared at him, "I'm going to make it right. I promise."

He said nothing. His gaze was set on the polished stone in front of him.

"I was going to make some tea. Care for some?" she moved towards the range.

"That would be nice."

Silently, she filled a kettle with water and leaves and pulled two cups from the upper cabinet. She could feel his eyes on her and she could only meet his gaze with a gentle smile. The moonlight was dimmer; clouds had moved in again and filtered it before the sun rose.

"I don't want you to blame yourself," he said sullenly.

She leaned against the countertop, arms crossed, "For what?"

"For what happened to me. You coming wouldn't have made a difference."

"You don't know that."

"They ambushed me; shot me in the dark before I even had the chance to defend myself. You being there…they may have shot you instead."

"If it meant you were spared—"

"Why do you do that?" he cut her off sternly, but quietly. She snapped her mouth shut, unsure of his outburst. He sighed and looked down to the table, "Why do you think my life is worth so much more than your own?"

Her mouth formed the first shapes of an answer just before the gurgle of the kettle set off the whistle in the spout; she turned off the flames and poured the water through the strainer into the porcelain. The transparent green liquid splashed and a few droplets made their way to the counter top. Why? She had no answer. Perhaps the feeling that she'd taken lives meant she never thought hers was worth saving. Did he have that same feeling of worthlessness? His life was his, and he was trying to atone for the red on his hands. She'd run from hers. Did that make him better?

Putting the kettle back, she put the strainer aside and brought the tea to the island. Roy held his cup between his palms, cradling it. She could see his mind working. Those eyes were staring pensively into the cup and beyond the bottom of it, trying to run thoughts to completion behind them.

"If you think any louder you'll wake everyone else," she jest quietly.

He looked at her and smile deprecatingly, "Suppose that would be rude."

She shrugged, "Well, I'm here if you want to talk."

He continued to look at her, study her, see her. She didn't feel threatened, but it was a strange look she found on her brother's face. Did he know? About Jean? Even if he did, did it matter? Had it been impulsive? Yes. But it was comfort and, even so transitory as it was, she needed it.

"You were right," he came to some conclusion of an internal monologue.

"About what?"

"About tomorrow. Captain Hawkeye should be there at the press conference with me."

Amelie couldn't stop the relieved smile on her face, "When will you just tell her you love her?"

His eyes left hers and looked back beyond his tea cup, "Fraternization is a punishable offense in the military."

"That's not an answer."

"What makes you think I love her?"

"Please. I transmuted your soul; you loved her then. I felt it. I doubt it's faded."

"Even so, there are rules."

She sighed, "She loves you, too, you know."

He sipped at the tepid tea, "I was thinking of sending someone else with you. Do you have a preference?"

She stared at him; typical evasion. Yet, he was trying to dig and find out something. She could tell in the way he asked. Unbidden, her eyebrows raised a bit in amusement and he caught the look. He put his tea cup down and sighed.

"What?"

"You've just never asked me for my opinion before."

His jaw clenched. She could see him swallow back pain before he spoke, "You're not a child. And I have no right to make decisions for you. You're the one helping me."

"Whomever you think, then."

"I think Lieutenant Havoc would be the best to stay with you during the press conference."

She met his gaze and remained calm, no emotion on her face, "He doesn't treat me like a criminal. I trust him."

His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. His breath cast ripples across the top of the tea. The very first gleams of golden sunrise lit the clouds from behind. Everything in the kitchen was cast in a pastel purple light, the darkness still clinging to the shadows. Another sip he took without a word.

"He's a good man. I trust him with my life."

Her heart was beating ever so slightly faster; had he heard something to give them away? Or was he just stating a fact, benign and meaningless? Even when they were children, he had always been hard to read. Now it seemed no different.

"Good morning," another voice chimed in.

Amelie and Roy both turned to see Havoc, fully dressed in civilian clothes and ready for assignment. He looked between the two of them, but his eyes favored her brother more. She could feel a whisper of concern, of anxiety. Was he waiting to say something?

"Lieutenant. We were just talking about you," Roy allowed, "I was just telling Amelie that you will be stationed with her today during the press conference."

Hearing her brother's voice but eyes fixated on Jean, she watched him relax and regain his normal posture. His confidence stirred in her. His shoulders lowered and he ran his fingers through his hair "Of course, sir."

"The Captain and I will go about our day; I want you in place as soon as possible. Your objective is to get Amelie in, get her out, and avoid confrontation. Is that clear? Just make sure she can perform her alchemy undisturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Her brother nodded, drank the last sip of his tea and left the kitchen.

Amelie watched him walk slowly away. Unsure if her brother was the wiser for their tryst or not, she could only smile and sip at her own cooling tea. If he did know, he wasn't intervening. If he didn't know, perhaps it was best to let it be and not impose that knowledge on him. He had enough to go through today.

The fourth ammunition can lay full and hefty on the table. She and her team had been hunched over the assembly line setup for an hour, meticulously placing rounds into the belt that would feed them through the gun. Her hands shook from exhaustion. They hadn't the means to mechanically load the belts, so it had to be done by hand. That, and Roderick's outburst still rang fresh in her mind.

Soon, the early morning traffic would make movement harder, make concealing the cans difficult. They were bulky, obvious, and heavier than she thought they'd be. The jeeps were equipped to mount the guns, but they were useless without the death-on-a-roll cans.

"You ok?" one of the younger men asked. Naomi recognized his striking red eyes. He was Ishbalan and relatively new to the Republic; his fervor was endearing and he'd begged to be on the front lines for the day's assault.

She offered a tired smile, "I haven't had a decent chunk of sleep since the day before last," she admitted.

"We can finish up these last few cans if you want to go rest."

A few murmured agreements came from others at the table. She considered it. She would be leading the afternoon's assault. She had to be sharp to avoid losing anyone - they'd already lost too many in a battle Roderick wouldn't elaborate on. Losing more at this juncture wouldn't just be demoralizing, it would ensure their eventual defeat.

"A suppose a little rest will be good," she allowed.

The younger man elbowed her away from the table with a smile. Taking her leave, her feet followed the path to her room. She didn't even need to look anymore. Sounds, smells, even the slight change in pressure made her aware of where she was.

Stepping into her little slice of sanctuary, she didn't bother undressing. She just flopped down on the cot. The smoky pillow under her head was cool and refreshing. Her body uncoiled. Her mind stopped replaying the events of the prior evening in it. No doubt she was overreacting to Roderick's temper. He'd gotten them this far. Heavy lids stifled her view of her room.

The knock on her door was encroaching. Leaden, her limbs refused to move for a moment. The knock returned and she groaned while pushing herself to her feet. So much for rest.

"I'm coming," she hissed, yanking the door open when the knock returned for a third time.

Roderick stood in front of her. Her body immediately jolted awake, adrenaline shocking her limbs into prickling awareness.

"I saw you leave the prep table. Thought I'd come check on you," he allowed.

She offered a half-cocked smile, "Just tired. Was going to rest until we moved out."

Those eyes surveyed her; with his hands behind his back, he looked nothing like the temperamental man he'd been last night, "Apologies. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling well. I'll let you get your rest, then."

He started to walk off. She stepped out into the hallway and called after him softly. Hands still resting at the small of his back, he turned to face her.

"Did you need me for something?" she asked.

He smiled, "No; get some rest," and walked off.

Blinking a few times, brow furrowed while he meandered away, she retreated back to her room. Curling up on the cot once more, sleep eluded her.

Amelie swallowed back her uncertainty and knocked gently at her brother's door. Her palms were dry, but her heartbeat was hammering against her ribs and eardrums. His low voice bid her enter and she pushed the door open. He was just putting on his starched blue uniform jacket. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower. He looked at her, pushing buttons through their holes from memory.

"Lieutenant Havoc and I are heading out. He says it's better to get into the city before the morning rush."

"Captain Hawkeye and I are doing the same."

A half-hearted, sad little smile tugged at one side of her lips, "I would say we could carpool, but…wouldn't do for you to be seen with a fugitive."

Black eyes cut off the gaze and returned to the floor. She didn't know what she expected. Some kind of revelation? He couldn't even look at her. Last night, he'd hugged her and apologized. Now, that uniform carved canyons between them. A soldier could never be a brother.

"Well, see you later, then," she abruptly turned to leave. She could feel her throat sting at the lack of reaction. Her eyes watered. Jaw tensed.

"Amelie," he called after her, voice too low to be much more than a whisper. She bit her lips and faced him. He'd squared off with her, the top button of his jacket still not done, "When this is over, you won't be a fugitive anymore."

Hope. Subtle, deafening hope. She swallowed back the sting of it. Hoping was almost worse than being ignored.

He sighed, "You don't believe me."

She bit her lips, containing the swell of fear that was roaring inside, "I want to."

"Stay out of sight. Don't do anything rash."

A nod and she couldn't help but smile, "Always pragmatic."

He shrugged, "Hazard of the job."

"Same to you. Don't do anything stupid."

"Deal."

"I'll see you after, then."

"After," he echoed.

She walked out and found her way down the grand staircase. Jean was waiting for her. Deceptively civilian, his heavy coat hid sidearms and one sawed-off shotgun with enough ammunition for a small army. Pulling her own hood over her head and covering her face in shadow, she followed him out to the car he'd already warmed up.

Fingers upon his temple, Roy looked past the beautiful winter morning. White-washed alleys and cheery smiles went unnoticed. His mind was filled with darker thoughts. Useless. That's what he was now, entirely and utterly so. Unable to assist in his own plans save to fill the position of bait. Everything now relied on his sister. A fight that should've been his alone was now her inheritance.

"Shall I discuss this plan with the Fuehrer when I report the outcome of last night?" Hawkeye asked pragmatically, yanking him from his own prison, "Should Roderick fall for the trap, having additional forces at our disposal might be useful."

Roy straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't want more soldiers getting involved. Roderick's unpredictable. Not to mention, Amelie will be in the midst of it. I can't fight two battles at once."

"I doubt she needs you to fight hers, sir."

Eyebrow raised at the blatant dismissal, Roy sighed, "She's not exactly predictable, either. I don't want our own to come under fire if she panics."

"She's more controlled than you give her credit for. I don't believe it will come to that."

"You sound like Maes," he scoffed.

"Do you think the Brigadier General was wrong?"

"No. No, I don't. He was never wrong about her. If only I'd listened sooner."

"Sir?" she asked, obviously not understanding the full beast of guilt that was eating at him.

"All those years she spent as a weapon, forced to do alchemy...When the headlines came out, Maes was the first to defend her; he said she'd have never killed anyone unless it was in self-defense. He believed in her more than I did."

"You have the chance to believe in her now."

He studied her profile while she continued to drive. Such beautiful, perfect features. He admitted silently that he believed Amelie now more than ever. She'd been so spot on with so much. Feelings, thoughts… But he averted his gaze when Hawkeye glanced at him. Back to the white city beyond the window. Back to ignoring the heat his feelings gave him against the cold.

The car came to a slow stop when she pulled into his parking space. Stepping out into the cold, he shrugged his coat up closer to his cheeks. His steady, long exhale condensed before disappearing. The courtyard looked like a fairytale. Ice shimmered from the barren trees. The fountain had frozen over. The snow, pristine. His black duster whipped about in the wind. Coming up beside him, Hawkeye offered a little smile. Her cheeks and nose were tinged rosy pink from the cold nipping at them. It set off her chocolate eyes.

Making his way through the stone halls and navigating to his office, he passed no one. It was earlier than normal. He'd hoped to beat the morning commute. Fewer persons who could potentially see through his charade. Running lines and a fledgling script through his head all night, he still wasn't sure of what he could possibly say that would overcome Roderick's gloating. No matter what platitudes he gave, the press would only want to see one thing: evidence of his fate.

With hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white, Jean cleared his throat for the third or fourth time in as many minutes. He felt odd. His palms were sweaty and his heart beat double-time against his ribs. Still, like a split personality, he could feel a distant, timid calm. It wasn't him. He didn't know where the placidity was coming from. But every time he looked at Amelie in the seat next to him, he felt butterflies in his stomach whirl about aimlessly. She'd closed her eyes on the ride over and he hadn't the heart to wake her up even though he'd stopped the car to get breakfast. He wanted her to enjoy something. Even just a meal with him. Something more to show that not all soldiers were mindless or heartless.

With a shaky hand, he placed his fingers on her shoulder. She stirred and offered a sleepy smile his way, "Are we there?" she murmured.

He nodded, "Yeah, but I thought you might want breakfast first. We're going to be holed up for a while. I didn't want to starve you."

She looked out the window to see a little deli. The golden lights within were a beautiful contrast to the pastel dawn that played on the snow. Opening his door, he came around the car and opened hers. She pulled her hood up and followed him inside. Her body stayed close to his; he swore he could feel anxiety, fear. Now in a familiar surrounding, he felt more confident but still that trepidation ate away at it.

He ordered for both of them at her request and smiled to see her eyes light up at the warm, steaming knish laid on a plate. The cheese and egg overhung the edges and the sweet-cured ham rested on top. As with the stir-fry, she wasn't shy. The bite she took broke the tepid yolk and she was quick to catch the drip on her chin with a napkin. She laughed and he couldn't stop smiling at her. She spoke of her younger years and homemade meals at Madame Christmas' foster home. She talked about her time on the run in Aerugo. She'd learned to dance there, and to ride cycles, too. She hinted that she was a bit of a daredevil on the bikes. He admitted he was fond of them, too. In all their conversation, he felt at peace. Her smile was infectious. And even when the meal was done, her demeanor remained relaxed.

It wasn't until they pulled up to the partial edifice that he felt the cold slap of nerves flutter in his heart. He wasn't nervous, but still he felt it. Amelie looked up at the burgeoning building.

"What is this?" she asked.

"New construction. After all the chaos last year, the military had some serious rebuilding to do. The construction crews all went home on account of the snow. Best place to keep an eye on the General."

She nodded while her eyes remained fixated on the high-rise. Havoc led the way and was grateful that at least the windows were in place. The interior was chilly, but warmer than the winter air outside. Unpacking his guns and double checking each to ensure the ammunition was loaded, he hunkered down against the wall. They'd wasted plenty of time at the deli. The streets below were bustling with mid-morning crowds.

"How will we know when Roderick broadcasts?"

"We'll just wait until the General shows up on the steps."

"I wish he'd planned to do it in the courtyard," she said and, he admitted internally, it was safer. Behind the walls of the compound, there was less chance of an attack.

"Front steps are bolder. More likely to rile Roderick up if he's cocky."

Ameilie gave a half-hearted chuckle, "He's always cocky. But, usually with good reason."

"And you?"

She swallowed hard and he felt a pang of guilt. Guilt and nausea. Again, not his. Hers? Were these feelings hers?

"Why do you feel guilty?" he blurted out.

She looked at him. Surprise. Raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips. She blinked a few times and her eyes narrowed on his, "Can you feel me?" her voice was breathless, barely more than a whisper.

He nodded, "I think so. I've been feeling...things...all morning. Not mine. Different than mine. Why? Can you feel me, too?"

"I can. I've never felt...If I transmute someone, I get everything up to that point, but never more past the transmutation. I mean, I didn't think I'd actually...transmuted you," her eyes were looking inward, trying to think. He could feel the confusion, the tiny voice of fear. She was already shutting down, afraid of emotions and connections. Her body became stiff. Her shoulders squared off.

"You said you'd never been with anyone else, right?" he asked pointedly and she nodded, her arms crossed over her chest. Her feelings were subsiding, going cold and his jaw clenched in frustration, "So, I don't know exactly what you think about last night, but - "

"Terrified," she cut him off quietly.

He stared at her for a moment, "Of what?"

She wouldn't meet his gaze, "What we did...I've never felt so close to anyone; I hadn't felt safe in years until last night. It was the best night of my life."

"Same. So what does that mean?" he leaned into her, hoping she would smile at him.

She met his gaze, "I don't know. Does it have to mean anything?"

He pulled back and shook his head, "No. It doesn't have to if you don't want it to," he amended.

Her lips were turned up in a little smile, "I didn't mean it that way."

He exhaled and smiled back at her, "Oh, good. I don't know what I'd do if you shut me out."

The tinge of blush on her cheeks only made him smile wider. Looking outside at the winter scene, he couldn't stop the warmth inside. She followed his gaze and they sat for a few moments in beautiful, comfortable silence. The snow had stopped falling and the bright, crisp light of the day had taken over the city. The azure sky was untouched by a single cloud. The military grounds were awake with blue; new recruits training in the snow and seasoned veterans watching from the sidelines.

"You know, the winter formal is in a day. We get this finished, you think you'd want to join me?"

"You mean, like a date?"

"Exactly like a date."

"I very much doubt a fugitive would be welcome."

He shrugged, "Maybe. I figure, if you save the world, they could probably look the other way for at least a night."

She laughed, softly and delicately, "Then I'd love to."

Roy stared at his paperwork. The stack hadn't gotten thinner. If anything, it was thicker due to the incident reports he'd had to fill out; ensuring his staff were free from blame while also hiding his sister's involvement. Maybe, just maybe, the country would be able to accept her when all this was over. For now, she had to remain hidden.

Putting his pen down mindlessly, his fingers rubbed together and made one little spark. He knew every nuance of the alchemy enshrined on the fabric, but nothing came of it. Without the fuel, the spark died. There was no flame that could steady his resolve. He didn't know what Roderick would attempt after the press conference. He only knew his direct safety was in the hands of others. He was competent with a gun, could fight hand-to-hand, but he was the Flame Alchemist. His defense had always been the air around him. Now, that air was stagnant.

"Can I bring you anything, sir?" Riza stepped into his field of view and he directed his gaze to her.

"I'm fine, thank you Captain. Is everyone in place?" he looked to the clock on the mantle across the way.

She nodded, "Yes, sir. Edward and Alphonse are stationed at the academy should Roderick try anything in the aftermath. Lieutenant-Colonel Armstrong is with the Fuehrer, reporting on the events of last night with discretion. We've received no indication that Lieutenant Havoc has had any difficulty, either, sir."

"We just have to hope I've predicted his moves well enough."

"I hope so, sir."

The radio crackled in the adjoining room. The prattling broadcast cut out. Steepling his hands and inhaling deep, Roy waited. He saw his Captain steady herself; one hand on her sidearm and the other balled into a fist. His jaw clenched tight and he steeled himself for the inevitable.

"Ladies and Gentleman of Central, this is the Republic..."