Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, only this plot.

Chapter Eleven: In Which The Execution Day Is Resolved

The first player eyes the knight, tapping his fingers against the board.

"That was fast," the second player remarks smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "Stuck, are you?"

"Of course not," the first player scoffs, taking his pawn and placing it in front of the knight—a challenge. "I'm just thinking things over."

"Sure you are."

The pieces are moving.

"…Sir. Sir, wake up."

"Mmmn…" Roy groaned as he rubbed his eyes blearily. A pair of reddish-brown eyes stared sternly into his. "…Lieutenant…?"

He blinked, trying to remember where he was. He wasn't at his apartment, that was certain—why would Hawkeye be there, anyway?—and he wasn't at his office. Books were stacked in piles beside him on a small coffee table, and one was even resting on his stomach. He was stretched out on a leather couch, legs folded against the southern armrest, head resting on the other armrest. His arm dangled limply against the couch, half-grasping nothing in particular.

It was a familiar position.

I'm at the library, then. Damn, I should have checked the time before dozing off… Roy sighed as he looked down at his clothes. I'm in uniform, at least.

"You should have gone home instead of sleeping here," Hawkeye admonished, looking around the library with careful precision, taking in every detail. "What were you looking for anyway, sir?"

Roy yawned and sat up, scratching his head. "I was trying to find historical references to what Envy's planning."

"Did you find anything?" Hawkeye picked up one of the books and looked at the dusty red leather binding, flipping through it briefly before putting it back.

"Only a paragraph—almost near the end of one of these books." Roy gestured helplessly toward the huge pile. "A male patient in an insane asylum was going to be executed for the crime of adultery, but a 'dark-haired man of eighteen years' saved him with the same method we're going to use. That was in 1714. Apparently the man wed a wealthy widow and died young."

Hawkeye frowned. "I see." She sighed. "It's not like we have much choice. It seems that his idea benefits all of us. What sane person would back down from that?"

Roy smirked. "You."

Hawkeye offered him a smile. "True. I find this method more than a little risky, but it's better than simply breaking into the prison."

Roy yawned and stretched. "So, when's the execution?"

Hawkeye checked her watch. "We have fifteen minutes."

"Good."

"Mr. Envy!" Alicia called, banging loudly on Envy's door. "You're gonna be laaate!"

"I knooow!" Mr. Envy's loud reply was muffled slightly from behind the door. Alicia ran back to the kitchen as she heard drawers being opened and shut, and the strangely metallic tang of alchemy.

Her little feet slapped against the wood floor as she ran, calling "Mommy! Daddy! Mr. Envy's up!"

Her Daddy smiled at her as soon as she entered the kitchen, scooping her up and whirling her around. "That's my girl! You did a good job!" he cried cheerfully.

Alicia couldn't help but shriek with laughter.

Mr. Envy walked into the room at that moment, still looking sleepy. The buttons of his uniform were still loose at his stomach, and Alicia couldn't figure out why. It wasn't too hot inside (summer was coming), and if he went outside that exposed area would get sunburned. Mr. Envy said he didn't like getting hurt, so why did he do things that would make him get hurt?

Alicia thought long and hard about that. Mr. Envy sat at the table and began eating his omelet quickly, his eyes still sleepy.

Alicia reached out and tugged softly on his strange, long green hair. It felt silky, like Mommy's hair.

"Mr. Envy?"

Mr. Envy looked down at her. "Yeah?" He yawned, showing off a very sharp and white set of tiny teeth.

"Are you…a masterchist?" Alicia blinked in surprise as her Mommy giggled from behind her hand.

"Come again?" Mr. Envy looked confused for a moment. He frowned a little. "How do—"

Daddy cleared his throat. "Envy."

Mr. Envy quickly got up and headed for the door, grabbing his bag along the way. "Sorry, princess, but I've got to get going. Your father and I have work to do!"

"Have fun!" Alicia called, as her Daddy looked at her with worry in his eyes.

"Alicia…who told you about 'masochism'?"

I thought grown-ups knew everything… she thought with a world-weary sigh. Guess not.

Winry sat in the breakfast hall (she hadn't eaten), suddenly wishing she could crawl into a hole and die.

"Did you get the entry done?" Envy asked, one leg crossed over the other. One of his shoelaces was coming undone, tickling her ankle.

"Yeah," she said softly, handing him a simple black notebook with a steel-ring binding. "It's right in the front."

Envy practically purred in approval as he handed Winry a green velvet-lined book with a black ribbon as a bookmark. "Same here."

"The deal—"

"—Is still on, yes. Don't worry, it's not like I'm going to read it out loud…as long as you don't read mine out loud, that is."

Winry nodded. "Right."

Envy opened her journal, resting one hand against his cheek. His violet eyes grew a little glazed, and a small smile spread across his lips.

I don't know if I should be worried or not, Winry thought nervously.

Winry fell silent as she began to read Envy's entry, subconsciously tapping her foot against the floor. It was written in a sort of unique calligraphy, which made it slightly difficult to read at first.

To Miss R.,

I have many dirty secrets. Too many to choose from, you could say. I figure it'd be best to start things slowly.

So. Here is my first secret: every other night, I remember something from when I was a human boy. (I don't dream, you see.)

I remember a white wall. There's nothing really special about this wall—there's no cracks or peeled paint or pictures or anything like that. It's just…white. I can't see anything else save for that wall. Maybe it's the only thing in the room, besides me.

There's a strange, almost ticklish feeling in my hands—as though I've done something to them.

As soon as I reach out and touch it—with my pathetic little boy hands—I make a red handprint. It's a weird, sudden contrast, and it excites my boy-mind so much that I do it again. And again. Soon the wall is covered with blood-red handprints, and it's the prettiest picture in the world.

E.

Winry closed the journal as Envy handed hers back. "That's…"

"Scary?" Envy took his journal back, his expression faintly amused.

"A little." Winry carefully placed her journal in her bag. "What'd you think of mine?"

Envy chuckled. "It was—" He glanced around as the other kids got up and headed toward the doors. "Oh. Looks like it's time for Kimbley's execution."

Before Winry could ask him to answer her question, he vanished into the crowd.

"…For want of a horse the rider was lost…" Kimbley sang merrily at the top of his lungs as he was escorted to the gallows.

"Will you shut up?" one of his guards snarled, barely audible over the rattling of Kimbley's chains.

"Oh, but sir, look at what a fine day this is!" Kimbley exclaimed, as he threw his head back to look at the sun. "I haven't felt the sun on my skin for years, after all. Let me have a little fun before my time is up, why don't you?"

He could hear the crowd already, screeching and booing and cursing him as he marched up the old rickety stairs to the noose. He turned to face the crowd, gracing them with a polite smile as he did so. He saw the Winry girl in the crowd, but no sign of Envy.

But he could see Mustang perfectly clear, and his subordinates beside him. They looked just as stern as the other officers, barely even blinking.

The crowd pressed closer, the elderly, adults and children coming together for one single, unified purpose—to witness his death.

Kimbley smiled at them, waiting patiently for the noose to fall over his neck. Envy would arrive at that time, he was sure.

The noose slipped over his neck, scratching harshly against him, prickly and remorseless.

Any time would be wonderful, Envy… Kimbley thought, suddenly realizing that Envy could have lied.

The noose tightened. Kimbley felt beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

Mustang didn't look any better. Kimbley could see that he was standing a little stiffer than necessary. Possibly he even looked paler than usual (not that Kimbley was any better). It would be almost funny if not for the fact that death was imminent.

Kimbley's vision swam as he slowly shifted his feet.

So much for a golden opportunity.

At least his life didn't flash before his eyes. He had always hated people who claimed they saw such a phenomenon, and were lucky enough to have survived. It was foolish to think about such things.

I never should have trusted that—that—

"Sorry I'm late. How're you holding up?" a voice whispered.

Kimbley let out an undignified gurgle.

"Hold that thought." The rope was cut. "There. Feeling any better?"

Kimbley gasped for breath, unable to speak. His vision slowly returned, and he could see that the crowd was staring silently at him and Envy. Winry in particular looked dumbstruck. It was cute, really, seeing her pretty blue eyes so dramatically wide…

"It's all yours, Colonel," Envy called, standing to one side, his cold hand on Kimbley's shoulder.

"Citizens of Central," Mustang declared, stepping in front of Kimbley. "I, Colonel Roy Mustang, stand before you in defense of one Zolf J. Kimbley, aka the Red Lotus Alchemist."

The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves—and his subordinates were coming closer, lining up in front of the platform, ready for action.

"Look at this man."

Mustang stepped aside to give the crowd a look at him again, and Kimbley gave them all a level stare. "He is thin, haggard, and obviously weak."

Kimbley stared out at the crowd, betraying nothing. I would have used a better choice of words, but…

From behind, Mustang looked quite heroic and intimidating. Kimbley was sure he looked even more so from the front. He certainly had grown into his uniform.

"He has killed many innocents during the war. But so did I—and many other State Alchemists. Each of us have repaid our debt to humanity in various ways—and believe it or not, Kimbley has too. He has spent several years in prison, unable to see the light of day, alone, with his sins. Facing who he is—and why."

Mustang turned to face Kimbley, his eyes dark, betraying nothing. Kimbley had to admire his acting skills.

"Have you seen your inner demon, Kimbley?"

Kimbley grinned and shrugged. "Many times."

Mustang's eyes flickered slightly. "And do you repent your sins?"

Which ones? Kimbley almost asked, before instead replying "I want to live, Colonel. I want…"

The crowd seemed to hold their breath. Kimbley even felt Envy tense a little.

"…I want to repay my debt." All right, so that's a little dramatic, but I already know what Mustang's going to do…

Mustang turned to face the crowd, which was muttering again. Kimbley fidgeted uncomfortably, suddenly having second thoughts. He had a feeling Mustang still hated him for what he did in Ishbal. It was possible Mustang would just kill him—not that Kimbley would allow that. Still, the idea of getting his hopes dashed to bits was hardly appealing.

I'd better be on my guard, then.

"Under one condition," Mustang said, quiet but loud enough for the crowd to hear. "If you kill even one innocent, anywhere at all, you're dead. Understand?"

Kimbley paused for a few moments, then nodded, trying to keep his face straight. Winry stared at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Yes."

"I've written out a release form. The Fuhrer approves."

With that, Mustang turned and walked away, saying over his shoulder all too casually:

"You're free, Kimbley."

Kimbley slowly bowed formally to Mustang's retreating figure and followed Envy off the platform.

"Thank you, Colonel," he called, feeling the eyes of the crowd on him.

He didn't hear Mustang's reply over the rumble of the crowd. And Envy's triumphant laughter.

The first player raises an eyebrow as yet another pawn is taken.

The second player leans back smugly, chuckling under his breath.

"Oh, my, aren't we cocky." The first player's fingers rest on his own knight, encircling the horse's neck. "It's not exactly advisable to gloat, no matter how fun it is."

"I'm guessing you would know."

The first player grins. "Intimately. I still do it, though."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The pieces are moving.