A/N: Hi... so, It's been about 7 year since this story started, and finally, I had something come and bash me over the head, wake up my muse, and say, "Hey Asshole, update!" And thus, here we are. Chapter 11. Thank you to DW for reviewing, and to those who have followed or favorited this story so far. I hope the next chapter doesn't disappoint, as we're going to do some growth over the next few installments. So without further a due, here we go!

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA, and only share ownership of the Original Character 'Ridi.'

Aftermath

My nightmares that night had been in full force, but exhaustion kept me down and out. Thus when I woke up, it took me a few moments to realize something was off…

My head was pressed against something warm and the room somehow seemed fuller. As I focused, I soon came to realize why. I was not alone in the bed. It seemed that the chair had not been enough for Greed. But with a bleary gaze, I noted a pair of shoes were behind my head. Following them, I found there he was, his chin tucked down to his collar, and his puffy vest around his neck. It was indeed my giant, pain in the ass, homunculi keeper. Greed hadn't moved at all, and I was a bit thankful. Resting with her head against his thigh and along the floor though, was Martel, and as I looked around, there withhis back to the bed on the other side, head bent back and a pillow stolen to prop it as he snored was Roa. A slight grimace pulled at my lips of confusion- that left… I heard a sniffle beside me.

Dolcetto only moved slightly from his spot, my perked head having jammed onto his shoulder. He must've taken the other half of the bed, and as such, I had curled up with him.

I did my best to not move too much as I thought the situation over. Frankly, I felt heavy and well rested, and didn't particularly care if this motley crew had broken into the room. There was nothing of mine they didn't already have or were aware of, and despite the proximity, it was a high likelihood was they wanted to be closer to Greed and thus got it. That or they just didn't trust me to not do something while he slept. That was our usual song and dance, the no trust thing. Thus, as I sat up and pondered them all with a simple stare, I did my best to remain as quiet as possible as I crawled out of the bed and crept to and through doorway. With no pants on, it was kind of a guarantee I wasn't going anywhere- and as I exited the room, I was careful to shut it with a soft 'click' behind me. Hopefully I could get some time to myself.

My stomach gave a growl of protest, and I tried my best to figure just how much leniency I would be given. Slumping against the door, I slid down it and sat on the floor for a few moments. The brief isolation was a break that I needed, though trying to think coherently was a bit like wading through a tar swamp. How much had I told Greed in my half awake sleep? And even more, how much more was I willing to say if he asked again? It was difficult to come to grips with the fact that down to my bones, I felt a rage so intense I didn't know how to handle it. That the old man had done nothing but instigate something so potent, and something I never thought existed to begin with. It scared the hell out of me. Something had also changed. Something, frankly I wasn't fully clear on. Perhaps a demeanor after last night's break through by the avarice-driven Homunculi, maybe?

I looked at my bandaged hands while biting the inside of my cheek, then slowly pushed to my feet to wander down the hall. The silence on the house gave me hope that our less than friendly Hostess was either out, or asleep. Either way, I casted my caution to the winds as I went to check and see if the kitchen remained unguarded. I was tired of canned something or another, and stolen bread.

Marcie thankfully had a pretty robust pantry once I tracked it down. She had two sets of cupboards and about four shelves full of dried goods. A fire stove top informed me there was hope for cooking something good, and while she had a wood oven, one which I had no real clue on how to operate- I settled with the assumption that I could make something. At the most, she had a sink and running water, so boiling shit was on the table. As far as sitting to eat though, I found in some amusement that there a round table with three seats. She either entertained few, or didn't bother entertaining, at all.

I want good food to revitalize the…. well, everything. I thought as I looked through the cupboards and shelves; trying to be as quiet as a mouse. I hit the jackpot early though, and found good eggs, peppers, potatoes, onions, and cheese. A little more poking around, and half a loaf of bread was uncovered. I briefly wondered, as I poked through the stores and wares Marcie had- also taking note of the paper bags of new groceries she'd picked up, if she would give a shit that I was about to raid her big time for breakfast. Then, I realized that I didn't particularly care, as last night, the woman's main interest had been putting a bullet in my head. There was no love and honor amongst murderers… and hangry stranded girls.

"What do you think you're doing?" I was torn from my thoughts and searching, going rigid with a stifled a yelp of surprise as Greed's cool voice came out from right over my shoulder, the loaf clenched tightly, my nails and fingers partially dug in from the jump. Fucking…

I dared to look over my shoulder to gauge his anger. But, rather than look cross, he seemed barely awake. A bleary glare was leveled at me but his lips were only in a tame frown. Thus, any intensity his usual glare had seemed to be halved. I didn't feel a need to try and sugar coat my own half-awake grumble of complaint as I lowered the loaf to in front of me. My usage of 'mother fucker' earned me at best a raised brow and a small frown.

"…Breakfast." Is what I managed in a perfectly innocent voice, using the jerk of my head and my chin to gesture to the eggs and cheese I had already managed to scrounge up. He followed it and considered, then looked to the bread in my hands. Sniffing, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, brows furrowing and forehead creasing.

"Can you make coffee?" He began, I looked about, and then paused as I noticed an old-fashioned percolator. The time setting of the era denied me a regular coffee pot. I bit my lip as I muddled it over.

"…Should be able too. Haven't used a percolator before, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out," I managed, before he waved a tired hand at me. I took it as 'then get to it.' Eager at being left alone to do something, and the prospect of caffeine, I moved to search for coffee beans or grounds. Meanwhile, he settled himself at the kitchen table, lounging back tiredly with his arm thrown over a chair and his legs out in front of him. As I was pretty sure Homunculi didn't need sleep… I had to wonder if he was actually tired, or just acting. Maybe he liked the activity of sleep? Since he wasn't being a pain in the ass for the moment as it was though, I wasn't about too poke a potential sleeping bear with questions. We weren't at that level yet. I soon found, through following my nose, ground up coffee, and began to set up the percolator and stove top. Feeling eyes on the back of my head, I followed with, "eggs and toast?"

"What ever you can find, and a lot of it, the others will wake up soon enough." The casualness of the situation put me at ease, "try anything funny though…" and there he was, ruining it. My shoulders nearly rose to my ears as I ducked my head. I counted to ten internally, and then back down, before forcing myself to relax.

"I got it, I got it." I muttered to him and looked over my shoulder. I set the percolator onto the open flame the stove top provided. He didn't need to finish the sentence. His lips were pursed and eyes narrowed as we stared each other down. I realized, with indifference and somewhat amazement, that I had just hit my limit of crap.

Wrestling with the words that were forming in my head, I finally sighed and set my hands down on the counter to lean against it. "Let's cut the bullshit though, kay? And let's not act like I could, or would, actually do something to you, Martel, Roa, or Dolcetto. In fact, I think we've already discussed it, in depth mind you. And if not you and I- Martel and Dolcetto have made sure to get their own points across," I inhaled deeply and gave a soft sniff, hanging my head, I stared ahead as I just for once, let loose and talked, "So, let's make it clear. I know. I know I need you way more than any of you need me. I know for a fact that I am not nearly experienced enough to pull off some hellacious escape, or lucky enough to pull some wicked smart stunt that could hide me away from the military forever. Not without any help at least." Finally, I looked up to the ceiling and grunted, "and I got enough of a threat looming on me with said military… that my blood pressure just doesn't need it from you, too. So, I ain't going anywhere and as you've made it clear many a time- we're stuck together. Thus, just for this morning." I steepled my fingers and stared down to the percolator, "just to make shit bearable, let's just have a normal, nonthreatening, breakfast."

A long, pregnant pause occurred, once more. I thought I was going to get it, particularly after last night. The silence hung and I felt my shoulders begin to rise again with tension before a questioning tone fell from his lips, "…hellacious?"

"My word of the fuckin' day." I responded with a rasp, and then turned to face him. He didn't react at first, regarding me silently. I rested my hands on the counter behind me as the percolator heated. I was surprised that his face hadn't turned to fury yet though, perhaps he finally heard something from me that he wanted. It appeared we were going to make some progress, a small glimmer of hope settled within my chest at the thought. Maybe I would eventually get the bastard to warm up to me. He slowly rose his hands in an overemphasized, yet lazy shrug.

"…Alright Kid." He'd state, and I frowned, but didn't push it. "…You cut your shifty shit and stay straight with me, and I'll lay off riding your ass, for now." Well hell. If that was what it took? As long as he didn't start asking the general, surrounding questions and kept it personal- outside of the realm of circumstances to our meeting, I think I'd be set. He did however, look me up and down at that point, "Though- you may want to put on some pants." I paused and looked down at myself. I had forgotten how I went to sleep. Big shirt, underwear, still no pants. My mind went through the night's events and the morning occurrences before I slowly gave a shrug of my own, hands up towards the ceiling in front of me.

"If I recall, I ain't got nothin' you ain't seen." I'd reply bluntly, and then dropped my hands to turn back around, "I just won't bend down, and you just mind your own eyes, cause the room is still crowded and I ain't quite ready to go get the trousers. I'll go back and get them later."

"…Suit yourself." And with that, we fell into a nice, domestic quiet.

It didn't take long for two piping mugs of coffee to have been made, and for me to slice the bread and have a skillet of eggs and vegetables going with what I had dug out. I didn't ask how others may have wanted it, and Greed didn't seem to need to tell me either. So they were all getting it scrambled one way or another. When I set the large ceramic mug in front of him, he'd not drink until he watched me take a hearty gulp of the dark brew, and then immediately regret it as I had to swallow it, hissing, "Hot hot hot hot!" While turning to put it down hastily.

"Then let it cool, you idiot." I glowered at him as he lazily demonstrated a perfect sip, as though to avoid how to burn your tongue all together. I pouted, we couldn't all have healing abilities that made shit easy to handle.

Greed couldn't exactly say domestic settings were exactly his scene. He often preferred to be gone in the morning, avoiding the possibility he might end up in being in one. Though, while that definitely left his usual partner for the night alone in bed (not that he cared), he couldn't deny that after the train, the running, the fighting, and then finally stopping for the night, he was just plum happy to be able to take a moment to breathe and embrace the quiet. It wasn't going to be long, and they would be back at it come the afternoon- after all, the military wouldn't be that far behind them. He refrained from sharing with the kid though that but the seconds ticking by were absorbed and coveted with an unaware ferocious possessiveness. Even the coffee in his hand was a nice touch, course, he'd prefer a little bourbon in it- but really, who wouldn't?

His eyes remained on the back of the teen in his charge as he sipped it, her own hand clawed to a possessive grip upon the rim of her mug as she paused from scrambling eggs with various vegetables to take another, slower drink. What ever piss and vinegar in her seemed to have exhausted itself last night. Something that left him wary, but also a bit thankful. He didn't have the patience for another row.

Thus, what ever it was; be it the fear of God from their back and forth, or a good night's sleep that caused her to do a complete 180, he was satisfied with the attitude flip. Not that he would call what he witnessed a good sleep though- he didn't know if she was aware that she mumbled, tossed, or in some cases whimpered when she slept. He could only assume she was plagued by nightmares from what he observed, but, he wasn't about to tell her either. It gave him more insight behind her guards than when she was conscious.

Not to mention he didn't need a sleeping disorder on top of all the other shit he was trying to figure out. She struck him as the type that would become paranoid at letting something slip, and thus would try to fight off the need to sleep. Martel had mentioned briefly in her nighttime visit to him, when the crew had come in that she'd witnessed the behavior earlier too while they were on the road. That and the jerky wake up that corresponded...

He left it to his men, they knew enough about trauma to figure out a way to get her to calm down, or at least on how to shut her up. It would be handy to keep in mind though. His eyes turned from her back to the entry way to the kitchen, wondering idly if Marcie had managed to drink herself into an unconscious stupor. Judging by the heart rate's steady pulsing from the couch where she was unconscious, he would guess so... it'd be good if she just stayed that way until they were gone. His focus turned back ahead of him to the girl's brown covered head. What was it with him and wounded strays, though? He just seemed to have a knack for acquiring them. He grimaced in thought, but his features soon melted back to cool neutralness.

Either way, the change of pace was welcome in the aftermath of their usual tense tug-of-war arguments. He liked the frankness turn from her usual, timid demeanor. It was better than trying to guess what the fuck was going through that head of hers... refreshing even…

It had to be the sleep. He pondered internally, or maybe we finally had a break through. I manage to suck the poison out of you, kid? He would have to remind himself to piss her off or drive her to a corner more often, particularly when she was tired, if that were the case. Then he could handle it easily enough if she began to clam up again. That, or he just needed to better observe what was making her tick, like he was now that he had the time.

As she took the skillet off the open flame and turned the stove top off, he looked to it the pan and the lack of tension in her shoulders. He heard the stirring above and the heavy feet of his crew beginning to move about. They likely were going to look forward to it. None of them had asked and none of them knew the kid could cook, even if a little bit. He took his gaze away from the skillet to catch her face though as she was caught in a pause. She was staring at the top of her hand. He cast a glance to his own Ouroboros tattoo, frowning momentarily and opening his mouth- only to note that she was staring at the other, bandaged hand. Her features had hardened, her brows had furrowed, and her lips had curved downward. He studied her for a few moments, catching the way those blue eyes seemed to nearly melt into black as they hyper-focused. He tossed around the idea of how to address it, then a thought came to mind, "Why carve into you?" A tension rippled up her spine and her jaw clenched.

The way her features seemed to deepen closer towards hostility rather than unhappiness clued him in. Ridi had some anger she was wrestling with, and it wasn't at him, either. Her response remained delayed, but her voice showed concentrated neutrality, her features nearly smoothing into a deadpan, unhumored stare, "I don't know." Her voice then changed to incredulous suggestion, "Maybe 'cause he's got a sick, twisted mind." She didn't look up at him, her hand tightened on the pan and he could see as her knuckles turned white. He then pressed on.

"How do you feel about it all?"

Her head jerked up in surprise and she looked at him for a few moments. It reminded him of a deer getting caught in the headlights. Then she winced, the next words coming out slow yet again, and with an unfocused gaze, she wasn't seeing him at the moment, lost in thought, "I try not too…" Before she then turned away to begin to divi out the egg scramble onto plates. "Bigger things to worry about." Ah... For now, he agreed, the military being after them was a rather larger item at hand. He could appreciate her tabling the concern... he just couldn't help but wonder how much it ate at her. Someone wakes up in an alley cut to hell and without a fucking clue as to why? He'd been pissed for less, but that would drive him near murderous.

While he silently speculated and crossed his arms, Dolcetto and Roa entered, making him hesitate from continuing. Martel not far behind. He decided instead to casually wave, and not give up his seat. As they looked to him, they'd find the homunculi soon with his face buried in the coffee mug. He wasn't about to make this puzzle a group activity. It seemed the kid did better with one-on-one as it was. That would have to change, but now wasn't the time to make that happen.

The group was more than used to Greed's typical ways, though. So a shirtless Dolcetto simply settled for moving to a corner of the counter and lifting himself up onto it with a wince. Martel and Roa took the remaining seats to sit with Greed, though Roa positively outsized his own. Somehow, he managed to look just as comfortable in his chosen perch; something that was unexpected for such a large man.

Greed took note that a blue eye observed it a bit longer than normal, and quirked a brow as he noted Ridi had to keep from smiling as she spotted it, turning her gaze to the dog chimera as he was still waking up. A hand rubbed at his stomach as his wounds still bothered him. His katana was set in his lap and when a plate was held out to him, he looked up to stare at her. Greed watched as she stared back at the dog chimera with a deadpan stare, and sipped idly at her coffee, waiting for him to take the plate.

Greed and she also both knew it was a stupid amount of eggs, onion, pepper, and potatoes, that went into that skillet, and no doubt Marcie was going to scream once she noted they were gone. Not that either cared, though. Cooking it had been easy. As she still held the plate, and he seemed reluctant, she cast a look over her shoulder to the Homunculus in a silent plea. Greed continued to observe in silence, as the leader, and as the onlooker, before he murmured, "Been watchin' her the whole time, go ahead and eat. It's fine." The youngest stared holes into him, but then gave a quiet nod of thanks as the plate was taken away. Dolcetto, trusting his boss a hell of a lot more than the weird kid that had once broken out of their exchange house, proceeded to take the plate from her and the fork with a small 'thank you,' before he dug in.

They observed for a few moments and then Greed noted the delinquent relaxed once Dolcetto's features brightened. Nodding in some unspoken fashion, she handed out the remaining three plates to the others who didn't wait to take it. He was about to comment before he noted her grab a fork and move to the skillet where there was a small bit remaining, at least enough to be a healthy portion. Good, he wouldn't have to ride her about it after all. He went to eating his own filled plate. Pain in the ass or not, he didn't nee to be dragging her more than was already usual.

It was Martel though, that was the first to break the silence they'd created, "So, what's the plan?" She got to her feet and moved to begin to wash it at the sink. Greed observed her thoughtfully, while the other three stared on focused concentration. He set his fork down and sat back.

"We continue as previously discussed." He'd surmise, lifting his mug and taking a long drink. "Stick to the shadows and don't draw attention to ourselves." He'd look towards Ridi. "…How do you feel about dyeing your hair, kid?" It was, of course, a rhetorical question. The longer he stared at her, the longer he was realizing that while the attitude change was a no doubt need, there was more that was going to have to be done if they were going to pull this shit off.

Thankfully, she didn't show reluctance. "My skin washes out as a blonde or with black." Her voice quiet, but clear. A bit more alert as she finished eating, she moved once Martel returned to her seat to begin to clean out the skillet. "But darker colors will blend more with my roots." She was being unnaturally cooperative, and Greed's eyes narrowed onto the back of her head as she continued to clean, and then dry the skillet.

"Noted." He'd state into his mug as he kept his arms crossed. He'd soon look back to Martel thoughtfully, and then Dolcetto. Considering as he'd tilt his head back and forth, the crane it up to look at Roa, he sighed in irritation. Nearly with disbelief, as though his statement should have been the opposite of what it was, he'd mutter, "Doesn't look a thing like any of you three… can't pass for a relative..." And he wasn't about to cock block himself and pretend like he had a daughter. He simply shrugged, he'd have to think of a better story later, once they got back on the road. Getting to his feet though, he'd inhale and grab his plate and mug to clean it himself. She moved out of the way for him without prompting and returned to her coffee. While he may have enjoyed women fawning over him, it would have bugged the hell out of him if she took care of him. After all, he was already in debt. Utter bullshit. He scolded himself.

…Though he could appreciate still feeling in charge, despite the circumstances to their situation. Once he finished and the plate and mug were on the dry rack next to her skillet, he'd grunt, "Be ready to move in about two hours. Dolcetto, you keep an eye on the kid here. Martel, Roa, you're with me." And without another word, would turn and take his leave. The other two scarfed their food and quickly scrambled to follow him.

That would definitely make things a tad easier, as he had some things he needed to pick up to make sure that this exit out of the city was a clean one.

Thankfully, Dolcetto and I were in an somewhat reluctant, yet easier than normal agreement of cooperation. It helped though that he didn't truthfully have much to watch. After Greed left, I resigned myself back to the bedroom, a shower calling me and Greed's and my conversation leaving me with plenty to think about. Were we making some progress after all, or no?

Either way, Dolcetto left me alone as long as I didn't exit the bedroom, and there were no windows to escape out of- so why worry? The time to myself had given me a bit to gather my thoughts and relax.

The longer I was alone though, the more into a good mood I became. Even with Greed's return and being given a brown bag with new clothes and hair dye, I had somehow managed to fall into a somewhat lame, but idle contentment.

Hell, I even managed to remain positive after my hair was dyed into, for all intensive purposes, a big black mop.

Which brought me to the now. I looked silently in the mirror in front of me as I stood in the bathroom connected to Marcie's room. The same one I had showered in the night before, before I had an entire argument with Greed, pantless. A blush came to my face at the thought, and I rubbed at my eyes trying to block out the memory. What the hell was I thinking? I peeked back up at the mirror. The woman looking back at me wasn't the same as when I walked in. Her hair was now as dark as squid ink. Well, Hello world, Enter pasty goth Me.

With my hair as it was, I looked completely washed out. It honestly reminded me of Wrath from the first FMA Run in '03. It didn't look quite right, but not quite as wrong as it would. Anyone who didn't know me wouldn't likely know the difference. I dropped my hand to cover my mouth as I continued to register my appearance. I'd even dyed my eyebrows with it- and let me tell you, that was a definite trip. Furrowing them and staring at the black hairs, I'd simply shake my head. Let no one say I didn't dedicate give it my all to try and stay out of the military's grasp. I could give the first Jason Bourne movie a run for it's money.

A knock on the door yanked my attention, and with the towel around my neck and shoulders, and another around my chest, I yanked open the door. Greed leaned against it, a paper in his hand. He looked from me, and then to it. I craned my neck to look over at it, wincing to focus my eyes without my glasses. Seeing me do this, he simply tilted the paper to let me see it better.

My own face stared back at me, with quite a shade lighter in the hair, and a lovely 'WANTED' stamped across the top of it. I blinked several times, my lips giving a 'tak' as my tongue moved my lips and I found myself at a loss for words. I ceased thinking, and resolved to drop my face into a hand and then rub at my eyelids, before pinching the bridge of my nose. Inhaling deeply, I soon peeked at it again. I had to refrain from the comment that wanted to leave me in a near hysterical laugh, thinking it rather hard, not Armstrong's work, but not inaccurate. They had gotten a good portion right. My heart began to hammer and my head began to buzz, an uncomfortable feeling I was getting all too familiar with. I silently tried to wrestle the panic to the ground as things were becoming very real, all too quickly.

Greed seemed to watch me as though this were an interesting science project- his eyes narrowed on me and his back straight. No humor in his face and an unspoken conversation happening between us as I began to slowly lose my shit. I found, illogically, didn't appreciate what he was saying, or rather wasn't, near immediately. I was getting ready to snap at him before he cut through my panic like it was a ribbon at a store opening, "If we cut your hair… it'd probably look rather different. Maybe even see if we can get you different glasses..." My panic-driven, oncoming rage was stopped cold. The idea he was stating set in and became absorbed.

"…Like- like Clark fuckin' Kent." I'd manage somewhat wondrously, and breathlessly, before his brows would furrow and he'd look confused. I blinked as I recalled this to be somewhat of a slip.

Greed leaned back incredulously, one brow raised. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Just… a- a story hero from when I was growing up..." Not Unlike Like you. I rubbed my face now with aggressively with both hands. Get it back together girl.

I reeled in the strange thoughts that began to bubble in me and looked back to Greed to see him wandering away, opening my mouth to say something, only to silence as I saw him returning with a pair of scissors. The look in his face said there probably wasn't going to be much of a discussion on this, and as I looked to the floor, I saw he'd gone ahead and simply left the Wanted poster there. If he was trying to stifle any argument over it, he was doing an amazing job at it.

Thus, it was only seconds before he was looming over me. I craned my neck up and back to look him in his face, and a long pause fell between us as I struggled with the words. If we were going to do this- well, I couldn't think of much to tell him other than, "Look just… just…Don't make me look like shit."

"Not hard to do," He'd state nonchalantly, :if anything, it'll be an improvement. You're looking rather rough as is."

Ouch. Why did I like this Dick of a man again? With a resigned sigh, I reached up and pulled the towel over my shoulders closer around me. Using one, now unwrapped hand to pull any hair out from under it. Greed, in turn and surprisingly, got to work.

I remained silent and focused in on the snipping of the scissors as I peeked back up at the mirror. Despite my irritation at his comment, he was right. The eye was uncovered as of the moment, as was the ouroboros cut. They had begun to scab at last with continuous cleaning and wrapping, but currently were fresh, pink, and looking rather harsh. They would have to be wrapped once I dried off. I also noticed though that I had lost weight, mostly from all the walking and the travel I think. It wasn't a lot, but it enough that I noticed my face had gotten thinner, and my curves were beginning to become a bit more exaggerated as my stomach and waist slimmed. Come to think of it, I saw I wasn't getting as out of breath as I usually did.

I shifted slightly and continued to stare blearily at the mirror. There was still bruising from the train, and it had become an interesting yellow. I suspected it'd be a few days before it fully faded away though. So for now, it colored part of my jaw, and parts of my body. I looked back to what Greed as doing and took note that we were going considerably shorter.n What did he even have in mind? Was he making sure that I was damn near unrecognizable? Well not shit sherlock- that's the entire point of ANY of this.

I quickly decided it would be easier if I was distracted and detached from the reasons why we were doing this. So… for once, I began asking the questions. "How long 'you been cutting hair?"

"Long enough." He'd mutter off handedly. I watched as those amethyst eyes of his focused on the strands in between his fingers, chopping it away. "You think this all happens overnight?" He'd stand up straight, looking back at me in the mirror and point at himself. I shrugged. We still hadn't quite gotten onto the introductions basics of 'what are you, what is he? What's a chimera' and I figured until the group decided to disclose any of it- if they ever did, it'd be best to keep it that way.

Hell, now that I thought about it; I wasn't even sure Homunculi could even grow their hair out once they were created. He went back to work at my silence, and in taking note of i, provided me a bit more of an explanation. "Dolcetto's and Martel's hair don't just naturally stay that short." I couldn't imagine Greed at a salon chair though with a person in a smock, no matter how hard I tried. So I simply frowned and looked back at him, my disbelief clear on my face. He decided however, to change the subject and ignore such unspoken questioning all together, "So, decide to stop the dodgy bullshit?"

"No." He paused mid-cut and I noticed that glint in his eye, the dangerous kind he got before he might get smart. It was likely not a wise idea to try and refuse him while he had scissors, and my hair in his hand. Last night, he got me off-kilter, and frankly, while I didn't regret it this morning, I felt like I needed to lock down. More discipline, more heavy handedness. I had to be stronger, particularly if we were going to get through this mess, and if I was going to get where I needed to be.

So, despite everything in me screaming 'danger' as he stared me down in the mirror, I gave a soft swallow and looked him right back dead in the eye. As I tried to ignore the feeling of my heart trying to claw its way up my throat, I followed up with, "I ain't the sharin'... type," My voice nearly cracked. Christ, what a lie, but here I was, about to spin the yarn anyways, "and I still ain't comfortable with telling you what I want," Truth, "and why I want it. Or why I interfered with that one-eyed pirate past wanting too." Also truth, but I had to refrain from adding 'and hey look buddy, if you were stuck within a god damned world you only thought was fiction, held hostage by one of your favorites, and had your life threatened by an entire military, you'd be a bit overwhelmed and freaked out too!' However, back on track. After all, there was still a dangerous avarice-filled being that was playing as my hair stylist.

"But," I relented, speaking slowly and with a measured voice, "I figure it's easier for us both if you don't have to drag, and I don't have to be dragged." Much like this morning, I extended an olive branch; and with a narrow gaze, he seemed to digest these words. His response was simple as he turned to look back towards the hair at the back of my head. I flinched in surprise as he lopped off a good part of it indiscriminately.

Clenching my jaw to bite back a snap, I went stock still as he looked back at me with a flat gaze. Evidently, I gave the wrong response, and thus, I got ready. Our mutual reflections made me very aware of how easily he stood over me and of just how much of my back was open to him. Or, of just how much I could get hurt. I tensed waiting for the onslaught and unintentionally winced under that stare. My own face twisting in nervousness for the oncoming pain. Soon though, he was back to precision cutting. His own brows furrowing as he'd state, "I told you. I don't like to beat on women. Even tiny, annoying ones with a knack for pissing me off."

I tried to grasp that, and then inhaled deeply. I also pretended like I didn't hear the shake within said breath as I managed, barely clinging to my bravado, "Th-then are we good?"

"Not even close, kid." A distinct edge in his tone made my back go a little straighter, but my features schooled back into neutralness. The snipping on the back of my head made me acutely aware of how short we were going. I began to lean away from him before he reached up, put his hand on the top of my head, and with little effort readjusted it back. "Stay still unless you want this shit lopsided." I didn't bother hiding the displeasure of what I thought that might be like. Like before, he didn't bother responding to it. The quiet left me in a worse state though than when we started.

"Then what are we?"

What the fuck was he, my boyfriend? I struggled with the question. I don't know why what happened after last night made me much so more willing to talk. Or maybe it was because it was just us in the bathroom? Or, maybe it was the fact we weren't likely to get shot immediately, or arrested. Was it possibly because he finally hit home and made me swallow the fact he was right, I didn't have anywhere else to go? I quickly realizing that tension, stress, and death threats had an odd way of turning down my willingness to interact and turning up my want to hide and run. Maybe that was just part of being a normal human being though? He still didn't look up from his task. "Greed?"

It was honestly the first time I could recall addressing him by name so directly, rather than in the heat of the moment if I ever had. Even so, he simply gave me a glance up, frown still in place and then went back to working. He crouched lightly behind me to get a better angle at the bottom of my hair and so I opened my mouth. He stopped me by simply saying, "Shut up, I'm thinking, Ridi." The sound of the snipping is all that went through the air as I watched him in the mirror cut away the remnants of the girl I was, bit by bit.

My hair getting shorter and becoming more groomed by the second. When he satisfied himself with the bottom of the back of my head and neck, he stood back up straight, "Turn to the side." He pointed to my right, "and keep your head straight." And I found myself doing so accordingly. As he began to cut and trim hair away from my head n my right side, I looked to his face now and he finally looked up from his lashes to look back at me, then focused back on his task. "We…" He began frowning distastefully, as though he was testing the word out himself, eyes narrowed as though he couldn't believe it, "Are the most unlikely of accomplices, and neither equal in skill or age." His frown deepened and he exhaled through his nose in a stifled sigh, "You just so happen to beunfathomably lucky that you pulled me out of that sewer. Someone who just so happens to be the most likely able to get us out of this mess."

I fell into silent pensiveness at his words felt an odd quake at the bottom of my being as his words seem to hit home. So much had happened in the past few… I quickly realized that I had lost track of the days, that I had little doubt I would be either arrested or dead without the bastard. It had seemed for a while that we had just been walking and hiding, then coming here; and before all that, just the first night in the forest, but every time around the way, he'd been pointing the directions and guiding us all to safety. Once again, the feeling that had been there before; a strangeness that I wasn't all right inside, settled in and made me feel like a simple echo of myself.

Greed nudged me and I moved accordingly without being told now to my left. He began working on the left side of my head in turn. I just shut my eyes to contemplate my own thoughts and said nothing, before he finally sighed out, a brush of irritation in his voice, "And you? What do you think we are?"

I opened my eyes blearily and gave him a side glance. I could feel my own lips pull down in a pensive frown, You're my ticket to survival cause I'm clearly a walking death wish. I actually struggled with an honest response response. What could I say to that? I think we're great? Super? Terrible? I think we're… we're… I couldn't seem to figure out a 'we' thing to even tell him. "…I... don't know." I fell silent once more and then shook my head, "I don't know what 'we' are." I repeated, "Frankly, I still have a hard time believing I managed to get any of you out. Just like I got issues ah... well, seeing myself here." I blinked and looked away from him now, but that hadn't stopped him from looking at me with laser-focus. I tried my hardest not to fidget, "…Probably some of the best driving I did though, getting you out I mean, and that's saying something."

"You ran over a man, Ridi." Greed bluntly stated in disbelief, and I shrugged. As the conversation diverted from the uncomfortable subject and I found myself in luck with this entertaining response, I looked up at him. He paused his trimming around my ear.

"Yeah. But on purpose." I emphasized, hands tightening on the towel a bit tighter. My hands stung a tad, and he looked at a loss for words. I actually felt a bit of amusement at his wide eyes and pursed lips before he was slowly shaking his head and going back to work.

With a grumpy frown, he'd mutter, "I'd question your sanity kid, if it weren't clear it's already compromised." A soft chuckle actually managed to leave me at that- but he unfortunately did not share my amusement. I managed to sober up a bit though as the implications of what I did set in. It still felt like a distant, surreal dream...

It was about twenty minutes later that he stepped back, his work completed. I peered at the mirror.

You know, I had never imagined myself with shorter hair than I already had. Admittedly though, I had never seen myself with shorter hair than chin length. Now however, without the hair framing my face, I looked a bit… sharper. Perhaps even more shrewd in gaze and nose, like I was someone who was a lot more confident than I was. Or maybe even smarter. I looked good, despite everything.

Greed simply stood with his arms crossed behind me as he surveyed his own work. I turned to face him now directly, brow raised in inquiry. He stepped back and I heard the crinkle of paper. I looked back down at the wanted poster as he shook his foot to rid himself of it. It'd gotten stuck to the bottom of it after getting wet, in the process of him working on me. He'd look back down to it once it fell to the floor uselessly, however, and just give it a nod. "Just as I thought." The person that stared back to me was a girl, maybe around her teens that I was very familiar with. Yet, when I turned and looked back at the mirror, I saw nothing of her, and only saw a foreign woman that I didn't know. She had sharp blues eye and short jet black hair.

He'd gone tight in the back and a little bit of bangs in the front. But, without a doubt, I had a straight, if not sharp, pixie cut. He leaned in and clapped me on my scarred shoulder, his head moved to sit next to me. I could hear him next to my ear, but I stared at his visage in the mirror while he lingered behind me, "Now, you look like someone who could be in my crew." And with that, he turned on his heel, and his reflection vanished from next to mine. "Get dressed, you'll find you can't evade the military in just a towel." I didn't have anything smart to say to that.

Thus, he left me to my own and moved into the bedroom before he soon disappeared into the the hallway. I looked back down at the wanted poster.

For a moment, I did nothing. Then, I dropped the towel from around my shoulders, reached up, and ran my eye-carved hand through the short, ebony strands that now composed of the hair on my head.

I quickly noticed couldn't grip a single strand, and if I couldn't, that meant neither could anyone else.

The meaning to this realization hit me rather fast, I looked out the doorway the Avarice-filled man had once filled before I bit my lip to keep back an odd little grin.

Clever Bastard.

Well, maybe... just maybe, there was some hope for me and my time with them yet.

A/N: You've read, and it's been a while, so let me know your thoughts. See you next installment.