Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He tried not to look interested in the golden glow creeping down the secured ward hallway.

Though it was quite interesting indeed. Considering the last communication from Havoc had included confirmation that both the Tringums and Rockbell had had their visiting privileges revoked until General Hakuro could properly interrogate Alphonse Elric, it was rather odd that a sizable alchemic reaction should be in progress.

And he wasn't the only one that seemed to find it odd.

He'd originally intended to have the element of surprise, as Hakuro had no doubt had before him. That had meant making a special effort to walk on the outside edges of his boots in order to minimize the sound of his footsteps through the lobby to the security checkpoint. Now he was certain he could have worn iron clogs and, nearly thirty seconds after he had stopped before them, still not have attracted their attention.

Both sergeants were paying the lobby – and him – no mind at all. One was seated behind an authority-enhancing hardwood desk, twisted in his chair far enough that the name secured to the front of his uniform was no longer visible. His partner didn't even bother to keep himself open the lobby, and actually had his entire back turned.

He was considering clearing his throat, just to get their attention, when the one at the desk twisted slightly further, and accidentally knocked a pen off the desk. It still took him a few seconds to retrieve it, and as the pen rolled towards the lobby, his gaze was pulled with it.

The exact moment when he realized a pair of military boots were standing on the opposite side of the desk was readily apparent. He sprang to attention so quickly it looked painful, and his partner was only half a second behind. Both looked incredibly guilty.

As well they should. Had the Elric brothers really been here to warn of impending invasion, he could have been an assassin. If Hakuro really considered them a threat, one would already have visited them.

Now it was looking like the Elric brothers were going to make all of Hakuro's dreams come true. The Prime Minister's seat, a military victory in the north, and a valid reason to take authority and power from alchemists. He'd probably have a house built in Central for them to express his thanks.

Not that they'd be able to afford to keep it, after alchemists were replaced.

He allowed his flat, narrow eye to express his disappointment with their performance. "Can I get you men some coffee, so you can remain more focused on your duties?"

"No, sir! We apologize, sir!"

He gave each one a hard look, noting they were attempting to recover the guilty faces by staring resolutely forward.

"May I see the visitor's log?"

"Yessir!"

The first sergeant did not retake his seat, but he smartly opened the top drawer of the desk and removed the log. Mustang flipped through the top few pages, not surprised to see the general had not bothered to record his visit.

He'd probably threatened them, but taking the Tringums and Winry out of the equation made it rather moot. If Alphonse still couldn't move and Edward had no mechanic to attach his automail, the Elric brothers would be incapable of interfering. Retracting of the military passes virtually guaranteed they would be removed from any of the proceedings tomorrow, or in the foreseeable future.

Were the Tringums attempting one more treatment on Al as a parting gift?

"Busy night, gentlemen?"

Both soldiers looked quite uncomfortable, but neither dropped their gaze.

"No, Major General sir!"

"Then why is there an entry missing from this log?"

Neither soldier responded, and Roy looked them over again, hard.

"There are notes requesting the retraction of passes I issued to . . . Fletcher Tringum, Russell Tringum, and Winry Rockbell," he said, flipping each page for emphasis. "But no log of an officer with the appropriate rank passing through here to issue the withdrawal. Why is that?"

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"Oh, don't be sorry," he continued, in a smooth, low voice. "Be more diligent. Does Alphonse Elric currently have any visitors?"

"Sir! Lieutenant Colonel Havoc is stationed in his room!"

Roy looked past them, at the glow coming from the only open door in the ward. That had been especially sloppy of Havoc, to leave it wide open for the world to see . . .

"Also, the Tringum brothers and Ms. Rockbell, sir!" the other guard barked.

His eyes flicked back to the second guard. "If their privileges were revoked, why are they still with the witness?"

The two guards froze, obviously waiting for the other to speak, and the second one took that responsibility. "Miss Rockbell and the Tringums are gathering their equipment, sir!"

"I see." Of course, Hakuro had been gone for over an hour, so they should have been out of there by now. Why weren't these soldiers volunteering to remove them? "How much equipment did they have?"

"Sir! Ms. Rockbell had been using the alchemists to produce automail components for her between their treatments of the patient!"

. . . of course. What else would you use an alchemist for?

And even if it was just an excuse, it did explain away the alchemic reaction down the hall. And their interest in it, if they'd allowed her to go back with a load of metal even after the pass had been revoked. Or perhaps they were just watching and wondering what was taking so long. Since there was no entry in the log of the general's visit, it stood to reason that they didn't realize he knew how long they'd allowed the visitors to remain.

He just closed the log with a snap, handing it back to the first sergeant. "That patient may know something about an invading force with powerful weapons. If I am able to approach you both again without being detected, there will be nothing but cinders remaining. Am I clear?"

"Yessir!"

He marched between them with a slightly annoyed look on his face, but in reality, he was rather pleased. They would probably keep their focus for the next several hours at least, and the more attention they paid to the lobby and the hallway, the less they would be paying to what was going on elsewhere.

Not that he necessarily had a plan, but an alibi was something you never really knew you needed until it was too late to fabricate one.

He allowed his footsteps to ring down the hallway, and wasn't surprised to see Havoc's silhouette appear in the doorway. It vanished after a brief moment; not because Jean had moved, but because the light coming from Al's room flared, then went out altogether.

Very shortly thereafter, he heard a started exclamation, and Havoc retreated from the doorframe.

Roy Mustang carefully didn't hurry, lest he draw the attention of the guards. They didn't normally work with National Alchemists; they'd been chosen specifically because they could not be interrogated into giving anyone any information on anything related to alchemy Alphonse might have been able to perform to bring him back to this world. They were also less likely to accurately estimate how long it would take the Tringums to restore Al, though in the end that hadn't been to their advantage.

Four days, and while he was no longer nearly dead, he was no closer to telling them how he and his brother had come back. Or about the bomb, at least not until the information was all but worthless.

So what had they gotten desperate enough to try . . .?

Roy lengthened his stride slightly, still keeping the footsteps themselves unhurried. It took him far too long to reach the correct room, but outside of the single female voice, he hadn't heard another sound. Nor had there been any other unexplained lights. As soon as he cleared the doorjamb, he pulled the knob sharply, allowing the door to slam shut behind him as he took in the scene.

There wasn't much to see, actually. Alphonse's bed had been shoved against the back wall, and alchemy ingredients were laid on it in neat rows. At the foot was a large cart, somewhat akin to one used to haul solid trash from the hospital to the dumps, and beside that two automail limbs were stacked. There was a large and intricate transmutation circle drawn in the center of the room. It was currently unoccupied and inactive.

So was most of the room. Outside of Jean and Winry, it was empty.

Winry was pressed against the wall to his right, and Jean was just beside her, obviously trying to calm her down.

"Havoc."

The soldier's head came up, but he didn't turn. "They vanished. Right into thin air."

Mustang looked at the circle, hard. Edward had kept some records of the circles he'd found, most notably the ones in the Fifth Laboratory, and his discovery that adding a point to the standard six-pointed circle significantly focused the reaction. This was nothing like a circle needed to transmute Red Stone.

It had been his first fear. That the Tringums thought they needed more of it to restore Al. It had crossed his mind, too, but short of excavating the laboratory, unless the Tringums had some stashed away, there was none to be had.

This circle had definitely been drawn by the Tringums, and pulled from their biological manipulation studies. It had a series of safeguards built into it, and a few symbols he'd need to look up, but otherwise it looked harmless.

It didn't look like anything that would cause three alchemists to vanish.

"What were they attempting?"

No one immediately answered him, and he headed straight for Winry.

"I wasn't in the room when they started," Havoc told him, stepping aside without taking his hand off her shoulder. The young woman looked shaken, and tears were pouring down her cheeks, but she met his gaze squarely.

"What happened?"

"They're gone." She said it so simply, like it would explain everything, and her voice was rock steady. Only her tears gave away her distress. "They tried to put some things – minerals, and metals – back into Al's body. Then something . . . went wrong. Al – I think – I don't know."

Tried to put some minerals and metals back into Al's body? That sort of made sense, considering the circle, but –

What was he missing, and where had it gone?

"What do you mean, they tried to reconstruct his body? Why?"

She gestured at the bed, and after a second he looked in that general direction to see several sheets of paper. He strode over without another word, picking them up. The first page was a series of symbols from the Great Art, symbols he recognized instantly.

Scar had carried these tattoos on his arm, the one he'd been using to seal the lives that later became the ingredients for the Philosopher's Stone. The second page held a much more widely recognized symbol for much the same thing – decomposition.

Destruction.

But what were these in relation to -?

"Edward said that Al accidentally fell into his own transmutation circle."

Al fell into a decomposition circle? What –

The uranium bomb.

His injuries.

He had probably been shot taking the bomb – or freeing his brother – and when he'd attempted to destroy the bomb, he'd fallen unconscious and into the circle. He'd obviously only been strong enough to complete the decomp for a second, maybe two, otherwise he would have killed himself. The uranium bomb was made up of such things as sodium and water, two things his body had still contained when they'd found him in the armor.

But the base metals . . . Iron, lithium, mercury, and that sort. He probably pulled enough out of his body that he could no longer function, and then . . .

Then what? Why had a decomposition circle brought them here?

And why had this one taken him right back out again?

This wouldn't have been reconstruction, not in the strictest sense. They would have been putting an ounce of materials back into an otherwise intact body. It was the same as rehydration, in a way, a method healing arts alchemists in the desert used to save dying men. But it would have been a broad mix of elements, and someone would have had to understand the human body very well to do it properly.

Russell Tringum was no slouch when it came to biological alchemy. He could see the Winding Tree Alchemist discovering and then beginning such an infusion. But why would they all have transmuted themselves into oblivion? Or to the world Edward and Al had originally come from?

Did it have to do with Alphonse's ability to transmute a part of his soul into objects? Had he only projected his soul here . . .? But no. There'd be no container for him here. The armor would have been empty save for Al's soul. It wasn't as though he could have been called back to that world, and even if he was, why would the Tringums have vanished as well?

Had something gone wrong? Had they pushed the envelope between healing alchemy and human transmutation?

How?

Mustang glanced at the circle again, aware the papers had begun inexplicably crumbling in his grasp.

Al's soul.

The little boy that had refused to sit for the National Alchemy exam despite finding out his older brother had done it had talked about his celebrated ability to 'intelligently animate' objects once. He'd described it as his soul 'detaching' and briefly occupying other objects. These pieces of soul would return to him and the next time he slept, he could see what it was that object had seen and done as though it was a dream.

If his soul had detached from his body during this process, it would have become human transmutation. Alchemy on flesh without a soul.

Then again, one could argue all chimera work was the same thing, and very rarely did an alchemist transmute himself into oblivion creating a chimera.

And if that was the case . . .

The Elrics had survived that before. But he doubted the Tringums had ever ventured into that territory. The guards had said both Russell and Fletcher were supposed to be here –

Surely they hadn't disappeared permanently. Surely if Alphonse had disappeared with them –

Shit.

Mustang glanced back at the center of the room in time to be blinded by a flash of sun-strong golden light. The impression of heat came with it, and it took several seconds before the brilliant glow had subsided enough to see through.

He merely lifted his arm to shield his good eye. Havoc, too, handled the sudden, silent, and overwhelming explosion of light without so much as a curse. Winry Rockbell, on the other hand, was apparently unprepared to ever see them again. She let out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead.

So much for the soldiers not paying attention to what was going on in the room.

As soon as the reaction halted, Roy hurried into the center of the transmutation circle, scuffing his boot through the chalk lines and glaring down at the prone figure there.

Alphonse Elric.

He kept watching the young man until he saw Alphonse's eyes snap open. They widened as they focused on him, and behind him he heard Winry verbally recognize the person that had suddenly reappeared closest to her.

"Fletcher?"

And he wasn't alone.

The young man was on his hands and knees, fists curled on the tops of his thighs, and his expression was one of stunned surprise. Fletcher immediately looked to his right, where his brother Russell Tringum sat in much the same manner. Both looked obviously startled, but none the worse for their experience.

"W-winry?"

Alphonse Elric blinked up at him from the center of the transmutation circle, clad only in his boxers, and Roy noted a fourth figure, very much the same in build and stature, and similarly clothed, collapsing on the other side of the circle.

"Edward."

What the hell was he doing in here? How did he get in?

. . . was that Edward . . . ?

He was missing the full metal.

Yet he had four limbs.

Mustang hurried over as the body finished slumping, favoring Ed's right side. He wasn't hugging the port Winry had installed, but rather had wrapped his left hand around his intact right shoulder and arm. His legs were curled together, nearly up to his chin, but they appeared to be the same both in color and length. There was no way these were painted automail.

These were his real limbs.

Mustang crouched beside the figure, his boot soles grinding something into the tiled floor of the ward. He paid no attention, grasping the man's left shoulder and giving him a rough shake.

Edward didn't respond. His eyes were open but unfocused, and while the shaking motion rocked his head, his eyelids did not reflexively flinch.

"Fullmetal!"

Beneath his hand he could feel the slight quiver of muscle contractions, but little else. Edward was warm to the touch, and obviously alive, but his expression was vacant.

He looked very much like a human body without a soul.

A shadow came to join him almost silently, on his bad side, and Mustang gave Edward Elric another shake, to much the same effect.

"Major General?" Fletcher Tringum's voice was shaking.

Mustang released the Fullmetal-shaped body, shifting his crouch to face the person that had approached him. Alphonse Elric.

Obviously the infusion had been a success, at any rate.

How on Earth had the two brothers used this situation to restore Ed's body? What had they traded in return for the limbs that would have left them both alive and unhurt?

Al wasn't paying him the slightest attention. Instead, he reached out to grab his brother's face.

". . . nii-san . . ."

Mustang just stood, taking a quick inventory. Four alchemists, one officer, one automail mechanic. Could anyone else have possibly been in the room and been used as payment?

Surely Edward wasn't stupid enough to have paid for the restoration of his body with his soul. There was another, far less exotic explanation for his state, but it wasn't a much more pleasant alternative.

"Tringum."

Russell was on his feet, and he hadn't shaken the stunned look. He also didn't seem that surprised to see him.

"Is everyone accounted for?"

The Winding Tree alchemist did exactly what he did – took a visual inventory. Then he nodded, clapping a strong hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're all here," he confirmed, craning his head to try to see around Al. "Ed, he's –"

"He's fine." Alphonse wasn't going to get much further with him than he had, at least not like he was. But Ed wasn't in any danger of dying in the next ten minutes.

At least not until he became coherent.

"Jean, keep the uniforms out of here." The last thing he needed reported to Hakuro was Alphonse's and Edward's new conditions. The lieutenant colonel headed out into the hallway without a word.

Mustang then turned back to Russell. "What happened?"

Fletcher was looking down at his brother, but Russell didn't release him. He looked like someone that just returned to HQ after what was supposed to have been a suicide mission. "We started a base metal infusion into Al – we think he fell into a deconstruction transmutation. We were almost finished, and then we saw . . ." He was searching for the word Mustang didn't want to hear.

"We saw the Gate," Fletcher finished for him, quietly. Then he shook his head slightly. "We fought the Gate."

Mustang felt his eyebrows rising to his hairline. Fought the Gate? "What do you mean?"

"There are beings that live inside the Gate," Al's voice was behind him, and sad. "It was summoned because it thought they were going to perform human transmutation, and it took Edward as payment."

That could explain his current state – but not the limbs.

He turned around in time to see Al wrapping his brother's left arm around his neck. "And it gave you back his restored body? With what did you pay?"

Al straightened, picking his unresisting brother up off the floor. "The Gate owed us," he answered, heading immediately for the bed on the far wall. "I think we've returned everything we've gained, and regained everything we lost. I think we're even now."

"Al . . ." Russell's voice faltered. Clearly he'd finally gotten a good look at Edward. "Is he –"

"He was like this when we left Stuttgart." Al's voice was slightly strained as he yanked the blanket on the bed back, spilling the neatly ordered ingredients noisily onto the floor before lowering Ed's abdomen onto the bed. Fletcher hurried over to help, arranging Ed's legs on the mattress. Throughout the process, Ed did nothing. He didn't protest or fight even when they pulled his left arm away from his right shoulder.

"His memories," Russell muttered. "It gave them back."

That was the less exotic explanation of catatonia.

Mustang glanced over at the only silent person in the room. Winry was still leaning against the wall, one hand covering her mouth, and the other wrapped around her stomach as if it pained her. She wasn't shaking, though, and all things considered, she was handling everything pretty well.

Which was a bother. If she'd been behaving like a stereotypical woman, she'd be more useful.

"Fletcher, Russell." When he had both their attention, he nodded towards her. "The three of you had your military passes revoked. Leave immediately."

For a second, it looked as though Fletcher was going to protest, but his brother squeezed his shoulder. "Right," Russell agreed, and glanced around at the ingredients Al had spilled on the floor to make room for Ed. "What about the mess?"

"Alphonse can clean it up." It wasn't as if the other alchemist had been doing anything for the past three days. And it would be useful to have him distracted. "Get Miss Rockbell back to the colonel's house safely."

"The automail," Fletcher said automatically. "We need to take it out or the guards'll catch on."

The mention of it seemed to spur Winry into action. She shoved off the wall, walking stiffly and without a word towards the foot of the bed, where the now-unnecessary limbs were still stacked, one on top of the other. She bent and gathered them, placing them carefully into the cart, and then straightened, facing Edward from the foot of the bed.

There were still tears on her cheeks, but her expression was angry. "Trust you to make me go to all this trouble for nothing," she growled at him. "Three days straight slaving away on this stuff for you, and you go and – and –"

She shuddered, holding back a sob, and quickly wiped her eyes. "I've never lost a customer like this," she admitted with a laugh. "Aunt Pinako is going to be so disappointed."

"Winry –" Al reached out towards her, but she shook her head sharply.

"Tell him when he wakes up that I'm going to kill him," she instructed the taller man. "And did you guys have to wreck the port? It was a perfectly good piece of equipment!"

Mustang glanced towards the spot Edward had first appeared, noting the color and consistency of the debris that still showed the outline of where the body had been laying.

Of course. If she'd installed the port, it had to go somewhere.

Why it would have disintegrated . . . had Edward done that unconsciously to prevent it from shearing off his newly-reattached arm?

Fletcher helped her free the cart from the debris around it, and they were mostly out the door before Russell turned to look over his shoulder.

"We're going to head home as soon as we drop Winry off. If you need anything, call us."

He wasn't sure whether the alchemist was speaking to him or to Al, but he responded with a nod, and then the door was closed, and the rumbling of the cart grew more and more distant.

Havoc had managed to keep the guards at their station. Good.

"You should probably get cleaned up," Roy quietly suggested, glancing around the room even as Al settled on the side of the bed beside his brother. "There's a full set of pajamas in the bathroom as well."

"I'm sorry," Alphonse responded, tucking the sheet a little closer around his brother's shoulders. "I didn't think that we'd end up back here."

Mustang noted a pitcher and basin on the corner table, and walked over to make sure the pitcher was full. "You intended to die there?"

There was the soft sound of the mattress shifting as Al stood. "Alchemy doesn't really exist in that world, but it can be performed if . . ." He trailed off, and for a moment, Roy wasn't sure he was going to continue. "If there are human deaths to power the reaction."

Mustang turned away from the corner and faced Alphonse Elric. He was looking at the floor, studying the transmutation circle that had restored his body as if he'd never seen anything like it.

It was still so hard to separate this man from the boy he'd last seen.

"They're worse than we are," Al finally continued, not looking up. "Worse than Amestris was even when Pride was leading the country. They don't have alchemists, have human weapons to slaughter people, so they use gas, and automatic guns, and . . . and they knew what it was. The bomb," he clarified, when he realized his audience might not have followed the leap in thought.

"They were conducting human research experiments too. Trying to manufacture supersoldiers, like they manufacture everything else. Only they can't use human death for any other purpose." His voice was hard, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "When I found him, I overheard his guards talking about the next 'batch.' Like they were loaves of bread."

Al scuffed at the chalk circle with a bare toe. "I didn't know when they'd die, so I drew a seven-pointed circle. I thought, if nothing else, my death would fully decompose the bomb. I didn't realize . . . it would be so easy to summon the Gate."

Mustang just watched him, silently, and when Al looked up, he could see the younger man was on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry."

Obviously he'd overhead enough of the day's events, even if he couldn't respond to them.

Roy regarded him for a long moment. "You gave Sheska quite a start." He knew damn well what Al was apologizing for, but now didn't seem the time to point out he'd been the one to give him that second shot at leading the country to begin with. "Get cleaned up."

Al stared at him, clearly expecting something else, but when he didn't get it, he just looked back at his brother.

"How long did they have him?" Though he supposed it really didn't matter. Patterson had told him what Ed had been through, which meant he'd probably slipped into this waking coma a few hours into it. No matter how long they'd kept on him, Ed had stopped being aware of the pain at that point.

He'd stopped being aware of anything.

"Two days maximum." The man regarded his brother for another long moment, then shuffled off obediently towards the bathroom, off the main entrance to his room. He paused at the door, contemplating his next words.

"What happens now?"

That was a good question. "A military psychologist will see him in the morning. Hakuro's not terribly fond of alchemists anymore, but he's still knowledgeable. He'll figure out what went on this evening." Ed having restored his body would absolutely be proof of forbidden human transmutation, and he'd probably press charges the moment he heard the news.

Al was motionless a moment more, then entered the bathroom. The door closed softly behind him.

He wouldn't be charged, of course. Al had been unable to do anything about the fact that a National Alchemist and two others had performed a transmutation with him as their base. Rockbell would probably be fine as well, since it could be argued she didn't know what they were doing. Russell might be able to weasel his way out of it, but with Ed's record . . .

Mustang turned around, picking up the basin and pitcher, and carried them over to the bed. Ed had been laid out in the center, and Roy pushed the pillow back to make room for the basin. It was a deep one, meant for giving convalescent patients sponge baths. Technically, since Edward had been out for three days, drenched in the odd light sweat that unceasing pain caused, he could use one.

Roy emptied the pitcher into the basin, a little disappointed when the depth only proved to be a couple inches. He placed the pitcher on the floor, donning his right glove and using the transmutation circle there to pull some humidity from the air. Once he was satisfied with the depth of water in the basin, he gave Ed a once-over.

Despite the fact that he'd been missing the limbs since he was a child, they were the right length, as though they'd grown on his body naturally. And despite the fact that his shoulder had been 'trimmed' to cut back the dead nerves and fit him with a new automail port, he didn't appear to be 'missing' that flesh.

Al had said the Gate 'owed' them. That violated the idea of equivalent trade, but then again, the idea that there were beings inside the Gate itself . . . Roy shook his head slightly. Only twice had he been tempted to see it himself. Once after the Ishbal conflict, and once after Hughes was killed.

Ed had carefully left that detail out of his reports, but he'd described the Gate's 'temperament' in some of his notes. It did seem to have a mind of its own, and it did seem to channel vast amounts of energy. It had kept Alphonse's body in one piece, he supposed, since Ed had not had any materials with which to construct a new one when he'd resurrected his brother. He'd obviously not used his own body as a source for those ingredients since he was still in it, after all. If the Gate could hold a body for several years, there was no reason to think that it couldn't 'age' his limbs to the appropriate year. Or attach them properly.

And there was no reason to think he was otherwise injured. Outside of his mental state, he appeared perfectly healthy.

Mustang threw back the sheet Alphonse had so carefully tucked around his brother, exposing him to the waist. Winry – or maybe his attending nurse – had braided his hair to keep it out of their way, and it provided an excellent handle. Roy slipped his left hand beneath Ed's head, got a firm hold, and then lifted. The man didn't resist at all as he was turned, and Mustang planted him face-first into the basin of water.

They remained that way maybe thirty seconds before there was the sound of a door opening, and Alphonse Elric stepped back into the room.

- x -

He felt much better after washing his face and putting on the fresh pajamas the hospital had laid out for him. But while the shower called to him, and he certainly smelled rank enough to warrant taking one, he couldn't justify the time.

Mustang hadn't come down here to babysit his brother, after all. Originally, Havoc had called him down to identify the symbols he'd drawn. Obviously that was unnecessary at this point. They'd already ruined Roy's chance at the Prime Minister's seat, there was no point in taking up his evening, as well.

It was amazing that his career had recovered enough to even give him that shot at redeeming himself, and their meddling had ruined this second chance. If they hadn't involved him to the point they had to begin with, he never would have –

Alphonse rubbed his face vigorously, and opened the bathroom door. That wasn't true. The moment Hughes got involved, that was really the beginning of the end for all of them. He was glad to know that Hawkeye had kept all the other officers together, and now that he had his memories back, it was still amazing to him that she'd had the patience to let Mustang waste those four years in despair.

They couldn't let him do that again. There had to be a way to fight Hakuro on this. Stealing the bomb wasn't going to solve this problem, they had to somehow invalidate the research –

Which was going to be hard, because he and Ed knew the bomb was really capable of doing what Huskisson had said it was, all those years ago.

And even if they got rid of this one, someone would eventually make another. If the research department had had a couple days with it, they had enough information for a physicist to move forward on the theory. Even if they couldn't mine uranium, there had to be other elements out there with similar properties.

Al shuffled out of the bathroom, glancing into the main room to make sure Ed hadn't suddenly woken up and taken off. It took him a second to figure out what he was seeing.

It appeared Mustang had lost patience in trying to wake his brother, and had resorted to dunking his head in water.

It wouldn't work. Nothing had roused nii-san. When he'd found him lying on that filthy cot, he'd done everything. Shouted. Whispered. Begged. Ordered. Even slapping him had gotten no response at all. He had literally been like Nina, a soulless doll that breathed and blinked and yet was completely empty. Al had had to shoot the two guards on the cell block, and even the report of the Luger pistol hadn't fazed him. When Al had taken the second shot, the one to his throat, his blood had spattered on his brother's face.

Even that had gotten no response. There was no way a little water would do what a life-threatening situation couldn't.

He blinked as he noticed Mustang wasn't exactly dunking his brother. A few seconds passed, then a few more.

Mustang was actually holding him under the water.

He took a few steps closer, still not believing, and Mustang cocked his head back, regarding him with his good eye.

"What are you-"

"Leave the room, Alphonse." His voice was hard and flat.

Ed still hadn't so much as twitched. He'd been turned onto his right side, and his left arm had actually fallen behind his back. His right hand was trapped beneath his body, but his fingers were visible and they were relaxed. He was making no effort to free himself.

He wasn't going to, either. He was going to drown.

Mustang was going to drown him.

"Roy –"

The man lifted his right hand, and Al was stunned to see it was gloved. His thumb rested lightly against the inside of his middle finger. "Stay where you are or get out."

There was a soft bubbling sound.

Al started forward again, and was startled when there was a brief pop, right in front of his face. The small wave of heat it had created hit his skin a second later, and he froze, staring in disbelief.

Another bubbling noise.

"He's drowning!" This couldn't be happening. What in the hell was he playing at? What did he kn–

Actually, the Flame Alchemist probably knew a pretty good bit about rousing people out of pain-induced stupors. Considering they'd seen him inflict both serious and light burns on more than one criminal in the time Ed was a National Alchemist, he'd obviously had some experience with burning live people.

Probably during the Ishbal slaughter, actually.

He'd likely reduced enemies to the same state Ed was in now. It would only make sense he'd also learned how to snap them out of it. At least for interrogation purposes.

Mustang seemed to conclude that Al wasn't going to interfere further, because he turned back to Ed. "Fight me, Fullmetal," he growled.

Ed was making no movement to do so.

"Fight me!" he repeated, giving Ed's head a good shake. There was another watery sound, and suddenly Ed's body jerked.

He was trying to cough.

"Mustang-!" Al started forward again, and again, Roy raised his right hand. He didn't let Ed up, didn't let him get any air.

"Fight, dog!"

Funny, that he still knew Ed would hate that name more than all the short references in the world.

Ed's left arm moved quite suddenly, slithering in front of his body to brace uncoordinatedly on the mattress. For the first time, he seemed to be responding to outside stimuli.

But very weakly.

"You need to do better than that," Mustang hissed. "Fight, Fullmetal! Fight or die!"

"That's long enough!" Al brought his hands together. If nothing else, he'd briefly clear the air around him of oxygen. This was going too far -

Ed's legs shifted beneath the sheet, and he turned slightly into the bed, freeing up his right hand. Roy was now having visible difficulty keeping Ed's face beneath the shallow water in the basin. But it was also clear that Ed was starting to inhale water.

Al advanced on them. "Let him go!"

Edward shook his head, strongly enough that he managed to slosh a significant amount of water, and his left arm came up, groping at the hand that was on the top of his head. As soon as he figured out what it was, he dug his fingernails into that hand and started yanking. He was also starting to curl his knees under him. In a moment he'd have the leverage he needed, but he was probably close to passing out -

Mustang relented, hurling Ed's head back towards the pillow. For a moment, Al was frozen, watching as his brother gagged and choked into the mattress.

He was still breathing.

Then Al was behind Mustang, wrapping his hand around the older man's to prevent him from using the ignition cloth. With his other, he grabbed the back of Mustang's uniform and hauled him back several feet. He had raised his fist before he really knew what he intended to do with it, but it was clear that Roy was making no move to defend himself from the anticipated strike.

Six years ago, he would have pulverized someone for doing that to his brother.

"Was that really necessary?" he heard himself force between his teeth.

Mustang was just watching him with that unreadable eye. "He was no longer capable of feeling pain," the man replied conversationally, as though they were sitting down to lunch together. "The only way to snap him out of it was to elicit an instinctive response, but it had to be one triggered by something other than pain."

They stayed like that for several seconds, regarding one another, before Al dropped his hand, and released the major general with slightly more force than was necessary. There was no doubt waking Ed up sooner than later was a good thing, but had there really been no other way? Why hadn't he given him a day or so to at least try to recover on his own?

Or was that a test? To make Ed realize he still wanted to keep on living, despite what he'd remembered?

It had to have been horrible, but surely it hadn't made Ed want to die. Had it?

Edward hacked up a particular noisy glob of water, and then collapsed back against the soggy mattress, gasping. Al didn't trust himself to continue looking at Mustang's calm face without attempting to rearrange it, so he ignored the man, turning to Edward as he really started to look around.

It was clear that nii-san had no idea where he was. His eyes were wide and wild, and he was unconsciously favoring his right arm. Did it hurt him? His own body had felt odd when he'd woken in it, in that ancient church beneath Central, but it hadn't necessarily hurt.

"Nii-san?"

Ed swallowed another cough, sitting up with a start and bracing his back against the wall. He seemed to recognize them, because he took the time to wipe at his eyes – with his right hand.

"You're in the hospital," Mustang told him.

Ed shook his head slightly, as if trying to sling water out of his ears, and held his breath a moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

"But . . . not safe, huh."

Al blinked. Was he . . .joking?

"Nii-san!"

He held up a hand, rubbing his eyes more vigorously. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Al." His voice was still quite hoarse, and he was starting to shake all over. "It's fine."

"It isn't," Mustang corrected him. "You performed human transmutation in a military hospital, Fullmetal. As soon as your condition is reported to Hakuro, you will be placed under arrest and confined in –"

Ed started to laugh, a little hollowly, and then coughed. Al just turned on the major general, furiously. "That was your reason-"

"You both need to leave as soon as possible," Roy interrupted him. "The Tringums can hide you for the night, but their home will be one of the first places searched. The military presence in the south is currently pretty light."

So that was it? He'd forced Edward to come back to reality, to face his memories just so they could flee south?

"We can't do that," Al said crossly, grabbing the dry, light blanket at the end of the bed and tossing it around his brother. Ed seemed grateful for it, and pulled it around his shoulders. His shaking was more pronounced, but he didn't seem to be holding his right arm anymore.

Just like he remembered what had happened in Germany, he also remembered what had happened since.

Mustang looked sideways at Al. "You don't have a choice."

"You're forgetting something, Major General." He reached around the older alchemist and grabbed the basin, debating dumping it over the man's head. And to think he'd been feeling sorry for this bastard. Now he knew why Ed had always gotten so fed up with him.

"We came here to get rid of that bomb."

Mustang turned to fully face him. "Don't be ridiculous. Even if you destroy the bomb and stop the vote tomorrow, Hakuro will fund the research and development of another one."

Al returned the basin to the table, giving the room a once-over before clapping his hands. He'd always preferred tidiness over mess.

"Actually, that's not true," he responded, kneeling and placing his palms on the floor. He erased the transmutation circle and combined all the spilled ingredients into a single lump. Then he stood, walking over to the dense, shapeless glob and picking it up. It was pretty hefty, all things considered. He tossed it at the major general, who reflexively caught it.

"Is the research department still two blocks from Warehouse Six?"

- x -

Author's Notes: Well, it took me a long time to set that up, huh. Only a few more chapters to go. After all, Al has a plan . . . and then, roses. Really! I found a really good, embarrassing typo on my read-through, so I know there are probably more in there, and I apologize! Thank you all very much for the reviews and plot suggestions – I've only got a couple more to wrap up, and then we should be good!

Liah – in the fansub I watched, the Tringum's name was spelled with a U. Also, according to Wikipedia, that's the most commonly accepted spelling of their name. Since they were pretty minor in the anime and I've only read the manga up to about issue 16, I don't know where else their name may have been mentioned, but I assume the spelling differed depending on which fansubs or properly released subs/dubs you watched. I'm going to keep the spelling Tringum, but thank you for bringing it to my attention!