A/N: Hello again! Just stopping by to finally update. Took me long enough. Thank you all so much for your wonderful, encouraging reviews! You have no idea how much they inspire me to write.

As a side note, I like the idea of adding quotes that be beginning of chapters, so I gave it a shot, and added them to the rest of the chapters. Actually, I think this one encompasses a good portion of my story, for the most part; but we'll see how this goes. Thank you for your patience with all of my experimenting and my sporadic updates, few and far between. I'm still trying to find my groove in the FanFic world. At any rate, enjoy the chapter! I'll do my best to have the next one up in acceptable time. I'm not entirely happy with this one, so the next one will be better. Count on it.

-InkRoze

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, nor any of the characters, but I DO own my OCs and my version of Selim. Please do me a huge favour, and don't steal him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Previously:

"I also have a contact I often receive information from, if needed," Asher put in. "I don't know him and he doesn't know me, but he's never been wrong once. I get most of my case facts from him."

"Oh? I've done some consultant work. Mostly for the military, but occasionally for clients, both anonymous and not. Recently, I was in contact with an anonymous alchemist in Rush Valley. He was disbanding a smuggling ring, and needed names and locations. Last I heard, he was successful."

"Wait a second!" Asher interrupted, shocked, "That was my case. That alchemist was me. Don't tell me you…" Selim and Asher both stared at each other.

"That was you?" Selim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ishvala. You have to be kidding me," Asher growled.

"You're my contact?" they exclaimed in incredulous unison.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Anger is the enemy of non-violence, and pride is the monster that swallows it up."

-Mahatma Gandhi

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Both teenagers stared at each other in horror and disbelief- albeit slightly muted in Selim's case- their previous exclamation drawing Jack and Kate's interest.

"I can't believe this!" Asher muttered.

"It's not as if I expected an alchemist I'd never previously heard of to be my contact, either," Selim retorted, irked. "Why is it so difficult to accept?"

"Because you're you. All this time, it was you! And you're his son to boot! What are you, then, a rich, pampered, vigilante wannabe with too much time on his hands? What are you trying to prove?" The statement was meant to be mocking, but it came out more resentful than he had intended.

Jack blinked in shock. Despite not knowing Asher for very long, his outburst seemed a little out of character from what she'd seen so far. She couldn't read his expression behind his eyewear, but the Mustang saw his fists clench and his jaw tighten. He was angry. Jack briefly wondered why. What was so wrong with Selim being his contact- and a good one, it seemed- that he felt the need to lash out? Something didn't add up. She glanced at Selim, biting her lip in worry. She really hoped he wouldn't rise to the-

"I beg your pardon?" the Bradley demanded coldly. Jack thought that Selim was probably the only person in the world who could make an ordinarily polite statement sound so threatening.

"Don't pretend to know me, Reed. I was led to believe that my investigations were being put to good use for the country's sake," Selim continued, "Not for the personal gain of a vain, self-obsessed amateur to alchemy."

"Amateur?" Asher growled, "Why don't we take this outside, and we'll see who's the amateur?" Selim crossed his arms and went in for the kill.

"As if I would waste my time with an immature half-breed."

"You take that back, right now, coward," Asher ordered, his voice reduced to a snarl. Selim remained quiet, his eyes blazing in defiance.

"Now!" Asher hissed, beginning to rise from his seat. Jack's head swam. How had this spun out of control so thoroughly, so fast?

"Alright, you two, relax," she cut in sharply, channelling a little of her mother's severity as she did so. "We're all tired and at the end of our ropes, and tossing around accusations and insults is only going to make it worse. I don't care what or who you are; sit down, shut up, and eat your food. We'll find a place to stay, and take care of the rest in the morning. Understood?" Selim turned his intense, furious gaze on her, and her blood ran cold. She couldn't describe the feeling as anything other than an instinctual urge to run, to get away. She fought against it, but couldn't stop the blood rushing from her face, leaving her pale. For a long frightening moment, their gazes locked. Then his eyes softened, and he relented, sitting back moodily; too dignified to pout, but not above letting his irritation be known. Asher looked as if he were about to protest, but with an extra glare from the still-ashen Mustang, stayed silent. Kate just looked on, unconcerned, her chin resting on her fist, and grinning all the while.

"This is so much better than writing exams back home," she announced.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A few hours later on the other side of town, a Mrs. Jacobson was quietly sweeping off the front steps of her little café, humming a soft tune. She was determined to finish cleaning up before retiring inside for the night; the thought of a warm cup of tea and reading the final chapter of her book fuelling her already aching limbs. The day had been demanding, with more customers than usual due to the train coming in late, and she was thankful she had time to relax before bed. The air outside was cool and temperate, the sky darkening to a midnight blue, as she swept by the light of her café window. The middle-aged woman huffed, and stood back to examine her handiwork. Running the café alone was hard, taxing, and sometimes far too stressful, but it was all she had left, after Mr. Jacobson passed away. Sure, having Jennie and Marcus around to help out made some things easier, but there was only so much employees could do, no matter how helpful they tried to be. Occasionally, she had considered selling the place when it became too much for her, but she had been thinking it over for three years and still hadn't put it up for sale.

Nodding to herself at a job well-done, she was about to close up shop, when she heard a rattle from the street behind her. She whipped around, holding her broom defensively across her chest.

"Who's there?" she demanded in the gruff way only middle-aged women could.

"Dahlia?" came a voice from the darkness. Mrs. Jacobson froze. No, she thought. Impossible.

"Who are you?" A shape took form as the person stepped closer. He was tall, with scruffy blonde hair cropped close to the skull, dazzling blue eyes, and graceful age lines that gave his face character and life. It was obvious he had enjoyed every minute of living to the fullest. In his hands was a white lily tied with a yellow ribbon.

A jolt of shock ran through her.

Their first date, their wedding, their twentieth anniversary, her fortieth birthday, their fifth date, his hospital bed.

Images flashed through her mind. The only things the disjointed memories had in common were his brilliant blue eyes and a proffered white lily with a yellow ribbon done up in a delicate bow. My favourite flower… Our flower…

"T… Thomas?" Her voice shook, whether from fear or incredulous rage, she wasn't sure. How dare- how DARE- someone impersonate Thomas! She gritted her teeth, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

"This is cruel." Her words were wobbly. She fixed them. "Inhuman and cruel. Stop, right now!" she commanded, her voice becoming shrill.

"Dahlia! It's me! It's Thomas!" He held his hands out in surrender- lily and all- with his face scrunched up in that adorably confused way of his-

No!

"Dahlia?"

Stop it, stop it! She screamed in her mind. Please! It was too much.

Too much.

He took a step forward, and then another. She began to gasp for breath, and felt her knees go weak. She thought she was over this; she thought that she had accepted his death, and moved on! It had been four long, hard years, and she was determined to live her life, as he'd have wanted her to. But seeing him again, seeing his face and hearing is voice… It tore wounds open, deeper than the last, and left them to bleed.

"Dahlia!"

It wasn't him, it wasn't him! It was a trick! Even if he looked the same…

She had missed him so much.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, his voice warm and concerned. "Are you alright? Are you ill?" Even his voice was the same.

The same.

Her hands shook. No, no, no… The rational part of her mind gave in.

She shattered.

"But…! You're dead!" she sobbed, "You died four years ago! How is… How are you…? I watched you die!"

"I did?" He seemed surprised. Then his entire countenance dropped, and he rolled his bright eyes. "Again? Just my luck. What is it with people dying in this town? Famine? Pollution? Violence? Just plain old incompetence? I mean, really!" Dahlia Jacobson froze, her already broken mind scrambling to pick up the pieces. Who was this stranger inhabiting the place her husband had just been? Where had he gone…?

"Wha…?" she stuttered.

"Oh, right. I should probably do something about you, then," he mused, rubbing his chin in a completely alien gesture. He never did that.

"Thomas, what…?" she began, too frightened to think. To frightened to breathe. He turned toward her, then, and an expression came over his face that nearly killed her then and there. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the street, staring up at him with uncomprehending brown eyes.

Monster. Monster. MONSTER.

"Thomas is dead, dear," he said benevolently. "Send him my regards, if you would."

The twisted, grotesque grin on her husband's kind face was the last thing she ever saw.

The next day, Marcus was the first to find her lying an a cold pool of her own blood, her face contorted into a look of horror, with trails of dried tears outlining her face.

In her hand was a single, bloodstained, white lily, tied with a yellow ribbon.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Asher blinked bleary eyes, and resisted the urge to collapse face-first into his scrambled eggs. He hadn't slept that badly since his reconnaissance days in Arugo, which, in effect, meant no sleep at all. Despite the animosity that hadn't gone away even after Jack had told them off, he and Selim were made to share a room to save on the bit of money provided to them by the Fuhrer. Needless to say, neither were willing to sleep in the other's presence, lest something unspeakable happen to them as soon their backs were turned. Stubborn to a fault, both had stayed up all night in the stifling hotel room, refusing to even speak to the other, but pretending to sleep nonetheless. Halfway through the night, the thought came to Asher that he was being ridiculous, but the earlier blow to his pride- and from a Bradley, no less- just perpetuated his stubbornness.

Asher was loath to admit, even to himself, that he had gone too far the night before, with his too-personal attack on the last living Bradley. Since he had first been introduced to Selim, Asher had been uneasy and irritable. What had the Fuhrer been thinking, putting an Ishvalan- albeit a half one- on the same recon team as a Bradley? In the same car, even? Just what was the old man up to? Nevertheless, stress and distrust began to build up with every minute Asher spent with Selim. Finally, the shock of Selim revealed as his longtime contact- a figure he had implicitly trusted, despite the mystery around him- pushed him over the edge. He had snapped at the Bradley like he hadn't in a long while, at the cost of his sleep, and a now strained atmosphere between them.

Would he ever again be able to rely on the information his contact- Selim- gave him? Wouldhe even have a contact after this? Asher knew that he had only been given a tiny glimpse of the anger Selim was capable of. Conversely, what Asher himself had said was only the tip of the iceberg of what the alchemist was really thinking.

Grateful of his glasses to hide his red-rimmed eyes, Asher half-heartedly shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Food always seemed tasteless when one was running on less than half an hour of rest. A shortage of sleep was obvious in his appearance; Asher's normally meticulously spiked hair just looked messy, and his skin had an odd greenish pallor to it. The alchemist surreptitiously sneaked a glance at the silent young man across from him, inwardly fuming at the Bradley's only slightly dishevelled appearance. Despite getting the same amount of sleep Asher had, Selim looked the same as he had yesterday, with only very slight rings under his eyes that only made his already pale skin seem whiter.

Asher viciously skewered a strawberry.

"Alright!" Jack called cheerily from her seat nest to him, clapping her hands once. "Let's figure out the plan for today!" The alchemist nearly groaned out loud. She was far too chipper for so early in the morning. Kate, however, did groan out loud.

"Ja-a-a-ck-ie!" she complained, her voice slurred by the remnants of sleep, "Why d'ya hav'ta be so happy? Is there any real reason I hav'ta be up at ridiculous in the mornin'?" Jack levelled her best friend with a flat look.

"It's eight, Kaitlin. Eight o'clock. I get up at five every day, as is usual in the military."

"Well yer family's crazy, Jackie," Kate grimaced, lowering her head to the table. "We mortals don't run on crazy. We run on sleep, coffee, and more sleep." Jack sighed, and turned to face Asher.

"Now, from what you've told me, Dad wants us to do some investigations into the rumours and people going missing; correct?"

"That's right." Asher nodded, straightening in his chair. Jack smiled faintly.

"Then we should probably start with the locals. As unreliable as the grapevine is, it's what we have to work with, for now. With any luck, we should have information on where to start-"

"Not to interrupt," Selim cut in, "But it may be necessary to make a detour. It has recently come to my attention that there was an unreported murder just a few weeks ago, on the west side of town. There was only one witness, and she refuses to speak to the military. Though she did say something about her dead brother coming back to life." All eyes except Kate's turned to him, their gazes questioning.

The Bradley smirked.

"I have my sources, you have yours." Asher narrowed his bloodshot eyes. That arrogant little… The half-Ishvalan clenched his fist inside the pocket of his white coat. Jack may have diffused their earlier row, but he knew that their argument was far from over.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: I'll get the next chapter (which is half-written) up as soon as I can. Sorry not much happened, but transition chapters are important, in my opinion. Until next chapter, where the plot thickens!