For the past five, going on six years since Damia joined the military she had to, once a week, meet with the other geneticist at East Central named Basque Grand. These meetings could last anywhere from thirty seconds to over thirty minutes. Every week was the same. Brigadier General Grand was a man of routine. The two always met in the same room, at the same table, nevertheless, and when Damia arrived, there would always be the same greeting: a nod, a firm handshake, and a gesture to sit down. It never failed. As the meeting commenced, both officers would have a cup of coffee, the same brew every time: black for Damia and cream and sugar for Grand.

It was perhaps this means of a mutual respect and strictly sticking to a routine of business communication that Damia never once felt threatened by Basque Grand. She did know, of course, especially since she regularly lunched with Alex Armstrong, that Grand had the infamous reputation of being a domineering and controlling man. Actually, one might even say power-hungry or even frightening. But if this side of Grand's persona existed, he certainly never unleashed it in front of Damia. Truly, the only reason why she believed that the reputation of Grand could be valid was because of the way Alex felt about being a soldier in Grand's unit. Alex, despite being more of the introspective type, would know exactly how to handle a superior of such dominance, given his older sister, Olivier. Never mind the fact that Grand's large, almost titan-like physique mirrored that of Alex's. So, she had to assume that if he felt at all threatened or uneasy about the General, that there must be some variable that she would not be exposed to in her limited time spent with the man. However, the subject of the way Basque Grand interacted with the other soldiers was neither here nor there in regards to Damia's routine in meeting with her geneticist colleague.

So, on this day, one of the final days of work before the holidays, Damia was more than surprised to have been told by Grand to meet him in one of the medicinal storage rooms. When she arrived, there was Basque Grand in his usual fashion, greeting her with a nod and a handshake. However, on this particular day, the two were not alone in their meeting. When Grand made the replacement of his gesture to sit down, he brought his hand to some secluded crates of medicine and then to the other people in the storage room. These other people were military doctors whom Damia knew on a casual basis before she even left Resembool and enlisted in the military. Their names: Mark and Dolores Rockbell.

Before she or the Rockbells could speak, Grand handed her two pieces of paper. Damia scanned over them and immediately responded in an exclamation of surprise.

"Aspirin?!"

"Aspirin," Grand stated firmly, but not overbearingly.

Damia looked up at the Rockbells, who were both standing in such a way that one could tell that they assumed they won their case at the sight of her. Dolores Rockbell, a blonde of medium stature and the more vocal and activist-minded of the couple, triumphantly had her arms folded in front of her chest. Her husband, a gentle-looking ashy brunette, simply stood somewhat behind her, his only expression of triumph being a solid gleam in his eyes and a slight smile on his lips.

"So, what's the issue?" Damia asked. "This paperwork is quite clear. The company who provided us aspirin legally withdrew its contract, as stated on this form." She held up one of the sheets of paper. "And here we began the filing with another company to supply military aspirin," She held up the other sheet. "Everything is legal, all dates are in place. All necessary signatures are here. I believe General Grand and I signed the form for the new aspirin a couple weeks ago." She paused for a second. "Ah, yes, Beinmann Pharmaceuticals! It says here we should anticipate our new supply from them after the New Year."

"And that's almost three weeks away," Dolores Rockbell said.

It was then that Damia realized what this whole issue was about. "It says here that on the date of December sixteenth that the legal withdraw of our old company's aspirin will commence. Today is December sixteenth, am I correct, General?"

"Yes," he validated.

" So," She gestured to the secluded crates of aspirin. "It's very simple. We no longer have aspirin. After the holidays we should get in stock aspirin from our new supplier and, of course, you and the other medical personnel will be notified immediately."

"Colonel Elric," Dolores said. "We have plenty of aspirin, as you yourself have just pointed out. There is this medicine in-stock at the base. As doctors, how can Mark and I ethically –"

"You see why I needed you here," Grand spoke to Damia, interrupting Dolores' statement. "This situation requires someone else with the same sort of legal standing as I to provide their stance on the subject."

"Look," Damia began. "Legally, according to all of the paperwork that has been filed, East Central Base no longer has any aspirin. Our base's aspirin supply will once again be filled upon arrival of the new aspirin from the new company we have contracted with. Because on today's date the old company withdrew their contract, any aspirin in the storage area here technically – legally – does not exist for military use. In fact, soon there will be no physical form of this so-called 'phantom aspirin'."

"What do you mean by that?" Mark Rockbell asked in response to Damia's final statement.

"I mean that half of his supply will be my responsibility to give to my environmental consultant and the other half will be in General Grand's possession to do the same with his," she replied. After finishing her answer, she glanced over to Grand out of the corner of her eye to see him simply nodding, avoiding any eye contact with the Rockbells.

Mark continued his queries. "Let's say I get a patient who is in need of a pain reliever like aspirin before the new stock comes in after the New Year –"

"Because medical necessity doesn't take holidays," Dolores quickly, with a minor snippiness in her tone, interrupted.

Ignoring his wife's comment, Mark continued, "I have a patient in need of aspirin, so what can I legally do? Do you mean to say that I should give them alcohol, Colonel Elric?"

Damia's face lit up. "You know, that's a great idea!" she exclaimed. Her tone then grew more serious. "I would say to have the soldier's family provide the liquor so it isn't technically the military prescribing alcohol, but I would definitely use that option if necessary." She slightly glanced again over to Basque Grand to see if he intended to add anything, but just as he was before, he nodded with his gaze toward the floor. "Might I suggest vodka," she then added. "That way the patient can add anything to it. It's also nice and strong enough to put on a cloth and maybe apply to the forehead or even breathe in the fumes. You'd be surprised how a nice vodka can clear up the sinuses." Damia paused for a second. "But aside from alcohol, there are other remedies for pain relief: heating, cooling, even pressure-point massage if you're so inclined. I mean, I know all this and I'm a geneticist, not a physician."

"The point is that this is aspirin," Dolores stated. "This is aspirin and it is in our stock so as a doctor, under my Hippocratic Oath, I have vowed to do what I can to treat a patient. What if this was morphine? Would I have to let someone suffer with pain as they died because of a company's withdrawal?"

"Dolores, Dolores, Dolores," Damia began, taking the opportunity of the pause in Dr. Rockbell's speech to clarify the issue. "Morphine is a drug that falls under an entirely different category than aspirin. Morphine is categorized as a life-or-death medication. If we were speaking today about morphine, if necessary, you would be able to give it to a patient because of the categorization of the drug. If the company that withdrew their contract with us wanted to sue, the military could counter-sue because the absence of the physically-available morphine would be causing harm to military personnel. So, there would not be an issue here. But this is aspirin. This is an easily-replaceable pain-relief drug. This is not a life-or-death medication like morphine."

At last, Basque Grand spoke up. "If there is a conflict of interest between your oath to medicine and your oath to the military that could possibly interfere with your duties to the country, you have two options. First, you can temporarily resign and sort out your priorities. Depending on the conclusion you reach, you can either come back as a military-oath physician, or you can permanently resign under terms of a conflict of interest. It is your decision for the two of you to work out amongst yourselves. But, I will leave you with this – if you cannot perform any order or duty assigned to you in the Amestrian Military, perhaps your medical oath is best applied to civilian service. In this military, every soldier, physician, and scientist must have their first priority lie with the state. That is your only option when enlisting yourself with the military."

The Rockbells were silent. For a moment, no one uttered a word until Damia verified Grand's statement, saying that he was right and that the off-time during the holidays would serve as the perfect opportunity to discuss such matters before the New Year. After that, the meeting came to a close. Damia and Grand both signed a paper stating that they had met over new business in the genetics department and left the storage room.

As they left, Basque Grand took a breath and said, "I'm considering a petition for some type of regulation strongly discouraging the use of the terms 'ethics' and 'morals' in the military."

In her mind, Damia laughed to herself. In her experiences, ethics and morals were nothing but two words defining an ideal that was intangible to mankind. As far as she was concerned, if ethics and morals were at all attainable, there would be no need for a military or a police force. There would be no crime, no avoidable death, no dishonesty. Throughout Damia's 214 years on earth, mankind had not even developed toward achieving those ideals. If anything, with the advancement of science and technology, humanity only sank further into the sandpit to Hell.

"I see what you mean, General," she said. "But I personally don't see that as necessary. There's much more to be concerned about."

Grand nodded. "File 807. Next week."

With that direction toward what to look into for their next meeting, the two separated to return to their own offices. Damia was oddly curious as to what could possibly be expected to arrive in File 807, as she knew what information was categorized in there.

Chimera research.

She personally did not know how to feel about the chimera research taking place at Lab Five of the East Central base. Chimeras, genetically-engineered hybrids of two different sets of DNA, were obviously being studied and worked on with a particular purpose in mind. That purpose was unknown to Damia and it was also legally none of her business given her rank and position in the military. It was not that the concept of chimeras was discomforting to Damia. She had heard about them when she was a child from Dante, who at that time only told her children not to associate with them. Perhaps it was because of this that she got the sneaking suspicion that her mother may be trying to create soulless bodies – hosts – to house souls in. But there was no proof of that, nor had Bernard ever returned from visiting Dante with an implication of such information. In many ways, Damia lived having to assume that any idea she herself would fathom could easily be a project in the works for her mother. The two thought alike, so she was told by both Dante and Hoenheim.

Damia almost reached her office when she saw, at the other end of the hallway, Roy talking and laughing with Maes Hughes on his own route back to the office. This was far from the first time since Roy enlisted at the end of the summer that she saw he and Hughes socializing. The longer the two had known each other, the closer they became and by now they were pretty good friends. This relationship between the partner she trusted with her dear secret of being a Homunculus and the First Lieutenant whose goals she always questioned; rivaled the chimera research in Damia's curiosity. Actually, Maes Hughes incited more anxiety in her nerves than any possible plan of her mother's did.

I wonder what Hughes knows about File 807, since he gets his hands on the paperwork from all of the units, Damia thought as she opened the door to her office.

Luckily for her, the conspiracy thought was unable to mature when she entered the office and got a much-needed laugh from the note on Breda's desk. Because Breda worked with Public Relations, it was not uncommon that he would be gone after one or two o'clock if there was an event in town that he could make an appearance at.

"The Stollen Festival," Damia snickered. "Oh, Breda, Breda …"

"Your daughter has no sense of humanity,"

Those were the first words to come out of Dolores Rockbell's mouth when Hoenheim Elric arrived at their residence for lunch. It was not uncommon for either he or his wife Trisha to visit the Rockbells. In fact, it occurred quite often since the two families were neighbors and the Elrics' sons, Ed and Al, were good friends with the Rockbells' daughter, Winry. On this afternoon, Hoenheim was the one to bring Ed and Al over with him because Trisha was working. Whether or not it was a pro or con that he happened to be the available parent at the time now became a question onto itself after Dolores' immediate comment.

Hoenheim slightly stirred in his seat at a small dining room table, his eyes a tad irritable, after he heard the words. The Rockbells, like Trisha, knew of the circumstances that he and his older children had been going through. When he heard the correlation between the concept of being inhuman and his daughter, Damia, he was absolutely rubbed the wrong way. For the entire time from the resurrection until Damia and Bernard left Resembool, Hoenheim would hear, on occasion, a resentful and ambitious Damia stating how she would "Become human if it was the last thing she did". Even though he did not feel that by being a Homunculus that the was not human, the fact that his daughter held her controlled obsession of obtaining mortality so close to her pained him. After all, he was in part responsible for her resurrection.

"I don't think she meant it the way you're taking it, Hoenheim," Mark said in regard to his wife's comment. "She meant 'humanity' in terms of ethics and morals, not anything physical."

"Ethics and morals …" Hoenheim said with a subliminal bitterness in his voice. "Ethics and morals are in the eyes of the beholder. In the end, all you can rely on are the regulations in place at the time."

A beat of silence passed. Both of the Rockbells were surprised to hear Hoenheim say what he said, especially since he had, and continued to, perform work as a healer using his talent with Light Alchemy.

"These ethics are about medicine," Dolores said, beginning a rant as she vaguely explained what had occurred at East Central Base before the weekend. "This time it was about aspirin as we have to wait until a new shipment from this Beinmann Pharmaceuticals arrives. Damia can say all she wants that if it was a drug like morphine that the old company could be counter-sued if they sued the military for using the withdrawn drug, but –" she tapped her index finger on the table like a testy schoolmarm. "Damia insists on replacing aspirin with alcohol or pressure-point massage. With the way she views the world, agreeing with that General Grand, how am I to assume that if it were morphine that instead of suggesting vodka that she'd just suggest mega-doses of absinthe instead?"

Mark immediately supported his wife before Hoenheim could even reply. "As a healer, Hoenheim, you should understand exactly where Dolores and I are coming from. You are also in the business of fixing the ills that are placed on man's shoulders."

Hoenheim looked across the table at the Rockbells with serious eyes. He shook his head.

"You're wrong," he said. "Fix?" He looked at them as if they were inanely naïve of the human condition. "I can't fix anyone and neither can you. The most any of us can do is reassemble what's left. And even then it is impossible to reassemble without some sort of flaw or scar. Once the damage is done, it'll forever be done."

As Mark sat in silence, pondering the unexpected response he was given, Dolores looked as if what she was just told entered one of her ears and passed right out the other.

"If you live in acceptance that damage can't be repaired, what state does that leave the world in?" she asked. "Then what? There's a fire and it destroys a building. If people think they can fix the tragedy, they'll rebuild. But if they think 'Oh, the damage is done. Let's move on.' there's a greater chance of them leaving the rubble and going on like the place never existed. What if this building was a child and this fire a disease? Since the damage has hit, are we to leave the child to die because God made His decision?"

Hoenheim shook his head and smiled weakly to himself. The speech of optimism and advancement for the well-being of mankind for the sake of what was just reminded him of the way he thought long ago. It was that type of ideal that fueled his ambition and desire to master Light Alchemy and become a healer. Those dreams of his youth provided him with an ultimate goal that was, to his extreme nauseating disgust toward the reality of man, shattered by the horrors he learned of enslavement from his then-partner Dante.

"That's a wonderful idea, Dolores," he said kindly. "And I don't doubt the veracity of what you say. You should hold onto that goal and find the right place to use it where it will be appreciated and not shattered by the passing of time and the changing of place." He paused for a moment. "But as for me, time and place have shown me gaping wounds that you could not imagine."

At the time Hoenheim finished, Mark's mother, Pinako, entered with some sandwiches and coffee. Judging by how she had the habit of easily eavesdropping on others' conversations due to her short and slim build, one could easily assume that she was well-versed in the current conversation at hand.

"You can't mean –" Dolores began.

As she was about to walk out of the dining room, Pinako casually interrupted her daughter-in-law's next activist-minded statement with, "Maybe you should work with me in automail for a while with people who've lost their limbs, Dolores."

She made that comment simply in passing on her way through, leaving all three at the table silent. Hoenheim took a cup of coffee and a sandwich, followed by Mark, and lastly, followed by a Dolores who simply did not know what else to do at this point. The silence was not broken until a girl's scream outside rang into the house. After that came the voice of Alphonse Elric saying "Ed! Stop it!". Mark glanced over to the window to see if he could at all see what the oldest Elric boy, Ed, could possibly be doing out there. Once he heard his mother yelling "Edward! Whatever you're doing, cut it out! Now!" he rolled his eyes, shrugged, and took a sip of coffee.

Another couple beats of silence passed before Hoenheim decided that this was the perfect opportunity to remove himself from the situation before either of the Rockbells could decide that they wanted to continue their halted conversation.

"These sandwiches are wonderful, Mark," he said. "I assume Pinako won't mind if I take a few home with me." Another scream from outside, again from Winry Rockbell, accompanied Hoenheim's adding sandwiches to his plate. "My advice, Dolores, is to perhaps take your mother-in-law up on her offer. Some experience in the automail industry could provide you with a very useful perspective to take with you to physician work." He rose from his seat. "But I think I should take these sandwiches and my sons home before Ed turns Winry into Pinako's next patient."

He put his coat on and went outside to see Ed holding Al in a headlock while Winry sat defeated and shaking her head at the fact that Ed was still causing trouble.

"Edward! Stop harassing your brother!" Hoenheim said, with a slightly stern, raised voice.

Both boys froze. Ed uttered a "Huh?" as he continued to hold his brother in the headlock. An immobile fist was still somewhat buried in Al's short, sandy-blond hair. Both boys looked up at their father. At the sight of the plate of sandwiches in Hoenheim's hands, they beamed with elated smiles and ran over to him. Ed and Al each madly grabbed a sandwich off of the plate and sunk their teeth in with a "Mmm!".

"Bye, Winry!" Al called with a wave in between bites as the three Elrics began to walk home.

As they walked, Hoenheim thought of just how unexpected life could be. He glanced at Ed, whose mouth was now smothered in mayonnaise and tomato juice. After all, life could throw an amazing variable, even in the form of a child who was fierier and more of a trouble-maker than their parent would ever expect. That was besides the fact that the first of Hoenheim's two sons with Trisha was unexpected. He had assumed that because he was a Homunculus that he was sterile, when in fact, it was obviously quite the opposite. It was all another reason to never assume that one is certain of anything.

In many ways, my life has been useless, He thought. Ed then reached up and grabbed yet another sandwich from the plate.

But I suppose existence in general is useless, He continued in his thoughts. All of that screaming and commotion to be eased by a simple sandwich …

He smirked when he heard Al exclaim, "Ed! That was the last sandwich!"

The difference between the reactions to simple sandwiches between his first two children and his second to was humorous to him. When they were young, Damia and Bernard probably would have both found something wrong with the sandwiches. He could hear, as clear as a bell, a six-year-old Bernard complaining with a whining sigh how he hated tomato. Damia would have most likely examined the food, making sure that the bread was not too soggy or that no vegetables were falling out.

Hoenheim smiled to himself as he opened the door to the house to have his sons run in. Al raced straight to the direction of the kitchen.

"We just ate! Why're you going there, you pig?!" He heard Ed say as he locked the door behind him.

"Because you ate all the food!" Al exclaimed.

Hoenheim shook his head. The usual arguing between the brothers was commencing yet again.

Another difference, He thought. Damia and Bernard rarely fought. Unexpected yet again, as all my time on earth has been.

That was why his life was useless.