A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and a happy long weekend to all those with one! Mine is a busy one; personal projects, dinner with the in-laws, and moving furniture that has been at my mother's for far too long. Thank you all for being so patient with the lack of a chapter last week; with the death of my laptop and an influx of work at my job, things got pretty busy and I was just too tired to write when I got home. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it a little. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Twenty-five - Last-ditch Efforts

UNINHABITED ZONE OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

2327 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

Nearly two hours, and she hadn't said a word.

Roy had expected that his Lieutenant could be as tight-lipped as a clam – especially about the nature of their relationship – and there had been no reason to think that the vampire version of her would be any different. They had asked her questions, but none of her responses had been anything remotely resembling an answer.

She hadn't been silent, by any means. Roy's first question, a very calm, simple "Will you let me speak to my Lieutenant?" had been rebuffed by a stream of invective so blistering and colourful that he had to question where Riza had heard half the words for the vampire to recall. He had been thunderstruck, Miles had flushed red, and all further questioning was left to Scar, who had appeared only slightly taken aback.

He sat just outside the circle that held the vampiress captive, his hands resting on the ankles of his crossed legs. Miles and Roy had retreated to the second floor wraparound balcony, where they could observe without being intrusive as Scar calmly asked questions. He spoke languidly, red eyes watching her every move. Each question was followed by a pause of several minutes, giving her ample time to answer or make another snappish remark.

"He's good," Roy commented in a near whisper, so the vampiress' hearing would be less likely to pick it up. "Most other interrogators I've known would lose their patience after half an hour of stonewalling like this. He's as together as ever."

"I'm not sure," Mikes murmured back, "but I think he might be meditating in between questions." He pointed to where Riza was slowly prowling back and forth across the circle with the air of a caged tiger. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's counting her footsteps, using it like a mantra. Counting like that is a common enough technique in a warrior's training, at least according to what I've heard."

Looking over, idly curious, Roy asked, "Did you have any Ishvalan warrior training before you enlisted? Seems like the sort of thing that might come in handy."

Miles was already shaking his head. "My grandfather only passed down traditions and culture. He wasn't a warrior himself, so he didn't know all their ways, just bits and pieces, here and there. They keep most of their training practices to themselves." A smile tugged at his mouth. "It's not exactly top secret, but they don't shout it from the rooftops, either."

"I see." Turning his gaze back to the pacing vampiress below, Roy suppressed a shiver. It had always been clear how much danger that lithe frame held in this form; every graceful, sinuous movement telegraphed it. Now, however, what had been a low warning hum was an alarm klaxon on full volume. Much as he trusted the charms around all their necks, it felt safer to have the invisible barrier of the circle. And speaking of the charms….

"If she won't answer questions in this form, she'll likely do it as herself." He frowned. "The question is how to get the charm around her neck without getting bitten."

Miles shook his head again. "I can't help you there. You have the most face-to-face experience with this particular lady, not to mention the Lieutenant. We're relying on you to tell us if, when we get Lieutenant Hawkeye back, the vampire personality starts to take over again." One shoulder rose and fell in a half-shrug. "Though I agree, the trick is going to be getting the charm around her neck in the first place."

"At the moment, all I can think of is to tackle her, all three of us, and one of us slips the charm over her head." He watched her pacing for another moment, then got to his feet. "Of course, we could always try the direct approach." He gestured for Miles to stay seated as the Ishvalan man made to rise. "This is something I should do myself. It's going to call for a high amount of risk, and I won't ask anyone to shoulder that. Not this time."

He made it a handful of steps toward the stairs before a loud thud sounded from the roof, beyond the tarpaulins that stretched overhead.

Tension would not allow her to sit still, would not allow her to stand her ground and stare down the red-eyed man gazing at her with steady calmness. It was a calm she herself was having trouble holding onto. It was somewhat concerning, considering that this new form was capable of such stunning anger she had yet to plumb the depths of. If she let loose with it in a space she had no ready way out of, she might just end up injuring herself.

"What has Kimblee said about his long-term plans?" Scar intoned, his voice as serene and cold as a glacier.

"Eat shit," she spat, glaring daggers at the man. First, his temple's blasted blessed sand had burned her hands, then the priest had done… whatever it was that a yantir consisted of. Whatever the blue light was that also hurt… and then the Colonel had pulled his little stunt with that ludicrous fashion nightmare of a charm. Now he was sitting up there on the second level with that Miles character, the two of them whispering like schoolgirls at a slumber party.

Reaching up, she rubbed her forehead, turning to pace back across the diameter of the circle. Whatever sorcery was at work in the thing affected her like the one from the yantir had not. It left her thoughts feeling sluggish, with slight pressure close to her eyes as though she were developing a sinus headache. Granted, the whole charade could be classified as a headache in and of itself.

"Has Kimblee killed any other people than the ones we know about?" Scar asked, his voice never wavering from monotonous and steady.

"Probably you," she shot back, coming to a stop. "You just don't realize you're dead yet."

"A man who discards his name is dead in the eyes of God," he countered blandly.

Ignoring him, she looked up as Roy got to his feet, starting for the stairs. Either coming to join in on the amateurish grilling session, or to take over. Well, he was welcome to try; he'd get no farther than his reluctant partner.

She was just concocting the perfect blend of insult and invective to hurl Roy's way once he came down when there was a highly noticeable thud from the roof.

Riza's head snapped back, her circle-dulled senses straining for the aura of the man who must have just arrived… there. It was fuzzy, as though the rippling water cover Kimblee had once applied to his face was now cloaking his thoughts. He detected her wavering mental touch, returning reassurance and assertions of hope.

She rolled her eyes and began pacing once again; she needed no sympathy from him. She wasn't even sure she needed help to escape this circle. All she really did need was for one of her third-rate 'captors' to get just the slightest bit careless….

After the initial sound of the roof landing, silence resumed in the courtyard, broken only by the urgent murmurings from Roy and Miles. The Major got to his feet, moving to the railing, his fingers curling around the wrought iron. Riza's eyes flicked from him to the circle etched in the sand on the ground… no, he wasn't inside it. Pity; she could have had control of this situation now, instead of having to wait.

At the very least, the waiting period for Kimblee to make his entrance was not long at all. He appeared in a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard from where Roy and Miles stood, his black suit buttoned neatly and his hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. His smile was thin and icy as he stared down his three enemies.

"Gentlemen," he purred in a dangerous tone. His purpled eyes glinted in the shadows. "Interesting setup you have here. I expected I'd be able to come down through the centre, but aside from the tarp cover, you seem to have found a way to create invisible barriers." His gaze went from Miles to Scar with cold disdain. "Ishvalan devilry of some kind, no doubt."

"If it were devilry, you'd have no trouble with it," Roy quipped. "It's the divine that's causing you problems."

The cold gaze went back to him, and Riza watched as Kimblee's lip pulled back in a sneer. "And yet you put your dear Lieutenant at the centre of it? You defy your usual reputation for taking care of your subordinates, Colonel."

The anger was evident in Roy's face, his fingers gripping the wrought iron railing of the balcony hard enough to turn the knuckles white. "The way I see it, by keeping her away from you, I am taking care of her, which is a damn sight more than you've ever done for anyone. All you've ever done is cause death, despair, and destruction wherever you go, for superiors and subordinates alike."

Again, the cold smile stretched Kimblee's lips in an expression that was more grimace than anything else. He held up his hands, palms outward to show the tattoos that stood out starkly on the pale skin. "That is the name of my proverbial game, Mustang."

Stopping just below where they stood on the balcony, Riza watched as Roy's eyes locked on those tattoos, his eyes widening slightly. Oh… he forgot about those…. A kind of malicious glee spread hot and constricting across her chest, making her want to giggle, but she held it back. She still believed she didn't need Kimblee's help to escape this… but perhaps she would allow him to help her.

Refusing to back down, even in the face of this new threat, Roy's eyes narrowed, glaring at his old enemy. "And you don't have any principles to stop you from using your alchemy in a place where the native people hate it," he countered. Defiantly, he folded his arms, chin held high. "I'll fight you one-on-one any other time or place, but just now, I'm a little busy." He indicated Riza with a small tilt of his head. "If and when I'm free, though, since my hosts don't like alchemy, I'll have to save my flames for another time."

A humourless laugh rasped harshly in Kimblee's throat. "You always were the holier-than-thou type. Nice to know that some personalities only get better with age."

Her current spot had left her close enough now to hear the quiet comment of "Sir, are you sure about this?" from Miles. Concern was heavy in his voice, his eyes steady and wary on Kimblee. "If he brings the building down —"

"He won't," Roy responded, then raised his voice. His dark eyes were as hard as two chips of obsidian, confident and cold in d the flickering torchlight. "That's the thing about coming after old adversaries, isn't it. You forget that there's a good chance they know all your tricks." A smirk tugged at his lips. "And the Kimblee I remember was more about going straight for that all-important explosion, not bandying words with his intended victims." One eyebrow lifted. "So where's the explosion?"

The vampire's jaw clenched visibly, his cheeks flushing a dark crimson in fury. His tattooed hands clenched into fists, then relaxed again, clearly looking to be wrapped around Roy's neck. Riza held her breath, waiting to see what the outcome would be. Roy was calling an extremely dangerous bluff and if he pushed it too far….

Wordlessly, Kimblee brought his palms together in a dark parody of Edward Elric or even Roy's own newfound circleless alchemy. Without taking his glaring eyes from Roy, he clamped his left hand to the doorjamb. Riza tensed, heard the hissing intake of breath from Miles….

And nothing happened.

Her head whipped around to Roy as he spoke, her heightened hearing catch the faint, relieved waver in his otherwise steady tone, and her sharp eyes picking up the slightest tremble in the hand he laid casually on the railing. "What's the matter? Cat got your alchemy?"

"Please stop goading him," Miles murmured, nearly inaudibly, and Riza almost agreed with him. Roy was walking an already precariously thin line that was starting to narrow and, sooner of later, he was going to slip off of it.

Finally, she broke her silence, taking a pair of steps forward to addres Kimblee directly. "If you're holding back so that I don't get caught in whatever blast you conjure, don't bother." When his gaze shifted to her, still unreadable, she shrugged. "It would break the circle and then I'd be free to escape on my own."

"That's not why there was no blast."

She looked back, annoyed at Roy's interruption. "No offense, Colonel, but I'm ready to leave and its clear I'll have to make my own exit, so if you would very kindly butt out?"

The look he gave her was cold. "He isn't holding back out of fear of hurting you. I thought he might be, at first, but you have to remember that he has the same basic disregard for others that he had in his human life. It would mean literally nothing if he took you out in a blast, as long as he got at least one of us as well." His eyes narrowed. "So if he isn't using his alchemy, it's because he can't."

An ominous silence descended on the courtyard, broken only by the crackling of the torches as they burned. Roy stared down Kimblee for a minute longer before turning and heading for the stairs once again. The vampire watched him go for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height.

"Alchemy may have been the flashier option for crushing you whelps," he growled, "but it's far from the only one."

The step forward that he took would have been menacing, had he not rebounded - like Riza had — off of an invisible barrier. He stood for a moment, looking perplexed, long, pale fingers reaching out to stroke the air. "…I had thought the barrier would be at the far edge of the walkway." His eyes flashed. "Else you would be leaving yourselves open to an attack from the Lieutenant in the centre."

"As well as attacks from the outside," Miles replied. He pointed across the yard to where the first floor walls met the stone bricks of the colonnade pathway. "So the circle holding the Lieutenant is inside another, larger circle… to keep you out."

Riza had begun looking for the second circle when Miles pointed, but the deep shadows inside the colonnade hid the telltale markings. She looked back over her shoulder as a footstep shuffled in the sand behind her. She turned fully as Roy stopped several feet away, his face impassive and a protection charm in his hand.

"Riza, if you're in there," he murmured, then hesitated, rephrasing. "…You are in there. If you can hear me… you know I hate to do this, but it's the only way I can think of to get us started." He paused again, staring her in the eye. "Unless you'd like to just give up? Save me the trouble?'

A lot of things were starting to look better than facing down a doubtless angry, increasingly desperate, flame-wielding alchemist… but this was her vessel now, and she would fight to keep it. So she squared her shoulders, giving him a look of cool contempt. "Do your worst, but just remember who's waiting to come back if I tap out." Her teeth showed in a menacing, final grin. "Whatever you do to me, she'll be the one to feel it in the morning, so to speak."

"Duly noted."

She backed away when he came too close for the two charms – his and the one intended for her — to be easily bearable. Saliva flooded her mouth in preparation to vomit at the sheer repulsiveness, her shoulders rising with tension as she swallowed the urge to retch. The things smelled like three-day-old raw sewage under a hot sun next to a pile of pungent, rotting vegetation that housed a passel of roadkill skunks.

And they were wearing the thrice-blasted things like costume jewelry.

"I appreciate the thought, but what you've got there isn't really my style," she quipped, grinning though the expression held no strength. "I'm a gold and diamonds kind of girl."

He didn't answer, advancing on her with his lips set in a grim, determined line. There was nothing but resolve in those eyes, no pity, no sorrow, no reluctance… nothing that she could use to deter him, to sway him…. She backed away steadily, mirroring his own footsteps, all in terrible, anticipatory silence.

And as her back fetched up against the invisible walls of the circle, she had to admit — however much she hated to — that, this time, she had no way out.

Reflexively, she lifted a hand to her mouth as the nausea swelled, her eyes closing as Roy drew closer, spreading the string of the charm wide to slip it over her head. "Just relax," he murmured, his tone lending no comfort to the comforting words. "It'll be over in seconds."

She took the advice just long to draw a pair of shallow breaths. Holding the second, her eyes flashed open in a hot glare to find him a mere two feet away. She dropped her hand, the fingers curving into rigid clawlike hooks. Teeth bared, she lung forward against him, her hands slipping past his arms to grope blindly for his throat.

Roy let out a surprised yell as he fell backward, her momentum carrying her with him. His voice cut off as he landed hard on his back, to be taken up again by Miles on the second floor. In her peripheral vision, Riza saw him grip the railing, saw Scar rocket to his feet, and ignored them both. Her fingers found purchase around his neck, her thumbs falling into alignment on either side of his windpipe.

Just like Gluttony, a memory whispered to her, though no remorse accompanied it. She knelt, straddling his chest, the two of them nose to nose, teeth gritted and cold dark eyes staring into furious amethyst. Miles was still shouting, Kimblee adding urging comments in between, Scar remaining silent but tense. She could feel Roy's pulse pounding under her palms, feel a bead of sweat trickling onto her fingers, the convulsive motions of his trachea as he struggled to draw breath —

And then, from the centre of her chest, there erupted a feeling of exploding hellfire.

She released him with a scream, backpedaling across the sand, clawing at the leather cord he had managed to slip over her head. The pouch bumped against her chest, the smell and its proximity burning her sinuses, throat, and lungs like acid. Gasping, she fell against the barrier, choking and gagging on the stench, a feeling like angry red sparks travelling over every inch of her skin.

Roy struggled onto all fours, watching her with wide eyes, one hand held to his reddened neck. He coughed, sucking in a gasping, desperate breath before his eyes narrowed. "Give… her… back," he rasped, the words tearing themselves from his voicebox. "She's not yours. Give her back."

Something like a thing sheet of rock crumbled inside her mind, and a raging presence roared out of an abyss darker than any moonless night. With unerring accuracy, it made straight for the vampiress' centre of focus, slamming against it with all the force of a battering ram.

In the last moment before she herself fell into the blackness of the mental chasm, the crumbled rock reforming over her, the vampiress cursed Roy Mustang in every way, shape, and form she knew.

One moment, the vampire was awake, snarling and spitting with nothing but murder and hatred in those purple eyes, and the next, she seemed to freeze, to totter… and then she collapsed lifelessly onto the sand.

In the second-floor doorway, his view partly obstructed by his inability to pass the outer barrier, Kimblee snarled softly, then whirled and stalked off along the hallway. His partner in bloodshed was temporarily disabled — yes, temporarily — but he still needed to feed. Whatever trouble she was in now, she would have to withstand it until tomorrow night, when he would be free to try to help her.

She should be reasonably safe, he told himself, emerging outside the house into the cool night air. They wouldn't hurt their precious Lieutenant, not even if she were harbouring the reanimated spirit of King Bradley himself.

His own survival, by rights, should be his top priority now. For the rest of the night, she was no longer his problem.

She came awake after only a few minutes, a cold sweat instantly prickling her skin and shivers beginning to wrack her. Riza didn't move, lying on her side in the sand, her eyes closed as she swallowed in disgust at the foul taste in her mouth. Her head ached, her muscles groaned from sustained tension, her jaw tight where it had been clenched. Everything just hurt. Even her hair hurt.

"Get a blanket," a hoarse voice rasped from nearby, movement shifting the sand beside her. A hand reached out, brushing back strands of hair — ow — from her cheek. The same voice spoke, in a near whisper this time. "Up you get, Whiskygirl. I know it's late, but you can't sleep here."

Forcing her eyes open, Riza squinted in the flickering light from a ring of torches, the juddering motion playing havoc with her retinas. A tiny groan escaped her throat, her hand rising to shade her eyes. The hand stroked her hair again, and, though the motion hurt even more, she twitched away from it.

"Don't do that…." Thanks to her sluggish mind and tongue, the words came out more like 'dohh do thaaaaaaa….'

"Sorry, sorry."

She angled her hand to block the light as she forced her eyes to move, searching out the face of the person beside her. He was blurry for a moment, the features slowly returning… but she recognized the relieved smile spreading across his face. "…Roy?" She managed to get his name out, but the next words were mangled again. "Whyyy y'soun'… …fffuuh…"

He cocked his head slightly, listening as the smile faded. "…'Why do I sound funny?'" he rasped, waiting until she nodded. "Don't worry about it. Just rest for a minute, get your bearings back. You — whoa!"

He scrambled back as she suddenly pushed up on one elbow, vomiting into the sand in front of her. With nothing in her stomach, all that came up was clear saliva and burning bile. With a weak cough, she spat and laid back on the sand, the shivering starting up again, stronger this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

A heavy blanket was draped over her, and she welcomed the weight and promise of warmth. A pair of arms slipped beneath her shoulders and the curve of her knees, bearing her smoothly aloft, blanket and all. Blinking to clear the blurriness from her eyes, she frowned as she concentrated on the face.

"…Scar?"

"Don't speak," he answered gruffly, but there was no anger that she could detect in his voice. "You need to recover from the transition. Just rest."

The transition…? It came trickling back in, the memories of the last… however long? Time didn't have much meaning when you were trapped inside your own mind, unable to break out. Riza took a deep breath and closed her eyes against the lingering nausea, willing herself not to be sick all over Scar. It was a rare show of the truly kind person he could be beneath the rough exterior, and she had no desire to pay him back in such a fashion.

She was vaguely aware, beyond trying to maintain control of her rebellious stomach, that they went upwards and along a hallway, where Miles joined them. Her foot gently bumped the edge of a door as Scar angled himself to pass through it, and then he was setting her down on something soft.

The room, when she opened her eyes again, was lit once again by torches, with no windows and only a single doorway for entrance. Three sleeping pallets were arranged on the wooden floorboards, two of them empty, and herself occupying the third. Cautiously, Riza sat up as Miles and Roy entered, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders.

"Kimblee might still be waiting around," she warned, thankful that her tongue was finally getting control of itself again. Her words were understandable and becoming clearer. "It might be a good idea to stay as close to the circle —"

"There's one around the edge of this room," Miles assured her, pointing to the floor near one wall where the symbols flickered in the unsteady torchlight. "We thought it might take a lot longer to suppress your… alter ego, so we set this room up as a place to sleep or take a break, if we needed it."

Roy moved to settle on the left-hand edge of her pallet, dark eyes scrutinizing her closely. "How are you feeling now?"

She frowned at the fading but present rasp in his voice. "Improving. But you still haven't told me what's wrong with —" The memory, still fading in with the rest of them, caught in her consciousness and sent a jolt through her chest. She looked from the bright red spots on his throat to the tips of her own fingers….

"No permanent damage," he said quietly, knowing she had caught on. "And I'll take it up with the other you, if I'm unlucky enough to run into her again." His smile, when she looked up, was lopsided and boyish… but lacking in conviction. "I don't think you can actually be considered responsible."

Her own smile was just as unconvincing as his. "Yes, Officer, it's my car, but my friend was driving at the time of the accident."

"What do you remember?" Miles asked, seating himself cross-legged on the floorboards at the foot of the pallet. Scar had knelt to her right, far enough away to give her space, but close enough to strike should the vampire personality reassert itself.

"Everything, essentially." She settled herself comfortably, leaving the blanket draped over her shoulders like a large shawl, with her hands free to move as she spoke. "When I'm… the subconscious, I suppose, then it's not as though I'm asleep with no idea of what's happening. I still see everything that the vampire sees, but… as though at a distance. Something might be three feet in front of her, but to me, it looks like thirty."

"Tunnel vision?" Roy asked.

She considered that a moment, then nodded. "Something like that." Her lips pursed, briefly, concentrating on the strange experience. "That being said… I don't see it with my own eyes so much as… it's like an image projected in front of me in blackness. There's some kind of mental partitioning that separates one personality from the other; whichever one isn't currently in control is shut behind it until they can manage to break through."

"Speaking of…." Miles' eyes went to the charm around her neck. "The last time you had one of those, she came back fairly quickly after a brief exposure. You've held out for almost five minutes now; what's she doing?"

Riza shook her head. "She's not even trying. Having the charm in constant contact must be the key, because one touch only locks her away for so long." She lifted a hand to the pouch. "If I took this off, she'd be back in control within a minute."

"Any ill effects?" Scar put in, his bass rumble echoing off the stone walls.

"Aside from the transition? No." She shivered involuntarily, drawing the blanket a little closer. "I'm mostly just cold. My heart rate has been abnormally low for a day or two, so circulation alone hasn't been keeping me warm. There's a full-body ache, as well, but I suspect that's because I'm not built to run and climb along rooftops the way she likes to do." She paused, then added, "The vomiting was because of how she reacted the charm; she wasn't actually sick, but I was."

The men were quiet a moment, then Miles spoke again. "Do you feel up to answering the questions we put to her? We couldn't get any kind of answer, but if you can help…?"

"If I know the answer, you'll have it."

Scar, as the former primary interrogator, took over. "What has Kimblee said of his long-term plans?"

"As far as he's said or as I know, he doesn't have any. He wasn't thinking of building some vampire army, or even just going on a killing spree. He just… woke up this way and has been making it up as he goes." She looked to Roy. "The whole reason he turned me was to get to you. To cause you pain and stress. He resents you and I both for Ishval, still. He's been carrying that grudge all this time."

His eyebrows lifted, but only briefly. "I shouldn't be surprised. Anyone who spoke out against him in those days was dealt with sooner or later. You and I just got the 'later,' apparently." He glanced at Scar, then back to her. "Tell him what the other you told me. About keeping the vampire population down."

"Oh. Yes." She turned toward the solemn warrior. "My… other self pointed out to Kimblee that, if he goes around Jadad murdering civilians, sooner or later, he'll just be destroying the… the term she used was 'food source.' Similarly, if he just bites, feeds, and leaves the victim alive, they'll slowly turn until they're one step away from being a full vampire."

"The final step being to drink the blood of the vampire who turned them?" Miles clarified.

"Exactly." Riza's fingers toyed with the beading around the cuffs of the white abaya… which was leaning toward off-white in places after the vampire had tangled with Roy earlier. "More vampires means more competition for resources, and that's something he can't afford. So unless he goes and makes a new one — which, if he doesn't think he can get me back, is very possible — he's on his own against us."

Miles glanced to his countryman. "I suppose that answers your question as to whether he's killed anyone else we don't know about."

"It does. But I have another." Red eyes were grave and solemn as Scar gazed at her steadily. "Anyone turned by this vampire develops an alter ego that slowly takes them over," he stated flatly. "So far, the only way we've found to suppress the alter ego is for the person to wear a sacred charm."

Her smile was just as grim as his eyes. "And you want to know how to get rid of the vampire personality without the victim having to wear a charm for the rest of their natural life. I've given that a lot of thought myself… and I think I have an answer, though it might bear some researching." She looked to Roy. "May I speak frankly?"

He lifted an eyebrow; she had already been perfectly blunt and straightforward. "…Go for it."

"Forgive my language, but I think the only way is to kill the bastard."