And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I don't even live there (well, if I did,life would be really - interesting), I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

Warning: Contains violence and false imprisonment

Beta: Bishie-huntin' Shinigami

Chapter Twenty-nine - In which Alphonse feels the ties that bind, and Edward speaks like a child.

The smell of damp earth was the first thing Alphonse was aware of when he regained consciousness. He could hear faint noises nearby, so he kept his eyes closed and used his other senses to assess the situation. His hands were pulled behind his back, something which felt cold and hard encircled his wrists. His ankles felt like they were bound in a similar manner. He tested the theory by trying to move his legs independently and they did so - to a point.

Then Alphonse sent his fingers exploring and they wriggled about to feel hard-packed earth behind his back, and slightly looser ground underneath his body. He concluded his wrists and ankles were shackled, plus his prison was walled and floored with earth. Perhaps he was underground, that would explain the smell.

Alphonse kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as he listened hard. Not far away, he could hear two men speaking in low, urgent on his left. To his right, a woman sobbed quietly and he had to fight back the urge to try to comfort her. Just like Edward, he hated to hear women cry. His senses of touch, smell, and hearing had learned all they could, now it was the turn of his sense of sight. Alphonse opened his eyes, and saw only black.

I'm blind!

A bubble of panic formed and rose in his throat, and Alphonse forced it down by taking three deep breaths. Now he realized he could see glimpses of light through whatever was covering his eyes. He tested this new theory by rubbing his face on his shoulder. He felt rough cloth, perhaps burlap, and heard it shursh against his shirt. Someone had put a bag over his head.

Alphonse moved his head back and forth, and tried to capture the sounds all around him. He was surrounded by people. Were they prisoners too? Or his captors?

"Hello?" he asked tentatively, half fearing the reply.

"Hello yourself, young man." someone said on his immediate right.

The conversation to his left broke off and a voice hissed, "Keep your voice down, or they'll hear you!"

"Sorry," both Alphonse and the unknown voice to his right replied contritely. Barely daring to breathe, Al could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. When a few minutes passed without anything happening, Al decided this was a good time to make introductions. If "they" didn't like it, "they" could just lump it. He turned his face to the right and said,

"My name is Alphonse Elric, I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Charmed," came the reply. "I am Phillipius Eldritch."

The floodgates opened and one after the other, all of Alphonse's fellow captives spoke up.

"I am Henrietta Spuith," came the voice of the woman who had been sobbing, in a voice thick with tears.

"August Schwahn," said the man who had shushed Alphonse and Philllipius.

"And I am Ian Jones," said his companion. "Charmed as well."

Whispered voices came from all over the chamber.

"James Dragonera."

"Michelle Kehrmeyer."

"Louis Derleth."

"Janine Dahl."

"Mercy Spenser."

Suddenly, heavy footsteps were heard approaching and everyone fell silent. The footsteps - Alphonse's sharp ears detected four pairs - halted very close by. He heard keys rattle in two locks, and then a door swung open on creaking hinges. Two pairs of footsteps came into the room and stopped again. Alphonse could hear them breathing, but neither of them spoke. They are testing us. he guessed. The extended silence was stretching his nerves to the breaking point and Henrietta finally broke it when she cried out, "Who are you people? What do you want with us. I have young children who need me! In the name of all that's holy, let us go!"

Alphonse heard a voice mutter and one pair of footsteps stomped over to his right. Then chains rattled and he heard Henrietta cry out in pain. This wail was followed by several sharp sounds of flesh upon flesh. Each sound was immediately followed by another cry from Henrietta. She was being slapped, and very hard too. The sounds continued for another thirty seconds, and just when Alphonse was about to shout, they stopped.

Henrietta was crying very loudly now, in great gulping sobs which wrenched at Alphonse's mind. Also like Brother, he hated to see (or hear) the strong abusing the weak. What kind of monster beat a shackled woman? He wanted to scream and yell and rip off his own shackles before he gave that creep a dose of his own medicine. Something knocked against his right foot in a gentle, yet insistent rhythm. Something about it made Alphonse guess it was a booted foot.

"Calm yourself," Phillipius whispered quietly and Alphonse made an effort to be still. Careful not to make a sound, he unclenched his hands and lowered his right index finger to the floor. It was difficult because he was blindfolded, but Alphonse drew a basic alchemy array in the dirt.

He took three slow breaths to calm himself, then planned his course of action. His first transmutation would be to melt the middle of the floor upwards and trap the two unknown visitors, then he would melt his shackles. Just a few more seconds...

But Alphonse didn't get those few seconds. The same man muttered under his breath, feet moved, and a boot planted itself squarely in Alphonse's solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs with a loud "oof!" and white sparks danced before his eyes.

Alphonse wheezed and gasped and it seemed to take forever before the air rushed back. He sucked it in gratefully as tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. His fellow captives, plus the two men in the center of the room listened quietly. His breathing was almost back to normal when a loud, ringing voice broke the silence.

"Listen up, you alchemists! You are all blasphemers against God's holy word! As such, your lives are forfeit unless you repent of your evil ways! God said 'Do not suffer a witch, nor a warlock to live;!" Alchemy is akin to witchcraft, so you are also sinners!"

"You're making that up, aren't you?" Ian broke in with a dry chuckle.

"SILENCE!!"

Feet rushed to Alphonse's left, and he heard a thud, like a punch. It was followed by a grunt of pain.

The man with the loud voice continued with his speech. "You are forbidden to speak unless first spoken to and given permission! Only total obedience will be tolerated! If you are willfull, you will be punished!"

Alphonse heard another man several places away growl, "Bloody Christians!", and then shout "OW!" as he was struck. Again, it sounded like a punch with a closed fist. His breath caught in his throat as footsteps approached him. Expecting another kick in the stomach, he cringed back and made a fearful noise in the back of this throat.

"Good," said the unknown voice, which was now pitched more softly. "You have learned the first lesson, Alphonse Elric. And you may yet be spared the cleansing flames of God's love." The man gave the boy's head an affectionate pat and ruffled his hair. The motions made Alphonse shiver and his skin crawl. He wished for his brother, he wished he had let Edward tell Bond everything, he wished to be back in his own bed in Risembool. Brother, please come soon.We need you.

It didn't take Alphonse long to figure out how their captors planned to break them down. He and the other prisoners were deprived of the sense of sight, of freedom, of the knowledge of the passage of time. They were slapped or punched if they dared to speak. Food and water was denied. Two people were with them in the cell at all times. One walked up and down the center aisle and read from the Christian's Holy Book in a monotone voice. Meanwhile, his companion struck any of the prisoners who dared to fall asleep. Alphonse himself had been rudely awakened by a stick smacking him on one shoulder or another a few times.

But he couldn't help it. The droning voice of the reading man was like an aural sedative. He reminded Alphonse of some of his college professors whose boring lectures he'd fallen asleep in the middle of. Only to wake up when shaken by another student bumping his desk while leaving after the lecture was over.

The stinging pain in his shoulder added to a catalog of miseries: he was hungry and thirsty, his arms and legs ached, his back had begun to cramp up, and he had to pee. Alphonse had held it in for as long as he could, he hadn't wet himself since he was very young and he wasn't going to relive the humiliation. His aching bladder finally drove him to speak up, "Excuse me?"

Footsteps stomped up to him and he was twice slapped hard across the face. His lower lip puffed, and then split, the sting added to his problems. But the man who had been reading suddenly called out, "STOP!"

The man who had slapped Alphonse growled in annoyance, but the other said, "He is young, brother, show him a little kindness."

"Hmph!" was the scornful reply. "He should suffer like the rest!"

But a set of keys rattled, and then scraped in a lock at his feet. Alphonse heard a click!, and suddenly, his ankles were free. He was roughly bent forwards and a key slid into the lock of his wrist shackles. He rubbed his wrists and hissed between his teeth with pain as returning circulation made his hands throb. A pair of roughened hands hauled him quickly to his feet and a voice demanded, "Open the door!"

Then it whispered in Alphonse's ear. "Keep that bag on, or it will be worse for you."

The door opened on squeaky hinges and he was hauled on stumbling, half-numbed feet out into what he believed to be a hallway.

"Glory be to God!" cried a female voice. "Has one of the blasphemers repented already?!"

Alphonse didn't hear a reply so he assumed the man holding him had shaken his head.

"I will pray for you, Alphonse Elric!" the woman called from behind him, which made Al wonder how complete strangers knew his name.

The hall was better lit than the cell he'd been confined in, and full of murmuring people who walked along the walls. They passed other doorways which reading voices could be heard coming from. Alphonse thought how many people did they kidnap?

The man who escorted Alphonse answered his unspoken question. "This place is a training center, where we prepare God's Holy Warriors to go out and do battle for souls. Lately, we have become more proactive by bringing the Devil's disciples here to show them the error of their ways."

"You mean kidnapping and brainwashing, don't you?" Alphonse's tone was accusatory. "You may be able to force a few people in the short term, but it won't work on all people. So it's not a good long term solution."

The man chuckled, in a scary sort of way, "You have spirit, boy. Turning your soul onto the path of righteousness will be quite a challenge. But, it's a challenge wer are up to. Although you are right, many souls will be lost to the flames of Hell. Still, we will save as many as we can."

He halted abruptly, opened a creaking wooden door, and pushed Alphonse forward. "Here is the lavatory, the toilet is three paces directly ahead of you."

Alphonse felt with his feet as he shuffled cautiously forward. Although the smell made him want to gag, he undid the waistband button and unzipped his pants. The splashing sounds told Alphonse the "toilet" was just a hole in the ground, and it wasn't deep enough. Once he had finished, the man entered the room and gave Alphonse something which felt like wax paper to wipe himself with. He also gave Al time to re-do his pants before he hauled him back into the hall.

A breeze was coming from somewhere, and it was bringing fresh air in to war with the musty earth smell. After the pestilent stench of the lavatory, Alphonse gulped several lungfulls in relief, and his head cleared.

Light shone tantalizingly through the gaps of the burlap bag and the urge to remove it was close to overwhelming. Despite the order he had been given, his right hand began to edge up towards the fabric. All he wanted was a little peek before he went mad...

A hand suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so hard tears sprang to Al's eyes. He gasped as he fell backwards, jarring himself on the hard-packed earthen floor of the hall. A heavy weight fell upon his midsection, the man was sitting on him.

"What" slap "did" slap "I" slap "tell" slap "you?!" slap. Alphonse's head herked back and forth with each blow. The man was using the whole of his palm and throwing all his weight into the stinging blows. The left side of his face hurt sharply and Al guessed a cut had opened on his face. He could also taste something coppery in his mouth. Blood. His tongue was bleeding where his teeth had been pushed into it. His lips had already developed new splits, both upper and lower.

"Stop it, Brother Jedidiah! Stop it now! You're killing him!" Alphonse recognized the voice of the woman who said she'd pray for him. It seemed to come from a long way away through a roaring in his ears. The slaps suddenly grew weaker and Al guessed she had grabbed Jedidiah's arm.

With a sudden roar of rage, Jedidiah turned upon Alphonse's rescuer. The weight left Al and the woman screamed. This was followed by the sound of flesh upon flesh as Jedidiah began slapping her. "Stupid woman!" he rasped. "When will you learn, when will you LEARN!?"

The roaring sound was fading, but Alphonse saw red through the gaps in the bag. This Jedidiah was the same one who had slapped Henrietta, punched Ian and the other prisoner, and kicked him in the stomach. So, he liked to beat women and children, did he? Alphonse's hands clenched so hard he could feel the nails digging into the soft pallms. Izumi had taught him many tricky martial arts moves, some of which would serve to punish this abusive man. He yanked the burlap bag up and off before he screamed, "Leave her alone, you bastard!"

Alphonse had to blink a few times before his eyes got used to the light. Fortunately, the pair in front of him were so frozen with shock, Al got the time he needed to catch his bearings. A petite blonde woman wearing what looked like a shapeless denim sack dress and muddy boots lay on her back underneath a man nearly three times her size. She was bleeding from the nose and mouth. There was a blue scarf hung around her neck and Jedidiah's hands were tangled in the scarf, as if he was strangling her with it.

Jedidiah would have made two Alphonses. His dark hair was crapped so short, patches of bare skin showed through. His eyes were also dark, but narrowed to such tiny slits, Alphonse couldn't tell their true color. Jedidiah had a straignt nose and a thin lipped mouth, and the skin around them was dark red with anger. His long neck was marred by a very prominent "Adam's apple" which rose above an oversized blue checked shirt with frayed collar and cuffs. The shirt was patched at the elbows, and patched at the knees was a pair of overly large black pants cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. On his feet were scuffed and muddy brown shoes.

Alphons took in all these impressions quickly because Jedidiah was off the woman he'd been beating, and after Alphonse in a flash. Al barely had time to react, he planted one shoe in Jedidiah's midsection and rocked back on his spine to send the other man flying over him.

Jedidiah landed awkwardly on his right shoulder with a loud crack!. Alphonse considered it poetic justice as the man cried out in pain. For Jedidiah had slapped him and the woman with his right hand.

Alphonse stood up shakily and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His face still tingled sharply and his tongue twinged. He was aware people were approaching and surrounding him, but he didn't care. Two other women were helping the blonde woman to her feet.

"Are you all right?" Alphonse asked with innocent concern. "Did he hurt you badly?" The last thing he expected was for her to round upon him in fury.

"You FOOL!" she shrieked. "Do you know what you have done?!"

"I stopped a man about three times your size from beating you to death!" Alphonse replied heatedly, his fingers clenching into fists again. "It's not right for the strong to abuse the weak!" He suddenly realized he was shouting, and he immediately softened his tone before he added, "My mother taught me that when I was young."

"You have injured a prophet!" the blonde yelled back, as if she'd never heard him. "And Brother Jedidiah had the right to discipline you, and me!" She flung her right hand out in the direction of the said brother, who was being helped to limp away by two other men.

"Bullies are not prophets," Alphonse hissed from between clenched teeth, he was losing his patience with this woman who seemed to believe someone had the right to slap her around. "Even if he was a prophet, that is no excuse for beating women and children! If my brother were here, he'd tell you the exact same thing! Jedidiah's actions are injustice, not 'discipline'!"

"Our holy book says all men are prophets because only they are made in God's image," said one of the women supporting the blonde. " I urge you to heed Sister Bernadette's words and repent. I can see you are a kind boy and your heart is in the right place. But you are too impulsive and too willfull. Brother Jedidiah was attempting to teach you obedience."

"'Obedience?'" Alphonse attempted to stifle his bark of laughter and it came out as a snort. "The lunatics are running the asylum here. You are crazy if you think I'll join you!"

Three men came closer to Alphonse from the front, their eyes glaring and hands clenched to grab him. All right, I'll go down fighting if I have to, he thought as he took up a defensive position. He was so engrossed in watching his front, Alphonse forgot his back. A voice sighed in his left ear and Alphonse felt himself falling after something hard slammed into the side of his skull.

Hospitals always put Edward in a bad mood. He sat up in his bed, arms crossed and lower lip stuck out. While he pouted, he also wuite deliberately snubbed Ian who sat in a chair set on the left of the bed. The alchemist had woken up an hour ago with a splitting headache and a foul temper. Edward had briefly thrashed against his bonds, and then given up because movement only made his headache worse. Mrs. Deadlocke had arrived soon after, and she had slightly improved his mien when she unstrapped him. But the brief buoyancy Edward had felt evaporated when she followed up by sticking a thermometer into his mouth.

By all rights, the scorching look he gave the hospital matron should have made her burst into flames. Unfortunately for Edward, life isn't always fair and Mrs. Deadlocke was fireproof. She took his pulse in a frosty silence before she added insult to annoyance by abruptly reaching over and pinching his nose shut. A spoonful of castor oil went in when he opened his mouth to breathe, anything he had wanted to say had to wait while he swallowed the disgusting medicine. It slid down his throat and coagulated in his stomach like a hot lump of coal.

When Ian sat down in the chair half an hour later, nothing would have pleased Edward more than to puke in his lap. Not only did his stomach fail to oblige, it was growling loudly for its breakfast. Which was a bowl of thick and barely warm porridge on a wheeled table on his right. Edward had lifted the spoon once and cautiously licked it before he shuddered in revulsion. The porridge was the consistency of wallpaper paste, which probably tasted better than this.

"Edward." said Ian. "Edward, listen to me." The alchemist refused to look at him and pretended to be interested in his neighbor's intravenous rig. Ian sat back and massaged his temples. He'd been up most of the night reviewing intelligence on the Christian enclave near Bishopscourt Hille. This place was the source of the more troublesome Christian elements in New Britain, as well as the likeliest place Alphonse and the rest of the kidnapped alchemists were being held. The last thing he remembered reading was Agent Dasher's report on the incident at Hotspur Hall:

I was shadowing the Princess Lilith on her way home to her dorm when I heard a cry coming from the direction of Hotspur Hall. I observed a young female in a state of great agitation running across the lawns and shouting for help.

A few yards behind the girl, and apparently pursuing her were two men in tan raincoats. The girl called out to the Princess and the Princess responded by calling her 'Lexie'. When the men came closer, she identified herself as the Princess Lilith of Lancaster, and she ordered the men to stop at once.

One of them shouted, "We don't take orders from mere women!" and made as if to surround the Princess and her companion. I promptly drew my service revolver and placed myself between the men and the two girls. I identified myself as Agent Dasher of MI7 and ordered them to do what the Princess said.

They refused. I fired once into the air and repeated my order. They drew truncheons from the pockets of their coats and charged. I shot one of them in the right knee, and he went down, but the other managed to strike me on the elbow and knock the revolver from my grasp. Both of us went down. He attempted to strike me about the head with his truncheon until I knocked it away. Then he seized me by the throat with both of his hands and began to strangle me...

Ian had fallen asleep at that point. He'd woken up some time later to the welcome smell of coffee, Cymru Roast to be exact. Not so welcome was the sight of "X" who sat in his overstuffed recliner (he'd been moved to the sofa), with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and Agent Dasher's report in the other.

X smiled and said, "Good morning, Colonel Bond. Wouldn't you say Agent Dasher is a bit too fond of purple prose?"

Stupid with sleep, Ian had blinked several times at her. To try and drain the fog from his brain, he tried shaking his head a few times. But it only made his temples throb. Even if it was technically HIS coffee, he wished X would pour him a cup...

But X began to read "...my attempts at self defense loosened his grasp only slightly and I was beginning to lose consciousness. Suddenly, I heard a series of hollow thumping noises and the man let go of my throat and my vision cleared. I witnessed the girl known as Lexie enthusiastically striking the man about the head with his own truncheon. The man turned and struck the girl in the face, knocking her down. He had stood up and was beginning to move towards her when three closely spaced gunshots rang out. The Princess Lilith came into view from my right. She was holding my service revolver and had shot the man three times in the buttocks.

I had recovered enough by then to go to the aid of Lexie, who was bleeding from her mouth. I also pulled my radio phone out and called for back up. Agents Pouncer, Le Carre, and Steed arrived shortly thereafter. The first two offered to escort the Princess back to Lancaster House and she insisted Lexie accompany her.

Inspector Button and the Londonium police arrived as the Princess was leaving, and they took custody of the two men. After I retrieved my service revolver from the Princess, Agent Steed and I entered Hotspur Hall..."

X thankfully stopped reading. Dasher's report was as dry and dull as a Sunday sermon. "To make a long story short, witnesses reported seeing four men with ugly haircuts and wearing tan raincoats buttoned up to their chins feeling the scene. One had a limp, apparently unconscious person flung over one shoulder. A room to room search was made. In the lodgings shared by Pratchett Wodehouse and Alphonse Elric, evidence was recovered, inclduing a small silver aerosol canister. Tests have revealed it contained a sort of nerve gas which would almost instantly cause unconsciousness when breathed in. Canisters of the same gas have been recovered from all the kidnapping scenes and we have been in contact with the Meso-American ambassador to New Britain. She told us several pallets of this gas were stolen from the military depot at Fort Montezuma about six months ago."

X didn't have to ask Ian if he knew what this all meant. As well as being humiliating to MI7 in general, and the Secret Service in particular, this situation was already a monumental headache. Which could easily become an international incident.

"Alphonse Elric," X broke into his thoughts with a question. "Is he related to that Amestrian Colonel of yours?"

X was lying because she already knew the answer, but Ian nodded anyways. "Edward was quite upset when he learned about his little brother and he tried to check himself out of hospital..." Ian worried his upper lip with a thumb. "I will have to visit him after the morning briefing at HQ, but I have the feeling he won't be pleased with me."

Ian's gloomy prediction was spot on. Because the alchemist still refused to look at him.

"Bloody hell, Edward!" Ian exploded, then blushed and ran his hand through his short hair. "What more do you want me to do?"

"Get me out of here," Edward growled in reply while he studied the ceiling. It needed a fresh coat of paint.

"I can't do that, you know I can't," Ian sighed. He was beginning to lose his patience with the difficult Amestrian.

Edward bared his teeth. "I want OUT, Ian."

"Dammit, Elric, you've suffered a concussion. So it's bed rest for three days. And thanks to your little stunt yesterday, you get to spend all of them in hospital."

"Al is in trouble, Ian. I've got to find him."

"The staff thinks you're barmy. Most people would get seven days for psychiatric evaluation. But, I pulled some strings on your behalf. And Dr. Luthor understands you are anxious about Alph..."

"ANXIOUS!?" Edward bellowed so loudly, his voice echoed around the entire ward. Sleeping patients were rudely jerked awake, and already awake paitents peered at him curiously. "My little brother had been kidnapped by religious zealots who are doing who knows what to him! You're damn right I'm anxious!"

"Keep your voice down!" Ian hissed. "Do you want to be strapped down again?" He picked up one of the leather wrist straps, which was still attached to the bed frame, and waved it in Edward's line of sight. He was yelling, but at least he was looking right at Ian.

Edward gave him a sour look. "You can't scare me, Mrs. Deadlocke already beat you to it. Even I'm starting to believe Pratchett's claim she is 'the Patient Crusher'."

Returning consciousness brought the grinding pain of a headache and Alphonse groaned loudly when he woke up. His head felt like it would split in two if he dared to raise it from whereever he was laying. Alphonse lay still as he could and the lancing agony eased off, but only a little.

He gradually became aware of some other things. There was something rough around his face and Alphonse cautiously reached a curious hand up to explore. The burlap bag hadn't been put back over his head, but he had been blindfolded, possibly with the same type of material. Alphonse could smell earth and a musty odor, he most likely was still underground. He stirred a bit and something beneath him squeaked and gave slightly. He had been laid on a cot, or a bed.

There was another scent underlaying the earth smell and Alphonse took a deeper breath.

Bleach!

It brought a sharp edged memory to his mind's eye. He was very young and someone was carrying him about the backyard of his old home in Risembool. All about him white sheets and pillowcases waved and flapped in a warm wind, and all of them smelled subtly of bleach. The wind suddenly died down and the sheets stilled. This enabled him to see a figure with chestnut hair kneeling over a wicker basket full of laundry. With one smooth motion, the figure stood up with another white sheet in it's hands, and pinned it to the clothesline. After the task was done, it turned in his direction, and gasped lightly in surprise. Then the figure smiled at him. Alphonse felt his younger self must have been crying, but now he'd found the person he had searched for. And so he smiled back.

MaMa.

Alphonse reached chubby little arms out towards her.

MaMa!

He was hungry and he wanted his dinner. He knew where it came from.

MaMa!

The wind picked up again and a sheet blew against him, obscuring her from view. The sheet felt soft, and it had a faint scent of bleach. A smell which reminded him of home and the one person he missed most of all.

Mother.

Then the memory was gone abruptly. Alphonse's throat felt tight with tears and the pillowcase against his right cheek was rough and scratchy. It smelled strongly of bleach. Too strongly. He sniffed back the tears, and then stilled when he heard movement and breathing behind him. He was being watched by someone. A chill raced up his spine and he bit back another groan. Alphonse lay as still as he could and pretended to be asleep.

"I know you are awake," a woman said to him. Alphonse didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Sister Bernadette, nor her helper. But he made note of the crisp note of command in her voice. He'd head it used before, by First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Granny Pinako, and Teacher. Even by Winry, when she was angry with Brother.

"Does your head hurt badly?" the woman asked, a note of concern had crept into her voice, but the steel was still underneath. "Lay on your back, Alphonse, and roll up your sleeve. I'll give you an injection to ease the pain."

He felt a brief flare of resentment at the preemptory tone. She was one of his captors, why should he do what she said? "Please do as I ask, Alphonse, it will go much easier on you if you cooperate. Here, hold still, I'll take your blindfold off."

He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his back, but he wouldn't meet her eyes after she untied the strip of burlap. Nor would Alphonse pull up his shirt sleeve, and he watched a pair of graceful, long-fingered hands undo the bottons of the left cuff and roll the shirt sleeve up past his elbow.

The hands disappeared and Alphonse next heard the gurgling of liquid, followed by a clink of glass. He heard other sounds: paper crinkling, then a couple of faint squeaking noises. The hands reappeared with a length of rubber tubing which they tied about Alphonse's arm, just above his elbow. They disappeared a second time, but came back almost immediately with a square of cotton, which they wiped in a circular pattern on the tender skin.

Alphonse swallowed hard around a lump which had suddenly formed in his throat when the alchohol swabbing was complete. He began to tremble as one of the hands set the tip of a hypodermic needle against the vein. It brought on another memory, of a night in London. When he'd woken up in the back seat of a car and groggy from choloroform. Just in time to see a needle going into his arm...

"If the needle makes you uncomfortable, look at me, Alphonse."

Alphonse looked up and his wide, chocolate brown eyes met the narrow green ones of an older woman, a woman he had never seen before. She wasn't smiling, but the ends of her mouth curved up anyways as if she was perpetually amused. She had a square face, and a promiment jaw, other than the lines around the eyes commonly called 'crow's feet', her face was unblemished by marks of age. Alphonse couldn't tell the color of her hair because it had been scraped back and completely tucked underneath a deep blue scarf. The rest of her body was hidden underneath a robe of the same color which had a high collar. It hid most of her neck, but Alphonse thought he could see a bit of reddened and puckered skin, like it had been burned, just underneath the top of the collar.

She gave him a slow smile and then announced. "There! All done!"

He looked down at his arm and saw she had already untied the rubber tubing and withdrawn the needle. A small dot of blood formed at the point of injection before she wiped it away with a cotton square, then affixed a self adhesive bandage over it.

Alphonse looked back at her face, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. She looked blandly serene and she'd been gentle with him so far, but this woman was in league with his kidnappers. She was the enemy, and not to be trusted.

"My name is Sister Janette and I'll look after you for a while until I'm sure you haven't suffered a concussion. Then you will re-join the religious education with the other blasphemers."

There was that word again: blasphemers. Alphonse felt he may have 'blasphemed' once, but that was a long time ago. And he'd paid for it, his punishment being four long years of his soul being bound to a suit of armor. Until his older brother's sacrifice reuinited his body and soul. As far as he was concerned, he'd paid - BOTH of them had paid - their dues. He was not a blasphemer, no, not anymore.

Sister Janette had gotten up as she said this, and gone to the door. She knocked on the inside surface and said, "Brother Zenos, let me out please." The locks grated open and slice of light flowed into the dim chamber from the hall outside. She turned back to Alphonse. "Rest now, Alphonse Elric. And I will bring you something to eat."

Janette smiled one more time before she stepped through the gap, and then she was gone. Alphonse glared back and ground his teeth with frustration. Not since that day on Yock Island when he and Brother had prevented Wrath from killiing Teacher had he wanted to pummel anyone more.

Author's note: Does anyone recognize the "Lost" vibe I was going here for? I have to confess I modled Sister Janette a bit on Juliette, the Other who so tormented Jack while he was in that glass cage. Juliette is only a fictional character, but I had such a strong urge to punch her in the face during some of those episodes. Which is probably the sort of visceral response the writers of the show are looking for. If a description they write makes viewers/readers want to love or hate a character, then the writers are doing their job.