Chapter 29


"Young master?"

Ling rolled onto his side, the better to see Ran Fan. Moonlight didn't quite touch her face; illuming her hand, resting lightly on the pallet that Miss Winry insisted she have, when Ran Fan refused to sleep in the room with the other girl but on the roof with him. Ling couldn't help but hide a little smile at that; both women were stubborn beyond belief. He thought it would be an interesting battle of wills, once their lives were not in so much upheaval. "Yes, Ran Fan?"

"What happened today to make you so quiet?"

Ah, her sharp eyes missed so little. Ling stretched his arms, enjoying the feeling of his muscles pulling beneath his skin. The faint noise from Ran Fan told him she knew he was stalling for time. He did let himself grin then, turning on his side and cushioning his cheek with his bent arm. "I met someone."

"You were in a fight." Ran Fan's decisive words made him chuckle and take a swipe at his neck, where a thin scab line rode his skin.

"Not much of one." He waved a self-depreciating hand, not about to tell her that he'd lost the fight before it even began. "The man I met, he is very interesting."

Even in shadow, he could see her eyes light. "Is he someone who could help us?"

Raising the hand not pillowing his head, Ling forestalled her line of questions. "I am not sure, Ran Fan." He mulled that thought, considering. Choosing his words carefully, Ling said, "He knows our new comrades, very well."

Her eyebrows arced. "How well?" Ran Fan made it clear, in those two words, if these people were a hindrance to their goals, she would insist they break it off now, and honor be hanged.

"As Yao Shen is the guardian of Miss Twilla and Daniel, this Mr. Draken is the guardian of Erik." Ling pursed his mouth, adding quietly, "And they are in hiding, too." The noises of Rush Valley did little to cover Ran Fan's soft gasp of understanding. Sitting up, Ling stretched his arms and legs out in front of him, deliberately not looking at his companion. "I was asked to say nothing."

Ran Fan shifted her position in the pallet and Ling could feel the weight of her regard on his back. His shoulders wanted to twitch in response to that look but he kept still, refusing to let Ran Fan's concern color what he had promised to do. So many promises. Ling sighed quietly, his shoulders slumping for an instant.

"Young master," Ran Fan said, as tentative if her bare feet felt their way across a piece of rice paper, "Alphonse and Miss Winry, they have lost someone important to them."

"Those names don't exist any more, Ran Fan, and neither do the people who owned them." Ling told himself the justification worked, even if he didn't believe it any more than Ran Fan did.

"But the loss remains."

Yes, that was the part that Ling knew would drive him to distraction – the obvious pain in the eyes of the young woman he had sworn to protect; the young man swathed in sorrow. If he told them what he knew, Ling wondered, how would things change? From what little time he'd had to observe the crippled boy, he had felt it in the air, a self-loathing that hung around the boy like a miasma cloud. Despite what the red haired man said at first, Ling doubted Edward Elric would welcome his family knowing he was here.

Reluctantly, Ling turned to Ran Fan, meeting the steady stare of her dark eyes. "Yes, it does," he said, folding his arms, trying to present a decisive manner to this girl who knew him better than even his closest blood kin. "That wound must remain." He looked away, his expression grim, "Even if it would be better to bind it tight, for now, it must bleed."


Edward manipulated the fingers of his right hand, listening to them clack together. A faint frown showed on his face. Flexing his wrist, he held his hand out in front of him.

Alton, the mechanic, raised his bushy eyebrows. "Something wrong, kid?" he asked then yelped as Edward spun on the ball of his right foot, left leg shooting out in a high arc, whistling over the mechanic's head. The man ducked reflexively as Ed punched with his right hand, twisting it.

Hughes leaned against the doorjamb, saying, "You might want to take that outside." He left off, "Before you scare the mechanic so he never lets you come back," but that hung in the air anyways.

Ed nodded abruptly, rolling his right shoulder. He walked past both men, a little frown on his face. Hughes turned to follow him then hesitated. "You are coming in case he needs some adjustments?"

The mechanic blew out a gust of air, rubbing a cloth over his shiny pate. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "let me get my kit."

Ed clattered through the building, heading for the little square of land next to Alton's shop. Pulling open the door, Ed walked out into the sunlight, shading his eyes automatically. A surge bubbled up in him, remembered from his childhood, when he'd first stood on the new leg that Pinako and Winry had made for him and a smile flickered like a flame across his face.

Exploding into action, Ed took one step forward and leaped into the air, left leg curled against his body, leading with his right limbs. A gust of sound escaped him and he twisted so he landed on the palm of his right hand, spinning his body into a cartwheel, both feet striking out against imaginary foes.

"What the hell?" the mechanic asked as he followed Hughes out the door.

"That," Hughes said, a cautiously pleased light in his eyes, "is a good thing."

Ed landed in a crouch, right hand barely touching the ground, then sprang forward, his palms slapping the ground. He flipped his body up and over, his left foot jarring when it struck the ground. Grimacing, Ed kicked out, once with each leg then dropped low, performing a sweep with his left foot, eyes widening as someone leaped his ankle.

A foot snapped out at his face and Ed grunted, jerking his chin back. The shoe whiffed past his bangs and Ed grabbed his opponent's ankle, spilling onto his back and scissoring his feet around Cashern's other leg. The man twisted his body, evading the capture, pulling free of Ed's grip. Ed somersaulted backwards as Cashern leaped at him, tucking his body so his toes dug into the hard dirt first, giving him enough leverage to spring up from the ground. He aimed for Cashern's gut but the man sidestepped and Ed swore under his breath. Cashern snatched his coiled fist out of the air, making Ed stumble slightly. He turned that to his advantage, planting his right foot and bringing up his left knee, forcing Cashern to release him. Ed snapped his foot up, catching Cashern in the shoulder.

Cashern wheeled away from the hit, landing in a position with his legs spread apart, his hands upraised. Ed barely let him have time to set himself, following his snap kick by leaping into a spinning roundhouse, his right leg snapping out at Cashern's head. Ed could hear someone shout as he completed the spin, his foot slicing the air over Cashern's skull. It seemed for a second he moved in slow motion; everything coalescing in the still evening air, and then Edward landed, his left foot hitting the ground first and suddenly pitching him forward as Cashern kicked him in the knee joint.

Twisting his body so he landed on his hands, Ed flipped himself up and over his palms with a grunt, eyes wide open so he could spot his opponent charging forward. "Oh, shit!" Landing in a squat, he sprung hard to the right, letting Cashern's fist slice past him.

Digging a bandanna out of his pocket, Alton scrubbed his sweating head. "Well, Mr. Draken? Does the automail pass inspection?" He gestured at Ed, nearly backed into a wall by Cashern's attack.

Hughes smiled faintly, proudly, as Ed leaped up and back, feet striking the wall behind him and pushing off of it to crash into Cashern. Both men rolled through the red dust, Ed pinning Cashern to the ground, a triumphant grin on his face. And then Cashern made some complicated wiggle and flipped Ed, making him swear. "Yeah." Hughes nodded. "Yeah, I think it does."


"I'm not a surgeon," Dominic said, "I don't have any qualifications that way. But you'll need to be fitted with the automail port before we can really start working for you." He leaned his hand against the countertop, talking to the young Xingese woman sitting in the chair in front of him. Hovering over her was a young man of the same race, hair pulled back in a long ponytail. His mouth was grim, much tighter than the girl's. Personally, Dominic didn't think the girl looked like she should even be out of bed yet. Her skin had that waxy tone to it; as if she still healed from whatever made her lose her arm. The shock of that loss still lingered in the corners of her eyes. He'd already given up trying to talk Ran Fan out of it though; the girl was stubborn beyond belief. "Since you came here with my apprentice, I'm sure you know she's got a background in automail surgery."

Ran Fan nodded, a slow bob of her head, a silken strand of her hair slipping into her eyes.

"What we'll be doing today is collecting the information necessary to build your arm. I'll also be giving you the names of a few automail surgeons I know, whom I've worked with in the past." Dominic's face softened and he knelt in front of the girl, laying a hand on her knee. "I'm not going to lie to you, missy. This is painful. You'll curse everyone and everything. You'll yell at me, at Twilla," he waved a hand at his apprentice, "at your friend, here." Dominic nodded at Ling, standing behind her. "You might go so far as to wish you were dead. And even once your surgery is over and we've installed your automail, you'll still have to learn how to use it. Metal and hydraulics don't act or react the same way that flesh and bone do. You'll suffer from heat and cold and I don't know an amputee yet who doesn't have a problem when the weather changes."

Ran Fan's chin rose, her dark, luminous gaze meeting Dominic's. "How soon can we begin?"

He cracked a smile, beckoning Twilla, with her tape and pencil and paper, forward. "We can get started with your measurements right now."


Opal stared out the window at the ruddy buildings beyond. She already wanted out of this town with its oppressive heat, even now, in the spring. She didn't want to imagine how hot it would be in the summer, with no trees or grass to soothe the soul, just more and more of those red rocks surrounding the area. As an alchemist, she knew that the red in the stone indicated the presence of iron. As a traveling investigator for her family, she recognized perhaps what the military failed to, that this valley could make both an excellent fort and a terrible grave, depending on how an attack might be leveled. As a woman, she hated it for the lack of greenery and simply wanted to leave as soon as Maes Hughes' – no, Albert Draken's boy was kitted to do so.

She knew that today was the day the boy was to get his automail and wondered how that went. Opal knew she would find out; her money, well, the Armstrong funding, paid for that automail. She'd heard Draken say something about wanting to take the boy to Rezembool, to his regular mechanics, and his dismay at the boy's lack of desire to return there. Something twisted in Opal at statement, like a key in a lock. If the boy didn't want to return, perhaps he was ripe for becoming a part of her family's machinations.

Simply put, Olivia Armstrong wanted to be the Fuhrer of Amestris. She had the qualifications and the strength to get there. The family was more than willing to put her in the president's seat. Opal personally thought her cousin could do no worse than King Bradley. The man had managed to nearly destroy one race less than a decade ago and another one had fallen under his sword earlier this year. Understanding a need to keep control was one thing; the utter destruction of two separate races something else entirely. Frowning, Opal realized her fists were clenched. Her family, despite their ties to the military, would back Olivia's play. It was why Opal trekked from one side of Amestris to the other, searching for insights and plays that would help her family achieve their goal – an Armstrong in control of Amestris.

Sighing, Opal brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, patting it into place. The dreams of her family consumed them all; perhaps making them less than what they should be. Surely they understood that. And yet, the heady brilliance of that dream caught all of them up, kept them moving towards that goal – a unified Amestris, under the watchful eyes of the Armstrongs. Who better to guide the country toward a glorious new future, she thought, not quite ironically, than a family whose roots went back centuries? Still, for all their grandiose past, she looked to the future as well; wanting something beyond this war and infighting. Opal wanted Amestris to be a proud, peaceful country; one that could stand its ground to Drachma and Creata and also reach out to them as well, to forge a new path with those countries as allies rather than the cautious enemies they were now.

She knew that some people would have to suffer to help the Armstrongs achieve that goal and while Opal felt bad for that, she knew she wouldn't hesitate to use them in any way necessary. Being ruthless was another thing that was a long standing Armstrong tradition and Opal knew that any feelings she had otherwise could hurt their chances. That fate dropped a young alchemist practically in her lap was not a tool she would overlook and her family would look down on her for not making use of him.

Touching her fingertips to the window, Opal whispered an apology to the boy, knowing she would never do so to his face. Steeling herself, she turned away from the glass, from the sunset falling through that orange sky, and mentally prepared herself to speak to Draken and his son.


"My dear, what are you doing here?"

Rose raised her head in surprise, seeing the tall, blond man. "Oh. Mr. Hohenheim." She mustered a smile, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She sat on a stoop outside a building, the concrete cracked and the door boarded up. Grass grew through the cobblestone street, long strands that the wind stirred, so the seed heads bobbed. "I…" Rose lowered her head, stroking her thin fingers along her child's cheek. "We don't really have anywhere to go, Mr. Hohenheim." She smiled in a self-depreciating manner at her son, knowing the man standing nearby wouldn't see it.

"This isn't a nice neighborhood, Rose," Mr. Hohenheim said, a hint of concern in his voice.

"That's…that's all right." Rose tickled her fingers over the baby's nose, making him gurgle. "I don't…I don't have any money for anything else." She didn't want to tell him she hadn't eaten in a few days; that her milk was drying up. Rose wasn't sure how much longer she'd even be able to feed her baby.

"You poor child." Mr. Hohenheim squatted next to her, the tails of his coat spurning the grass. "Why don't you come with me? I can make sure that you have a place to stay the night, at least."

"Oh, I couldn't." Rose gave him a worried little smile. "It isn't…."

"Correct? Child, you staying out in this part of town with a baby that young isn't the best idea, either. Trust me, all I'm trying to do is look out for you." Mr. Hohenheim's face gentled, his golden eyes warm as they met hers. "I had young children of my own, once. There is nothing more frightening than the thought that you might not be able to take care of them, am I right?" When Rose nodded, the man smiled gently. "Come with me, Rose. I'll help you. That's all I want to do. I don't want repayment of any sort."

"But," Rose struggled against the idea, searching his face. "I should." Her hands gripped the soiled blanket her baby slept in.

"Rose, please. Let me help you." He stood up, reaching down his hand to her. "If you must, consider it a payment on a debt I've long owed, to my own children. A debt that," his mouth turned down slightly, "I have no way of repaying." Something in his face told Rose that she shouldn't pry; shouldn't argue; should accept this offer. Still, she hesitated before taking his hand, long enough that Mr. Hohenheim noticed. "I'm sorry, my dear, that is not something I should have shared with you. Let it go and please, accept my offer. It will make an old man happier than you can realize."

Taking in a deep breath, Rose laid her hand in Mr. Hohenheim's broad palm. His warm fingers closed over hers and helped her to her feet. Adjusting her baby against her chest, Rose let Mr. Hohenheim lead her down the street, away from the decrepit building. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Hohenheim," she said, risking a look up into his face.

"My dear, no thanks are necessary." He smiled at her and Rose felt almost as if she were sheltered by the warmth in his smile.


Paninya led the way down one of the winding, narrow streets of Rush Valley. Turning around, she walked backwards, her smile brilliant in the twilight. "It isn't much further, I promise."

"That's what you said fifteen minutes ago," Roy muttered, deciding the first thing he was going to do would be to get better shoes. These little crepe things did not protect his feet like military boots did.

"Shen," Riza sighed out the alias, "can you actually walk?"

"Not easily." Roy shot Riza a little pout. "Couldn't we have taken a cart?"

"Weren't you the one complaining about the horse smell in your clothing?" Riza waved a hand in front of her face, trying to stir the nonexistent breeze.

"That's different," Roy said in retort, realizing that Paninya's dark, sparkling eyes were narrowed in amusement. "What?" he snapped.

"You're awfully cranky, aren't you, Mr. Yao?"

Paninya's question couldn't be that innocent, Roy thought, glaring at her. The way the other two kids, Alphonse – no. Dan. Dan and Twilla – exchanged smirks showed that they were in on it, too. "Don't make me show you how cranky I can get, Paninya," he said, brows drawing tightly down. Next to him, Riza rolled her eyes, almost at the same time Black Hayate bounced on his hind feet. Roy had the feeling they were both laughing at him, despite the fact that he was sure the dog was reacting to the sight of the cat further down the street than anything he might say.

"Whatever." Paninya smiled broadly and slipped up between Al and Winry, hooking her arms through theirs. Alphonse started a bit, almost stumbling, though the surprised grin showed he wasn't at all upset at the attention. Paninya obviously realized it, smiling up at him guilelessly. Roy noticed Winry's faint, knowing grin; the wistful twist to it making his heart contract.

Winry was just a kid, he thought. It wasn't fair that she'd lost so much. Roy's gaze rested on the back of Alphonse's head. For either of them, he amended. He himself knew too much about the pain of loss, though everything that had been taken away from these kids trumped his own misery. Roy knew that one of the goals he wanted to achieve involved bringing Al and Winry happiness. He wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish it but he did want to see them smile again; bright, cheerful smiles that weren't shadowed by grief.

"Look," Paninya said, untwining her arm from Winry's to point ahead of them. Catching Winry's hand, she tugged at both the kids, pulling them into a run with her. Winry's dog raced alongside them, the clatter of her automail limb loud on the quiet street. Whining, Black Hayate twisted at the end of his leash and, with a little sigh, Riza released him.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, love?" Roy asked as the black and white dog raced down the street.

"I don't think he'll get hurt following the kids," Riza said, folding the leash and slipping it into her pocket. "He's very obedient."

"Yes, he has a stern mommy, doesn't he?" Roy didn't hide his little smile.

Riza's face remained placid though her eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes."

The kids had already made it to an adobe house, the color faded to a pale creamy orange, greenery in the form of cacti lurking to catch unaware visitors. Roy's eyes widened a bit at the savage spikes on something that looked as if it might stalk away, given half a chance. "I think it's looking at me." Roy paused at the gateway, shuddering.

"As long as it isn't hungry," Riza said, seeming reluctant to go through the gate and past that plant.

"Hm. I wonder what it would cost to extract it." Roy thought that fire would do nicely but the idea of setting even a plant aflame made his shoulders twitch in remembrance. The desert, he thought, played many games with his memory. He didn't particularly want to add to the bad ones he already carried with him.

"Let's definitely consider it." Riza edged past the plant and through the door the kids had left open for them.

Roy trailed behind, picking up the sounds of dogs barking as they charged through the house. "First thing," he said, "if we like this place, we're making the fence higher."

Riza nodded, her sharpshooter eyes studying the building. Roy watched as she started prowling then, with a grin, left her to it. He went through the front door, hearing the muted voices of the kids and the pounding of feet. Closing his eyes, he let himself feel the space itself, the faint taste of stale air and dust being chased by the fresher breeze, blowing in from outside.

A light, masculine voice broke in. "Mr. Yao Shen?"

He turned to see a man who reminded him slightly of Havoc and had to fight to keep nostalgia from taking him over. Placing his hands together, he bowed in a manner that brought back other memories, long dormant, and Roy straightened, thinking that he needed to practice that sweep. It was rusty. "You are the realtor?" he asked as the blond man gazed at him, nonplussed.

Regaining his composure, he smiled. "Yes. I'm Rog Alton. Mr. Dominic told me you were in the market for a house."

Roy nodded, glancing around at the interior of the building. He saw a few cracks in the walls, evidence of settling, but the interior was cool and despite that faint, unused scent in the air, it had a good feel to it. The entry room was wide and tall, a ceiling fan moving lazily to stir the stale air. Windows with awnings let in light but not the complete blare of the Rush Valley sun. Tile floors would stay cool in the summer, Roy thought, and could be warmed by rugs in the winter. "My family is, yes," he said to the realtor. "My sister-in-law will be studying under Mr. Dominic."

Alton nodded. "Mr. Dominic told my father and me something about that when we were talking earlier." He waved a hand, changing the subject. "This is a good house for a family. The walls are solid," he caught Roy's eyes going to the cracks and grinned slightly, shaking his head. "Don't let that fool you. This house is in superb condition." He gestured for Roy to follow as he led the way into the next room, a dining room with doors that opened into the courtyard. Riza prowled around that expanse of flagstones, more cacti and a lone tree that somehow battled the heat and sand to survive. Roy could just hear feet above his head and tilted back, frowning slightly.

Alton misinterpreted the look. "That's a solid roof there. The second floor has a balcony and there's a way to get to the second floor roof, too."

"Really?" Roy considered the possibilities of that. He paused in the great room, studying the fireplace. It seemed large enough to roast a side of beef and Roy thought personally that it would come in handy in the winter months. The size of it meant someone was likely to be able to climb down the chimney, though, and Roy started making plans for making sure that didn't happen. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should questions Riza and the kids first rather than make the decision completely on his own. "I'd like to see that," he said, responding to Alton's comment about the roof.

It took some time but they finally met in the courtyard next to a dried up fountain. Roy barely glanced at it, thinking that alchemy or Winry's handiwork could probably get it going again. Alton made them promise to let him know if they were interested in the house and locked it up as the kids drifted over. "Well?" Roy asked, folding his arms and leaning against the fountain basin.

"It could be easily made defendable," Riza said, nodding towards the walls and the roof. "It wouldn't take much work and we could make it look as if it were part of the design. Some of those large cacti would provide a definite barrier and," she glanced at the dogs, chasing each other around the courtyard, "I noticed guard dogs are not unexpected here in Rush Valley. I'm sure we could acquire some young dogs for that purpose."

"Puppies?" Alphonse's eyes brightened.

Riza brushed his bangs back with her fingertips. "Defensive weapons," she said gently.

"But if Win - " Alphonse caught himself, "Twilla is going to be making automail, won't we need dogs that don't mind strangers? Otherwise, how will she see her clients?"

"Dogs can be trained," Riza told him, "with patience. And they also will alert us if someone comes into the house or the yard that we aren't expecting." She gestured at the walls. "We can add more height to those, as well."

"It sounds like a prison," Winry said softly. "Guard dogs and high walls and sniper windows." She shivered as Alphonse put his arm around her shoulders.

"You understand that it's for your protection?" Roy hated that sad expression on her face but couldn't let it rule him. When she nodded, he gave her a little smile in return. "Good. Because I think this is the house we should purchase. It's close enough to your mentor that you can get to his shop quickly and, as Riza said, easily fortifiable."

"And there's room in the basement to set up recovery rooms," Alphonse said, "or guest rooms, whatever we might need."

"Guests," Riza said thoughtfully and gave the kids a soft grin. "Yes, I suppose we might have guests from time to time." She glanced at Paninya, who listened to the conversation with an enthusiastic air.

"Then I'll speak to Alton regarding the purchase." Roy straightened the cuffs of his jacket, thinking personally that the heat was going to make him wilt like a hothouse flower. "And we'll get started on this place as soon as we move in." He left the kids with Riza, deciding that rescuing Alton from the overly affectionate Black Hayate might be a good idea.


The train rumbled away from Rush Valley, heading north. Maes jerked awake, blinking slightly, reaching up under his glasses to rub his eyes with thumb and forefinger. A little snore startled him and he glanced down, surprised to see a mop of red hair spilled over his shoulder. Events rearranged themselves in his head and he remembered who belonged to this hair, who leaned against him now.

Ed snorted softly, his cheek rubbing against Maes' shoulder, though he remained asleep. Maes remembered how surprised he'd been that the boy seemed to go from wide awake, staring out the window to fast asleep and drooling. Cautiously, he pulled his arm up from between them, hearing Ed's little protest at being forced to move. Stretching his arm as much as he could, Maes cocked his elbow on the seatback, resting his palm on Ed's shoulder.

The name was breathed out on an exhalation of air, so softly that Maes knew if he hadn't been chosen as Ed's pillow he'd have never heard it. "…Al," Ed mumbled again, squirming a little.

"He's okay," Maes said, squeezing Ed's shoulder. "He's fine."

"Mm." Ed found another position and fell into a deeper sleep, his breath evening out.

Glancing across at the man in the next seat, Maes found himself meeting Cashern's amused eyes.

"It's good the boy trusts you, Draken," he said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the clatter of wheels on the tracks. "He needs someone to trust."

Maes didn't really want to talk to the other man about how he'd failed Ed. Sighing, he turned his attention at the window, at the dark landscape passing them by. Lowly, he said, "He has a family to go home to."

"Right now," Cashern nodded at them, "it appears you are his family."

Shooting a scowl at the dark-haired man, Maes said, "I'm just filling in. He'll go home soon enough." Even, Maes promised himself, if I have to drag Ed there, kicking and swearing.