Author's Note: This chapter exists entirely because the last chapter was so well received and because of a couple requests for continuation. At first, I was utterly stumped not only by this prompt but by the prospect of continuing the previous chapter. But eventually, this all worked out, and now I just have to hope that it didn't end up too cheesy.

Timeline: Right after "Silver watch"

Theme 38: Nowhere but here

For awesomenaruto, who is, in fact, awesome

Roy gasped and wheezed, trying to make his lungs fill with air again. The spot on his chest where his pocket watch had saved his life throbbed with a dull pain, but he cherished that ache because it meant he was still breathing. He began to shudder as it struck home just how close he had come to dying. He looked to his right at Hawkeye, to his left at Edward, and drank in the sweet air.

"Well, Full Metal," he said shakily, trying to smirk and bring some semblance of normalcy to the situation. "I think I'll need to hear your report now."

It didn't work. He was still shaking like a cadet in his first battle, and when he spoke his teeth began to chatter. Hawkeye placed a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder and took a closer look at the glorious bruise on his chest, then buttoned his shirt back up, ducking her head so only he could see the immense relief on her face.

Edward was less tactful, of course. He leaned in close and squinted at Roy's face, as if he would be able to see About To Die written in tiny letters across his forehead. "You sure you're okay? Where does it hurt? C'mon, don't be an idiot!"

"Nowhere but here," Roy assured him, pressing his hand gingerly against his heart. "I'm all right. I'm...I'm all right." The words bolstered him, warmed him from the inside out.

"Well, don't worry," Edward said with false bravado, standing up and brushing off his knees while Hawkeye helped Roy stand. "Those terrorist guys can't hurt you now."

After a visit to the doctor just in case, taking the rest of the week off, and plenty of sleep, life resumed its normal pace. The would-be assassin was thrown in prison, though he refused to reveal who he was working for or what their motives were. Working off Edward's report, Major Armstrong and a company of soldiers went to smoke out the hideout, but reported that it was abandoned and left in disarray. Apparently they had fled.

Then came the day. Roy had sent off the Elric brothers in the morning to investigate a brand-new lead that had just cropped up, a promising one this time. He was signing papers and just wondering whether Hawkeye would scowl or not if he took another coffee break when the phone rang. Finishing his signature with a flourish, Roy picked up the phone and prepared for a doting father gushing about his newly pregnant wife – Hughes usually called about this time.

"A call from an outside line, sir."

Outside line? Had Hughes already gone home? "Patch it through."

Click. "Colonel Mustang?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

Roy frowned. "Yes. Who is this?"

"You met our leader Tuesday before last."

Tuesday before last... Roy's stomach lurched with the realization. "You mean...you're the terrorists?" he asked dumbly.

"Visionaries," the voice corrected him. "I'm calling to tell you that we have something of yours. Just thought you might want to claim it."

"What are you talking about?" Roy snapped.

"The Full Metal Alchemist, of course."

Bluffing. They had to be bluffing. Roy's heart pounded wildly against the bruise, but he somehow managed to keep his voice steady. "How do I know you really have him?"

"Hey, pipsqueak!"

And suddenly the receiver exploded with an almighty cry of, "WHO'RE YOU CALLING A PIPSQUEAK SO TINY-"

Edward's voice cut short and a slapping sound cracked through the phone line. "Convinced?" the terrorist asked while Edward's voice muttered darkly in the background.

He gripped the receiver so hard it creaked in protest. "All right, I believe you," he said through gritted teeth. "What do you want from me?"

"We just want to have a little chat, Colonel Mustang. Come to the abandoned automobile factory – by yourself, unarmed, in one hour – and we'll exchange hostages. The pipsqueak will go free, and you'll be the military's hostage. Bring anyone with you, or come too late, and..."

Bang. A raw scream exploded on the other end. Roy shot to his feet, shouting uselessly, "Edward!"

"That was his left leg," the man said calmly, while Edward's pained breathing could clearly be heard in the background. "Let's make sure my hand doesn't slip up to his pretty little head, shall we?"

"Don't you dare lay another finger on him," Roy snarled, pressing the receiver hard against his ear as if that way he could get closer to the man he now loathed with every fiber of his being. "If you do-"

Dial tone.

Roy stared at the receiver for a moment, then threw it down with a curse and bent over his fists on the desk. How could he have let this happen? He should have been more concerned about this from the start – should have realized that if they would go so far as to try to assassinate him with all the military watching, they would try again. He should have known that if they had managed to kidnap Edward last time, they might be able to do so again.

Edward. Who had endured so much, and he had brushed it all aside. Who had been the first to notice something suspicious going on in the crowd, who had acted instantly, who had been at his side when he almost died. And this was how he repaid the little hero? All my fault.

He let out a gasp and checked his pocket watch – the replacement he'd gotten after the bullet had ruined his old one. There was no time to lose. Without even stopping to grab his coat, he burst out of his office and hurried past his subordinates, who all looked up in surprise. Hawkeye called out to him, but he only barked over his shoulder, "As you were!"

The drive to the outskirts was the most nerve-wracking one Roy had ever experienced, and he had to stop himself from checking his watch every few minutes so he wouldn't start running into things. But at last he reached the old automobile factory and got out, rushing towards the entrance with his heart in his throat.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, several men with guns and masks surrounded him. "Take me to him," Roy gasped, looking from one to the other, not sure who was the leader. But they just tied his hands behind his back and nudged him further into the dark concrete building with their rifles.

Soon they came to a small room that must once have been the foreman's office. A man without a mask lounged back in a rickety old chair, pistol trained on...

"Edward!" Roy lunged forward, but the terrorists held him back. Roy stared at the boy, aghast. Dry, crusted blood on his face suggested they had beaten him pretty badly when they brought him here – understandable, considering how fiercely Edward must have fought back. His entire left thigh was soaked in blood, which pooled all around his legs, and his wrists were tightly chained together. The boy's face was pale from blood loss and tight with pain, but he was conscious. His eyes cracked open a little when he heard Roy's voice, but he only bit his lip and closed them again.

"Glad you could make it," the leader drawled lazily, pointing his pistol in Roy's direction instead of Edward's. "All right, we'll make the transfer as promised." He nodded to one of his henchmen, who unlocked the shackles around Edward's wrists, but no one did anything to assist him out of there, and Edward looked too weak to move.

Roy gritted his teeth. The situation was looking worse and worse with every passing moment. "What do you want from me?" he demanded. "Are you going to negotiate for your leader's release?"

But the man only tipped his head back and laughed. "He can rot for all I care. The whole plan was just to kill you in the first place, and if he couldn't do it, he didn't deserve to be our leader. But you took the bait, so now that you're here...I'll just finish the job."

"Why?"

The man smiled complacently. "We know what you're up to, Mustang, and we won't stand for the pacifist country you're hoping to create. After all, without war, what would happen to all the smugglers, the drug dealers, the money cleaners, the illegal immigrants, the contraband salesmen? We wouldn't want to drive these poor deserving souls into poverty, now would we? The world would be better off with you dead."

He raised the gun so it pointed directly at Roy's forehead. There would be no mistakes this time, no pocket watch providing protection. Roy licked his lips, suddenly dry, and stared death in the face. Funny how he shook and trembled when faced with life, yet now that death was here to claim him...he was so calm. "Edward," he said evenly. "Get out of here. Now."

There was a slight shuffling sound from Edward's direction, but it seemed he was unable to get to his feet. The terrorists moved aside, two gripping Roy's arms but standing apart to give their temporary leader a clear shot. Roy straightened his shoulders and kept his gaze fixed stonily on his killer's even though a lump was growing in his throat. After all this trouble to come and rescue Edward, they would probably kill him next just because he couldn't make it out of here on his own. All my fault. All my fault.

The man smiled...and fired.

Everything seemed to explode at once. The men holding him in place fell to either side, crying out as a wall suddenly erupted from the ground directly in front of Roy's face. The thin barrier of concrete crumbled to dust when the bullet hit it, and Roy coughed, momentarily unable to see. Through the shouts of confusion, he could clearly hear more authoritative shouts and a few spurts of gunfire. He squatted down as best as he could with his hands behind his back, and by the time the dust cleared, it was all over.

Alphonse, who had been buying Edward a meal when he had been kidnapped, had run to Hawkeye, who had already figured out that something was up and decided to follow Roy. They explained this to him while cutting his bonds and leading the terrorists off to join their leader in prison, but he barely had attention to spare for their explanations. As soon as he was free, he rushed to Edward's side.

The boy was out cold; he had used the last ounce of his strength to protect Roy. To save his life, once again. He was so pale that Roy had to bend over his chest to listen for his heartbeat, but thankfully, the boy was still alive. Gathering the small, limp body into his arms, Roy allowed himself a moment to savor Edward's warm, living weight.

"He needs the hospital," he finally said.

Hawkeye put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him with concern. "Are you sure you're not hurt, sir?"

Roy smiled weakly. "Nowhere but here." He touched his heart. But this pain was a good pain.