December 21st, 1990

Trisha was grateful that the rest of the alchemists' role in the press on the Zinovek camp was not part of direct combat. As they had anticipated, Mihalov and his officers had several strategies already prepared for a variety of eventualities, and this was one of them. While they stood in reserve, just in case, Trisha and Marble made quick work of the mound of rubble blocking the highway that ran through the pass. It wasn't elegant, but they shoved it all to one side or the other, which would allow the Western Drachmans to move down without being impeded. She couldn't say the same for when they hit all the snow between them and the Zinovek camp, but she had been assured that they had thought of that and, lacking any flame alchemists, were planning to begin with projectile fire at distance, and clear their paths with flame-throwers as needed.

Trisha did not ask where they had found that many flame-throwers. In Drachma, she could only suppose they might be a more reasonable form of snow removal than hand-shovels. Still, she couldn't help thinking with a bit of smug pride that her husband would have made short work of all of the rubble and the snow if he had been here.

So, she wasn't on the front lines when the Western Drachman army rolled over the Zinovek camp with less than an hour's warning. Even being able to see them coming, the Zinovek army had little time to put up much of a resistance. Or so she had to presume from the sounds of battle in the distance, and the radio reports back to camp. She found herself sitting in the main war tent with her mother and Gavril Mihalov, and tactical officers, listening to the results of their plan as they went into action.

While Trisha had functional Drachman, especially when the conversation was military or political, or basic small talk, her mother's fluency came in useful as they listed to reports backed by shouting and gunfire. The rest of the alchemists were there as well, mostly out of curiosity. Their plan had made this possible after all.

"They managed to dig out some firearms, but only one tank. The planes are buried under the snow and they've just taken control of that area."

"They should just destroy them," Glacier growled.

"Capturing them would be more useful," Molecule pointed out. "Then the Western Drachman army could train their own pilots and have their own aircraft."

"Which if they can do, they will," Mihalov nodded. "It takes them out of the enemy's hands, and gives us a chance at developing a real defense in the air. That is, if Amestris would be willing to train our pilots so they don't knock themselves out of the sky."

"I will speak with the government about that possibility," Sara replied.

Trisha knew that would be an interesting conversation, and even once her parents talked, it would have to go to council. That was certainly a step beyond the current agreement, though they would learn anyway eventually. Trisha and Rothschild could certainly teach the basics, but that would take more time.

Over the radio, the shouting continued, with reports coming in from what was quickly turning into an awkward rout; awkward because the enemy couldn't effectively run away, but a rout none-the-less. Trisha wondered at what point the Zinovek officers would realize that surrender might be a better alternative than death, or what would happen to them if they crawled back to Petrayevka in defeat.


Charlie had made sure not to be late for dinner every evening since the attack. Not that he could really tell Eli the truth of who he was hoping for news about, or that the lovely Amestrian reporter was actually his older sister. Fortunately, the news was interesting enough that everyone in town was talking about it, and listening to the news at night. He could have listened over the radio at the bar, but somehow, he just needed to see his sister's face, so he could read in her expressions what wasn't being said.

So far at least his cover that a relative had been injured, and the natural interest everyone had in this just because of the history with Drachma, kept Eli from asking any weird questions about Charlie's interest and concern.

The grim reports of the past couple of days, mostly in the lack of further news on the missing General, had taken its toll on the older man as well, who had apparently decided they could both use something a little stronger tonight, and had pulled out a bottle of some very potent malt whiskey, intended for slow sipping.

Charlie held his glass, and waited anxiously for the program to swap over to coverage in Drachma.

Finally, the newscaster mentioned Drachma and passed it to Gloria, who appeared on the screen with the other international newscasters in the Drachman studio.

"Thank you, Jed," she replied as she looked at the camera, expression serious. "Tonight, we bring a breaking story that began this morning with a dramatic and brilliant action on the part of some of Amestris' finest. In the early hours before dawn, a team of Amestrian Alchemists made a subtle and successful incursion into the heart of the Zinovek camp, locating and rescuing General Calvin Fischer, the Whitewater Alchemist, retrieving him and bringing him out through several feet of snow that fell overnight over the valley in a severe and sudden storm. General Fischer is in the hospital and is in stable, but critical condition.

Taking advantage of the snow, Western Drachman troops have made an unprecedented dusk attack, and as we speak have taken the entire highway pass, and overtaken much of the Zinovek camp. Though at the moment, combat continues, a favorable outcome for Western Drachma is expected due to the damage already done to the Zinoveks by the weather. More as the story develops."

That was it, at least in Amestrian. The broadcast continued in the Drachman and Cretan, though as Charlie spoke neither, he wasn't certain how much was a repeat of the same report, and what other details might be covered. He was a little surprised that the Amestrian national station didn't cut back to more local news, but perhaps there was some deal with the other nations about broadcasting the entire thing in all three languages.

At least it gave him time to take it in. The broadcast had been so succinct, and lacking in specifics. His father was alive! That was something at least, but critical condition with his father always seemed to mean something dire. Of course, they had said an explosion had blown him off a cliff, so he hadn't been expecting them to find him sitting somewhere drinking gin and playing cards with the enemy. That was it though, and almost nothing in his sister's expression which meant, knowing her, that the situation was bad. If she had been at all sure of their father's continued survival, there would have been some hope there. No, she was still trying to hold it together, and that couldn't be good.

"Finally, some real action," Eli commented as he turned down the volume. "It's about time we started making some headway."

Charlie stopped musing and sipped his whiskey, refraining from taking the glass down in one shot. "What you want to bet it was the State Alchemists' that kicked up that snow storm?" he suggested, making it sound like a casual spur-of-the-moment thought. In truth, he'd have bet solid money that Twilight and the rest of them were entirely behind it, even if he didn't know how they had done it.

"I wouldn't bet against that," Eli shook his head. "I had the same thought myself. No reason they couldn't; not with that General Heimler running the show. She survived eight years in Drachma prisons, comes home, gets her leg fixed up, and charges right back in like she was never gone. Always been like that, too. Bet it was her plan."

"I'll take your word for it," Charlie replied neutrally, as if it were no matter to him really and he didn't actually know much about her. He was young enough no one really expected him to know much about the careers of older political figures. "Wish they'd spent a little more time on what's really going on though."

"Probably military secrets." Eli shrugged, and sipped his whiskey. "Nothing they can tell us until after the mission's over anywise." He gave Charlie a side-eye then that made the younger man nervous. "I noticed you keep getting this look on your face when you look at that reporter. Don't suppose you fancy her, do you?"

Gloria? Charlie snorted, loudly. "Not at all," he replied honestly, relieved that was what Eli had thought it was. "She looks a bit too much like younger photos of my mother." If only Eli knew just how much.

Eli chuckled. "That'd be enough to put a man off." His expression sobered. "I guess you're not likely to hear much about your family member the way the news is going. Only the big names and big stories ever seem to get talked about."

That was the truth. "Yeah, probably," he acknowledged. Or at least, not any of the really pertinent details.

"You know, I won't hold it against you—or your pay—if you want to make a long distance call sometime and see if you're family's gotten word," Eli pointed out, his tone gently prompting.

"Thanks. I might take you up on that." Charlie had toyed with the idea on and off in his lonelier moments of calling someone, but he had never been able to decide who, or pull together the courage to do so. To find out about his father though… there might be someone who would give him answers without also screaming or going hysterical or giving him a lecture. Someone he might reliably catch at home. "Not tonight though. Bit late."

Eli nodded. "You know your family better than I do. Just don't wait too long. You don't want to miss anything important."

"I won't." Charlie finished the last of his glass and stood. "Think I'll turn in early tonight. G'night, Eli."

"G'night."

Charlie left out the back as usual, crossed the bit of yard to the shop, and went inside and upstairs, all the while thinking about the brief coverage, his sister's words, and his father, lying in a critical state in a Drachman hospital. He had no idea if his mother had even been called yet, though he could not imagine that someone would not have contacted her by now, at least from the military, to tell her everything they could about his father's condition.

He didn't dare call his mother. The hysterics he would get aimed at him, both about his father and about his sudden exit months ago, wouldn't do either of them any good. Shelby was also right out.

As he got ready for bed, he seriously considered who he might call to get some real information; someone his mother would have talked to. Ideally someone who might not, possibly, immediately tell his mother or Shelby that he had even reached out for news. It also had to be someone whose phone number he knew from memory. That made it a very short list.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of trying his father's best friend, but he had a feeling that if he called the Clossons, the Shock Alchemist or his wife would feel obligated to tell his mother.

He had finished changing when he acknowledged there was really only one person he could call, and his best chance of catching him at home would be at night. His Uncle Will might be the only person who met the qualifications and even then, calling was a risk. He might get Aunt Ren; though he could always hang up if she picked up.

Before he could chicken out, Charlie slipped on his shoes again and went back downstairs to the shop to the phone. At least Eli wouldn't hear him down here, or overhear anything that might make him wonder. Calling this late had another advantage; it would likely be a very short conversation.

He dialed the number, and waited until he heard the phone ring. Charlie was not ready for someone on the other end to pick up the receiver immediately after. Then he heard, "Alyse, that was quick."

Charlie's tongue froze.

On the other end his uncle figured out it was not his sister. "Hello? Who is this?"

Don't be even more of a coward. "It's me, Uncle Will." The voice sounded nervous, even to him.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah. I ah—I saw the news and I was hoping maybe you might know more than they're saying about Dad. Gloria's report tonight was really short."

For several seconds, he thought his uncle would ask him awkward questions, or shout, or ask why he hadn't called his mother. Finally, he spoke. "I just talked to your mom a little while ago. Gloria called her direct from Drachma earlier from Mihalov's offices, since it was the securest phone line." Another deep pause. "They're not sure he's going to make it, Charlie. He was blown up, almost drowned, and he's in a coma and sick with pneumonia in both lungs. And that's the short list. He's lucky he has two alkahestry trained alchemists up there or he'd have been dead already. If they can get him stable enough to transport, they're going to try and fly him back to Central to the hospital here in the next few days."

That was it then. It was as bad as he's expected. They might have found his body, but his father's chances of survival were still almost nil. "Shit."

"That sums up pretty much everyone's feelings on that subject," his uncle quipped wryly.

Well that was it then, what he'd called to find out. "Uncle Will, could you do me a favor?"

"And not tell your mother you called?"

"Yeah. Or Shelby…or anyone."

"That's a tall order." His uncle sighed. "You know they're still worried sick about you. If I told them I'd talked to you in person, at least they might be a little more assured of your well-being and continued survival."

"I know it's a selfish request," Charlie admitted. He just wasn't ready yet. "You think I should come home, don't you?"

"I think you need to get your shit together." Will surprised him. "If that's what you're doing, then good. If you can't… well, maybe it's better if you don't, honestly, but if that's what you choose to do, it's not fair to your parents, or your wife and kids, not to at least give them some kind of solid closure. It may already be too late to say anything you wanted to say to your father."

So, he'd noticed. Charlie swallowed his pride. "How is Shelby?"

"That is something you should be asking her, not me. But I'll ask you something, how do you expect her to feel? Raising four kids by herself, working, still going to school, and all of that wondering what she did to make you run away."

"But she didn't—"

"Don't tell me," Will cut him off sharply. "Tell her."

It had taken all of his strength of will to call his uncle at all. Charlie couldn't imagine picking up the phone and calling Shelby right now. Then something his uncle had said sunk in. "What do you mean four kids?"

There was an irritated sound on the other end, and Charlie wondered if Will hadn't meant to say it. "Right after you left, Shelby found out she's pregnant."

His stomach twisted, and fell through the floor. "I had no idea."

"I know that. Look, Charlie, I don't know if you'll believe me or not, but I'm glad to hear from you. Everyone's been worried sick about you, because no matter what, your family still loves you. So, whenever you're ready, you can still come home. Until then… you can always call me."

There was a salty wetness on his cheeks. "Thanks, Uncle Will." Even if his uncle was only saying it because he hoped to get more information about Charlie, at least he wasn't pushing, and it told him something he hadn't wanted to let himself belief—that he might still have the option of going home again. Nothing would be the same, but it was there. "Sorry I called so late."

"It's fine. Lucky for you, Ren's working late."

Very lucky. "I'll let you go, Uncle Will. Thanks for telling me…everything."

"Anytime, Charlie."

Charlie hung up the phone, and leaned back against the wall for a moment, waiting for the flood of emotions he had been holding back to rush over him, then subside again. It was a lot to absorb all at once; his father probably wasn't going to make it, his family still worried about him, they hadn't moved on without him the way he'd expected… and Shelby. Damn it, Shels, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. If I had… But what would he have done? Would he have stayed? He couldn't honestly say that it would have made it easier. It just made him feel horribly guilty all over again. Not like it ever really stopped.

Could he go on like this? Hiding in the back end of nowhere, burying himself in work, but afraid to really break free and start over. He couldn't see himself marrying again, or purposefully having more children. He had tried that, and so far all he had done was mess up their lives. His lack of impulse control had shredded his relationship with Shelby. His lack of self-confidence rendered him useless as a parent. He hadn't been able to work.

Well, he could probably go back to work now, physically. He wasn't fast, but he was more dexterous with his hand after a few short months of car mechanic work than the exercises they'd had him doing for physical therapy. His arm still ached, but not all the time.

That didn't come anywhere close to fixing the rest of it.

Which left him wondering, did he want to fix it? Messed up as he'd been feeling, it was still his life. After what his uncle had said it sounded like there might be a slim chance of patching things up with at least most of his family.

He was not convinced that Shelby would ever forgive him though, or even that she should. Still, if they didn't talk again, it would never be settled between them in either direction. It would keep her from being able to move on, and be with someone else if that was what she chose.

The insides of his guts twisted at the idea of Shelby falling in love with someone else. With Abigail smiling at some other guy and calling him daddy…

Laying down in the dark, he stared at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from spinning a narrative of what-if, where he was replaced by a faceless but handsome, successful man—some academic she met in one of her classes, maybe a teaching assistant graduate student—who was organized, intelligent, mentally stable… while Charlie spent the rest of his life alone in the back-end-of-nowhere. And it might have been the whiskey, and the conversation, but he wanted to take the imaginary man muscling in on his life around the throat, and throttle him.

If nothing else, there was clearly no way to get over a woman like Shelby. He couldn't do it, and he was certain he never would.

December 22nd, 1990

"I told you Alyse, the answer is no."

Staring at Franz across his living room despite the early morning hour, her hands clenched in a fury he had never seen, Alyse Fischer glowered at him. For a moment, he wasn't sure she wasn't going to deck him. "You are, perhaps, the ultimate hypocrite, Franz Heimler," she replied in a tone that could have scalded ice. "Running off into Drachma, heedless of military rules or Amestrian law on the merest rumor of Sara's survival… and yet you won't consider the decency of transporting me to the side of my husband, who is still alive but may never come home.

"It's not that I don't want to," Franz continued, trying to appease her. While he had expected to hear from her—and was frankly surprised she had waited until morning at all—he had not expected to have her knocking on his door while he was still barely dressed and eating his breakfast with his family. Thankfully—or perhaps in the name of self-preservation on their part—James and Krista had vanished upstairs with Aithne to finish getting ready for the day. "You have to know that."

"Then what's keeping the President of the Amestrian Military from putting a General's wife who has worked for the military on a supply plane that's going north anyway?"

"The fact that right now everything is grounded due to unstable weather conditions."

Alyse stopped halfway across the space between them one finger in the air, and stared at him as if he'd just announced that dogs could knit. Her anger deflated. "Oh."

"The alchemy Sara and her team used to create the storm that they used to rescue Cal had farther reaching consequences than expected. Nothing catastrophic, but it disrupted the natural weather patterns, and the weather being reported between here and there includes little to no visibility and a lot of wind at the altitudes we would need for flying, as best we can get reports. Even if it's clear here, we can't guarantee a plane will be able to get there and land safely. That's why our best plan is to wait until there's a good time to take off from there, and have a pilot fly the return trip back to Central with Cal as soon as he's stable enough to survive the trip."

Alyse had never been a stand-by-and-do-nothing kind of woman, and watching her realize that there really was nothing she could do—no way she could get to where she desperately needed to be—was heart wrenching. Franz completely understood her feelings, but he could not send her into the air when it might get her, and a pilot, killed, and one of their few precious planes destroyed. Driving there was pointless. It would take so long that Cal would either be dead, or already removed and flown back to Amestris.

She sank backwards, lowering onto the edge of the couch, and Franz could sense the war of emotions inside. He'd felt them before. The fury, the fear, the hatred of futility and being unable to act, to affect the outcome. "You will keep me appraised of every piece of information you get concerning Calvin."

"Of course." He could promise that much, at the very least. "He has a dedicated medical team doing everything they can to keep him alive, Alyse. We have to trust that if he can survive, they will make sure he does."

Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. "If he wakes up before he comes home, you will put me on the phone with him."

"I will." There would be a way to manage it. Franz did not say he didn't expect Cal to wake up in the next couple of days.

Alyse nodded. "Thank you, Franz. I'm sorry for interrupting your breakfast… and for yelling." She stood up slowly. "I'll get out of your way."

He couldn't stay too angry. "You're forgiven. I need to go." He had to get back to work and find out how the battle in Drachma had gone overnight. Only his son and daughter-in-law's demands that he come home and sleep like he'd promised Sara had convinced him to leave the office last night.

"Of course. Talk to you soon." Alyse backed out of the room and let herself out.

Franz sighed, and went to get his uniform jacket. With any luck, he would arrive to good news. They could all really use some good news.


The battle was over before sunrise. It was an hour after breakfast when Sara and the other alchemists arrived in the valley via transport truck to assist with clean-up operations.

Twenty-eight hours ago, the area had been a well-ordered professional military encampment. Not long after that, it had become a blizzard-wrecked landscape, and now it was a trampled disaster. Not a single tent remained standing, and most of them and the structures erected to hold supplies were scorched and blackened, as well as soaked. The tanks were smoking husks, and the planes under Western Drachman guard.

:Do we have any idea on numbers?: she asked the Colonel who met them as they got out of the truck.

:We have taken over two-thousand prisoners,: the Colonel replied. :Estimated casualties on their side are around four-thousand. They retreated and have continued marching back towards the highway. We've got vehicles following and it looks like they're already eight miles out.

:And our losses?:

:Four-hundred-and-five dead, about nine-hundred wounded."

:Thank you, Colonel: All in all, not bad at all. The body count would have been much higher if they had kept beating on each other in that pass for months.

:Thank you, General Heimler. It's my understanding you are responsible for making this attack possible.:

:We are.: There was no need or room for unnecessary humility here. :This is what State Alchemists are for. If you'll excuse us, we've been asked to assist with salvage and clean-up.: Anything that could be retrieved was beneficial to the cause. It would also make it that much harder for Savahin to send a military to retake the camp. He would have to send fresh supplies that they hoped he could not afford.

"I'm going to take a look at those planes." Trisha turned and jogged off.

Sara turned to the rest. "Marble, Glacier, Molecule, and Rapid, assist with moving debris and making sure all the fires are out. If you can, transmute the ash into something useful. They may also want some help burying the dead. Sensation, come with me to the office and you can show me where you found those documents. Maybe we can find other information we can use." Live Wire was still up the hill. She and Von were hard at work healing the wounded and saving lives.

She got a chorus of yes ma'ams and nods, and the rest scattered to their business. Sara turned and let Sensation lead the way to the remnants of the General's office. The building had gone up in flames, but beyond it, through the rubble, Sara could see the entrance to the cave. It was back there, where she hoped he had kept more important things besides Cal.

"This is where I found those papers," Sensation confirmed as they ducked inside. The morning light didn't reach into the cave. Sara pulled out a flashlight and shone it around the dim space. There was a desk, and a portable filing cabinet. A table with maps and markers still stood, though it looked like whatever battle plan had been laid out had been disturbed in the chaos.

There was a table on which she saw dried blood. A table large enough to hold a single human being.

"That's where we found Whitewater," Sensation confirmed.

Sara's jaw tightened. "Let's take everything we can find." She turned away from the table, and focused her attention on the papers that were not so obvious as the ones the other alchemist had taken off the desk. Flipping through the documents, she quickly identified communications documents, now-irrelevant manifests of supplies that mostly no longer existed, records of the soldiers in each unit, and a variety of other information that may or may not be useful. Sara took it all. Let the Western Drachman military sort out what they could use. Pulling out a small camera she had brought specifically for documentation, she took pictures of everything on the table exactly as it had been laid out, even scattered, before gathering up the maps and rolling them into a map case. She took the surveillance photos off the walls. Sensation had found a camera and several undeveloped rolls of film. A stack of recorded radio transmission tapes. They took those, too.

There was no communication equipment in the cave itself, and a quick check showed that the rest of the office had been effectively destroyed, even when they used alchemy to clear out the worst of the wreckage. "I think that's everything we're going to find."

Sensation nodded. "It's quite a lot though. Mihalov and his officers will probably be able to make more sense of what is useful than we will."

Sara nodded. "Let's take this back to the truck and deliver it into their waiting hands then." Anything that would help them make this more than a single victory would be worth it. She wished she could be a fly on the wall to hear Savahin's reactions to the utter demolition of a portion of his forces. There was still combat with the combined Western Drachman/Cretan/Kartosians in the South, and the stand-off in the North, where Ted's team had wrought similar havoc. That was a much smaller force, but they had also backed off. Her nephew's harebrained ideas had worked impressively well, and the Zinovek forces up there had backed off and seemed to have taken up a defensive position. Since the Western Drachmans had no interest in invading the valley—certainly not up in the mountains—as long as both forces were there, likely it would be quiet for the foreseeable future. Though she didn't know how long they would want to leave Ted's team up there.

At least until Western Drachma has a few alchemists of their own.

That was the answer. Sara made note to talk to Mihalov about that as well. It was time to start training some new alchemists.


Amalea was beginning to wonder if she would ever really sleep soundly again. Aside from the short term lack of sleep from being on duty either in the field hospital, helping save the lives of the most critically wounded Drachman soldiers, or here in the city hospital, taking her turn at monitoring Whitewater and remaining nearby should her services be needed, after the things she had seen since coming to Drachma, she wasn't certain she would ever have a peaceful night's sleep again.

I knew that would happen when I decided to take my medical training and become a State Alchemist, like daddy. Her father still had nightmares about his war experiences, decades later. Now, she would too.

It was that way for all soldiers, she had learned, though it wasn't as bad for some as others, depending on their personality, and their experiences. Everyone dealt with the traumas of death and destruction differently. It made her wonder how the rest of the alchemists who had come up here with her handled it. Whitewater, Twilight, and Genesis had bought fought in the Drachman War. Whisper had been on many dangerous missions, even if this was the first in what was technically a wartime situation. Proteus and some of the others had been in Xing, though not on the same team yet. As a team they had been into Drachma much earlier in the year too. Surely, they all had ways of dealing with it.

Right now, all she could do was keep focused on her work, even when that work was the stuff of nightmares. At the moment, she sat at Whitewater's bedside, on vigilant duty in case her skills were needed. They had an alchemist with him in the room at all times right now. Just two hours ago he had de-stabilized, and it had taken her and the entire medical team assigned to him to keep him alive. He still hadn't woken up, and based on the readings from the monitors they had him hooked up to, he wouldn't be in the immediate future. At least, for now, his heart was beating slowly, but consistently. His breath was much the same, and she could watch the subtle rise and fall of his chest. It was very subtle.

Without the readings he looked convincingly dead. Even with them, he looked terrible. Tubes ran in and out of him, providing hydration, the nutrients needed to keep him alive, strong antibiotics to deal with the infection in his lungs. Whitewater's body underneath the sheets was a mass of bandages and bruises, though Amalea took a little time and energy each time she used alchemy at regularly scheduled intervals to check his vitals and systems on a deeper level than the monitors, she worked a little on healing the small things. It wasn't much, but it was a little less energy his body had to expend on healing, which it wouldn't do while it was struggling merely to survive. So while he still looked an unhealthy washed-out color, and older than she had ever thought of him, much of his bruising had faded from the ugly blacks and purples through greens, to patches of yellow. The minor ones were gone all together, and the smaller cuts and lacerations from hitting the rocks had closed. The ones that had required stitches no longer strained or stretched.

Yet all those little things might be useless in the end. Still, she refused to give up. There was no way she was going to let her first lost patient be this one.

There was a knock on the hospital room door, and then it opened, and Noroki Von joined her. "Shift change," he quipped with a strained smile. "How is he?"

"No change since we got him stabilized earlier." Amalea stood up and vacated the chair beside the bed, stifling a yawn. "It's all on the charts. They'll be coming in to check his bandages and add the next dose of antibiotics in a couple of hours."

Von nodded. "I'll take it from here then, and hopefully we won't have any more exciting moments. You've got a ride back to camp waiting outside."

"Thank goodness." She was tired enough; the prospect of walking back had been more than a little daunting. Falling asleep on the road was a terrible idea. As it was, she was yawning as she made it downstairs and out the door to the hospital parking lot.

It was easy to find her ride. A military vehicle was parked outside. More the surprise was the fact that the Rapid Alchemist was driving. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't be nice?" Wilkes grinned at her. "I got off duty and thought I'd come check on things. So, I brought Von back."

"Well, thank you." Amalea opened the door and got in. It was only after she sat down that she saw what looked like a take-out cup of coffee and a wrapped sandwich on the dash board. "Is that for me?"

Now he looked a little sheepish. "I thought you might be hungry. I didn't feel like more mess chow, and I thought you might like some real food, so I swung by this little shop down the road on the way. I realized I have no idea what you like really, so I hope I guessed right."

"Right now, I'm so hungry it could probably be made with ketchup and sawdust and I'd eat it," Amalea admitted as she finished buckling, and picked up both items, trying not to look flustered. "This is really nice of you."

"And again, you sound surprised. Am I not that nice?"

"I'm sorry." Amalea felt herself blush this time. "That's not how I meant it to sound."

"It's okay. Honestly, I shouldn't be teasing you. You've got to be exhausted." He put the car in drive, and pulled away from the hospital. "Just be sure you tell me if you like this stuff, or if there's something you don't, so I know better."

Amalea smiled, grateful she didn't have any food allergies, so those weren't a concern. "I'm sure it's great." She started with the coffee, mostly because she wasn't sure she'd be awake enough to eat the sandwich if she didn't. She was startled by a jolt of flavor as she sipped a rich, dark drink that tasted sort of like coffee, but also heavily of chocolate and caramel, and it was thick and incredibly creamy. "Wow!"

"That's what I got," Wilkes commented, grinning even as he kept his eyes on the road. A fact Amalea appreciated. "They offer it with a shot of vodka too, but I thought that might be a bad idea on little sleep. Also…driving."

"It's better without it," Amalea assured him. He was right. A shot of anything in her present frame of mind and she'd probably pass out before she got to her bed. Not that she ever drank much of anything. "Which is to say, it's delicious." She took another couple of sips, then set it down on the cup-holder in the center and unwrapped the sandwich, taking a bite to find rich thinly-sliced roast corned beef, tomatoes, lettuce, a tangy white cheese she wasn't familiar with, and a light creamy dressing on a thick dark bread roll. She had to swallow before she could get out the words "oh my gosh that's good!"

"I'm glad. I was really worried you'd turn out to be a vegetarian or something and I'd somehow missed it."

"Nope, I'll eat just about anything," Amalea admitted. "Though it helps when it's made well. I'm impressed they had vegetables this fresh."

"Someone said the town has greenhouses," Wilkes informed her as they paused at a stop light. "That's probably the only reason they have them right now, but it's totally worth it."

"Agreed."

She ate in quiet, and he didn't try to push conversation, as they made the rest of the drive back out of the city and through the military camp to the alchemists' camp. By the time they arrived, she had finished her food.

"Here we are." He parked next to the tent. "Twilight told me to tell you that you don't have a shift in the hospital tent until late afternoon, so I'd recommend getting some sleep while you can."

"I intend to," Amalea assured him. It felt like it should still be late night, but the sun was up and the camp was bustling. "I've got to be at my best later. I can't afford to make any mistakes. Not with any of the soldiers or… Whitewater." She shuddered slightly, thinking of how close they had come to losing him again last night.

She caught Wilkes watching her. "Amalea I… okay this is probably going to sound corny, but I hope you know that what you do is really incredible."

That… had not been what she was expecting this morning. After a moment, Amalea realized her mouth had fallen open. "It's just my job… what I'm trained to do," she pointed out, objecting mildly.

"That doesn't make it any less amazing. Most of us change stuff around with our alchemy. We can make new things, we can blow things apart, we can push stuff around. You save people's lives. I saw what Whitewater looked like when he got here. The fact he's not dead yet is entirely because of you, and that's pretty incredible. You're pretty incredible."

She was also blushing furiously hot. "Thanks, Ryan. That… honestly that makes me feel a little better," she found herself admitting. "I haven't really felt like I've been much use on a lot of this mission. Sure, I'm trained in combat like all of us, but it's not really my strong suit. I'm so worried, and last night we almost lost him again, and I just feel so useless that there's not more I can do."

"You're an alchemist, not a miracle worker." He reached out, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Don't doubt yourself, Amalea. What you're doing is already more than all the rest of us could do for him combined. Sure, we created a storm, and the rest of you hauled him out of there, but we could have done that much even if he had already died. You're the reason he's alive."

Flustered, she managed a smile. "And that only makes me pretty incredible?" she managed to tease.

He looked startled, then chuckled. "Actually, it makes you pretty…and incredible."

For just a moment, she thought she might die from blushes, but then she remembered who she was talking to. Ryan Wilkes might mean it, but he was also an incurable flirt. It came to him as naturally as breathing. All of this, was a compliment, but nothing more. "Well, thank you," she replied, reining in her emotions. "For everything this morning. I mean it." She had finished the food. She picked up her half-drunk coffee as she unbuckled and opened the door. "Good…well not night. Good morning."

Wilkes looked just a little surprised, but he nodded. "Good morning. See you later."

Amalea walked the few yards to her tent, and ducked inside. Inside, she finished the last drops of her drink. Setting the cup down on the tiny table next to her cot, she made herself pull off her boots, and change out of her uniform into her flannel uniform pajamas, which she covered with a thick fluffy sweater she'd brought from home. Only then did she allow herself to collapse, curling up in her sleeping bag and burying her head to keep warm and block out enough light to sleep. Ryan's comments floated in her head, and she felt warm, if slightly bemused. She was certain he had meant the compliments, but was he flirting, or just being genuinely nice? She couldn't imagine why he'd be interested in her of all people. It was probably the latter. As team mates it was important that they support each other, and it had definitely been a nice confidence boost.

As she dozed off, she wondered if he ever bought anyone else on the team coffee.