Roy spends most of the ride in silence, grading, using his phone as a makeshift light when it becomes too dark outside. He's not really all that concerned about helping fellow teachers at this point, even though he does like both Cheyenne and Luisa. Mostly, he's trying desperately not to climb out of his skin.

He thinks that Hawkeye would be proud of him for using what amounts to paperwork to keep himself distracted.

Except the thought itself is a distraction because he realizes he hasn't thought about Hawkeye in… weeks? Surely it hasn't been months, has it? No. He's been thinking more about Amestris and home since his fight with Ed, but before then, when was the last time he'd thought of her? Of Havoc and Breda and Fuery? Madam Christmas and his sisters? It's been nearly nine years . Surely Gruman has kicked the bucket? Ed's grandmother, perhaps even Ed's teacher…

The pen in Roy's hand snaps, and red ink covers his hands like blood.

Roy chokes down the hysterical laugh that wants to bubble out of his throat because although his hands have been covered in metaphorical blood before, it's Ed's hands that have been soaked in the literal kind. Another sin laying at Roy's feet.

Not for the first time in the last several days, Roy finds himself angry and disgusted with what he's become. What happened to his ambition ? His drive? How had he— he who orchestrated a successful coup, who had plans to eventually turn his own government to a true democracy—how had he come to this world and just… settled into a domestic life?

Digging into his bag to find the pack of tissues he keeps there and cleans off as much of the ink as he can, he does know. This world is not theirs. They don't belong to it. And while there are certainly problems with the government in what— they thought—would just be a temporary home, they weren't the kind of problems that even the two of them could fix by basically subverting the entire structure or overthrowing a few key figures. Even if they wanted to, it didn't take long for them to understand that their lack of existence prior to coming to this world would have made it impossible.

Information is simply too readily available. Once people figured out that Roy didn't exist prior to their arrival, he would be viewed with distrust and suspicion. Roy's own charm, Ed's genius, and very good forgeries have gotten them this far, but he senses the thread holding that together is about to be pulled, unwinding the life they have built.

Roy should be worried, but he finds himself relieved. The thought only reinforces how morally deficient he is, because he knows without being told that if this is their stuff, as Ed had said, it has been paid for with human lives. Yet anticipation hums under his skin.

He misses Amestris, not just the people but the place that was his home. Yes, it was broken and corrupt, but he could do something about it there. He feels like they've been on a strange, extended vacation, and now it's time to go back to work.

"You must be worried," Seaver says, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.

Worried? Yes and no. Yes, knowing that alchemy has somehow re-entered the picture knowing that something has happened to Ed is anxiety-inducing on a number of levels. At the same time, it's a strangely familiar mental space. Fullmetal has done something again, and people are freaking out and turning to Roy about it, again — control your damn dog, Mustang! —but Roy trusts Ed. More than he did even during the Promised Day. Enough to let Ed talk him around to performing soul alchemy to link them permanently. The array on his wrist reassures him that Ed is alive.

No matter how upsetting it was to realize Ed had run into a fire, if nothing else, this has reminded Roy that he trusts Ed. The isolation and silence of the past two days feels stupid and petty with that realization. Ed had hit him where it hurt, unexpectedly, so he needed time to deal with the wound before remembering that Ed loves him as much as he loves Ed. Maybe more. He might take risks, but he would make every effort to make sure he came home to Roy. Ed has never done anything without absolute commitment to it, love least of all. He saved a girl's life because he had to. Because that is the kind of man he is. The kind of person he is. Ed will fight and defend and stand until his last breath because he cannot do anything less.

The determination, stubbornness, and unwavering courage Ed faces the world with have inspired Roy on more than one occasion. Sometimes, Roy thinks Ed is less a human than a human-shaped force of nature.

And with alchemy back in play?

A grin curls Roy's lips, almost against his will.

Roy would put his money on Ed under nearly any circumstance. But with alchemy in play again? Ed would always be the sure bet. If Ed has alchemy—and he must because Roy can feel that energy like salve to a bruise he'd grown used to but never quite forgotten—he will find a way home. Find a way to get them both home.

"Of course I'm concerned," Roy says, realizing Seaver is still waiting for an answer. "But I have faith in Edward."

You should be less worried about Ed, and more worried about whatever has planted itself in his path.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

They do go through a drive-through, but otherwise drive straight through to the small southern Pennsylvania town. As they grow closer, the array on Roy's wrist moves from a vague itch to active for the first time since they've been in this world. Its reassuring warmth that Ed is alive alive alive beats in time with his pulse like it's fresh again. It's a little distracting, reminding Roy of how distracting it was when they first applied it. It never gave them true telepathy, but Ed could communicate his arrays to Roy through it if they were close enough. Strong emotions also transmitted, a general sense of wellbeing, and even, proximity. The first week had been at turns mortifying and awe-inspiring. To not just know that Ed loved him, but to know Ed loved him was a gift he'd never imagined.

They only had a few months with the array and were still figuring out the full extent to which it could be used when they got pulled through to this world. Not being able to feel one another, as they had all too rapidly grown accustomed to, led to unexpected clinginess and anxiety when they were out of one another's sight for months. They both hated the irrational—and uncharacteristic—dependency, but it brought home how much they needed to keep tabs on one another.

Feeling the array active again reminds him of how comforting it is to simply know that Ed is alive. The emotional resonance had faded after the first week unless they were touching, so he doesn't know how Ed is feeling—though hadn't that been fun to explore during sex?—but he at least has some understanding of Ed's physical well-being, and vice versa.

And if the array is active, then alchemy can be used. He touches his fingertips together, envisions his array, and for the first time in nearly nine years, it's all there . He knows what all the gases in the SUV are, could cherry-pick and recombine them to make them explosive, strip atoms from elements to increase the destructive power. All he'd need is a spark and he could send the whole vehicle up in flames.

He releases the array without even the telltale static of a transmutation to give away what he's done. It's enough to know that he can .

It does make Roy uneasy though. Is it just this area where the alchemy is active? Where it can be touched? Plate tectonics power it in Amestris, but he's pretty sure this area isn't seismically active. And he and Ed first landed not terribly far from here, so they've driven through this area. They both would have noticed the array activating if it had before.

Giving up on his grading, he puts it away, instead watching the rain and shadows and the trees out the window. He's more than a little tempted to alchemize the red ink staining his hand off, and if it were light outside, he might. It's dark though, nearly 9:00 and any tiny spark would be obvious.

He is surprised when they pull into what appears to be a small police station. "We're not going to a hotel?" he asks.

"Not yet," Seaver confirms. "SSAs Prentiss and Rossi wanted to see you as soon as you got here."

Roy frowns. That isn't a great sign.

"If you want to leave your bag in the car, you can," she says, turning the car off and unbuckling her seat belt.

Old instincts are prickling. Something is wrong, more wrong than the ominous message Ed left and being personally picked up from work to be taken to a crime scene. Part of him wants to bring the bag in, but with all the papers, it's kind of a liability. But if he needs to run… he's going to want the laptop.

He grabs the bag, then follows Seaver, out into the rain, ducking his head and rushing to the overhang. When they step inside, the first thing he does is feel for the gloves in his pocket, reassured by their roughness and the fact that they're dry. He has no idea why alchemy is suddenly working, has no idea if it will work at the scale it usually does, but just knowing he has it gives him leverage, gives him more than a fighting chance.

A young officer with a ragged look about him lets them pass the protected front desk through to what looks like the main office. Roy's eyes find Agents Prentiss, Rossi, and Reid, but not Ed. Seaver makes a beeline to them, and Roy opens his mouth to ask where Ed is, but the words die in his throat as a familiar face catches his eye.

Maes Hughes looks up at him, exactly as Roy remembers him. Roy's first feeling is joy, incandescent and thick with relief. Maes isn't really dead!

It's a heartbeat, no longer, but that heartbeat makes the heartbreak when he remembers that he's seen his friend's dead body, buried him, mourned him ten years ago, so much worse.

"Roy!" Hughes's voice, full of surprise and relief, and how dare something use his best friend's face.

Fury follows fast and hard on the heels of the heartbreak, and he doesn't even realize he's pulling on his glove, growling out " Homunculus " with hate that he hasn't felt since he burned Envy alive, until he tugs and the glove stops.

The agents and the building are not even a thought. He will become the Butcher of Ishval again to erase this monster—

"Roy!" the Hughes imposter is yelling, panicking with exaggeration, watching his glove with a veil of unease. Then his eyes sharpen and focus, and he says, "The look in your eyes has changed."

It stops Roy cold, remembering meeting Maes in Ishval, remembering those words. He lowers his hand—he doesn't need it raised to snap anyway. He waits.

"You look like you've found some peace," the imposter says.

Roy's lip pulls back in a snarl. "How dare you stand before me wearing that face."

The imposter laces his fingers together, looking at Roy contemplatively, not genuinely at ease but less afraid, and says, "The last thing I remember is you pointing a gun at me, knowing it couldn't be you, because I could hear your voice on the phone. Then it wasn't you, it was Gracia." He pushes his glasses up, bows his head, and gives a humorless laugh. "And I knew it wasn't her—my darling Gracia would never have raised a gun to me, but I couldn't hurt someone with my beloved's face." He looks back up at Roy. "I died, didn't I?"

Roy is trembling, because everything, everything about him is exactly right. The tone, the words, the face, the body language— it's all Maes.

But it can't be.

The imposter gives another soft chuff of not-laughter. "We said we'd meet again in hell, but this seems too nice a place for it."

"Strip," Roy tells him.

The gaping, confused look the imposter gives him almost makes him smile, but he has to be sure.

"Mr. Mustang—" Agent Prentiss begins, bringing them back to his conscious attention. As long as they hadn't brought out the guns or moved toward him, his brain had discounted them as a threat.

Roy ignores her. "Strip," he says, raising his hand. "Or I'll do it for you."

That spurs the maybe-Maes into action. "All right, all right!" he says, pulling the oddly-sized shirt off. Roy shoves past the gaping agents, ignoring them. He doesn't care how crazy this all sounds or looks right now.

"Is this really necessary?" Agent Rossi asks.

" Yes," Roy says emphatically.

He manhandles the person around, inspecting every length of bared skin, combing through his hair, trying to find an ouroboros sigil, making the Maes-thing squawk and squirm, but he doesn't argue. When he's shown Roy even his tongue and Roy has overlooked every inch of him, he's forced to concede that whatever this is, it's not a homunculus. It has Maes's old scars, the ones Roy knew of. It has a new one too, from the shot that killed him.

"Are you finished?" the Maes person asks, both amused and exasperated in exactly the right measures.

"I don't know," Roy admits, because he's at a loss.

The man pulls his pants back up, then pauses before he pulls his shirt on over his head. "It figures even your grays would come in with dignity," he says, and the fondness is clear. He pulls the shirt back over his head and resettles his glasses. "How long has it been?"

"Ten years," Roy says softly, still not sure he believes it.

"Ten years ?" the man repeats. Then he buries his hands in his hair. "My beautiful Gracia! Has she moved on! And my perfect Elicia! My darling baby girl! She's a teenager now! I've missed it all!"

It's both Maes's usual over-the-top adoration of his family mixed with genuine loss. It's the final straw for Roy. No one could fake that. No one could match it.

"It's really you," he says, leaning against the desk he is closest to because if he doesn't, he's going to fall over. "You're alive." He begins to chuckle, the adrenaline rush and ping-ponging emotions ricocheting back to shock and relief again. Before he knows it, his laughter has dissolved into hiccuping sobs.

Maes doesn't hesitate to pull him into his arms and just hold him. Even the scent of him, buried below an old man's smell, is the same. Roy clings to him and cries in relief and joy and sorrow.