Language notes! The Latin inscriptions in this are all based off of – although not 100% accurate to – real dirty graffiti found in places like Pompeii and Herculaneum. Yes, down to the penis. The first one that isn't translated is roughly – "Virgula to Tertio: you are indecent!" The odd spelling and abbreviations are also accurate to Latin inscriptions.

Song is by The Dead Weather.

TW: imprisonment, structural/institutional homophobia, lewd jokes (I'm not TOO worried, but still), guns, sanism/ableism

~42~

There's a bullet in my pocket burning a hole
It's so far from your weapon, the place you were born
There's a bullet in my pocket burning a hole -
You're so far from your weapon and you wanna go home

-So Far From Your Weapon

"Diana, how are you not a little excited?"

"We're going to war," she sighed from her seat, still reading her novel. "It's not exactly a picnic, J- Valjean." She glanced up just enough to catch his pout at that. "Oh, come on. We're graduates now. We can't make fun of the formalities forever."

"I thought the whole point of Special Forces was that we didn't have to bother." He flopped down next to her – but it didn't keep him down for long. "Who else do you think is gonna be in our unit? I like the whole horizontal structure thing. But it means we have to get along with them otherwise there's going to be problems."

"I do technically outrank you."

"Only because you passed that damn test. And I'm not calling you Major until I have to."

She tried not to smile – but she couldn't help it. For months now, she'd been paralyzed with fear that graduation would see them all separated, assigned to units across the country. And that had come half true; Maes had apparently been offered a Special Forces position and turned it down. But she and Jareth were still together. Not by chance, either; the General had seen how well they worked together and recommended it. "Okay, but promise me you're going to behave."

"…What does that even mean?" Then he snorted, prodding her in the ribs. "Right. Because I'm the badly behaved one, and not the one who f-"

"Quiet," she hushed him. They were sitting in the atrium of Central Command's main building, and they were probably fine, but she didn't want to start off her career with somebody hearing about her affair with Olivier Armstrong. Then, she added primly, "It's called networking."

She would have gotten mad at Jareth for laughing so loudly, but it was funny. And nobody had explicitly said she had to give up her sense of humour now that she was an officer.

"…Major Solaris? Second Lieutenant Valjean?"

Oh. Whoops. She elbowed Jareth, then stood up, saluting the person who'd appeared in front of them. Then she paused, taking him in. She'd expected a burly older man, like the Generals she'd met, or maybe someone like Olivier. She'd known everybody in Black Ops was an officer at least, but -

"Oh, don't salute me," he said, almost sounding embarrassed. "Major Zolf J. Kimbley. Pleasant to make your acquaintance."

"Great, I'm outnumbered," Jareth grumbled - and Kimbley laughed, still looking sheepish.

"By alchemists or upper officers? Because I think both are true."

Jareth blinked - then groaned loudly. "Don't tell me the fourth is-"

"Afraid so. Three State Alchemists, and then there's you." The cheeky smile on his face made it clear that it wasn't an insult, or at least not intended as one. Diana glanced carefully at Jareth to see how he was going to take it. He was the one who was talking about getting along with others - but the alchemy thing was a bit of a sore point.

He just crossed his arms, though, standing up straight - and making a very salient, silent point of his own as he drew up to his full height. About a head and a half over the slight-figured Zolf.

Zolf grinned again, not intimidated in the least. "Thank goodness. I can never reach the top shelves at the commissary. I don't suppose you'll help?"

This time, it was Diana who laughed, the snicker bursting out of her mouth as Jareth gave her a wounded look. "Sorry," she said, not quite meaning it. "Who's the fourth?"

Kimbley's face soured a little. "Isaac McDougal."

"Have you two worked together before?"

"...Something like that," he mumbled.

Diana couldn't help the instinctive way she observed people. She could already tell plenty about Kimbley from the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he looked. He was older than them - he had to be - but he didn't look it, face slender and foxlike, and there was an almost-affected nature to his Centralite accent that gave away that he was one of the people born into it. No other dialect creeping through, no slangy shortcuts.

Still, though, she wasn't going to hold it against him. Mostly because there was a hesitance to him that felt an awful lot like the anxiety she was pushing away.

"I'll, uh - take you over to the Colonel," he sighed. He turned, and almost by instinct, Diana and Jareth fell into step on either side of him.

"Come on, come on, all four of us have to work together. What's his deal?" Jareth urged, a touch of mischief in his voice.

"You two will be fine. It's me he doesn't like," Kimbley replied, voice giving away nothing but slight disgruntlement.

"Why not?"

Kimbley did pull a face this time. "He's been my CO for two years. That appears to be enough."

Oh. Well, that was interesting. "In Special Forces?"

"No, no, this division is new. Combat Arms, 4th division."

"Whoa, like, the big guns?"

"Uh. Yes."

"Stop being squirrelly," Diana groaned. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," he protested in return. "I just like making things go boom."

"...What things?"

"Ah-heh." Then he shrugged. "Mostly things that aren't supposed to."

That would do it. Also, she hated how much that actually endeared him to her. An explosives guy sounded fantastic. "Well, you've got Jareth hooked now."

"Hey, don't judge me. Explosions are fun," Jareth shot back. And Kimbley looked up at him with a slightly-startled, impressed expression that lingered just a touch too long.

Diana averted her eyes, trying to decide if she was amused or annoyed that Jareth had found a potential lover within five minutes of joining Black Ops. Who knew? Maybe it wouldn't turn into anything.

Then again, they were about to be in the desert with only each other for company for god knew how long. There were worse ideas.


They'd put him in an actual cell, now. That had been - well, not really a surprise. He'd just been hoping otherwise. Maybe for bail, or something.

But then he'd heard the actual charges. Christ.

Jareth wished he had something to throw at the ceiling. Instead he was stuck lying on the practically-wooden mattress, staring at the cracks. Second-degree murder. Conspiracy against the state. Assault of a superior officer. Violation of the Wilde Act. Indecency and obscenity.

He'd almost been hoping they'd just... build a murder case. Even after what Archer had said.

Jareth closed his eyes. Amue had tried to reassure him afterwards, that there was no way they had the evidence for half of those. They were just trying to make sure something stuck. He believed her, mostly, but he wasn't sure evidence was going to come into it.

It wasn't fucking fair.

He threw his arm over his face, tears of frustration making his eyes burn. He'd never thought the military was fair. He'd just... never really thought it was going to get turned on him.

"Is this a bad time?"

When wasn't? Motherfucker. He sat up, the prison jumpsuit bunched around his waist. He probably wasn't supposed to be shirtless, but fuck 'em. The thing didn't even fit properly. Then he looked over at the bars.

"Great. It's you."

Hawkeye didn't react to the slight, simply inclined her head. "I was wondering if you had a moment-"

"Hell no."

"Sir, it's only a few moments."

"You think I forgot who you work for?"

That actually got him a near-scowl from her. He sighed and sat up. "Fine. What could you possibly want?"

She just inclined her head slightly. "The Fuhrer wanted to pass on his apologies for not appearing today."

"How nice of him."

"He's...involved, but he has misgivings about all of this. Please know that he doesn't approve of the Wilde Act being invoked here, and he has plans to revoke it."

Jareth stood up, getting closer to the bars and watching her face carefully. She was a small woman, and just as hard to read as ever. But he didn't believe for a second that Mustang felt sorry for anything. "He can come down here and tell me that himself, then. Even better yet, get me out of here."

"I'm... afraid he can't do that."

"Why not?" he challenged. Even on her blank face, he caught a hint of - something.

"Again, he expresses his apologies."

"He runs the fucking country. He can stuff his apo-" Jareth stopped himself. Then he chuckled, all the more for her almost offended expression in response. "He doesn't give a shit, does he?"

"I can't comment on Fuhrer Mustang's personal feelings, sir."

"You're here on your own. And I thought you didn't care."

"I don't," she replied.

Jareth laughed some more - then slammed his hand against the bars. She didn't respond. Didn't jump, didn't startle. It had been cruel of him, but it was still interesting. Hawkeye wasn't supposed to be combat-trained beyond her bodyguard work. She was a glorified secretary on paper. But maybe she really was as cold as she looked. "...Why me?" he said, finally.

"Sir, I really can't comment on this. As far as I'm aware, Archer is simply following the evidence."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"If there's something I can help you with, or get for you, please let me know. The Fuhrer was very clear that he stands with you."

The Fuhrer. Yeah, right. And Jareth knew all the more now that if he asked Mustang about this, he wouldn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about. "So his pet sniper has a backbone after all."

"Did you think otherwise?"

"You're so quiet it's hard to tell."

And - for the first time that he could really remember - a small smile curved across her face. "I find being underestimated works to my benefit. Not everybody can be six feet tall."

"Sure, because that's a whole lot of good to me right now." God. Hawkeye offering to do something for him was a whole extra can of worms, wasn't it? "I'm guessin' asking you for a rope ladder or a skeleton key is out."

"Unfortunately so, yes." Pause. "I hope you were joking."

"Sure." He closed his fingers around one of the bars, thinking. In all of this mess... "Listen, this sounds weird. But uh, a friend of mine lost something important."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. It's - kind of silly, really? But it's this little doll. About five inches high, black yarn hair, made of wood. It's got arrays on it, but don't worry, it's not dangerous or anything."

"That's strangely specific."

"Look, I got weird friends. Can you help me look for it or not? I can't do anything from in here."

Hawkeye stared at him, then sighed, pushing up her glasses. "…I'll see what I can do. I was expecting something a little simpler."

"Is beer also out of the question?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, see, you're backin' me into a corner here."

"How impolite of me. I'll be taking my leave."

"Wait." He reached through the bars and grabbed her sleeve – and immediately knew it was a bad idea, from the way she froze up at anything even closer to contact. "…What's going to happen to me?"

"The trial will determine that outcome, Lieutenant."

Jareth looked at her, then sullenly looked away. It didn't surprise him when she turned and walked away, the silence stretching out in front of him like something unfinished. Either she'd help look for Alex, or she wouldn't, or she'd try and wouldn't find anything.

Not for the first time, he doubted what Will had said – that Alex had theoretically joined up with the homunculi. Pride could just as easily have lied. Alex could have gone anywhere, really. He could be – oh, he didn't know. Making friends with birds. Tucked away somewhere on a train.

Buried in a mudslide. Crushed by a car. Burned in a forest-fire.

Jareth banged his head against the bars. He was trying to tell himself that Alex was still alive. That had been an easy enough lie when he wasn't facing a possible execution. But it was possible, wasn't it? That Alex had run away in a fit of anger and run into something he couldn't handle. Worse, it was a choice between accepting that and trying to understand how Alex, the voice of morality and ethics between the Elric brothers, could join with a cult that had hurt him and his brother so badly.


Both Will and Alex were avid readers. It was part of the whole 'genius' deal, Alex figured; he hadn't realized you weren't supposed to reading at two years old until they'd started going to school and everybody else was learning their ABCs. And, even if it kind of hurt to remember, it was one of the few things they really did have in common. It wasn't just that they were smart. It was that learning things, knowledge for its own sake, was just as thrilling as any dime-store adventure novel.

He didn't know why that made him so sad to think about. Maybe it was just that… he wasn't sure Will felt that way anymore. He'd seen it less and less over the years, replaced with a need to reach something, to achieve the goal or something close to it –

It was fair enough. But Alex had never been able to do much. And besides, even Will would have had trouble staying bitter when he stepped into the dark cavern below and saw the city splayed out in front of him.

At first, he couldn't see much; just shadowy impressions of buildings against the sparse, inconsistent light. But then his eyes adjusted, new senses shifting to accommodate for the difference between this place and the bustling, loud city above. He could smell the damp, almost-mildewy air, tinged with smoke from – he wasn't sure where, but he guessed torches. He could hear the echoes of footsteps – probably Sloth's, or Envy's, or Dante's – from somewhere else in the city, another entrance or another road. In a normal city, sound wouldn't carry like that, but even small sounds reverberated off the high, curved walls and the ceiling far above.

He leaned out of the entrance of the stairway, looking back and forth; then, looking down, he carefully stepped off the last stair and onto the actual city ground. It already felt different. He ducked down, brushing his hand over the surface, then over the last stair. The stairs were stone; the floor was… he wasn't sure. Concrete, he thought. If only he could see better – but Sloth had said, hadn't she? He had different senses now. Why not practice?

The air felt damp, too. There was probably water somewhere in the cavern. And –

Alex frowned. The charred smell wasn't just from the torches. It wasn't right for that. He'd never had to identify smells before. He followed his nose, the buildings coming into sharper relief as he moved further into the city. The actual light, he saw now, was somewhere at the center of the city. The road… had clearly pointed there at one point. Whatever cataclysm had destroyed the city had shattered it, moving everything out of place. What a strange thought. He had never thought about cities as things that could break or die before; but there was no avoiding that the place he stood in was a corpse infused with a scrap of life.

Just like me, he thought, and it didn't depress him as much as it should have. Or at least it didn't, until he wondered who had been in the city when it had died, and shuddered. It was still cool. He just wasn't sure he had the stomach for stumbling over rotted bones at the moment.

Still, though… The charred smell was still bothering him. And with it, something iron-rich and bitter –

Oh. He'd never been able to smell it so strongly before. But that was blood.

There was a second source of light, off to his right. He moved towards it, kicking off the shoes he'd worn on the train with a sigh of relief. He'd always thought Will was crazy for hating shoes, but this way, he could feel the curve of the concrete below him. And if he stepped on something, it was fine. He'd heal. Then he followed the curve of the broken road, rounding another shattered building – and pausing to run his fingers over the etchings in the building's brick surface.

VRGLAˑTERTIOˑSVˑINDCNSˑES

It wasn't Amestrian, that much was clear. It kind of reminded him of the Iovian in Julius Albanus's work. Then he looked at another inscription – a doodle with more words next to it.

MNSVETAˑTENE

"Min…men… sve?" No, wait – Julius Albanus's book had had footnotes about this. V and U were the same thing. "Men…sueta." Oh, he knew that one. Gentle or mild. It had shown up in some of Albanus's commentary on – well, admittedly, why women were badly suited for alchemy. Albanus was a mixed bag. "Tene. Tene?" That sounded like something from another of Albanus's instructions, about the checks and balances required in any serious alchemy. He was surprised he remembered that, actually, but it had been one of the books he and Will had gotten a lot of their stuff about the Stone from early on. Restrain? Defend? Hold?

Hold gently. Handle with care?

Then he looked at the doodle again. It was so faded, even carved into the stone, that it was a little hard to make out. But there was a long part, and then two round-

Oh.

Alex slapped his hand onto his face, feeling his ears scorch red. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, really. He could always come back to this.

He turned back to the light and the strange smell. He could see where it was coming from, now; a little distance from the building, the ground gave way, stone stairs tumbling down into a round pit. In the center, set around the oval-shaped border, were tall lamps of cast-iron. Only two of them were lit out of the seven or so, but that was enough for him to see the center clearly. He crept up to the lip of the pit, gazing down curiously.

The woman kneeling on the concrete was almost familiar to him, but he couldn't place why without seeing her face. Instead, all he could see was a faint profile and her corn-gold hair, pinned up behind her head, as she studied the ground. She ran her fingers over the dark, almost singed-looking patch, like she was searching for something – and when she raised her hand, Alex saw that the patch wasn't just stained. There was black ash on her fingers, and that was part of what he'd been smelling. Not just torches. The remnants of something.

He moved a little closer – and a pebble moved under his foot, toppling down the stairs. Instantly, the woman straightened up, turned, and fired.

Alex let out a yelp and ducked as another handful of shots rang out over his head. "Stop shooting!" he cried out, ears ringing.

The shooting paused – but then she replied, "Anyone who's supposed to be down here can handle a few bullets."

…That was true. He kept forgetting. "…It still seems unpleasant! I'd like to avoid it!"

"Unpleasant?" There was the sound of the gun reloading, which just made him even more annoyed. Wasn't a full clip plenty? "…Oh good lord, you're the new one. Present yourself."

He steadied himself as he stood up, and grumbled something to himself about "present myself? I was going to, and then you tried to shoot me" – and misjudged where the first stair was. There was a rush of pebbles, the world went topsy-turvy for a moment, and then he slid to a stop at the bottom of the curved stairs, with a tremendous headache, scrapes all over him, and the faint sense that he was being laughed at.

"I see you're still getting used to things," she said archly.

"I'm doing fine," he grouched, dusting off his arms with a wince before he looked up. "Wait. Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye just raised an eyebrow. "You know me, then."

"Ah-" He held up a finger, then wavered, trying to figure out how much to actually say. "Yes? From a distance? You looked a lot bigger at the time."

She looked at him curiously – then sighed, shoulders dropping and the gun thankfully dropping towards the ground instead of at him. "Of course. You're that little creature that Elric kept hiding."

"Creature?" he echoed indignantly.

Hawkeye just shrugged. "I never got a good look. Pride told me you were connected to Elric in some way, but I had assumed it was a ferret or something of the sort."

"A – A FERRET?"

"Why not? They're very smart, you know."

"I am not," Alex pronounced, crossing his arms with a scowl, "a ferret. Nor have I ever been one. A-Although now you say it," he mumbled, mostly to himself, "that might have actually been better."

"What were you before?"

"A doll."

"Hm. I didn't think they had souls-"

"I was a person before that!"

"Of course. How silly of me."

Alex glared up at her – then caught the twitch of her mouth at the corner. "…You're hazing me, aren't you."

"Perhaps a little," she admitted. "Sometimes an opportunity presents itself."

"Har har. Very funny. Are you done shooting at me at least?"

She slid the gun back into her holster. "For the moment."

"That – that isn't promising."

She ignored him, returning her attention to the rest of the pit with a quiet sigh. "It's probably a good thing you startled me. I wasn't getting anything useful anyway."

"Wait, wait –" His brain was still catching up. "You're a –"

She gave him a curious look. "Homunculus. Yes. Pride didn't tell you?"

"Mostly it's been Envy telling me things. And I'm realizing he's been kind of sparse on details," he grumbled. "But I – I don't know, I didn't –"

"It isn't a big deal. Really. Here." She offered him her hand, hauling him up with more strength than he'd expected. "I- What are you doing?"

Alex was prodding her shoulder, then withdrew his hand with a nervous grin. "…Sorry."

"No, I'm not going to feel any different. Come on. Dante's waiting for us at the chapel, and I'll have to explain the gunshots." She strode off, waiting for him to follow. He took a few steps – then something caught his eye. There was a piece of paper on one of the steps. It was in a patch of broken stone; possibly why Hawkeye had missed it.

He moved towards the broken stair, and picked it up, flipping it over. It was a photograph – an old one, sepia-toned instead of in color, which meant it was at least twenty or thirty years old. In it stood two adults and two children. The woman was Xingese; Alex could tell that much. One of the two kids stood by her skirts – a little girl – and the one in her arms looked like a boy.

He flipped it over again. The yellowed back only had a few words written on it – "Mordred Haberkorn and family; 1887". Like you'd find in somebody's collection.

Alex slid it into his pocket. He had no idea who Mordred Haberkorn was; but he was starting to suspect what it was that Hawkeye was looking for. He caught up, and nearly asked if this had anything to do with Lust's death – something else he'd gotten only sparse details about – but something made him pause, and keep it to himself.

Hawkeye had been a homunculus the whole time. He didn't know how to process that. He didn't know what to do with it. The only thing that kept popping up in his head was… unfair. He knew it had to be. But if Dante had had somebody close to the Fuhrer this whole time, why wasn't he dead already?

Calm down. There's probably a reason – you just don't know it. Dante had been so careful to assuage his concerns. And she'd said to keep an eye out for paranoia, hadn't she? He was jumping at shadows.

Right. Jumping at shadows that the Fuhrer's bodyguard, the woman who kept him safe, was supposed to be on their side.

The photograph would be his secret for now.


On July 13th, 1914, William Elric disappeared from the medical records of the Central Hospital. He was recorded as entering Ward One – but Ward One never received him.

On the morning of July 14th, care nurses Patricia Kelly and Carolina Garcia were fired and placed under watch for being the last two staff members to see the wanted criminal.

At 2:00 in the morning, cleaning staff and orderlies reported a thudding noise disturbing patients in the east wing of Ward One. At 3:00, Riza Hawkeye arrived on order from the Fuhrer. It is unknown how she located the disturbance so quickly, but she found an abandoned storage room, and upon opening it, discovered Elric inside. At this time, Elric was transferred to a proper Ward One secured room, and his detached arm placed in the nurse's office for safekeeping until such a time as he no longer proved a danger to himself. The culprit still has not been identified, and until Elric's tranquilizers wear off, it is unknown whether this was a deliberate conspiracy escape attempt, or an attempted kidnapping.

Riza Hawkeye ensured that he was secured, and then – according to eyewitness reports who were quickly dispersed – went to the private room where Dr. Holland was sleeping between shifts, woke him up and broke his nose.

Sources are unclear as to why.