AAAAAAAAAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I DID IT. THIS IS CHAPTER 100 OVERALL OF LSNA. HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D GET HERE.

ALSO I AM NOT SPOILING THIS CHAPTER SO NOTES AT THE BOTTOM.

Song is by YelLOW Generation, and is the second ending for the 03 anime. (Also just. An amazing song. I love it SO MUCH.)

TW: passive suicidality/accepting death, self-injury, very gruesome (apparent) death, parental abuse, drugs/needles, misogyny, grief, intersex slur (used and then like immediately condemned), intersexism, homophobic, anti-sex worker sentiment, implied sexual assault, pedophilia (accusations of), gun violence,

~50~

Bokura wa itsudemo sakenderu
Shinji-tsuzukeru dake ga kotae ja nai
Yowasa mo kizu mo sarakedashite
Mogaki-tsuzukenakereba hajimaranai
Tsukiyabure tobira no mukou e

The two of us are screaming all the time
Just continuing to believe isn't the answer
Expose your weaknesses and your wounds
If we don't continue to struggle, nothing will begin
So break through, beyond the door

-Tobira no Mukou E (Beyond the Door)

There was this cliché that Jareth had always heard about your life 'flashing before your eyes'. He thought it was ridiculous. He'd been in so many near-death experiences, and he'd never had that happen. Usually he was preoccupied with getting out of the experience in question. But on the morning he was slated to die, he realized that it was when you knew there was nothing you could do that it really happened.

It didn't help that Georgie had spent most of the night yelling at him. The kid could get fired up when he wanted to. Jareth had managed to block him out, but the end result was that most of the cell block knew what had happened. Georgie had ended up dissolving into tears, and Jareth had pulled him into his arms, wanting to apologize and not really having anything left to give. Georgie had still been calling him a stupid bugger, but it was alright. Once somebody'd known you since he was ten, he got into the habit of insulting you. It just kind of worked out that way. Which, admittedly, explained a lot about Will.

But Georgie meant he was thinking about Diana. Which meant he was thinking about Maes. And he wondered if the religious nuts had the right idea. Amestris was firmly and strictly atheist, but the Halky weren't; he knew enough about Orthodox Sveyati and other various branches of the descendant Sveyati religions to know that you were supposed to see your loved ones after they died. So maybe he'd see Maes again. Maybe he'd actually get to meet his mother properly, beyond a fuzzy handful of memories that he weren't even sure were real. So, not all bad. And everyone else would just… catch up, eventually.

Shame he couldn't quite get the hang of being religious. He knew Havoc's family was, even though they hid it. The concept seemed nice, but having faith in things wasn't worth it.

He put his hands to his face. He was trying to stop hoping, and just get it over with. He wanted to stop wanting to talk to Diana. Get the hint. She calculated the risk and the math wasn't in your favour. You've seen her do that with other people. Like Martel's Black Ops team – all four of them. He should have guessed, but –

The past came to meet him like a wave. Not so much 'flashing before his eyes'. That was the part people were wrong about. That implied it went by quickly.

-faster than you think-

"What did you want to show me?" They were still adjusting to new names. Laura and Diana existed side by side in his head, still a week away from the entrance exam. And the two of them –

Jareth shifted, trying not to give away how unsure he still was. They'd put together their relationship a while ago, now, and still weren't entirely sure where they stood. Well, at least he didn't. He'd thought, maybe, once he'd found out Laura was his sister, that the switch would flick in his brain and he would stop being attracted to her. It hadn't. Not with time, either.

Laura – Diana – sighed, crossing one leg over the other and just distracting him more. She really needed some longer skirts. "Jareth. Brain on, please."

"Uh. Right. Um, you're an alchemist."

"Yes. You knew that the night we met," she said, then added sardonically, "Which is how you got into my window in the first place."

He hated the idea of talking about this. It was actually Maes who'd pushed him about it. "She's gonna notice eventually, buddy," he'd said. "You're well fuckin' fit, and you never take off your damn shirt?"

"I don't – I don't do alchemy," he stammered out finally. "I know a lot about it. Cuz my – I guess, our dad – he was an alchemist."

"You've mentioned that."

"He researched flame alchemy. Powerful, dangerous shit. And he didn't want anybody finding his research who he didn't trust, or who didn't at least have to go through some crap to deal with it, but he didn't want it lost either." Suddenly – horribly – his eyes were stinging. He blinked it away. He wasn't some fuckin' crybaby.

"So he trusted you to bring it to an alchemist?"

"No," he breathed, quiet as a heartbeat. "No, he didn't even – he didn't even like me, Laura." He couldn't get it out – that he had been an alchemist. That he could have been. "No, I wasn't good for anything. I was good for one thing, and one thing only."

She was starting to look concerned. "Wh-what?"

Canvas.

Instead of making himself say it, he sat down on the bed next to her, shoulders turned just away from her, and pulled off his shirt. Then he steeled himself, preparing for the reaction. Tattoos weren't anything for him to be ashamed of. He kept trying to remind himself of that. He was a man, wasn't he? He was tough. It was just some needles and ink.

Diana's fingers traced the lines on his skin. "Oh," she exhaled. "Oh, I –" She cut herself off. Then she leaned in, quiet as a feather's touch, and pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. "You're trusting me," she murmured.

He had. He'd trusted her. And now his back was marked up and scarred, a functional array under a few layers of skin but no longer a source of information, and he wasn't useful to her anymore.

You can't possibly believe that.

He wasn't sure he did, but he didn't have any time left.

Jareth looked at the clock. Two hours left until they came for him. They'd offer him a last meal, but he didn't particularly feel like eating. And he could say goodbye to his family, if he had any. The irony was beautiful. Who did he have left? His family had been Maes and Diana –

"Valjean?"

He started. "What?"

It was one of the guards. One of the nicer ones, too. "There's family here to see you."

Diana? No, they wouldn't call her family. The guard escorted him to the front of the jail, then stood back as he stepped into the visiting room.

Elysia launched herself forward and wrapped herself around his leg.

Jareth blinked in surprise – only made worse when Gracia wrapped her arms around him. "But…why… why are you here?" he asked, so confused that his head wanted to spin.

"I – got wind that the Colonel wasn't here," Gracia said softly. "And even besides the fact that somebody should be…" She sighed, and smiled in that gentle, flower-girl way she had about her. "I think you've always assumed I don't like you, and that's never been true. You're – you were – Maes's family. That means you're mine, too."

He couldn't quite swallow away the lump in his throat. The doubt had always kind of been there, and exacerbated by the trial. It was hard, when your first love married a woman; he'd met other men who'd had the same problem. Not even because he was angry, or jealous of Maes like the trial had tried to make out. Just because you knew you could never compare to her, and you knew just as much that she probably thought the same thing about you.

He picked up Elysia, trying to keep his brave face on. "You are getting tall, miss. Who gave you permission to do that?"

"Nobody! I'm tall on my own!"

He wasn't doing a very good job of faking it for Elysia. But Gracia probably knew that. And it made the time pass less unbearably slowly.


"When did these people start mattering so much to you?" the boy with no face scoffed. His features were a scribble of graphite. Like a kid's drawing.

Will tried not to acknowledge him, but Selim had actually planned for this, somehow. Will hadn't been stable for a while now; and it almost hurt, in a way he couldn't describe, that Selim had listened. That Selim wasn't judging him for still hallucinating when it was inconvenient. "…I dunno. They've been nice to me."

"Oh, that's all it takes now? People are nice to you and you're slobbering all over their hands like a good puppy?"

God, he really hated this guy. The theory behind him was all fine and good, that it was his own low self-esteem spitting back at him, but that didn't make Will want to tear his skin off any less. Only the quiet grounding from his other half, the reminder that he'd only be hurting himself, stopped him – and the fact that he had a task. A goal. He had something to accomplish, something important. Something real.

That did help. He wasn't struggling to find meaning now that his meaning had turned on him. Diana and Jareth – he'd never thought they would need him.

What if I told you there might just be a way to fix things?

Manipulated, or saved? Recruited, or mentored?

The clock ticked over. Seven thirty. Shift change. The execution was at eight. He had half an hour. At least, if Falman's information was correct.

He's radioing directly with somebody in Central, so unless Mustang's caught wind, it should be right.

Half an hour is pretty tight, Selim.

I know, but with the nurses so understaffed, you're only going to get one. Maybe two, but you can handle two.

I'm naked.

When has that stopped you?

Will opened his mouth, felt himself turn a little red, and just stuck his tongue out. Selim couldn't really see it, but still.

Footsteps outside the door. Will waited. The door opened, and a small man let himself in, a little out of shape, with glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Just one. Perfect. The chain of information had held. Falman had talked to somebody in Central, and passed it on to Selim, who'd passed it on to him. There was a shortage of nurses, because half of them had protested, and been locked up. The ones who were still on staff were overworked and underslept, hardly at their best.

"Oof. Alright, uh, Will Elric. Great," he mumbled. "Love being here on my own with the psy- uh," he caught himself. "You're awake. Cool. That's fine."

Will gave what he figured was probably close enough to an innocent smile. The nurse didn't seem any more comforted by it.

Get ready, Selim whispered. Will saw it through Selim's eyes. Selim was lying down as well, and Pinako was holding up the needle –

The adrenaline plunged into Selim's arm, and Will's spine arced up against the table. The nurse yelped and jumped back, then remembering what his job was, leaned over Will, checking his pulse, then grabbing a little light from his pocket and shining it into his eyes.

Will slid his wrist out from the loosened cuff, grabbed the nurse by the hair and flipped over him, slamming him to the ground. His head didn't quite hit the floor; he needed the nurse awake and alert. "Hey buddy." He pulled the new scalpel from underneath the mattress. This time, it'd work. "I need your help."

"Oh, god," he whispered. "Please don't kill me-"

Will slammed a hand over the nurse's mouth. "Not gonna kill you. If. You do what you're told. Get me some clothes and a wheelchair."

"And if I don't?"

Will turned the scalpel over in his hand. "I'm not crazy. But I am famous for a reason. You don't want to cross me. Got it?"

The nurse's eyes flickered between the scalpel and Will's face, making clear calculations. Then he nodded, face white as a sheet. He disappeared outside, and Will was left alone again. Seven-thirty-five. He hoped the nurse's calculations had fallen in his favour.

His automail. Mustang had thrown it into the corner, and the nurses, fearing Mustang's wrath, had just kind of left it there. All the better for him. He didn't have to search for it. But…

Will picked it up with a flip of his stomach. Selim, how does it look?

Show me the connector.

Will turned to look at the connecting joint where it slipped into the port. It didn't look good. Mustang hadn't unplugged it properly – he'd just wrenched it out. Which…

That's not possible. It would take the force of a jackhammer to yank it out of a port without unclipping it properly.

It slid into place with a horrifying clunk. Or a homunculus?

Selim was quiet for a moment, thoughts going static for a moment. Mustang didn't age. Mustang was horrifyingly strong. Pride and Mustang worked together. Oh.

Oh.

We might be fucked.

Not necessarily. Just… now we know. Or suspect. I don't know, maybe he escaped from a freak show, Will tried to joke. Is it fixable? Like, right now?

I think so. I wish I could see your port.

Will felt around, trying to touch the exposed port. There was a sizzle of nerve endings, and he bit his lip. Motherfucker. It kind of always feels like that when it's open, to be fair.

Yeah, there's a reason it's not supposed to be open. I hate how people treat automail like it's detachable. It's not! You take it off to clean it! That's it! You can't just –

Selim.

Sorry. Yes. Uh, from what you're feeling, it seems like a few of the connections might be fried, but nothing is actually broken. So you might have some janky movements, twitches, stuff like that. Unpredictable movements.

Just the thing for somebody who's about to get into a life-threatening situation where he's going to fight for his life.

It's better than fighting with one arm and half the nerves of your right side exposed, Will. And the connections in the arm itself are… I think you can actually bend those back into place. Luckily.

Really? Will tried not to sound skeptical.

Yeah. Those parts are actually pretty tensile. Just don't wiggle them too much or they'll break, and then one of your fingers won't move or something.

Or something?

I don't have the manual open in front of me! I'm a genius, I don't have the schematics of every piece of automail I make memorized!

Will chuckled despite himself. Well, here went nothing. He carefully located the pieces that were clearly bent out of shape and carefully wiggled them back into being straight. If only straightness worked like that everywhere else.

I heard that.

I'm sure there's another joke there about square pegs and round holes-

Is this really the time?

Selim was blushing, Will noticed with a grin. It was probably just the adrenaline that had him so bouncy, but it meant he wasn't thinking too hard about the possibility of failure. Or the fact that this was going to fucking hurt. He lined the automail up with the port, and then shoved it against the wall.

MOTHERFUCK-

"JESUS CHR-" came the curse from his other half, off in Rizenbul.

"What happened?" King asked in concern. Will was confused at first – and then suppressed the urge to laugh. Selim hadn't taken any of the pain last time he'd connected it. And this time, he hadn't thought about it. The connection had only been getting stronger and stronger, anyway.

"Dad," Selim said exhaustedly, "I think we need to be nicer to our customers. That really hurts."

"I knew that," King replied, sounding a touch aggrieved. "I told you that. I have automail!"

"…Right. I should have believed you."

The door opened again and the nurse slid back in, holding a hospital gown, an extra pair of scrubs and a wheelchair. "I don't think this is going to work," he whispered insistently. "I'm not doing this for you! There was double security on the hospital the first time you got kidnapped, and now there's triple because of the protests. No way are you going to get out. And then Mustang's going to throw me in prison forever," he mumbled.

"Live a little. What's your name?"

"Farris. Herb Farris."

Whoof, Selim said in the background. "Farris, haven't you ever wanted to say 'fuck the system'?"

"No! I like the system! The system keeps me fed! The system stops me from losing my paperwork! The system is organized and lovely and doesn't confuse me."

"Man, you remind me of somebody."

"If you say Sheska Thomas, I may just die on the spot," Farris sighed.

"See? Little mousey librarian still said fuck the system eventually."

Farris just grumped at him. "I still don't know how you're going to get out. You're pretty recognizable. And I don't like prison. Prison has rats. And mold. And roommates."

I can't decide if this man needs a raise, a vacation or a right hook to the jaw, Selim sighed in frustration.

He's right, though. Then Will had an idea-

No. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. The automail hurt bad enough!

You're the one with all the drugs.

I – You – But that's insane –

Do you have a better idea?

…No, Selim admitted.

Will grabbed the scalpel, and Farris scampered away. "What does a lobotomy scar look like?"

"A…" Farris blanched. "Oh dear."

"C'mon, Farris. Work with me."

"You said you weren't crazy!"

"That… was a lie. I'm sorry. Now tell me what a lobotomy scar is or I'll have to fake it, and that'll get messy, fast."

"I think I don't like you," Farris said breathlessly. "Goes in through the corner of the eye or through the top of the socket – it doesn't, doesn't really leave a scar, but-"

Selim's nausea was so strong that it was throwing Will off-balance. Like a fucking ice-pick to the brain. That's not medicine, that's torture.

"They'll be looking for black eyes, a bit of blood over the eye, then. Right?" Will asked, and Farris nodded. Eyebrows bled a lot. And they weren't gonna check under the bandages.

Will landmarked with his fingers over his eyesocket, steeling himself. He couldn't slip. If he slipped, and the scalpel actually went anywhere his eye, he could lose his sight. Temporarily or permanently – neither was a good option right now.

I don't know what you'd do if I wasn't here, Selim said morbidly. Then he told Pinako, "I'm gonna need some morphine."

"Morphine?"

"You don't want to know," he breathed. There was a reason Selim had sent King and Falman into a different room.

The blade bit into Will's skin just below his eyebrow, and he immediately regretted it as the blood began to drip down into his eye. Still, he dragged it along, severing the skin and feeling his body scream, the adrenaline not enough to sustain it –

The morphine hit, and he was floating. Floating wasn't going to be great for later. It worked for now. Still hurt. Half of his vision was red –

Farris began to dab the blood away with gauze, his face still white, but lips set in determination. "…If you're that serious about getting out," he said, "I…" His voice failed him, and he glanced away. Will wondered what was going through his head. He still had his job, when so many of his coworkers didn't, imprisoned for standing up for themselves and their friends. Perhaps his cowardice was weighing on him more than he was willing to admit.

You are better at this people thing than you let yourself admit. Selim was still twitching from the pain. Also, ow.

"Selim, what on earth –"

Crap. He'd forgotten that happened now. The cut on his end wasn't disappearing, luckily. He needed that, although the bloodstained bandages around his head would do the trick. But it was showing up on Selim.

"I'll explain later," Selim struggled out.

Seven-forty-five. They were going to run out of time.

Will collapsed into the chair, pulling on the scrubs and the hospital gown over them. No shoes. That was fine. He worked better barefoot anyway. "Get me out of here, Farris."

"Where to?"

"Just… out. And fast."


It was policy. Custom, almost. Both – for commanding officers to attend executions of their subordinates. It was meant to be a comfort for both; a friendly, or at least familiar, face at the last moments.

Diana wasn't sure she could do it. Diana wasn't sure she could live with herself if she didn't.

If she'd had Havoc with her, maybe she could have. If she'd had Hughes with her. But Havoc was in the hospital, struggling to hold onto life with a bullet lodged in his jaw. Hughes was six feet deep. Sheska had disappeared in the middle of the night, and Diana prayed that she had vanished on her own, rather than Mustang's goons cleaning up and 'disappearing' inconvenient people. She wouldn't have believed he'd do that kind of thing, a month ago. A lifetime ago. She'd known he was a dictator. She had just thought…

Thought what, Diana? That he wasn't that kind of dictator? All dictators are that kind of dictator. Some are just better at hiding it.

There was a knock at the door. Diana swallowed, staring in the mirror. Makeup, but not too much. Hair tied into her formal bun at the base of her neck. Her cap, full uniform. And…

Hawkeye had left her the photograph. That was fine. Hawkeye had probably copied it, anyway. But it meant she had it. It might be the last thing she had left.

She opened the door, expecting Mustang with some new awful grin and sugary, slimy courtship on his lips. Instead, it was Amue, dressed in black with a net over her face. She wasn't any more beautiful, but she cut a striking figure.

"Ms. Solaris," she said, inclining her head. It was an odd address. On one hand, it was almost impolite, leaving her rank out. On the other hand, Amue usually – so far, anyway, in their fleeting interactions, had only called her Solaris, sometimes Colonel. And it was possible that Amue had guessed – accurately – that the last thing Diana needed right now was a reminder of the rank she had earned in blood. "I wondered if you wanted company."

"I…" She swallowed. "I wouldn't mind it. Are you going now?"

"I am." Amue offered her arm, and Diana took it, trying not to smile. It was a masculine gesture, but probably a learned one. Whether or not Amue herself was queer, she'd likely been pushed into that role, her size and musculature dictating it for her. So when they reached the street, Diana changed sides – still taking Amue's arm, but standing on the street side, where gentlemen usually stood. She looked slyly up at Amue to see if she'd noticed.

A slight flush settled on her face. "Most people don't bother, Solaris."

"All the more reason for me to." She looked up at Amue, squeezing her arm a little. "You were magnificent. Please don't think otherwise."

"Don't think for a moment that I'm hung up on my own pride. I'm not that heartless."

"I wouldn't fault you for having it on your mind."

Amue narrowed her eyes at Diana, then sighed, smiling slightly. "I can see why you and my sister got along. Initially, anyway."

"That surprises me," she grumbled.

"I also see why it didn't last."

She almost laughed. She wasn't quite in the mood for it – but still. "I don't suppose she talks about it."

"Oh, good lord no. It's supposed to be a secret." Amue nearly rolled her eyes. "In much the same way that my and Strongine's condition is a secret. Or Sander's interests."

"If it's any help, the latter two were complete surprises to me." Diana paused, considering how often Sander took off his shirt. "Well, maybe not complete surprises. You and Strongine are twins, right?"

"Identical, yes."

"Is it alright if I ask about what condition it is?"

Amue pursed her lips, but she seemed to understand that Diana wanted to talk about anything other than what today was. "From anybody else I think I'd be offended, but given that you apparently collect oddballs and freakshows, I'm going to take you at face value."

"…That's certainly one way to describe my unit and friend group." Somehow, she suspected Amue was quoting her older sister.

"You didn't think I looked like this naturally?"

Diana glanced at Amue's arms – like a bodybuilder, just as muscled as Sander's – the lantern jaw, the sheer height – "I suppose I never thought too deeply about it. Women come in all shapes and sizes." Sometimes they come in the shape of boys, and haven't said out loud how much happier they'd be as anything else, she thought, although she wouldn't yet – or possibly ever – say it out loud. Will's business was his own.

Amue didn't respond explicitly to that, but she did look a little taken aback at it. Certainly Diana believed she'd probably gotten more aggressive responses as the norm. "I looked more… normal, when I was younger. Strongine too. Armstrongs are always a little tall, so it didn't seem abnormal until we started hitting our teens." She started to look embarrassed. "It's… not talked about."

Diana smiled, the grief that she could feel approaching almost making her braver. And… she trusted Amue. She probably shouldn't, but her paranoia had cost her so much already. She couldn't make herself maintain it any longer. "There's a lot that isn't talked about that should be. If that's any comfort. I changed my name, before signing up to the military."

"To hide being Xingese?"

"In part. The other part is because I was a brothel girl."

Amue stared at her in shock. But Diana knew she was in good hands, because she could feel the muscles under her hand relax. "That…explains far more than I thought it would."

"Doesn't it?"

"Don't make me laugh, Diana, I'm wearing black. It looks bad."

"Now you're calling me Diana. That's better."

Amue was smiling now. That was good. "…I'm a hermaphrodite," she said after a while. "That's the term the doctor uses. I absolutely despise it, myself. It's insulting, and inaccurate. But it's true that I have just as many masculine features as feminine ones."

Diana nodded, listening.

"I'm infertile, therefore unmarriageable. And certainly I have no prospects for love. And I rely on medication to keep me alive. It's… certainly a rather dry existence. And I thought for a moment…" Amue glanced away, looking very far away. "I thought, perhaps, my name and my family would be enough to swing the scales in somebody's favour. Gender, and its ridiculous rules, have shaped my entire life. And now despite my efforts, the stipulations of gender are being used to kill somebody I've… come to care for."

Diana felt her chest ache. She wanted to have something to say, but she had no comfort to offer. Gender and its ridiculous rules. It was interesting, wasn't it? So many of the people she knew had similar complaints, and yet they all ended up in conflict with each other. And you wondered who on earth was running the damn place. She and Olivier had thought, well, two ambitious female officers, both of them queer, certainly they should get along. And the sex had been wonderful, but they were such different people. And…

She felt so hollow. Jareth was popular. Not with the upper echelons – between his war rep and his casual insubordination issues, it would never happen – but even the people who didn't like him, liked him. Maria Ross thought he was a misogynist jerk and she had still gotten arrested protesting his treatment, because she liked him. And he was still dying today.

"I'm sorry. I know today is difficult for y-"

"Don't," she snapped. Amue didn't flinch away. She just continued to walk alongside her –

Something was happening. There was a barricade across the road, military police guarding it. "What's going on?" Diana asked.

"Look for yourself."

Diana looked past the set of two barricades. There were people protesting – more people. Different people. "What's…"

"There's two sets. We're trying to keep them away from each other." He wasn't one of the military police she knew, but he seemed so stressed that Diana almost felt bad anyway. "I don't like either of them frankly, but that's also because I'm waitin' for one or the other of them to start whacking us with the picket signs."

"What are they protesting?" Amue asked, sounding frustrated.

"One side is protesting the Jareth Valjean execution happening today. The other side is protesting them and claiming it's a…" He scratched his temple. "Um. Something about draining the swamp of moral corruption. I dunno how I feel about it. We're guarding the edges so nobody wanders in, and we got more guys in the middle, but-" Then he looked up, and realized who Diana was. "Oh bollocks," he swore, and Diana in her haze was amused to find herself in the company of a fellow Westerner. "Move back, lass, tha' canna be caught here. Not now. Not you."

"Did he switch languages?" Amue asked in confusion.

"They know who I am?" Diana ignored Amue, asking the military policeman.

"Aye, everybody does, lass," he grumbled. "An' I ken if summat's fixed t' spark the flame, it's thee. Pardon the pun. Thee – er – you've gotta go 'round. Uh, Fairway and Bellevue's clear. Quick, afore somebody catches wind and makes trouble."

Diana nodded and grabbed Amue, giving him a wave of thanks before they moved away at a fast clip.

"I'm – I'm sorry, what language was that?"

"Northwest Amestris, somewhere between Pendleton and Riviere."

"That wasn't Amestrian."

Diana exhaled, adrenaline already spiking. Protests. There were protests.

No. Don't let yourself hope.

"It's, uh –" Amue was asking a question. "The West is… weird. You get dialect differences everywhere in Amestris, but it's the strongest in the West."

"That was a dialect? How did you understand it?"

"West City dialect isn't that different. A little less strong, and there's some different words, but I catch most of it." Then Diana's chest hurt again, and she tried to push past it, even as the roof of her mouth stung with the effort of keeping herself together. Just her, now. "Maes, Jareth and I all had to – we taught ourselves the Central accent on purpose."

Amue nodded, but her mind had already shifted gears. "…Protests. Civilian protests." She murmured. "There's going to be bloodshed."

"Possibly." She paused. "Probably. I hope not."

State Alchemists had been unleashed on Ishval over protests. And people forgot all too often – Well. It was easy to say that Amestris wouldn't do that to its own citizens. But the Ishvalans had been Amestrian citizens, too.


The surgery prep room was right at the end of Ward One. The elevator down to the main foyer of the hospital was on the other side. It was just one hallway.

Will was sweating anyway. Dead eyes. Blank stare. Relax your grip. This wasn't even the most stressful part. His forehead hurt. Farris had cleaned it up with rubbing alcohol, but there hadn't been time for stitches, so it throbbed, open and aching, under the bandages. Seven forty-six. Seven-forty-seven.

Farris was going so slowly.

Relax, Selim urged him. The second dose of adrenaline is for the garage. There'll be something there, but take the first car you can find.

See, this is what I'm lost on. I can't drive. At all.

I… Selim hesitated. Well, I HAVE driven. Twice.

Great. Filling me with confidence.

My dad can drive pretty well, and so can Pinako. The tractors work the same way as the Model Ts, so it should be fine.

You don't sound confident enough for my liking.

You're never going to get there on foot in time, Will.

Will forced himself to relax some more. He hated cars. Being in them was one thing. But he was part machine as it was. Cars were so bulky. And why drive what was essentially a tiny, unpredictable train that only held four people? What was the point? They looked stupid. I would prefer a horse.

And I'm sure you'd cut a very striking figure, Selim drawled.

Will stayed sitting back in the chair. Almost at the elevator. Almost –

The elevator opened. Will tried not to look up. Blue uniform. No watch, which was… good, he thought.

"Oh? Is that – why, I do believe it is."

Will stayed very, very still. The face that bent down into the field of his vision was Frank Archer.

I thought he'd be at the execution, Selim seethed. Bastard. Can't even see his work through.

Archer snapped his fingers in front of Will's face. Will managed not to react. "He's already been lobotomized? I wanted to interview him. Last details of the case, you know. And he never testified."

"S-s-sorry, sir. Fu-fu-fuhrer's orders."

Archer narrowed his eyes at Farris. "You're awfully nervous." He lowered his face down to Will's. "…And you," he said quietly, "have your automail on."

"Seemed – seemed d-disrespectful oth-otherwise, sir-"

"Shut your gob."

Farris shut up.

Archer inhaled, then exhaled, still watching Will. "You can't fool me," he breathed. "I know what Grant, or Jareth, or whatever his fucking name is, is like. Or was like," he said, with a pleased grin. "Give or take a few minutes. You were one of his little conquests, weren't you? A little treat for the pederast."

Selim was confused for a moment – and then his fury lanced through Will's head, so much stronger than Will's own. Anger on Will's behalf, he realized. It was more infectious than he'd planned… and yet, less impulsive.

He opened his jaw, pretending to be struggling with its laxity, trying to form words. "Ah… ah…" A string of drool began to form at the corner of his mouth.

Archer laughed. Behind him, the elevator gates closed, the box itself lowering down to the first floor. "I suppose I was wrong. Shame Jareth isn't here to see it." He straightened up.

Will kicked straight out at him, both feet colliding into Archer's stomach. He went sailing backwards, the elevator gate breaking behind him and rattling down the elevator shaft. Archer almost went with it – but his hand caught the edge of the entrance. "Get him!" he hissed.

Farris stumbled backwards, away from the action, and the two people who'd been with Archer went for Will. And just like magic –

-the second adrenaline shot hit, early. Pinako was paying attention.

Hell yes.

Will felt alive again for the first time in – god, how long had he actually been in here? The best part was, they weren't military. They were private protection. The first one's neck cracked between his hands like it was a pencil. The second was tougher. Will dodged his fists, but just barely, air hissing past his ears as the massive hands sliced through the air. They were like fucking rocks. One hit would smash him open.

So he'd better not get hit.

He slammed his hands together and onto his automail, and the blade slammed through the second man's chest with brutal efficiency. He felt Selim look away in mute horror, and he did feel bad. But private protection didn't mean anything good. He'd had his suspicions about Archer for a while. And besides. They'd sat by and let him mock a braindead kid. He didn't have any sympathy.

Archer had managed to pull himself free of the elevator shaft. "You…" He pulled out his gun.

He needed a distraction. The other nurses were milling around, trying to decide what to do. And – he glanced back at Farris – he wanted to give the guy a shield.

Trisha leaned over his shoulder, out of nowhere. "You are more powerful than you think you are. Let me help."

He didn't know what that meant. The adrenaline was humming in him. But then suddenly he could see every lock, on every door. He'd transmuted two of them. One while escaping. One while entering that woman's room.

How many rooms were there in Ward One?

Thirty-six. I counted.

Thirty-six. Archer was pointing his gun at him. He fired – Will ducked to the ground, palms pressed together, and then slammed them to the tiled floor. The wave of alchemy vibrated through the floor, enough to startle every nurse and orderly, every janitor on the floor, into a startled yell. The bullet hit the wall behind him.

And the doors opened.

Not just the doors. All the shackles. All the cuffs. They were all the same kind of metal. Will had known that. And they were all touching the floor. With chains, or attached to beds that were attached to the floor, and the beds were metal too, which meant he could do this, all at once.

Will, what's –

Something was wrong. The transmutation had worked, but something was wrong. Will looked through Selim's eyes.

Selim was paralyzed in terror. He was looking at someone. And it took Will a moment to realize what was wrong, because he'd gotten so used to her –

Trisha Elric was standing by Selim's bedside. "It's okay," she said, trying to reassure him. "I won't hurt you."

"I – I –"

"She won't," Will murmured. "I promise-"

LOOK OUT!

Archer was reaching for him, eyes savage. He dodged, but Archer's nails scraped over his shoulder, hard enough to leave bloody scratches. "I'm not letting you go," he seethed. "You fucking roach."

"That's an insult to roaches!" Will shot back.

Are you TRYING to piss him off?

Yes!

The elevator was going to come back up. They'd heard the commotion – yes, there it was, almost too quiet to miss with the ruckus of the patients emerging from their rooms – and he bet Archer had missed it too, with the rage in his eyes.

He clapped his hands together. "Come and get me, fucker!"

"You think I'll follow you down an elevator shaft?"

"Maybe!" Will jumped down onto the rising elevator, and transmuted a hole into the top, dropping through. Archer saw the hole. He jumped –

-And Will transmuted it closed with arms moving faster than he thought possible, urging the alchemy to work faster. The last thing he saw was Archer's horrified face. The elevator rose daintily, but forcefully, to the top, and between that and the force of Archer's jump, the last thing he heard of Archer was something between a 'crunch' and a 'squelch'. Better not thought about.

Seven fifty-two.

He wasn't going to make it.

"It's just one storey, right?"

Yeah. I don't – I don't recommend it, but you have a metal leg. Should be fine.

Will carefully set the elevator to 'down', then transmuted a hole through the bottom, jumped, and rolled out of the way. Then he ran for it.


By the time Diana reached the parade-ground with Amue, it was clear that nothing was going as planned – and that, despite that, the Fuhrer had no intentions of acknowledging any of it. "Ah, Diana! You've chosen to join us."

"We had to take a detour."

"Shame," he said, in a voice that implied that he really didn't care. "I thought you might like this touch. In order to establish the grounds of our negotiations, I've requested that the ringleaders of the little stunt the other day attend."

Diana looked over to where he was indicating, and her stomach roiled. Maria Ross, Joey Davidson and Georgie were all lined up in handcuffs, guards at their best. The message was clear. Disobey me again, and you'll be next. It was a level of cruelty that still managed to shock her from him. "You should consider their terms," she said instead of anything she really wanted to say.

"Of course I will, of course I will. I just want it clear what the true balance of power is. I'd hate for anybody to get the wrong idea. Right, Diana?" He put an arm around her shoulder.

Diana surveyed the parade grounds. It had been closed to anybody but military – clearly Mustang had caught on to some degree that his ploy to use the media hadn't entirely worked out in his favour – and was surprisingly bare. Even Archer and Kimbley weren't in attendance, and other faces were clearly missing. It was Mustang, Hawkeye, her, Amue, the members of the firing squad, and the punished protestors. And the firing squad –

One of them was Erik Chamond. She didn't know what his relationship with Jareth was. Probably non-existent. She just hated that she kept recognizing people, having to do the math in her head about how she felt about them now. Twelve firing squad members.

She found herself thinking about Havoc. More and more, she understood why he'd done what he did. It was better than living through this.

Mustang checked his watch. "Ugh. Punctuality is so dull. It does look better on records, though, doesn't it?"

"Mm."

He leaned down. "You're so dull. You really should learn when to admit you've lost. We'd make such a powerhouse couple ruling the country if you'd just lighten up a little."

"Lighten up?" she repeated, trying not to bite the words.

"Think of it this way. You've fewer secrets to keep now. Didn't that stress you out? Constantly having to hide your childhood, your past, in fear that somebody would stumble on the truth behind your lover?"

She closed her eyes. "Rich words from you."

"Oh, please. The entire country has figured out that I don't age, and given up on understanding it. I'd hardly call that a secret. They've accepted that I'm here to stay. Do you think any of my secrets will really destroy me?" He gave her a smile that was almost… soft. "That's the trick, Diana. Don't give anybody the power to hurt you. Let that be a lesson. All of your power went away the moment I had your loved ones in hand. That's not power. That's a house of cards."

"So love is a weakness."

"Exactly."

"What does that make Hawkeye?"

For the first time – for the first time – he saw hesitance in his eyes. She didn't move a muscle. She didn't want to betray that she'd seen it. Then he laughed. "Hawkeye's no more killable than I am. And trust me, many of have tried. Besides, while you're not the first one to assume she's my lover, you're incorrect. We're close friends. That's all."

You're lying, Diana thought triumphantly. You're lying, and I've caught you. And then the victory turned to ashes.

Jareth was walking out of the jailhouse, the bailiff and guards by his side. In his own clothes; they'd given him that much. He was allowed to die as himself. Sunglasses and everything, although she couldn't imagine how he'd swung that. Leather waistcoast in fur trim, leather trousers, black shirt. His association with the Halky had never come up, but for a moment, lanky and assured, he looked every inch the mob enforcer that he'd been when they'd met. There wasn't a hint of military left about him, and there was even a last cigarette in his fingers, hands cuffed in front of him. Of course there was.

Don't give anything away, came the automatic response. But she doubted herself a moment later. She didn't have anything left to give away. Mustang was right. All of her secrets were gone. Without her secrets, she was nothing. She'd built herself up with them, made herself strong, but it was all an illusion. Sleight of hand; if you believed that she was something, then sure, she was.

Jareth looked up at her. Just for a moment – and then he looked away.

No, begged some small part of her. No, please, come back.


"He did this to you?" she asked, still looking over the lines and colors tattooed on his back. "Your – uh –" It was too confusing. "Mordred?"

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

Sixteen. Jesus. "Did…" She didn't know how to ask if he'd agreed to it. He'd been a sixteen year old boy. He hadn't had much choice. "You haven't said much about him. Which… I guess says a lot already. Nothing you've said has been good."

"You're asking if he forced me."

"…Yeah."

Jareth turned around, chewing on his lip. "I – I guess. I don't know. He told me about it, and it wasn't… really a question? But I could have fought him on it. It wouldn't have gone well, but it's hard to tat somebody who won't stay still. Especially as big as me."

"So why didn't you?" She tried to make it sound neutral. She wasn't accusing him of anything. She just… wanted to know.

"I, uh… I guess I wanted to be worth something to him. It's why I got so angry when –" He sighed, dragging his hand down his face, clearly trying to hide that his eyes were watering. "When you found out I couldn't read," he finally got out.

Oh. Oh.

She'd gotten mad, admittedly. Not because he couldn't read – because he hadn't told them. Even Maes hadn't known, which said a lot about how cleverly Jareth had worked around it. And she'd only realized it when he kept skiving off studying for the entrance exam, and even mentioned that maybe she and Maes should do it, he'd just do it next year – and then she'd realized that he never read things, he never wrote them down, he got people to read things out for him and managed to make excuses every time –

"He never taught you."

"Said I was too stupid for it. And I'm not. I'm getting better at it, and I guess it's cause you're actually taking your time with it, you and Maes, but the letters like to move around on me. And he just never bothered. So, yeah, I said yes. He didn't tell me til after that it meant I couldn't do alchemy."

Diana interlaced her hand with his, trying to push her fury away so she could comfort him, but unable to quite pull it off. "I'll kill him."

"Good news is you don't have to." Jareth scrubbed at his eyes, clearly embarrassed. "Hate that prick. I don't know. I just hope you can do something good with it, you know? I can't. I can't even look at it properly. Son of a bitch did that on purpose, I bet."

Diana huffed. She didn't need much help in being determined, admittedly. But… "Listen. No matter what I do with it, you're helping."

"Yeah, right. They'll probably assign us to different parts of the country."

"So I'll just get a high rank and demand you back."

Jareth was blushing. And it was cute, dammit. Why did they have to be related?

She pulled him into a kiss. And, thank god, he was kissing her back. So she wasn't the only one who mostly found the brother-sister thing really inconvenient. His hands strayed a little south of her collarbone-

She smacked his hand, and he pulled back. "Sorry," he said, trying to look apologetic, but the little grin on his face wasn't helping.

"You're a pervert."

"Says the one kissing her brother."

"I – Kissing siblings is normal. I'm allowed."

"I ent' never had a sister before, but I'm fairly certain tongues ent' involved."

Now she was turning red. "Well…" she said, thumb on his chin. "We already said we weren't going to tell anybody. So. Who cares?"

"Do you?"

"No. Do you?"

"I know I probably should," he admitted. "But… you're amazing."


It had been stupid. Stupid and childish and impulsive, and it just hadn't stopped. And now all of her love was tangled up together and –

-and did it matter? Should it matter? Hawkeye had called her a whore. She already knew that. She'd always been a whore. And Jareth had loved her when she was a whore. Jareth loved her without the secrets.

I can't let him die.

She didn't have a choice. She was out of options.


Will ran through the foyer of the hospital so fast that nobody even had time to stop him or notice he was covered in blood. It helped that he was in scrubs. Nurses in scrubs probably ended up covered in blood a lot.

Seven fifty-five. He wasn't going to make it.

Don't be too sure, Selim said. Falman says there's protests at the main gate. Might not delay anything but… might help.

Protests at the main gate? Okay. That helps. And now I know not to go through the main gate.

Officer's gate, Ridgewood. Selim paused. That one's from my dad.

Will took a glance as he stopped for breath at the garage entrance. Yeah, King was in there with Pinako now. Falman too. Five minutes. He couldn't do this in five minutes. God. He had to try. He opened the garage door.

"Hey, who are you?"

Great. More people he had to knock out. He was too lazy to do anything special, so he just picked up the garbage can lid and swung it into the man's head, and he sunk to the floor. "I'm in a rush," he sighed. And there was the car.

Motherfucker.

He hopped into the driver's seat.

No, you have to start it first.

Where?

Crank at the front.

Will went to the front of the car and reached forward with his flesh hand –

Uh, you better use the metal one, Selim said uneasily. Will blinked, then shrugged. His automail really was a bit janky right now, but it was still stronger. He began turning the crank in the front of the car. It was harder than he thought it'd be, but –

"WHOA!"

There was the engine. And the crank flew around with such force that if he'd been using his flesh hand, he might have broken his wrist.

Told you, Selim said, just a little smugly.

Yeah, yeah, shut up. Will sat in the driver's seat – No, don't shut up, tell me what button to push.

Put the left pedal all the way down, and pull the left throttle.

Th-throttle?

The thing on the wheel. The left one.

Will pulled it, and felt the engine start to do… something else. Okay. And now?

Pull the right one. And then ease off on the pedal. Slowly, slowly!

The car started to move. Slowly.

"Selim, how the FUCK am I going to get there in five minutes?"

"I don't… know. Pinako said it'd be fine, I'm sorry-"

Pinako came into view, looking contrite. "The hospital clocks are slow. Sorry. I deliberately didn't tell. You've still got ten minutes."

"But…I… you… you told us… I…"

"I would have told you, Selim, dear, but you can't lie to Will like this, and with both of you on drugs, you wouldn't have believed me if I told you that there'd definitely be trouble on the way. Now, change gears and see if you can get it up to the top speed, a bit at a time…"

"Piiiiinaaaaakoooooo…." Will growled into the steering wheel. She was right, of course. He was still going to kill her. Or kiss her out of gratitude. Or both. Both sounded great. "I still would have preferred a fucking horse."


He was allowed to enjoy his final cigarette. And you know what? He was going to. He didn't give a shit anymore. Chamond held out the lighter, and he murmured, "Thanks." It was a shame. He'd actually liked Chamond – well, he'd had some criticisms of his work, but that was him and most people on security.

"No problem." Chamond flicked the lighter closed. Then he gave Jareth a look. "I got a message for you."

"What, the bullets ain't enough?"

Chamond leaned forward, just a little. "From King Bradley."

He slipped the lighter into Jareth's breast pocket, in with his dice.

It was a nice thought, Jareth sighed. He could be buried with it. Although… he frowned. A lighter wasn't a bad thing to have anyway. And he didn't know Major Bradley. The two of them had only really interacted once. So from King Bradley really meant from Selim, didn't it?

Which-

Secrets.

Which meant from Will.

Stop it, he told himself. It was a lighter, as a gift, because he liked to smoke. The array on his back was practically useless. He couldn't modulate it, because he had almost no practice with it. Sure, he could make fire that melted bullets, if he wanted to melt his own face off. If he was going to die, the fusillade sounded preferable, honestly. And besides, then what? Kill the Fuhrer? Get put on trial again, or just get shot dead on the spot? It was too little, too late. Even if he escaped…

He took a deep puff of his cigarette, leaning against the bare limestone wall. "Do I get last words?"

"Your last speech on the stand wasn't enough?" the Fuhrer shot back, smirking.

"Aw, come on, Roy." He grinned at the look on the man's face. Nobody disrespected the Fuhrer and lived. But he wasn't gonna live anyway. "We're away from the big crowds. Everybody here knows the truth. You can relax." He took another puff of his cigarette.

"I'm very curious about your definition of relax, Valjean."

"Curious, huh?" Jareth flicked some ash off of his cigarette. "If you want to suck my dick so bad, you could have just asked."

Mustang was harder to rattle than that. He kept his face still, but then very carefully put his hand on Diana's shoulder, stroking her neck. A smile spread over his face, and Jareth struggled not to snap the cigarette in two.

The worst part, really, was that he knew Diana didn't like him. He could see it in her face even now – repressed revulsion mixed with fear. He'd never seen Diana so afraid of somebody before. He understood, sort of. Logically, he understood. He just wanted Diana to love him more than she feared the Fuhrer.

What would you do in her place? he asked himself.

Well, that was easy. He'd drag himself out of Hell itself to save her life or die trying. But that was easy enough to say when your life wasn't worth that much. Who was gonna miss a sniper with a bad attitude?

Being hard on himself was easy. It would have been easier if Georgie wasn't right there.

He finished the cigarette. "I don't got any last words except this. Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi."

It was worth it for the look on Diana's face.

Chamond tied his hands behind his back, and the blindfold around his eyes. He exhaled.

Remember the scars, not the years.

He didn't know enough Xingese to say what he really wanted to say. But his words were for her, not anybody else. She knew what it really meant.

Don't forget me.


Remember his scars, not his years.

Will unconscious on the bed, freshly arrived in Central, already a concern, already somebody she knew she'd have to look out for.

Remember the scars, not the years.

A man she'd loved, begging for his life on his knees – "Faa Bin, please, I thought – I thought-"

Remember the scars, not the years.

Will, choking, under her hands, because she'd forgotten where she was, and Mustang, laughing, laughing.

Remember your scars, not your years.

Hohenheim, too old at the time already, too old to have then gone on to have a family somewhere, kids half her age again, treating her like a kid without treating her like a child. Hands in her hair, and saying, "It must be hard. Feeling like you have to look after yourself and your mother too."

Remember your scars, not your years.

Jareth standing in the doorway of the underground city, staggering, barely alive, but with the lighter in front of him.

Remember the scars.

"Order 3066."

Remember me.

Heathcliff Erbe, and so many kids just like him, dead in the streets, in the churches, in the rivers, in the cellars. She'd known him. They'd been friends. Isaac had tried to comfort her. She'd just frozen herself solid.

Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi.

"Divided loyalties, Diana."

Mongrel. Mixed blood.

She'd never been one of them. Never. NEVER. Jareth hadn't either. The two of them against the world. Always.

Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi.

Martel, Dorochet, Law, Bido – all four of them dragged off to execution, with her trying to pretend it didn't hurt, her scratching holes in her shoulders later that night, hating herself for saving her own skin and pretending she'd known nothing about it. She'd survived. Survived for what?

Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi.

Empress Diana, huh?

Empress of an empty wasteland.

Mustang lifted his hand. "And…"

Everything slowed down. There was a coward's route, and there was a fool's route, and there was the safe route.

She chose none of them.

"Fire."

She snapped her fingers, and her boots had hit the ground running before she even realized it.

The bullets hit a wall of blue flame, burning so hot it was almost white, melting the asphalt below it into tar. What was left of them ran through – and hit the cold air behind, slag solidifying instantly and dropping to the ground.

She wasn't just a flame alchemist. She controlled the air.

"You want him?" she called out. "You go through me."

She reached behind her and tore off the blindfold.

"Diana?" Jareth asked incredulously. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What I always do. Get your ass out of trouble."

"But –"

"Run!"

The inferno in front of them was too hot to last for long with nothing to feed on. It died down fast – and she snapped again, orange-red flames filling the parade ground. She could keep the heat away from them, but not completely. Not while trying to run.

"Fire!"

These bullets weren't going to melt. She dodged, pulling Jareth down with her, and stumbled away. The tar in the asphalt was starting to catch fire. She'd been worried about that. It was supposed to have an ignition point higher than that, but she'd done a test on it a few years back before they'd been transferred East and warned the upper brass that the material was shoddy. Apparently they hadn't fixed it. Who was going to set their parade grounds on fire?

"Okay. Okay, so, there's a plan, right?" Jareth panted, trying to catch his breath. He wriggled, trying to get out of the rope tying his hands. "Tell me there's a plan."

"Yeah. Course. I always have a plan."

"…Di?"

"Promise!"

The fire was spreading. She could control some of it. Not all of it. Not on her own. "Jareth, you have to help."

"I can't do shit. I can make fires. That's about it."

"You have the array, you can –"

"I can't! I can't do alchemy!"

"It's the same array, I promise."

Fire on one side. On the other, the members of the firing squad were closing in. And Mustang –

A chill went down Diana's spine, and she started struggling with the knots on Jareth's wrists. "Shit, shit, shit. Where's Mustang? Do you see him?"

"No. Why? Isn't he gonna let Hawkeye do all the work for him?"

Diana shook her head. Not all of the sweating was from the flames, now. She was used to fire. "He's – god, fuck. There's a reason I'm scared of him, Jareth, and we got lucky before, we can't pull that off again-"

"There's a we now?"

"Not the time!"

Through the crackle of the flames, there was a low, ominous growl. More crackling.

The firing squad was aiming at them. Jareth yanked her out of the way, backed up –

The figure came out of the flames with no warning, a monstrous silhouette emerging from the inferno all at once, like something out of a nightmare. He landed just in front of her, knocking her to the ground with the force of his impact on the asphalt. The ground shattered under his feet, and Diana shielded her face, staring up at it with her heart in her mouth.

Greed stared down at her with red eyes and a tusked, horrendous mouth. She pulled the gun from the back of her uniform –

"Oh, Diana," it growled with a gravelly, twisted version of Mustang's voice. "You thought I didn't see that. You never quite gave up hope, did you?"

She fired. The bullet bounced off his chest, and he brought a clawed hand down on her, fingers pinning her throat, useless gun falling out of her hand.

"I was foolish," he growled. "I didn't think you'd use the fire trick on Lust instead of the Beast. But I would never, never give you a weapon that would work against me." Then his mouth contorted itself into a smile, fangs reflecting her own inferno back at her. "It's cute, though. It's a shame. This is the very stubbornness that makes you so attractive to me."

"Leave her alone!"

Greed raised his eyes to Jareth, who was standing determinedly in front of him, holding –

A lighter.

"Oh, how scary. A little fire."

Jareth didn't back down. "You know I'm the one who killed Lust. Aren't you curious how?"

"I am. But I don't see any gloves."

"I don't need them."

Jareth flicked the lighter. A new explosion went up behind Greed.

"I've already told you, I'm fireproof," he growled. "And you… just won't die, will you?" He threw Diana to the side, advancing on Jareth. She clung to the asphalt, then hissed as her palms began to burn. The gloves were still fine – the arrays were intact, but she couldn't handle the heat much longer.

Jareth backed up, and backed up – and then, he threw the lighter to the side, and clicked his fingers. He didn't have to. Diana knew that. It was…

She laughed weakly. It was habit. The gesture comforted him.

And instead of the fire getting stronger, it began to recede. Not all of it. If she couldn't do it alone, he certainly couldn't. She activated her array, exhaling and trying to help him. The others were coming into view. Ross, Davidson and Georgie, backed against the wall and away from the inferno, with Chamond helping them. Others running for their lives. Hawkeye, ready to make the shot on Jareth.

"Oh no you don't, bitch."

She snapped her fingers again. Hawkeye went up in flames with a shriek. Diana had mostly known – but the burnt corpse that fell to the ground almost fooled her for a moment, before the red sparks began to regenerate her.

They needed a way out. They were trapped between two unkillable monsters.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

A car smashed through the closed gate at the other end of the parade grounds, and came soaring through the remnants of the inferno, grinding to an incredibly amateurish stop in the center of everything. And at the wheel was –

Diana was so relieved she began to laugh. She didn't know if Will had done half the transmuting while driving, or if he'd somehow escaped the hospital like that. But the person who stepped out of the car had a shock of short blue hair, a black miniskirt and a crop top.

"Hey! Asshole!"

It said a lot that Mustang responded to it, really. But his head turned, and he let out another monstrous growl when he saw Will.

"Come and get me!" He launched himself at Greed –

"Will, no," she pleaded –

-and slid right under Greed's arm, grabbing Jareth. "Time to go!" He shoved Jareth towards the car, and then swung an arm at Greed, getting his attention. "Come on, you fuck! Kill me yourself this time!"

Jareth came towards her, hauling her up off the ground. "What is he doing?" she asked in concern.

"Buying us time. Come on."

"But –"

"He's not stupid, Di – he's faster than we are." He got her towards the car. "You can drive better than me. And…" He glanced at the other four. "We can't leave them here."

"We can't. Go get 'em."

He paused. "You're not gonna leave without me."

"Never."

He ran over to Georgie and the others.

Will was still feinting at Greed, avoiding his hits with a level of skill that she was practically jealous of. God, he was good. And –

And he'd come to save them.

He flipped hand over head…

…and she saw it. His automail twitched. He fell, and for a moment, he was a kid again, tiny against the impenetrable armour Greed was covered in. Hawkeye protecting him from assassination attempts, the nearly-weak front he put up. It was all a front. He was a tank. They could swing at him forever and he wouldn't cave.

…Depending what they hit him with.

Will clearly didn't know how to drive. It was a wonder he hadn't stripped the damn gears. But she – she knew how to drive.

"You remind me of someone I don't like," Mustang growled at Will. "And I can't do anything to him. But you – you I'll take apart. Teach you some respect."

Will's bravery had fled. Diana could see his face as she ratcheted up, gear after gear – God. She'd thought she was afraid of Mustang. What did Mustang do to him? she thought, and furious bile filled her mouth as she remembered Mustang's threat.

She snapped her fingers and set some of the gas on fire. Not much. A tiny, very controlled amount. Basically a tiny explosion in the tailpipe.

The car flung itself forward and straight into Mustang. And – bless the Model T – it landed on all four wheels with a clatter and a bump, mostly unharmed, while Mustang flew across the parade grounds. That was the nice thing about an unbreakable shield. It also meant he clearly didn't absorb any impact.

Will scrambled to his feet, but not fast enough for her liking – she leaned out of the door and grabbed him, yanking him into the car and squeezing him to her side.

"You're smothering me," he complained.

"Never, never do that again."

"Which part?" he whined. "Saving your ass, or almost kicking the Fuhrer's ass? I had him on the ropes."

"Yes, dear."

Jareth grabbed the bar of the front seat as she drove past, grabbing Georgie and Davidson's hands as they ran by. "Chamond and Ross aren't coming. Ross escaped out the gate and mingled with the protestors," he said as he climbed into the front seat, pressing Will between the two of them.

"And Chamond?"

"Says he'll buy us time."

Diana gave him a worried glance – he just shook his head. "Okay, which way now?"

Will pointed the way he'd come – then hesitated. "Shit." Hawkeye and a new squadron of soldiers had gathered there. "Okay, main gates."

"The protestors are there."

"So we beep the horn real loud."

"We can't do that!" Then Diana paused. "Wait. Can we?"

"I mean, sure. And they'll get at each other, give us cover." Will grinned. "Just one of ya stick your faces out the window."

"Bloody hell," Jareth groaned. "You sure none of them are gonna shoot us?"

"Don't worry! I'll protect you."

"Okay, main gates it is," Diana interrupted. "Stop flirting and focus. Which direction?"

"East."

"We're not going to Rizenbul."

"We're not! Just head East and trust me."

"…Fine." Diana flicked the gas throttle.

"Can't this car go any faster?" Will hissed in concern, looking behind them.

"There's five of us in here. Short of chucking one of you out-"

"Oh! I have an idea!"

The main gates were open – Diana saw Chamond give her a salute as they drove past. Will clambered over Jareth's lap and leaned out over the hood. "Diana!" he called out over the hood. "What kind of fuel is this!"

"What?"

"What kind of fuel?"

"How should I know? Let me drive!"

The protestors were gathered pretty thickly around the gates, but when Diana slammed her fist on the horn, they moved aside – and gasped when they recognized the people in the car. Will in particular gave a cheeky wave – then slammed his hands on the hood, alchemy sparks flickering over the hood.

"Will," Jareth asked nervously, "What did you just do?"

There was an evil cackle from the front.

"You know what? Forget I asked – whoa!" They hit a rock on the road and wobbled dangerously, and Jareth grabbed Will's hips to stabilize him. "Get your ass back in here. You're not dying to a car accident now." He yanked him back in and onto his lap.

"How cozy," Will drawled.

"I almost died."

"Will, what did you do?"

"Throw the throttle now-"

Diana did – and the car started speeding up. Really, really fast. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Cars weren't supposed to go this fast. "Will. Will, Will, Will-"

"I just got out of the madhouse! What did you expect?"

"FUCK!"

She managed to take the turn. Hopefully she didn't hit anybody on the way out of Central. She could hear other cars behind her, but she was leaving them way behind. There were sirens going. Out of Central. East.

"I purified the fuel so it would burn more efficiently!" yelled Will over the noise of the engine. "Great, huh!"

"You're insane!" Jareth shot back. Then he looked back at Georgie and Davidson. "You two okay?"

"I'm fine!" Georgie gave a thumbs up.

"Kill me," Davidson moaned.

Will was still laughing. He really was mad. Then again, Diana thought, so was she.

She'd just burned her career down. She'd attacked the Fuhrer. She'd melted bullets mid-air, and given up ten years of her life, because in the end – the pain hadn't been worth it. Not worth what she had lost. Not worth what she was about to lose.

There was no going back now. They were enemies of the state, terrorists, possibly the most wanted people in the country short of the Beast himself. She'd tried taking it down from the inside, and it had made her a monster instead.

So screw it.

Time to burn it all down.

AND THAT'S ALL FOR NOW

LSNA will return with Enemy of the Nation once I have had time to rest my brain and my fingers!

Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi is admittedly probably… not good Cantonese. The characters used are here if anybody would like to fully criticize, lol.

Yes, this was always the plan. Not always in the specifics; but this being the outcome of Jareth's trial was a known thing since very early on in HOTP! So it's been EXHILARATING actually writing it out.

The Model T really is that much of a pain in the ass to drive. I researched it and holy shit the gas REALLY IS on the wheel. Also, their top speed was about 35/mph... you know. For context.

The intersex condition that Amue and Strongine have is a real condition called Late-Onset Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. There will be more details about the medication they take since it's not quite the same as modern meds; keep in mind the time period, but it will DEFINITELY be coming back up.