He Who Searches For Himself

"I never expected to find him there, not after what happened. I came to the hospital as a government representative; it was horrible, the carnage left behind after yet another German attack. I happened to pass by the ward of beds where Edward lay, I'll never know what caught my attention. I stood at the foot of the bed and simply looked at him; his bangs were stuck to his damp forehead, and his breathing didn't seem right. I knew what happened. The nurse had just changed the bandages, yet there were still places where he was encased in his own dry blood. I wondered how much he'd lost before being brought in, though I never asked. I finally sat down on the stool near the head of the bed; I can't remember how long I sat like that, I think the nurses rotated shifts at least twice. I put my hand on his cheek from time to time, constantly alarmed at the fever he was running. It concerned me more than any of the staff. One of the younger girls was kind enough to leave me with a washbasin of cold water and hand cloth. I'd refold the cloth over on his forehead from time to time and wondered if he'd ever wake up. That's all I could do."

Chapter 55 – In Honour of a Memory

Sitting on the floor beneath the window of the Prime Minister's guest room, Al's gaze drifted through the room once more. The windbreaker given to him lay in a heap atop the bed's blue knit covers, the night stand next to it held a reading lamp, the oak dresser was over by the closet, and the curtains hanging around him matched the blue shade of the covers. It felt so empty; so much carpet and wall within the room, but there was very little substance.

Al's mind drifted back to his teacher once more - what could have happened to her? It had been days since Al had seen her, and the more he thought about the amount of time that had gone by, the more it upset him. Was it possible she was one of the casualties that couldn't be identified? Izumi seemed indestructible; her wit, intuition, instincts, and ability to use alchemy without a circle would get her out of almost anything. The young Elric refused to accept any of the possibilities he'd overheard discussed in the hospital.

Tucked away in his pocket, Al again peeked at the delivery receipt that had come with the bundle of flowers Mustang had told him to take care of before he'd left the hospital. Written in pencil was the sender's information: a name and telephone number.

The slip made him anxious.

'Gracia Hughes' was a name he recognized quite clearly. Winry had spoken very highly of her.

Al wanted to know, to see, to hear, to experience someone – anyone – who he'd forgotten, he just didn't know how to approach it. But, would anyone in his family get upset if he did seek her out? Mrs. Hughes was not part of the military, but it was clear Mustang had ties to her and Al's family didn't want him tangled with the military. Re-reading the note once more, he wondered what the Brigadier General's relationship with her could have been and why she would have agreed to take Al in.

"Alphonse?"

Al startled; he hadn't heard the door open.

"Sorry, I know you're tired," Prime Minister Mitchell offered a grin as he peeked into the room, "but did you want to have some lunch? I had sandwiches made."

"Alright," swiftly tucking the receipt back into his pocket, Al got to his feet and followed the man into the hall. Keeping pace a few steps behind, Al's eyes drifted around the hall, taking in the uncomfortable feeling the building gave him; it was so clean . He'd been shocked to discover that a family like this did not take on an armada of maids to keep things tidy – yet the entire building was in pristine shape.

"You mentioned earlier you had a phone call you wanted to make?" the prime minister asked as they began descending a winding staircase towards the kitchen.

"Could I actually…?" the eager words slipped out before Al had a chance to control them. Clenching his teeth, he looked at the man anxiously.

Mitchell looked back to Al with an encouraging smile, "The telephone is free to use if you'd like; you don't have to ask. Do you remember where it is?"

"Yes, Sir," Al wondered if his nervousness was noticeable.

"Do that first then. Quiet your concerns, then we can eat," Mitchell motioned for Al to get going down the hall.

Hesitantly, Al turned down the hall and eyed a quaint little table near the front doors where the telephone sat. Slowly making his way closer, the young Elric's nerves ratcheted up as his worries grew - was this a good idea? What would she sound like? Would she be disappointed he wasn't staying with her?

What could she tell him about him and his brother?

Finally standing in front of the contraption, Al stared at it as if to spite it for making him nervous. With a sharp inhale, Al snatched the receiver into his hand and dialed from memory the number he'd stared at all morning. Disappointment began to seep in as the phone continued to ring without answer and, after the deflating fifteenth ring, Al pulled the receiver away from his ear.

"Hi!"

Fumbling with the piece in his hands, Al slammed the phone back to his ear, "Hello?"

"Hi!" the squeaky little voice greeted him again.

"Um…" Al stumbled, not expecting to be holding a conversation with a little girl, "is your mom home?"

"Mummy's hanging flowers!" was the response.

The sugary voice made Al giggle, "Can I talk to your mummy?"

"Yep! Okay."

Al heard the receiver clunk down on what sounded like tile flooring as the child yelling 'Mummy' faded away. The tiny voice distracted Al from his concerns and he tried to imagine what the little girl might look like.

"Hello?"

The sudden voice froze Alphonse - instantly forgetting everything he wanted to say, Al struggled to force himself to respond. As the voice once again passed into his ear with a 'hello?' the fear of this woman's voice hanging up on him finally drew out his words.

"Hello…"

"Good afternoon. May I ask who's calling?"

Al was taken aback by the comfortable tone. He knew nothing by a few second-hand stories of the owner of the words, yet the voice had wrapped him up in a gentle warmth.

"Um, Alphonse… Curtis, Ma'am."

"Oh! Alphonse. I'd heard you were feeling better. Thank you so much for calling me."

Kind words were spoken with no hesitation, no pause, no hint of doubt, and no concern to be found within the voice, and something about all that made the nervous weight bearing down on Al crumble away.

"Sorry, not interested in it."

Edward's face fell sharply, never having expected to hear that response, "You can't be serious?"

Hermann Oberth took the bottle of Rheingau Riesling from the table and topped up Edward's class once again, "Dead serious."

His chin resting in his hand, Edward stared utterly confused at his drinking partner, "Why not?" the conversation paused as he took a sip from his glass, "I thought the Goddard report was something you were looking for."

Taking the stem of the wineglass between his fingers, Oberth slouched back in the couch. He put one of his feet up on the table and gazed lazily around the lounge. The pale yellow lights flickered around them as someone's cigar smoke drifted by, "Right now, if I even acknowledge ever seeing that envelope, all my credibility is shot out the window. I can see every scientist in Europe and abroad accusing me of stealing that information; information I didn't even realize was in this country until twenty minutes ago."

Frowning, Ed scratched his head feverishly, "Where'd I get the idea you wanted it?"

Oberth gave a laugh at that, "I do want it, this is simply bad timing," the man's evening of drinking gave exuberance to his speech, "thanks for making me feel proud that I had a chance to 'cheat', and turned it down. I'm going to be a better man when all is said and done." He took a sharp sip of the wine, "When my documents are in print, then I'll request a copy from Goddard himself. If I suddenly have your copy, the American's will jump on the Anti-German bandwagon and I'd be labeled a fraud."

Edward fell back into the softness of the couch and tossed his lagging gaze to the ceiling, "Guess it goes back in the desk."

"No one knows you have that thing, right?" Oberth raised an eyebrow at Edward.

Holding his wineglass in similar fashion, Ed swirled the drink within around, "Just my dad." It sounded so simple as he said it.

"Great," Oberth dropped his foot from the table's edge, "hide it, burry it, loose it in your room… don't burn it, it's good stuff… but make it disappear. If you want to have anything to do with me, I want nothing to do with THAT," he pointed a sharp finger at the envelope on the table between them.

Ed gave a sideways grin, "Yeah, fine, I'll do something with it."

"Good man," sitting up again, Oberth placed the wine glass back down on the coffee table, "now you have to tell me. What the hell did you do to yourself?"

Edward raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Huh?"

Oberth shot him a mocking glare, "You said you weren't a soldier, so what the hell did you do to lose your arm and leg."

"Oh that" Ed raised his mechanical arm, "I tried to resurrect my mom with alchemy, the procedure backfired, and I lost my arm and leg," he glanced over to Oberth for a reaction; Edward's expression dawning a sly look to hide any remorse.

A long pause ensued as Oberth shot a crooked stare in Edward's direction, "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you between the eyes for that." Oberth reached out and threw a coaster at him as he began to laugh.

Blocking it with the metal arm, Ed just shook his head, "I was in London… it's been pretty much 5 years now," his expression sobered as he spoke, "I can't remember too much, but there was an air raid… and I didn't exactly come out unscathed." That was the story, he told it to everyone.

"That explains why your German is off sometimes; you're English," Oberth took another sip from his wine glass, "and then you and your dad concocted those crazy devices?"

Ed gave an affirmative nod, "Yeah, he actually used some political excuse to come out here after the Versailles treaty. We decided to stay after meeting a medical graduate. He gave us some initial help with the design for the arm. The guy laughed when I said I was going to lift it on my own. Something about it would be too difficult to get the arm to read the contractions of the flexors and extenders properly," he took another sip from his glass.

Existing within the chatter of the post-midnight lounge, Oberth continued to swirl his glass of crystal clear wine. Edward finished the last drop and placed the glass back upon the table. Forgetting his wine etiquette, Oberth gulped back what was left of his drink and put his glass down next to Edward's.

"That's just incredible," Oberth once again filled their glasses.

Ed sank into the chair with a groan, "You're going to make me sick…"

"You won't get sick. You don't drink often enough for your body to know what to do with this. Besides," Oberth picked up his glass once again and held it in the air, "you'll sleep like a rock when you pass out."

Following the man's lead, Edward retook his glass and sunk back into the couch. He propped a foot up on the coffee table between them, "I'll wake up and be sick after."

Oberth smirked as he swirled his drink, "Did you drink any milk earlier today?"

Tipping his head down from the 'sip' he just took, the look in Edward's eyes seemed to question the man's sanity, "No."

"Good, you won't get sick," Oberth gave him a wink for his participation.

"Alphonse?"

He startled suddenly, turning abruptly to look at the man sitting next to him in the back of the car.

"This is the correct address, is it not?" the prime minister looked carefully at Al, hints of concern clearly etched into his face while they remained sitting in the automobile.

"It is…" Al's reply came slowly as he eyed the two-story house nestled in an urban district of Amestris. He'd momentarily lost himself; wrapped up in stories he'd been told of memories he couldn't remember that had taken place here.

Stepping out of the car, Prime Minister Mitchell walked around the vehicle. With the wave of a hand, he instructed his driver to stop the engine and the man popped the door open on Alphonse's side for him. Peeking inside the car, he gave Al a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "No need to be shy. You said she's a family friend after all?"

Stepping out onto the dusty road, Alphonse straightened up, "I haven't seen her since I was really little though. She probably doesn't remember what I look like…"

Al's voice trailed off at the sounding of a high pitched call.

"You came!" frizzy blonde pigtails bounced at the side of a pudgy round face and a set of little fingers flicked the latch on the gate, swinging it wide open.

"Elysia!"

Al's attention was snapped up by a mother's call and he looked up with enough time to see the young mother step around her home into the afternoon sunlight.

"I told you not to leave the yard without telling me!"

It was as if her mother's words never existed, the little imp commanded Al's attention, "HI!"

Al knelt down in front of her, "Hi Elysia…" he chewed his lower lip slightly, wondering what to say to her next. His heart raced as he found something to put in his voice, "Didn't your mom say that you should be inside the yard?"

With a quick snap, Elysia grabbed Alphonse's right hand and gave him a tug, "You need to come into the yard too!" Her grin marched ear to ear.

Al couldn't help but giggle as he let her drag him along the red brick path back into the yard. Mitchell followed behind, trying to keep his amusement at the situation under some restraint.

Half bent over at Elysia's sudden attachment to him, Al looked up to Gracia as she stood perfectly composed at the front of her porch. Al felt a faint blush brush across his cheeks and he humbly returned the smile she bestowed upon him.

"Alphonse! You've changed so much since I saw you, I'm so glad you could come," Gracia stepped right into the game; moving from her perch, Gracia stepped up between her daughter and Al. Leaning down, Gracia wrapped a warm set of arms around Alphonse's shoulders and back, bundling him up in a welcoming hug, leaving the nervous Elric with nothing to say. Gracia's warm expression never dissipated from one person to the next. She straightened herself and gave a light bow of her head to the nation's leader who'd carefully arranged to arrive without fanfare at her home, "Prime Minister Mitchell, thank you for taking the time…"

"Sebastian is fine, Mrs. Hughes. Please don't worry about the formality," he shook his head in dismissal.

Gracia brought her hand up, "Oh no, I couldn't-"

"Mummy!" Elysia piped up into the conversation, tugging on her mother's skirt, "can we have the tea now? Can I serve tea now?"

Gracia's smile broadened as she tried to contain her amusement, "I'm sorry everyone, Elysia's been waiting all afternoon to serve tea. Please come inside and sit down," her eyes glanced down to Alphonse, "and I want to hear how you've been coping in Central City so far, I understand you've had quite the adventure."

"It's time for tea!" Elysia's hands released her mother from her clutches and she bounded up the stairs into the house. All Al could do was blink in amazement at her exuberant disappearance.

Gracia put a hand to the side of her head, "At least she had a nap earlier."

"She's beautiful, Mrs. Hughes," Mitchell stepped up next to Alphonse.

"Thank you," her eyes ventured back to Al, "I've rearranged the house since you last came, but I'm sure if you went inside you could find your way to the living room. Go on ahead," she gave Al a light pat of encouragement on his back, "both of you must come in and put your feet up for the afternoon."

With a light push, Mitchell gave the stalled boy his starting steps and Al staggered forward, climbing a few steps, continuing to digest his surroundings. Crossing the threshold into the Hughes home, Al slipped his shoes off at the door and momentarily glanced back before disappearing into the house.

"He doesn't seem to remember you too well," Mitchell's attention focused on Gracia.

"No, it seems not. But it's been over five years since I last saw him; children that age don't often remember a person they'd only met a few times," Gracia clasped her hands in front of herself, "won't you come inside?"

With the slight bow of his head, Mitchell walked with Gracia towards her front door, "I hope you're not too terribly upset that I requested he remain with us," he glanced to the woman of the house while he placed his shoes on the entry mat.

Sliding into a pair of slippers, Gracia shook her head, "It's certainly safer for him to remain with you until Izumi is found. I hope that isn't too long, her disappearance has been very concerning."

"Very much so," as he placed the hanger with his coat into the closet, Mitchell glanced down the hallway, "which room did those two disappear into?"

"Second one on your right, go ahead," turning back to shut the door as the country's most important man entered her house, Gracia looked out the door past the fences of her yard, eyeing the vehicle the man had arrived in and its driver idling as security in front of her home. The concern and nervousness deep within her began to bleed into her soft expression. Gracia's eyes travelled slowly along the street in front of the house, before she finally stepped back inside and quietly pushed the door shut.

Placing his feet at the edge of the oversized and entirely dysfunctional transmutation circle etched into the cement, Edward stood looking up into the dome of what was once part of a different religion. There was little light beyond the hefty candles that lit the room, but he could still make out the mold that grew in out of some of the higher rock walling. The voices of men echoed around him and he figured they must be used to the musty, old water smell that existed here. After straightening the black robe draped over his shoulders, Ed folded his arms and simply looked up into the archways of pale moonlight.

He waited.

"Edward."

He turned at the call of his name, "Professor Haushofer."

The director of the Munich Institute of Geopolitics, Karl Haushofer, placed his hand upon Edward's shoulder, "Your father told me to expect to see you tonight, I'm glad you made it."

"I was told tonight was something everyone must attend," Ed's voice so out of character from what the rest of the world was accustom to hearing - devoid of so much life. Since this underground world had begun to expand, Ed had found that the best way to deal with the Thule Society was to simply become cold for the evening. He'd erect an emotionless wall around himself and try to survive the night; it was how he coped with most of this world, but this place was special. These people gave him a feeling like nothing he could relate to. Back home, though there was war, there was still the essence of compassion between mankind as a whole; even a soldier who killed others under orders still suffered from his conscience. Yet, in this world, Ed could sit in that smoky lounge and listen to the conversations of men brag about how many French soldiers they'd once killed. Edward could sit in this room with some of the brightest men, professors and philosophers and hear them discuss how many Jewish men needed to be eradicated, as if by murdering someone they didn't know it made everyone better off. He was disgusted – life was just some sort of game. It had so little value. He did not understand the type of deep-rooted hatred and complete disrespect for life that spawned from religious beliefs and historical background. Alchemists did not care for religion; they concerned themselves with understanding life – the first clause in alchemy was 'understanding'. Understanding of the world was in total reverse here.

Edward did understand, to some extent, the suffering that lead to the extreme ways of thinking he found himself floating around in. Since he'd arrived in Germany he'd done nothing but witness the dismantling and collapse of their society and way of life, begrudgingly at the mercy of the victorious Allies. Though, having lived in London, he could see the other side of the coin – still, Ed did not believe that extent of punishment Germany was suffering through at the hands of the victorious Entente was entirely warranted. The German government was blamed for being submissive to the rest of the world and this country became the plaything of the world's wrath. From the country's pain, poverty and sense of loss, he and his father watched a new breed of mankind rise from the ruins - the kind that sought after redemption through extermination. The people turned their misery and aggression against the government, the world, and ultimately ethnicities of the people within it - employed by it, surrounding it, supporting it, criticizing it, and quite often having nothing to do with it. A thousand-man scapegoat had been created. Being unable to comprehend what could ultimately be gained from behaving this way, the younger Elric decided it seemed safer to believe in nothing.

From all his observations, Edward developed an increasing awareness of the reasons alchemy did not function beyond the Gate; it would be too easy to create the Philosopher's Stone in this world of death, and then these civilizations would proceed wipe each other out.

Professor Haushofer, who somehow managed to carry a warm father's aura, smiled to Edward, "Your father, Albrecht, Dietrich and myself are over there, you're welcome to join us."

Having been told to never refuse a social offering in the presence of these men, Edward nodded and followed the man over towards the gathering.

"Edward!" Albrecht's voice rang out.

He nearly gave into the temptation to roll his eyes, "Hey, Hoffie."

"Hoffie?" The rounder gentleman standing next to Hohenheim laughed, "I should use that someday for you."

As the young Haushofer pleaded for that to never happen, Edward's eyes examined the balding middle-aged man next to his father. As the man's belly laughed heartily at Albrecht once more, the noise of the few men around him silenced.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced."

Edward wondered if anyone could see the look of displeasure that manifested itself behind his eyes, "My apologies." Though he'd been unwilling to shake Oberth's hand a few nights ago, he knew Dietrich Eckart was aware of his arm; the two shook hands.

"Young man, every time I see you, I think you look like your father," the outspoken Eckart grabbed Edward by his chin with a playful voice, "can't you smile boy?"

"Don't mind him," Hohenheim piped up with a grin; somewhere deep in the back of his mind he wondered if this would be Edward's saving grace today, "he's hung over."

"HEY!" Edward's voice sounded sharply, still a tad bit embarrassed. He'd slept until 3 that afternoon; his father had spent most of the later part of the day feeding him coffee & a few crackers. The elder Elric had taken a liking to teasing his displeased son about it all afternoon after finding him passed out at the front door, his keys in the doorknob.

Edward flinched as Eckart gave his cheek a playful slap, "Ah, I hope you had fun," the man with a hearty disposition grinned from ear to ear, "next time you go out, drink something for me. I can't drink enough to regret it anymore."

Edward's eyes frowned at the circle of men around him who laughed once more.

The subject matter again changed in the blink of an eye. Though nothing was said immediately, Edward instantly felt the chill Eckart's gaze gave off; the man could make the walls quiver, "That boy is nearly a half hour late. People are getting impatient."

"He said he was doing something special for the announcements tonight," Albrecht gave a slight nod of his head, remembering the filtered information he had been given.

"I know what Hess is up to, Adolf told me. I just wish the boy wouldn't keep us waiting so long; he might not get to host another night if he makes the wrong people upset," Eckart slowly turned his narrowed gaze upon the rest of the congregation socializing in the candle light.

Haushofer glanced over to Hohenheim who gave his usual drinking companion a light shrug.

"He's your student," Hohenheim smirked.

Haushofer rolled his eyes at the statement, "I suppose I'll have to fail him next time for making us look bad."

Grinning at the reply, Hohenheim glanced over to Edward; much to his chagrin he caught the 'are we done yet?' expression woven into his son's face. Trying to dismiss the childish behaviour Hohenheim began to re-enter the conversation.

An echo of a female voice filtered into the room; Hohenheim hadn't been able to speak a word before the room fell into a perplexed hush. The main doors to the room crept open slowly while the charismatic voice of Rudolf Hess rang out within the walls, "My apologies gentlemen for my tardiness, I was on a journey." The man remained engulfed within the darkness of the doorway; a light whiff of smoke filled the room from the candles that had blown out at the door's opening.

Edward's eyes trained upon the entrance way, he could barely make out the figures attached to the sounds he was hearing. The faint cries he'd heard moments before had been silenced. Edward took a curious few steps forward to obtain a better view of the situation. He stopped as he felt Eckart's hand land firmly upon the metal covering his right shoulder. Edward's attention cautiously drifted from Hess's voice, he gazed up into the unforgiving eyes of Dietrich Eckart. The alarm that sounded within his mind rang violently as he watched the corner of the man's lips curl with pleasure.

"Make sure you pay attention boy," Eckart whispered, "this is the main event."

"And this is what Mummy bought me for my last birthday!" Elysia draped her arms over the handlebars of the pink little bicycle, the tinsel talons fluttered in the light breeze, "Mummy says that I can take the training wheels off when my feet touch the ground," hopping up onto the seat, Elysia pointed her feet as hard as she could, her tiptoes barely missing the shot cut grass.

Sitting out in the backyard, Al laughed at all the effort she was putting into it, "Don't worry! You have lots of time to grow up, you'll get there eventually."

Looking around the yard again, Al marvelled at the time and effort Gracia must have put into the area. Crossing his legs in the grass, Al leaned back on his elbows and soaked up what was left of the afternoon's sun. Elysia wiggled herself off the bicycle and toddled her way over, plunking herself down in his lap. With Alphonse's wide eyed gaze watching her, the little girl patted his kneecaps with the palms of her hands as she stared up at the clouds with him.

His grin widening, Al reached over and flicked one of her pigtails, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing," Elysia gave a vigorous shake to her head before turning her wide grin on him, "nothing!"

Al started to laugh at her - there seemed to be nothing more contagious than the child's smile.

At the dining room window, sheer white curtains were swept aside as Gracia looked out into the yard while her houseguest, Sebastian Mitchell, sat at the dinette sipping the strawberry tea Elysia insisted on serving.

"I have to admit, I had apprehensions about coming out here. Alphonse hadn't been feeling good and he was quiet all morning," Mitchell placed his teacup down on the table, "but the little lady seems to have cheered him right up."

"He has some dark scabs on his cheek," Gracia put her fingertips on her own cheek, "they've always been brave boys…"

Mitchell turned to her, "Pardon?"

Gracia's fingers slipped away and she clasped her hand in front of herself, "It's just that boys are always getting themselves into situations and getting roughed up."

Rising from the table, Mitchell joined Gracia at the window with a smirk, "I can vouch for that. Even so, there's something to be said for daughters. My wife can't have children, so we were looking into adopting another girl. Originally we wanted an older child, but we fell in love with the baby girl we have now. The last month or so my wife's been dealing with a gentleman in regards to a seven-year-old girl. I haven't had much to do with it, she insisted on looking after it herself. With the way my schedule has been, she thought I wouldn't have time to look after a bit extra paperwork," he gave a light laugh, "I wish she wouldn't worry so much about me and my job."

"I'm certain she means well," Gracia reached up and pushed the drapery completely aside to let the sunlight flood into the room, "I heard she's been quite sick on and off… I hope everything's been going well for her lately."

The man's expression fell and he gave the back of his neck a scratch, "It's an ugly disease, whatever it is, and she's had it for a while. There's medicine that helps sometimes, but some days I'm quite worried for her. It ate the flesh off her left forearm before I met her and she needed it amputated at the elbow. Some days the doctors run the idea of amputating her leg in order to relieve the pain down there, but she wants nothing to do with that. She's convinced she can recover from it. I think so too, she's a strong woman."

Gracia turned away and began to clean the biscuit plates and teacups from the table, "I do hope everything works out for you two."

"Thank you…" his voice trailed off in thought.

Gracia settled the dishes down in her sink and looked back at the man as he pulled his shoulders back and folded his arms. She stepped towards him, "Is something wrong?"

"Very interesting," he passed his raised brows to Gracia, "we should go outside."

Outside, on the cement path in the yard, Al had helped himself to Elysia's chalk and he carefully finished a simple circle on the ground, "There, that's good."

Elysia's eyes widened, her hands gripping a bundle of flowers, "What's that?!"

"It's called a Transmutation Circle. It's a charm that makes wishes come true," on his hands and knees, Al glanced up with a warm smile for the enthralled little girl, "put your flowers in the middle of it."

"Okay!" with a flash of excitement, Elysia scattered her bouquet over the circle.

Flicking the stem of a lingering flower into the confines of the circle, without missing a beat Al put his hands at the outer ring of the circle. At the sudden glow the activated circle gave off, Elysia's eyes widened as a high-pitched squeal exploded from her. When all was said and done, Al picked the bouquet crown off the ground, turned, and placed it upon Elysia's head.

"I crown you Princess!"

Her hands clapping together with delight, Elysia ran to her mother when the back door opened, "Mummy look! Lookit what Al made for me!"

While Gracia entertained her daughter's delight, Mitchell stepped past them. Walking up to Alphonse with a grin, he settled his hands on his hips, "I didn't know you studied alchemy."

Slightly embarrassed, Al rubbed the back of his head, "I studied it somewhat, read some books… my mother and I were headed somewhere to see if we could learn more."

Mitchell placed a hand down on Al's shoulder, "When we get back to my house, I'll show you my library. My wife and I have amassed quite the collection of alchemy books and they're yours to look through at your leisure."

"Really!?" Al gave the man the most delighted expression he'd entertained anyone with that day, "thank you so much! I didn't know you knew alchemy."

"Oh, when I was younger I was far better at it. I grew up and became better at politics than I could ever get at alchemy," Mitchell turned his attention down suddenly as Elysia's little hands had a grip on one of his wrists.

"You can make these too?!" she asked, eyes wide with amazement.

Mitchell knelt down and met the little girl eye to eye, "I'm sure I could if I tried hard enough. Did you want me to make you something too?"

"Elysia, don't inconvenience the gentleman," the forceful tone of a mother's 'don't do that' voice accidentally grabbed Al's attention as well.

"It's fine Ms. Hughes. I don't mind. I'll give a go at making your daughter something before we leave," he put his hand down on Elysia's head and pinched her cheek with the other, "how about I make you something after I've had a good meal to eat. I'll feel a whole lot better then."

The little girl's smile ran ear-to-ear, "Okay!"

"Here, bran muffins are good for you."

Edward looked up from the pages his eyes scanned over, "Thanks."

Tilly crouched down in front of the table he sat at. She folded her arms at the edge and rested her head there, "Didn't you even eat dinner yesterday?"

Popping the top off the muffin Edward bit into the bottom, "I didn't eat anything yesterday, I didn't feel good."

"And you haven't had a wink of sleep since then!" With that, Tilly startled Edward by standing up abruptly, "Hermann! I told you that you made him sick."

Oberth glanced over to his noisy wife; the disinterest in her comment was quite apparent.

"No, no, that's not what I meant…" Edward gave a nervous frown as he watched her huff his statement away. He turned back and looked at the convoluted works laid out before him. He'd hoped that going to see Oberth would help him understand Goddard's theories better, but it wasn't panning out that way. With what he could understand, Ed wished he could simply clap his hands and play with it. He modified the idea of aircraft propulsion within his mind; he could create an alchemical reaction of the air around himself and now understood how he could disrupt the airflow of the rest of the room with so much force that it would lift the ceiling off an enclosed building. He could also see how his alchemy could make this task of launching a rocket into space so easy to accomplish. Edward could send it to the moon if he had the ability here to do so. So many different aspects of science had evolved on this end.

He gave a wonder to what Al's expression would be if he had some simple rocket and sent it to the moon at the clap of his hands; it made him laugh.

"What's so funny?" Tilly turned sharply to face him, her playful frown looking down upon him.

"Nothing," Ed shook his head; she'd never understand. Again he looked back at the notes. Though there was so much potential with the information, so much of it was simply theories; theories that could take decades to implement, master, fund, finish. He'd be in his 50's by the time he got anywhere. As if the black hole burned into his heart from the night before didn't hurt enough, the thought of putting up with 30 more years of tinkering, testing, trying, theorizing simply did not sit well in any respect. Ed did not want to spend any more of his life here. His resolve to return home had fortified and it had kept him up all night as he studied Oberth's notes within the dormitory lounge. There had to be some way he could apply this knowledge. Could breaking the sound or light barrier help him? The last thing he wanted to do was ask Einstein… the guy was such a hack. Could the fuel be used to propel him forward rather than launch him upward? The hope that this information could help him kept becoming more dilute every time he thought of a new potential application.

His hand slammed down on the desktop; his hand crumpled up the bits of notes he'd written up and he threw the piece of paper across the room, "This is impossible!"

Oberth lifted himself from his work and swung another chair around next to Edward who had his face in his hands; a dark cloud over his head. "What are you stuck on?" Oberth tried to organize the mess of papers Ed had before himself.

"Nothing in particular," Ed grumbled as he moved his coffee cup aside, "it's just… so much theory, not much practical work."

Oberth raised an eyebrow at his younger associate, "Well… yeah, it is. Methodologies, theories, terminologies. I need to prove my case before anyone will give me funding. Do you have any idea how much money it would cost to get this stuff assembled let alone tested?" he gave Edward a swat upside the head, "don't be so impatient, we have a ton of years left ahead of us. It'll be gratifying when it's said and done with."

The miserable look re-crossed Edward's face, "If only I could transmute something into a rocket ship…" from the back of the room, he was suddenly pegged in the face with his trashed piece of paper.

"Alchemy is like witchcraft you idiot," Tilly folded her arms as she came back to his desk, "it's all fiction."

Oberth took off his reading glasses and onto Edward's desk, "Radioactivity has something to do with alchemy. Something about spontaneous transmutations… I heard about it from someone chemistry student a while back."

Ed's unimpressed expression scoffed at the whole scenario, "Alchemy as it should be, is nothing like what's attainable. You need understanding, decomposition and reconstruction. Radioactivity skips the understanding and heads straight to decomposition and attempts reconstruction; that's why it's spontaneous and dangerous. Alchemical understanding is way beyond the psyche of anyone here."

Oberth raised an eyebrow while Tilly reached over the desk and bopped him again with the adventurous piece of crumpled paper, "You're going to be hunted down by bands of gypsies and be burnt at the stake."

Edward laughed at that; his arm reached out and he snagged up the paper ball before he could get hit with it again, "It's not possible anyways, so what does it matter?"

"That's right," Oberth stood up and put himself back down at the desk adjacent to Edward, "what matters right now is that we make sure my theories are clean and flaw free."

Edward looked over to the senior man in the room, "So, what happens if I want to fly into space right now?"

Without lifting his head from his work, Oberth smirked as he jotted on his papers, "You go to bed and dream about doing so. I'd re-evaluate your mental state after that if you still thought it somehow possible in the next 5 years."

"Or you could stop drinking coffee, that'd bring you down to earth," amidst Edward's swatting hand, Tilly removed the coffee cup from his desk.

Al turned in his seat as he watched Elysia lead Mr. Mitchell out into the back yard once more, her squeaky little voice bouncing off all the walls. Glancing over his shoulder to try and watch the scene beyond the window, Gracia stole Al's attention. The young Elric watched as she organized the leftover food into bowls - everything seemed to have a place and she marked her actions with precision. Were all mom's able to do that? Al wondered, fidgeting in his seat uneasily. Finally, with the clench of his fists, he stood up and walked over to the sink.

"I can help," his wide-eyed nerves looked up at her.

Gracia turned to Al. An unintentional look of surprise crossed her eyes and it sent a tingle of embarrassment running down Al's spine. The young man looked away quickly. Gracia's mothering demeanor returned and she took the dishcloth sitting on the counter and placed it in front of Al.

"Only if you want."

From the corner of his sheepish eye Al looked back up at her, his hand taking up the damp cloth, "I don't mind."

Letting the water run lukewarm as he wiped off the dishes, Al followed the instructions Gracia pointed out on where each cup, dish, bowl and utensil went in her cupboards. Al nearly started to laugh at how many times she half-asked him 'can you reach that?' which he received many apologies for. Whenever Elysia helped her, there was so much she was too tiny for. Reaching back into the running water for more utensils, Al flinched and quickly took a step back. With a sour face, he popped his finger into his mouth.

Drying her hands quickly, Gracia turned around to Al. As she leaned down, her hand tugged his finger out from his mouth, "Don't put it in your mouth if you cut it." Turning Al's hand over, she looked at where his finger had been slit by the knife. Grabbing a napkin from the table, she wrapped his finger in it, "You have enough cuts and scrapes as it is. Let's go upstairs, I'll get a bandage for it."

Not given an opportunity to protest, Al was hand-held up the stairs. He remained standing in the hallway while Gracia fished around in the cabinet for a bandage wrap. Turning himself around slowly, Al's curious eyes examined the upstairs floor. He gazed through the railing back downstairs, looking at how the early evening light lit the hallway with an orange tint. His focus shifted down the hall – taking a step back, Al could see inside Elysia's room. The strange light patterns scattered on her toy-littered floor came from glass window ornaments that were hanging in her window. He turned his attention down to the other end of the hall and found a study room. Al took a half step to the side, attempting to steal a peek and what caught his eye was an Amestris-blue military cap sitting upon the desk.

"This will have to do. Elysia must have run off with my box of proper bandages again," Gracia tucked her olive skirt beneath her knees as she knelt down before Al. Tearing a tissue in half, she folded it over twice before placing it on the soft tip of his index left finger. From the roll of bandage tape, she snipped off a strip and wrapped it around the end of his finger – tucking the end away to keep it from coming loose.

"How's that?"

Al marveled at his finger, "Thank you," his quiet voice came out as his eyes curiously darted back down the hall for a moment.

Catching his glance, Gracia followed his line of sight down the hall, "Did you want to have a look?"

Though he should have insisted 'no', the stronger curiosity insisted 'yes' – Al stood silent and indecisive.

Gracia rose to her feet and returned the bandages to their place in the washroom cabinet. In the hall again, she took up Al's hand and led him down the hallway. Stepping into the room he'd been eyeing, Gracia walked silently across the hardwood floor and, brushing the dress smooth beneath her, she sat down at the desk. Al stood next to her, his hands taking hold of the top knob of the chair backing while his adventurous eyes scanned the small room. The study desk graced the center wall of the room and behind them, next to the window ,was a half stuffed bookcase. Al's eyes caught the coat rack in the corner, a slightly dusty black trench coat was hung from the highest notch and draped over whatever other items hung there. His attention turned back to Gracia as the hat he'd eyed earlier suddenly landed on his head and swallowed him. The tips of her fingers touched the brim and, with a faint smile, Gracia removed it from his head and placed it perfectly back down where it rested before.

Al's eyes scanned the desk - there were photographs on the desk. His focus was sucked in by the family photo that centered everything and Al stared into the face of the tall, wildly-grinning man that accompanied Gracia and Elysia.

"His name was Maes and he was my husband," Gracia's somber words filled the room, "there's a lot about him I miss… it's been just over a year now since he passed away."

Al gave a passing thought at how it was also 'just over a year' since it felt like his mother had passed. Al's eyes trained on the picture, trying to extract the person he could see within the image and put it to the personality Winry had told him about.

"He passed away doing his job. It's a shame so many of the things he wanted to see happen in his lifetime will probably never happen, or he won't get to see them happen," Gracia glanced over to the photograph of her husband and Mustang.

Al's eyes followed hers and widened as he recognized the face of the man he'd seen within the hospital - but with both eyes.

"He loved to have photographs of everything," at that, Gracia stood up from her seat and turned around to the bookcase.

Al's eyes shifted to the third picture on the desk and found even more familiar faces from the hospital in the military group photo.

"I think this is it," Gracia slid an album out from the bookcase and sat back down in the chair. Opening the album to the middle page, Gracia drew in the young Elric to peer at the pages of a thick album.

"These were taken just after Elysia was born," Gracia slowly ran her finger over a four image spread of her late husband and newborn daughter and the face that grinned so foolishly back at them both could only make them smile.

"He looks like he was a lot of fun," Al replied quietly as he leaned against the side of the chair.

"He was," Gracia's left fingers slipped a few pages back and she flipped the album into the past, "and these were taken at your brother's birthday party."

From the corner of her eye, Gracia silently watched Al. She wasn't sure if his expression was of fear, or of wonder, or perhaps a combination of them both, but she recognized the underlying meaning to the expression on his face. Gracia saw a similar look in her daughter's eyes every time a new story of the child's father found its way to her.

Al's dilated eyes stared into the four images spread out on the page Gracia offered him. He'd known instantly which one was him, but he felt no association to it. The images of himself in the suit of armour next to his lively brother was nothing to him and the only word Al found for the sensation was 'bizarre'. Yet, here everything was: the images were so real, so full of life, and Al sorely wished he could touch them and experience what had gone on. He looked into the eyes of his older brother, a year older than he last remembered, his hair long, pulled back, braided… Al wondered when he got that unfamiliar red jacket.

Gracia presented to Al's something new he could finally touch about this missing world.

"I remember Edward mentioned that now he'd get to be a year older than you again, because now he would be twelve and you'd still be eleven for nearly the rest of the year," the back of Gracia's hand came up and sat down on Al's cheek, "this was five years ago but today, when you came into my house once more, you were still eleven."

With the chair as a crutch, Al slowly slid down onto his knees next to the seated Gracia, his chin on the desk, photos at eye-level, never glancing away from the album. He tried to recreate stories in his mind of what could be going on, what could have been said, what they were laughing at, who that little girl was with them…

"Al," Gracia asked for his attention and slowly received it. Her voice never elevated, never coarsened, it simply stroked its way through him, "are you okay still living in a story? The story where Izumi's your mother, the story you have made for you, and the one you're making with me? The story you're creating with these pictures?" Gracia shut the album slowly and left it on the desk.

Al slumped off his knees and sat on the floor, his distant gaze tracing the lines of the hardwood floor.

Gracia slid off the chair, pushing it aside, and she sat down beside him. As the rich orange evening light filled the room, her hand swept Al's downy soft hair out of his face as his silence held on. When Al finally tried to curl up in seclusion, Gracia took him by the wrist and got to her feet, pulling him up as well. Re-opening the photo album, the mother slipped one of the photos out from her album and wrapped it in an envelope she pulled from the desk drawer.

"When you're ready, when you feel you can, I want you to come back here and tell me the other story of you. Tell me the story of today's eleven-year-old Alphonse Elric and not the other Curtis boy. In return, I'll tell you the story of this picture and anything from any other picture you want to know about. I don't think you want to disservice any of their memories," leaning down, Gracia placed the wrapped photograph in Al's hands, "Maes said you boys had a philosophy of 'Equivalent Exchange'. Does this qualify?"

The gentle glass upon glass sound that was made when Hohenheim placed his drink down in the saucer was not loud enough to even echo within the room. The fireplace in the other room gave a loud crackling sound to make up for it. The elder Elric glanced over his shoulder, unable to relieve the stiffness within his body. Re-buttoning the top of his dress shirt, Hohenheim looked to the entrance of his study's solitude; had he just heard the sound of the front door closing? The deep chimes of the pendulum clock reminded him that it was now two in the morning. The stumbling of feet that echoed this late at night within the hallway confirmed his suspicions.

Pushing away from his resting place, Hohenheim slowly stepped out of his study, "… Edward?" even his gentle questioning voice bore a profound strength.

Edward did not answer as he hung up his coat at the end of the hallway.

"Where have you been?" Hohenheim wondered if he had the right to be angry with his son for this stunt. He recognized the reasons behind Edwards's deliberate ignorance of his voice and presence; regardless, the continued silence grew increasingly frustrating.

"Edward." His voice grew demanding and Hohenheim chose to approach.

Having already kicked off his shoes, Edward took a swift path in an opposite direction within the house; he shoved his hands into his pocket.

His steps suddenly a slightly bit faster, Hohenheim reached out and grabbed Edward under the arm, "EDWARD."

Ed jerked his arm up and swung a backhanded fist of his good left arm at his father who was able to back out of the way. "Screw off!" his cold voice echoed as he turned to walk away from him once more.

Hohenheim stood in the middle of the hall, allowing Ed to walk away. The older man could not hide the disheartened feeling, nor the feeling of guild he placed upon himself when Edward had not returned home the night before. He'd hoped his son's disappearance for a day and a half would have given him time to cool down.

The event the Thule Society had held the days before had been hosted by one of his closest associate's star pupils, Rudolf Hess. Edward had spoken to him a few times, he'd even been impressed by the man's desire to help change what the world had done to Germany. He liked a man who was willing to stand on a platform with his own two feet, but even at that, there was still much he distrusted about Hess. There was something Ed distrusted about everyone. He'd chosen to turn a blind eye to many things about so many people here, especially the general hatred towards groups of people; he'd said he could not remain sane if he'd concerned himself with those kind of deep rooted, rotten emotions.

And then Hess shattered whatever container Ed protected himself from society with; standing before the congregation the man started the evening by executing Rathenau's young Jewish secretary and her two children as they begged for their lives.

"God does not pity you," his cruel voice rang out.

The platform Hess and his closest comrades stood upon was comprised of dead bodies.

And Edward stood there drowning in their cold blooded hate as everyone gave approval of Hess' actions.

He stood there as everyone agreed what had to be removed from society in order for German society to prosper.

He stood there as everyone applauded the assassination of Matthias Erzberger over a week ago.

He stood there as everyone seemed to believe that what they wanted to accomplish within society was right.

He stood there and listened, to everyone, preach at the rise of an empire through the exploitation and extermination of another.

He stood there and realized he could do nothing to change this.

Hohenheim did not let Edward turn away. He'd placed his hand at the back of his son's neck and held him in place. Edward would glace up to his father from time to time, wondering if there was any remorse behind his expression.

Most appalling for Edward was that Hess had acted with the advice of another, someone higher than the man himself who pulled the strings of the people within. Hess asked the congregation, who were all members of the NSDAP as well, for their support as they pushed for this man to become the next Fuhrer. The room applauded.

The speech given last April suddenly had additions to its agenda… and visual aid.

Whatever darkness brewing within Edward's consciousness fed off his disgust for the evening, for the people he was with, for so much of society as a whole. He could see bits and pieces of the traits he hated most in so many people throughout any given day; suddenly it was all in a room for him to watch with his father.

And now, Hohenheim stood behind his son again as Edward sat silently upon the back porch of the house. The elder Elric apologized for the previous day.

"You're disgusting," Edward's voice shot out without waver, "I can't believe you support people like that."

"Did I ever say I supported any of this?"

Hohenheim's remorseful voice irritated Edward, "Then what the hell do you do with them? Why do you listen to them? Why do you involve ME? Those people have nothing to do with me and what I need to accomplish," he never turned around to face his father; he simply spouted off into the night.

"I have my reasons," was as vague as an answer he could give, "but even if I wanted to leave, I could not. It's the same reason I could not let you leave the other night."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Edward's bangs shrouded his face.

"Edward, this is not something I can turn my back on. If you had walked away, someone would have shot you before sunrise."

Hohenheim watched Edward as his head slowly dropped forward. The concern was etched into every word he'd spoken; his face stiffened up, "I wouldn't have asked you to come if I'd known-"

"I want to go home."

The conversation came to an end. The life deflated from the eldest Elric as a helpless feeling bore down on him. There could never been enough he could do to convince Edward to exist properly within this society.

"I hate being here. I hate living in fear of my own morals. I hate how the type of person I socialize with suddenly makes me friend or foe. I hate pretending I hate something just so I can survive," his quiet voice of discontent could never accurately describe how he felt. Facing into the darkness, Ed rose to his feet. Hohenheim wondered if he should speak up in some way. Edward slowly lifted his arms at his sides. He turned his palms forward and slapped his hands together across his chest in honour of a memory, "I hate how tasteless everything is here. I hate how I'm never full after I eat, how nothing has any colour, how I don't dream at night, how I-," he abruptly stopped his rant. The pause lingered in the cold air before Edward breathed it all back in. He finally stepped up the few stairs upon the porch near where his father stood. Avoiding eye contact with the man, Edward his lifted his left hand to the sky, "I want the stars to get brighter if I get closer to them."

Nothing was said; Edward listened as his father opened the doors and stepped back inside the building. His hand dropped limp at his side as he stood there, eyes shut, listening for the world to show some sign of life. The only thing he could hear was the cat in a garbage can down the street. It was a wretched silence.

Ed startled from the moment; his father put a coat over his shoulders.

"It's cold out," Hohenheim's voice said quietly.

"I'm not cold," Edward's shoulders loosened as he pulled the jacket around himself.

"Don't let that change. Come inside, you need some sleep."

Edward turned and he looked upwards to his father in the doorway. Though unintentional, he let the man see the exhaustion within his eyes brought on by playing society's game for a day and a half. The inability to do anything to help anyone but himself bore heavily upon his pale expression; too tired to bark at the figure standing in his way. In mirror, his father's downcast expression looked back at his son… wondering. It was a move made with caution; Hohenheim reached a concerned hand out and, within the age-old palm, cradled his son's evening-chilled cheek. The time it took Edward to react allowed Hohenheim the chance to confirm the existence of whatever pain existed there. And though Edward finally stepped back to avoid inevitable discovery, Hohenheim took a step that frightened him far more than the evening before; a pair of strong arms reached around and pulled in his sleepless son. He found it unnerving to discover the only thing left un-surrendered was the deliberate control over Edward's own breathing. Within the lifeless silence of the Munich night, Hohenheim wondered how long he'd be allowed to hold his son.

Edward's forehead dropped softly into the man's broad shoulder; exhaustion was overpowering, "I'm going home. I'll find a way." Unwavering determination manifested itself deep within his soul, even at his weakest.

"I hate how this place makes me feel."

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes

I'm going to run with the idea that Hohenheim joined the Thule Society before 1921. I doubt he would have gotten involved with it at the point it was at in 1921. In this story I'll say that he's been in the Thule Society since about mid 1919 - before Hess joined.

I love angsty Ed... I love Hohenheim. The two go well together for me.

"What's wrong with launching Edward into space?" The first liquid fuelled rocket wasn't launched until March 1926, the first live 'organism' (a dog) was launched into space November 1957. Edward is going to get home loooong before 1926.

And Now You Know

A 1921 bottle of Rheingau Riesling will cost you $10,000 dollars now.

Rudolph Hess was the 16th member of the Thule Society (June 1920)

NSDAP – National Socialist German Worker Party.

Matthias Erzberger – former German Finance Minister during WWI murdered by members of the Freikorps (August 26, 1921.)

Walter Rathenau – German Minister of Reconstruction (1921)

Chapter 54 Feedback

Ed's Arm – Ed's arm isn't completely immobile. In chapter 52, Ed was able to tie his hair in the ponytail behind his head – that's why Hohenheim commented when he noticed Ed was struggling. He also shocked Professor Oberth in Schässburg by being able to lift the 'arm to shoulder's height'. Ed was having problems with the arm because a major connection for the arm had wiggled loose.

chibi-sherri (comment) – Hmm… that line's poorly worded on my part, sorry for the confusion… –fixes that and parts of the rest of the paragraph so it flows better–. Thanks for pointing it out.