He Who Searches For Himself

Keeping an eye upon her youngest son perched next to the sink, a towel draped over his outstretched legs, another towel fumbling around in his hands as he made a continual attempt to dry his mother's dishes; Trisha treated another plate to the rinse water. Trisha couldn't help but giggle at the delight dancing in Alphonse's eyes, having finally been allowed to help his older brother dry the glass dishes.

Setting his plate off with the rest, Ed pushed to his knees and leaned into his younger brother's battle with the dish in his lap, "See Al, if you turn the bowl on it's side, put the cloth there, and turn it like that in a circle, it dries lots faster."

Following along with his brother's motions, wide-eyed Al did as instructed. As if a valued trophy, Al gripped the rim of his bowl and held it out for his mother to see, "Mommy, see. I done bowls too."

"Yes you did," Trisha's tone tingled with delight as she gave a huge grin in reply to Al's far larger one.

From the corners of both Edward and Trisha's eye, the pair caught as Al tipped the bowl, only to have it slip from his grasp. Trisha was unable to move fast enough to catch the dish as it bounced off the counter's edge, and shattered on the hardwood floor.

"Oh dear," Trisha's hand came to her cheek as she stepped back from the sharp mess, "oh, Alphonse," Trisha swept a few pieces aside with her slipper as she reached for Al, his lower lip trembling as his eyes watered up. Not given time to grab her son, Trisha took a startled step backwards at the unannounced handclap echoing from the top of the stairs. The transmutation light, and the decent of their father from the second floor, was enough to distract Al from his tears.

"See, Daddy fixed it," Ed pointed down to the ground as he tried to get Al's attention.

Trisha's hands came to her hips as Hohenheim crossed the kitchen, picked up the bowl, and sat it down in his youngest son's lap, "All better, right?"

"Thank you Daddy," Al's voice choked, the miserable look still in his eyes.

Hohenheim's hand came up and ruffled Al's hair before cheering the miserable look with a kiss to the forehead, "No tears. Remember what went wrong, and don't let yourself do it that way again. You'll do just fine when you try again."

Chapter 62 - An Omnipresent Void

With the flick of the clasps on his briefcase, Ed flipped it open. It had been in the back of his mind for weeks, and since that unpleasant Tuesday when he'd discovered a new dislike for this type of humanity, Edward produced an unhealthy piece of curiosity.

"What's that?" Hohenheim raised his eyebrows in question; he finally got to find out why his son was staring bullets at his briefcase.

Standing up from his spot on the floor of his father's home study, Ed tossed the magazine onto the man's desk, "I picked it up in Vienna. It's a magazine that Ekert guy publishes, edits, whatnot. The centre article is about that Adolf Hitler guy everyone seems so enthralled over."

Taking the magazine up, Hohenheim leafed through the pages, "Why do you have it?"

"I was curious. I had some shop owner berate me for being German, then threw that at me," firmly stepping up to his father's desk, Ed leaned over the glossy pages of this magazine pinched in his father's hands, "it's something like that which makes me glad I'm not German."

Setting the magazine down with the centre page open, Hohenheim slowly shook his head, "He has a way with people."

"He's a boar," Ed simply scoffed, turning up his nose, "leading his people into some unprovoked fight."

"It's called 'intimidation tactics', Edward," Hohenheim looked to Edward from above the rim of his glasses.

Spinning the magazine around so that he could read it right side up, Ed slapped his hands down on the desk, "I know that, and they're so desperate to feel good about themselves again that they'll listen to anything," he skimmed over the article slowly as he spoke, "I've read this thing maybe twenty times this week, and every time I read it my skin crawls; nothing but Aryan supremacy and the eradication of other types of people. This guy isn't for the good of Germany," he flicked a page over, pointing at the image printed of Adolf in the material, "this guy is not interested in the good of everyone."

"Edward," Hohenheim clasped his hands together over the desk as Ed raised an eyebrow at his father's long and exhausted sigh, "I'm thankful that you have blonde hair and white skin, it makes it far easier for you to pass as a German."

Snatching the magazine off the table, Ed threw it without care over to his briefcase on the floor, "Same goes for you."

Hohenheim's eyebrows rose at the unexpected comment.

"Hermann called earlier," it was an abrupt conversation change Ed made, "he was in a rush but mentioned something about Tilly wanting to do something tonight. I have a feeling I'm not going to be going to the university tomorrow with you; he said something about 'oh! Just because you have a patch on your eye, doesn't mean you can become a hermit'. They're going to call back."

Again Hohenheim sat silent, staring with a raised brow at the unprovoked spill of information. It would probably take him another hundred years to figure out the exact moments he could get this type of information out of his son; to save a headache, he normally let Ed come and go as he pleased, "Alright. Let me know what you're going to be up to when you find out."

Ed nodded and looked down at his briefcase without another word.

It was Hohenheim who had something else to contribute; he simply did not know how to present it. Choosing to remain silent for moments longer, he watched as Ed stuffed the magazine into his briefcase once more before taking a deep breath.

"Edward."

He glanced up, snapping the latches on the case shut.

Hohenheim tapped his pen on the desk, "We have a couple of new apprentices assigned to my division, Karl suggested I take one of them under my wing and let him contribute in my office."

"… Are you firing me?" Ed blinked, standing up straight.

The question made Hohenheim laugh, coming as a refreshing relief, "No no," he straightened his ponytail and stood up from the seat, tugging on his vest as he did so, "but why don't you take some time off."

Glancing away in thought, Ed considered the suggestion, "Well, I guess I could focus more on Hermann and his work."

"No, how about a vacation somewhere. Why don't you take a trip back to London?"

The following silence was almost as upsetting as Edward's cold response, "I'm not going back there."

"Why not?" though Hohenheim should have expected the response, he had been hoping Edward would be a little more willing to negotiate the offer, "there are a lot of people you haven't seen there in a long time."

"I'm NOT going to go to London. Why don't you send me somewhere else?"

"I called Doctor Wilson this morning, we talked about train accommodations, and he said he had no problem letting you stay with-"

Ed let the briefcase fall from his hands, "What the HELL do you think you're doing? You think you can ship me off to London without consulting me?" he had no problem challenging his father on this issue, "Even if I wanted to go to London, which I DON'T, you think I'd want to stay with him? Ship me off to Rome or Greece or Switzerland or somewhere… maybe ASK ME too."

Hohenheim reminded himself that he had to keep his cool for this, "Dr. Wilson treated you very well, you owe him a lot of thanks regardless if you like him or not," he didn't give Ed the opportunity to complain about his statement regarding the doctor, "If I'm going to get you a train ticket anywhere, it'll be somewhere I know you'll have a lot of familiar faces if there are any problems."

"Then I'm staying right here," Edward gave his briefcase a swift boot into the corner of his father's study as he turned away to the door.

"Edward," Hohenheim's voice rose, only to provoke a glare from over his son's shoulder, "I think you should go to London."

Gripping the door handle firmly with his left hand, Ed shot his look of flat refusal back to his father, "I think you should go to hell. I'm not going back to London," and he slammed the door behind himself.

"She didn't call at all in the last couple of days?" Al's voice quickly deflated as his grip on the telephone receiver weakened, "not since then? Okay." His eyes sagged as he slowly nodded his head to Roze's voice on the other end of the line, "no that's fine, I'll be okay. Could you just give Mrs. Hughes or me a call if she does show up in the next couple of days? It's a three day trip to Resembool, so if she's on her way, there's still time for her to show up," as upbeat as he tried to hold his voice, Al's grey and sleep deprived expression could not hold the same enthusiasm, "no really, you don't need to come out. It's okay Roze, everything will be fine," a statement Al could not believe in himself.

Finally after the good byes, Al drifted off into a distant dream; slowly setting the telephone receiver back onto its cradle. The daydream was lonely. It was that hill his brother always sat on after having been scolded, embarrassed, or simply to show protest against whatever it was he was disapproving of that day. The sun rose, or the sun set, it didn't really matter. He simply stared off into the valley flanked by the train station at one end, the flowing river on the other, and just over his shoulder rose his house in the middle of the field. It was only he who sat there atop this hill – watching the world pass by. The train never stopped as it passed Resembool station, no one waited on the platform, his brother never came to get him, his mother never called his name, the flashing lantern light never grabbed his attention. The vast blue sky, untainted with clouds, didn't even have birds.

The second ring of the phone startled Al; the empty expanse that the Resembool field had embodied was now the white hallway walls he stood between. After the third ring, the phone had been answered. As much as he'd wanted to pick it up, Al left that task up to one of Mr. Mitchell's security escorts residing within the house. If it were for him, they'd tell him; though he figured by now they would be getting sick of his desperate eyes wondering if the call was actually for him.

And it wasn't.

Al picked himself up and walked down the hall without a sound. There wasn't any cue for it, and no specific purpose it would serve; Alphonse simply started to run. Not enough people existed in the house to stop him, so he ran this maze he'd gotten himself lost in; down a hall that he didn't care for, past people he did not know, within a house that was not his. The sleepless headache beat behind his eyes. He kept going until he entered one of the few spaces he'd grown familiar with, every thought in his mind was thankfully stopped by what distracted him from within this bedroom.

Two big, blue eyes looked up at him from where she sat on the bed, hair braided in frighteningly familiar pigtails trailing over her shoulders, "Why do you look so sad today?"

Al used the palm of his hand to rub one of his eyes, "I think I've lost someone again," he didn't want to sugar coat it; he'd grown too weary and concerned to pretend he felt all right.

"You can loose people?" Nina stood up on his bed, her socked feet leaving imprints as she stepped over the freshly made bed.

"I guess so," Al shrugged, sitting down on the bed, glancing up to Nina as she plunked herself down next to him, "I've gotten very good at it."

"I'm sorry that you loose people," Nina smoothed her dress out as she dangled her feet off the end of the bed, "that girl friend of yours isn't here today, did you loose her?"

"I don't know," Giving a shrug, Al glanced over to her, a hint of curiosity growing in the back of his mind, "why are you so friendly today? You never said much to me before."

"The nurse is busy doing things with Diana and my friend. I was helping her, but I got bored; I wanted to do something else," Nina put her hands behind her back as she shrugged.

"Your friend?" surprised by the statement, considering the nurse seemed to keep the children on a leash, Al began to frown, "Where is your nurse? Is she allowed to leave you alone like that?"

"She's somewhere. And I'm a big girl, I can do lots of things all by myself," again, Nina shrugged in response to the line of questions.

Al wasn't given a chance to think on the issue much longer; a knock came to his door.

"Sir," one of Mr. Mitchell's security attendants peered into the room, "the telephone is for you again."

Al's company with Nina ended there. Getting up and leaving the room without a goodbye, he followed the attendant back down through the house, "Do you know who's calling?"

"It's Ms. Hughes again," the man replied as if Al had become more of a hassle than much else.

Sitting down at the table with the phone, Al watched over his shoulder and waited for the attendant to leave before he spoke.

"Hello?"

"Alphonse?" Ms. Hughes voice sounded through faint static, "I'm glad you picked up."

The side of Al's lips curled as he heard Elysia's voice call out a hello from the background. Despite his amusement, Al couldn't resist going straight to what had him tied up in knots, "Ms. Hughes, have you heard anything from Winry?"

"That's what I called to talk to you about."

Al's heart rate shot up as his body stiffened; so wrapped up in his own concern, Al did not notice the set of prying eyes watching him.

"Elysia and I took a walk this morning, we walked the path Winry should have taken between my house and Mr. Mitchell's. We asked some of the shop owners if they'd seen her at all. A gentleman from a flower shop had his window broken yesterday when someone threw a black case from a military vehicle that sped by," Gracia's voice paused on the other end, Al had nothing in his mind that he could provide to the conversation, "I asked to see it; it was Winry's tool case."

The millions of possibilities that ran through Al's mind kept him from forming a response to Gracia's words.

"Her shoes were thrown from the car too, I found one in the street. The shop keeper picked up the other when he cleaned up the broken glass."

The potential for the possibilities grew worse with each word.

"Al, did anyone see Winry in the house yesterday evening? Does anyone know what time she picked up the tool case?"

"I…" Al tried desperately to clear his head; "I haven't asked many people if they saw Winry yesterday," there weren't too many people within the Mitchell household for Al to ask, "I thought she said she was going to call when she found the tool case, and you'd come to pick her up. I assumed she never made it here."

"I saw your pretty girl friend yesterday."

Al turned over his shoulder, startled by Nina's voice.

"Al? Al what was that?" Gracia's voice called into the receiver.

The receiver in Al's hand slowly fell away from his ear, his eyes widening as he watched Nina speak.

"She found her tool kit and I told her she was weird. She talked to it like a baby and hugged it. She said 'Oh this is my favourite wrench set, my favourite bits, my favourite drill' and other stuff. She said she was happy to leave my house. I asked why and she said she was going to visit a friend instead. And then she left."

Crouching down, the receiver resting on his shoulder, Al's wary gaze took Nina eye-to-eye, "When did this happen? Did she say why she walked back?"

"Yesterday evening. My nurse was on the phone and your friend didn't want to wait for her, so she walked."

"Alphonse!"

Gracia's insistent voice from the other end of the line finally caught his attention and Al slapped the receiver back to his ear.

"Al, I'm going to call-"

"No wait," Al interjected suddenly, clenching his fist as he did so "let me see Mr. Mitchell first."

The phone echoed throughout the house; ringing two… three… four…

Ed poked his head out of his room, "DAD! Get the PHONE!"

Five… six… seven…

"DAD!" Ed rushed out of his room, nearly tumbling down the stairs as he tried to make it before the tenth ring, "Son of a…" he picked up the phone sharply, "Hello?"

"Edward! I'm glad someone finally picked up."

Ed narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the voice over the static ridden line, "Who's calling?"

"It's Dietrich you foolish boy," the man's booming voice tried to conquer the crackling noise within the phone line.

Ed rolled his eyes, he did not want to listen to this man go on and on and on. He hated the sound of the man's voice and hated even more how the man tended to talk down to him. Besides which, Ed had a shower to take eventually, couldn't this have happened up afterwards?

"Where's your father?"

Raising his right eyebrow, surprised by the lack of conversation Dietrich was holding with him, Ed glanced down the hall towards his father's study, "I dunno where the heck he is. Hang on."

At that, Ed let the receiver drop from his fingertips and swing wilding off the table as he marched into his living room and through a corner door into his father's study. He checked left, right, up and down; even went so far as to look behind the door. Ed stood silent in the study, casting his gaze around the room as if he expected someone to jump out and surprise him; but the room was simply a void. Frowning in confusion, Ed made his way to the patio door and peeked out into the yard, only to be greeted by the chirping birds and colour-drained fall leaves.

"Huh?" Ed pulled the door shut and looked back into the house with a wide-eyed and perplexed expression. Running past the phone, Edward poked into the empty kitchen before running back upstairs to pry into his father's empty bedroom.

Making his way slowly back downstairs, Ed eyed the entranceway to finally receive some answer to the puzzling question; his father's shoes missing. Scooping up the telephone to his ear, Ed did his best to hide the confused tone from his voice, "I think he went out…" concerning factor was: his father normally didn't go out on Sundays.

"Dammit all! When he gets home, tell him he must call me immediately! Understood?"

Holding the receiver out in front of his face, Ed's expression dropped; unimpressed by the order, "Yeah, okay, I'll do that."

"Good boy! Talk to you later," and the man hung up.

Edward's eyebrow twitched as he dropped the receiver back down onto the handles. Stuffing his hands into his pant's pocket, he turned to return to the second floor. Before Ed had been given a chance to climb three steps, the phone rang again. Storming his way back, Ed grabbed it before the fourth ring.

"Hello?" he said flatly.

"Good afternoon."

"… Good afternoon…"

"Is Professor Hohenheim home?" the male voice on the other end asked.

Rolling his eyes once more, Ed's monotone voice continued to drone on, "No, he's not. I think he went out, can I ask who's calling?"

"This is Friedrich Krohn, I need to get in touch with him as soon as possible. Could you please have him call me when he gets home?"

Unentertained by the desperate hint the man carried in his voice, Ed simply shrugged, "Okay, I'll do that."

The conversation ended at that, and once again the receiver fell from Ed's fingertips. Returning to his mission of getting up the stairs, Ed hadn't even reached the base of the stairs before the phone rang again. His eyebrow twitched as he did an abrupt about face back to the phone.

"… Hello?"

"Edward!"

Ed's head dropped forward, the receiver glued to his ear; this voice he did recognize, "Are you looking for my father, Professor Haushofer?"

"Yes I am! Can you put him on the line?"

"He's not home," Ed tried to put a feign of interest into his speech, he didn't detest Professor Haushofer as much as everyone else calling so far.

"That's no good. Can you get him to-"

"Call you the moment he gets home," Ed scratched his head feverishly in frustration, "I will do that."

"Thank you so much!"

Once again, another brief conversation ended. With slow and careful precision, Ed took the receiver in both his hands and placed it firmly down to disconnect the call.

And the phone rang once more.

Snatching it up once more with Neanderthal like care, Ed slammed the receiver to his ear, "Hello?"

"Edward, it's Rudolf."

The back of Ed's gloved mechanical hand rubbed over his right eye, "Hey…"

"Are you feeling better today?"

"I'm developing a headache right now," Ed rolled his gaze around the hall, wishing he didn't have to hold this conversation, "did you need anything?"

"Well, I hope you feel better soon. Is your father around?"

The little string of secretarial obedience snapped as Ed's grip on the phone turned his knuckles white, "Why the hell is everyone suddenly calling for him? Is something wrong?"

"Oh no no!" Hess's voice quickly dismissed Edward's question, "It's just some internal matters we need to discuss with him, and we need to do it right away. It's very important that I speak to him."

Giving a sigh, Ed shook his head, "He's not home. I'll tell him to call you when he gets in though."

Hess's voice sounded more desperate than any of the others, "Do you know where he is? I'll go pick him up."

"I don't know… sorry," Ed's displeasure fell away; there was something deeply concerning about Hess's determination to tack down his father.

"… Shit. Okay, please make sure he calls me the moment you see him."

"Sure thing."

Once again the conversation ended.

Folding his arms, Ed eyed the telephone with intense speculation at what was going on… and with general annoyance that he was playing secretary. Frowning, he tried to think of what sort of circumstances would cause an uproar on a Sunday. The majority of Thule meetings were held Thursdays or Fridays; which again struck Ed as odd since this world's day of religion seemed to be Sunday.

Then the phone rang; Ed screamed at it before picking it up.

"What?"

"… Is that how you answer my telephone?"

"… You…"

"Edward, can you check in the fridge and tell me what's left in the fruit drawer and also if there's any milk?"

"Where the hell are you?" Edward wailed on the phone, "hurry up and get home because I'm tired of being your damn secretary! I'm not going to answer this phone for you any more; it can ring and ring and ring for all I care. I have other, far more important things to do than to tell all your friends you're not home!"

"…" If the telephone receiver could have been sweating as Hohenheim had on the other end of the line, it would have.

"And you're the only one who drinks it, so you should know if we need milk; I'm not doing any errands for you! … A couple apples would be nice, maybe a pear… but get home before every person in your address book needs you to call them!" Ed threw the receiver down, plucked the cord out of the wall, and stomped upstairs amidst his childish tantrum.

Left standing at a payphone near one of Munich's outdoor markets, a bag of groceries tucked under his arm; Hohenheim slowly hung up the phone and backed out of the booth. His eyes wide and shoulders fallen in total confusion, Hohenheim examined the stall momentarily before turning back into the Munich market, "… Perhaps I'm destined to never understand."

"Sir, I am telling you, I cannot admit you."

Sitting on the middle of the outdoor staircase at what was once Central Military Headquarters, which now had become a combined structure of both military and government alike, Al watched the situation unfold over his shoulder.

"I can appreciate that if you were a family friend of Mrs. Mitchell's that she would have allowed you into those wings, but since she is no longer here you must go through the proper channels. Get in touch with the Prime Minister's office, get the proper documentation and clearance, and come back then. You will be arrested if you don't comply," the security officer stood his ground as he, and two accompanying guards, attempted to escort out the challenging, firmly built man and his nimble looking companion.

"Lyra and Aisa told us there would be no hassle! Why don't you be the one who picks up the phone and calls that bitch to get our clearance?" the smaller of the two men retorted.

Al's eyes flickered with curiosity.

Holding a steadfast gaze, the officer once again refused the man who's subsequent verbal shot was stopped by the larger man, who carried a far more ominous presence than the little one's bite, "We will get this required clearance, and when we return, we will expect an apology from your office. Let's go."

With that, the man had ended their engagement, much to the obvious relief of the security remaining at the top of the staircase.

Al turned to face forward, not wanting either man to be aware that he had been watching their escapade with the authorities. Placing his hands on his knees, Al waited as the men walked by; a shiver ran up his spine when one of them stopped after having taken only three steps past him. Glancing up, Al found himself swept into the cold, drilling eyes embedded into the suntanned skin of this powerful man's presence. The deeper Al fell into his gaze, the more it withered him up in submission. The feeling was more than intimidation; he knew this face from somewhere and the impression left in his memory was not a positive sensation.

"Hey!" the other companion called back, having already descended the stairs and trekked a path along the sidewalk, "you were the one who said we were leaving."

Turning sharply away from the young Elric at the prompt, Al caught the sunlight's reflection off of the man's two golden earrings; something so startling it brought the boy to his feet. Not being given enough time to sort the rushing thoughts, Al jumped at a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Al turned his widened eyes to the head of security who'd stood in the men's path moments before.

"You're Alphonse correct? Mr. Mitchell was supposed to come greet you, but we insisted he stay in his office with those two trolling around. We'll take you to see him."

Al apologized for the inconvenience he was causing for them before following the man into the building. It was odd, Al thought, how absolute the division within the building was between government and military. He'd been made aware that one half of the building was still devoted to the military, while the other for parliament; yet as he followed his escort down the halls echoing with adult chatter, he did not encounter a single military official.

"Alphonse!"

Both Al and the security escort turned as the voice echoed off the walls.

"Sir, we asked you to remain-"

Mr. Mitchell waved a dismissive hand at his security chief; moving quickly to catch up with the pair, "I know you did, but I had to pick up a relay that came in."

Flicking his hair from his forehead, Al watched curiously; there was a hint of distress around the Prime Minister. Al slowly picked up how hard the man was forcing himself to remain composed.

"I'll look after Alphonse for a bit, but would you run a message to my Deputy Minister?" Al did not feel comfortable with Mitchell's firm business tone; "tell him to see me in my office immediately."

Al's eyes followed the man as he took off down the hall at the Prime Minister's urging, loosing him beyond a crowd of people exiting a conference room.

"I'm terribly sorry about all that," Mr. Mitchell tried to put his best face on, "things have just gotten a little hectic."

"That's fine," Al smiled his sweetest, giving an untroubled expression for the man as they continued down the hallway, "I shouldn't really be interrupting you at work like this."

Mr. Mitchell shook his head, "It's no interruption, I'd rather have you as a guest than deal with some other issues that are cropping up," reaching for the handles of a large set of double doors, he held one open for Al as they entered into the man's office; once home to the Fuhrer, "but I'm curious as to what could be so important that we couldn't discuss it over the phone?"

The topic made Al nervous. Everything about where he was made him nervous. His eyes ventured around the room, obvious that it was in the process of being remodelled from it's previous state, "My friend Winry…"

"Oh yes…" Mr. Mitchell led Al across his office. Al found himself taken aback by the dishevelled appearance of the room, whatever he'd envisioned the country's leader to have for an office, this certainly wasn't it. It was obvious that the room was undergoing massive renovations from it's previous state; the flooring was partially torn up, the walls were being repainted, the lighting was being redone, and the room fixtures had either been replaced, covered by cloth, or simply removed leaving gaping spaces where items once existed. It was, by no means, elegant or pristine quarters for the leader of the country.

"…did she finally make it to the Hughes residence?"

Al avoided eye contact, since he did not want Mr. Mitchell reading the underlying concern he carried, "No, she didn't. Ms. Hughes called this morning and said she hadn't…" he found himself trailing off in thought, recalling their earlier conversation.

Sitting down in his desk chair, the current office centrepiece obviously the only thing left untouched by the construction, Mr. Mitchell narrowed his gaze, looking unto Al with an expression defining him as the wiser man, "I know you said that she enjoyed traveling, but if you're concerned, you only need to ask."

He fidgeted at the statement, "It's just, I'm worried she might cause you some problems."

Mr. Mitchell raised an eyebrow, unsure where Al intended on taking the conversation, "More problems than the one she could be causing now?"

"Possibly," Al turned his cautious eyes over to the elder man, his words suddenly rushing out, "I'm just worried that maybe she had troubles with Central's law enforcement. If she got herself into trouble, and then people realized that because of me you were looking after some sort of fug..it…ive…" his voice trailed off; head tilting as his eyes grew skeptical. Suddenly, Al had preoccupied himself with the confusion surrounding Mr. Mitchell's sudden laughter.

"Oh dear, young Alphonse," the Prime Minister rose from his seat, "you're priorities are mixed up."

Al's eyes widened at the unseen truth behind the statement.

Stepping around his desk, Mr. Mitchell crouched down before Al, placing his hands upon the boy's shoulders; he smiled, "Wouldn't you think that I would have looked into Miss. Rockbell before letting a mysterious young lady stay at my home?"

"Well…"

"If the Military office of that Brigadier General wants to question Miss. Rockbell over what she may have seen in some petty robbery, so be it. They can waste their time on sad little incidents for all I care, but it is not something you need to concern yourself with."

Al's concern drained from his face, a profound sense of uncertainty replacing it, "… that was it…?"

Giving Al a firm pat on the shoulder, Mr. Mitchell rose tall once again, "It's not like I kept it a secret that she was staying with me, if they'd wanted to interview her, they could have come at any time."

Casting his gaze around the room as he slipped into thought, Al tried to remember if Winry had in fact said 'arrest warrant' or not, "… Oh." In addition to the uncoordinated statements between what Winry had shared and what Mr. Mitchell was divulging, another fact pestered Al; 'that Brigadier General' had known the entire time he had been together with Winry at the Mitchell residence.

Folding his arms over, Mr. Mitchell gave a sympathetic smile down for Al, "Now, do you want me to-"

"Sir!" the door flung open with the sudden appearance of the Prime Minister's Deputy.

The personality change was like night and day, Mr. Mitchell could change instantly from his compassionate tone to a strict and unwavering sternness, "What took you so long?"

Standing in the doorway, breathing heavily as if the man had run from one end of the compound to another, the man shook his head, "I apologize, but I got the message from General Hakuro the same time as your messenger found me."

"I need you to gather all my cabinet ministers-"

"I already did, that's what kept me. I sent out a wire, everyone should be gathering in chambers as we speak. I asked General Hakuro to join us."

"Good," in the moment it took for Mitchell to shift his gaze from his Deputy back to the distant expression of young Alphonse, he had dropped the harsh business tone from his voice, "Alphonse, I have some affairs to deal with. I don't know how long it will take, but did you want to find something to do in here? Or perhaps get a bite to eat in the cafeteria? Or if you wanted to go home…?"

Al couldn't go 'home', not yet, "Could I go to the cafeteria?" though he looked up at Mr. Mitchell, Al made no eye contact, "I haven't eaten yet."

"Okay," once again, Mr. Mitchell's hand came to rest on Al's shoulder, "if I take too long and you want to go, all you need to do is ask my receptionist and she'll get a driver to take you home."

A sudden thought struck Al; he spoke up quickly, "Is your receptionist's name Aisa?"

Pausing at the sudden question, Mr. Mitchell once again found himself laughing at something the young Elric had said, "God forbid there be two women in the world named Aisa," escorting Al out of his office, a frown fell onto the man's face, "but no, that's not her name, why do you ask?"

Glancing between the Deputy and Prime Minister, Al turned over his shoulder as he thought about the two men he'd watched outside, "The men causing a commotion earlier, they wanted to speak with you and mentioned that name."

Mitchell and his Deputy Minister exchanged a pair of puzzled glances as the Deputy spoke up, "Why would they bring her up? Aisa hasn't even been around the office since she brought Diana by the week Lyra passed away."

Receiving a few welcomed answers he had not planned on obtaining today, Al's eyes narrowed in thought once more before he finally cast a smiling face up at Mr. Mitchell, "I might have misheard; it didn't make sense that they'd be asking for someone who doesn't work in your office anyways."

Both men turned their puzzled gaze unto Alphonse who promptly excused himself from the topic of conversation, "Which way is the cafeteria?"

"Edward?" the sweet sounding voice whispered, "Edward… wake up for a minute."

Ed's eye cracked open, initially he thought his left eye couldn't see because his face was imbedded into the couch cushion; he soon came to remember there was a patch on his eye, "… What?" his groggy voice murmured.

"When was it you last saw that little miss Brigitte?"

"Tilly?" Ed pushed himself to his elbows, trying to rub the sleep from his eye, "what time is it?"

"Edward it's really important, you said that you saw her a few days ago. Was that Friday or Saturday?" Tilly kept her voice low; glancing back over her shoulder, "please tell me it was Saturday."

His left hand brushing his hair from his face; Ed glanced around the room, slowly coming to remember where he'd spent the night, "no, it was Friday," he rubbed his eyes, "Dad came home from school and started poking through my things, and I think Brigitte was in her uniform, why?"

"When I took her shopping and earlier in the week I left my number with the school. They tried to call last night when we were out, but got through this morning; she hasn't been at the school since a headcount was done Friday night," she sat down next to Ed on the couch as he straightened himself up, "did she tell you if she was going to run off somewhere?"

Ed shook his head, "It got late so I drove her back for the headcount or the nuns would strap her. Doesn't make sense that she'd run off if she was concerned about that."

Tilly sighed, clasping her hands over her mouth, "I hope she's okay."

Smirking at the comment, Ed flopped onto his stomach, burring his face in a cushion, "I'm sure she's fine, the girl's omnipresent. She's probably creating a nuisance of herself somewhere."

Glaring over to Ed, Tilly grabbed a pillow from the other end of her couch and threw it at his head, "There's a lot of nasty things you can do to a girl, you idiot. Those streets are not safe."

"I'm sore enough," Ed burrowed his head under the pillow he'd been hit with, "could I have things to worry about when I'm not feeling like you hit me with the shovel."

"Serves you right," she stood up sharply; latching two fingers through the back belt loops of his pants, Tilly pulled Ed to the floor with a thud, "hurry up and take a shower, my house smells like a lounge. I left your change of clothes in your bag by the door."

With his hand at his forehead, Ed sat up on the carpet, "That's your fault too."

"And look at me try and remedy that! I made Hermann take a shower already… granted I think he went back to sleep after… but still, if you don't hurry up and take a shower I'll wash you myself. Trust me, I have no problem with naked men."

Edward promptly stood up.

Clasping her hands in front of herself, Tilly swayed out of the room, "You're so cooperative Edward, thank you."

Doing as he'd been told, Ed snatched up the bag he'd brought over the day before and took the shower he'd been ordered to have. The shower ended up being a half conscious effort on Ed's part, spending more time with his tired cheek pressed into the tile to remain standing under the running water than anything else. The least amount of credit he could give the woman was that the shower did eventually wake him up; though he never fully recognized how long he was in there. Finally towelling off and zipping his trousers up, Ed combed back is wet hair into the ponytail. Making his way back downstairs as he buttoned his shirt, Ed blinked, eyeing Oberth standing at the door; jacket on, keys in hand.

"I thought you were asleep?"

"I have a wife who doesn't believe in the art of sleeping in," Oberth rolled his eyes, "even if I have the day off," he rose his voice loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.

"I love you too!" was all that came from beyond the door.

Oberth wrinkled his face in displeasure before turning his tired eyes over to Ed, "I'm suppose to drive you to the university, apparently."

Dropping his bag down, Ed slipped on his coat; all the while eyeing Oberth with a questionable gaze, "Why? It may be a long walk, but it's an easy one. I've done it before."

The kitchen door flung open as Tilly poked her head into the room, "Because there's a lot of nasty things you can do to a boy too, you idiot. Those streets are not safe," standing square in the door frame, her foot propping the door open, Tilly pitched two muffins across the room; both caught by her husband, "and have something to eat, men seem to forget to eat in the morning. It's not healthy."

Extending a bran muffin to his companion, Oberth's dead expression met with Edward's perturbed one, "Please, let me drive you."

With no further protest, Ed promptly snatched up his belongings and vacated the house; closely followed by Oberth.

The twenty-minute car ride was a silent one; both were tired. The night before Oberth's wife had insisted they go to a private club that she and her friends frequented after they'd already attended the live theatre. Oberth himself had provided much of the fine wine that night; a luxury he enjoyed thanks to a friend's vineyard. They'd lasted until nearly three in the morning when it was Tilly who gave out first; passing out at the table, having proudly out drank everyone there. Neither one of them understood why she was so perky before noon. Edward was thankful that this time he remembered how he got from point B back to point A.

He'd offered Oberth a chance to come into his wing of the school and enjoy the coffee, but he insisted on getting the errands done before his wife chose to deny him dinner. Ed left it at that, and marched his tired way into the university. He was reminded of how much he hated all the flights of stairs to the third floor; they seemed to go on forever, especially when he dragged his feet. The hallway was just as long, and his father just had to have an office at the end of the hall.

Finally reaching for the doorknob, Ed turned it, and walked right into the locked door.

His hand slapped over his face as a little vein popped onto his forehead, "Why's the door locked…" reaching into his pocket, Ed ripped out his keys and stuffed one into the doorknob to force the door open, "why did you lock the-"

Ed blinked at the empty room, "Oh."

Dumping his jacket and bag into a chair, Ed decided his father's vacant chair was far more comfortable looking than his was. Putting his chin on the Professor's desk as he sat down, Ed buried his face in his arms with a sigh. The quiet room was nice; the serenity lasted only a few relaxing minutes.

Ed picked up his head and glanced around the clean desktop. Narrowing an eye, Ed straightened up in the chair. He glanced over to the day-calendar that still had last Friday's date on it; he pulled off the pages until it came to Monday. Without hesitation, Ed's hand swept from the calendar to the telephone; tucking the earpiece between his ear and shoulder, he dialled reception and waited for someone to pick up.

"Good Morning, Sciences Division, Nancy speaking, how can I relay your call?"

"Nancy, it's Edward Elric from third floor sciences," he tapped a metal finger on the polished desktop, "did Professor Hohenheim come in this morning?"

"Good morning, Mr. Elric!" the perky girl's voice replied, "and I haven't seen the Professor in at all today. Usually he's in by seven thirty, coffee at ten; unless I missed him, he didn't pass by me. Maybe check with the Dean, he might have called in?"

Slouching back in the seat, Ed continued to tap his finger on the desk, "Thanks, Nancy." Dropping the receiver down, and promptly picking it back up again, Edward carried a disconcerted expression as he dialed home before anywhere else.

It was a welcome distraction; the phone call was, not the topic, which gave the Brigadier General an excuse to leave his house. Nothing about the topic was welcoming, inviting, or positive for that matter. He added it to the mounting pile of things he could not answer.

What in the world could have possessed the Drachma rebels to lay a strike down upon the barely rebuilt Ishibal settlement?

Mustang could not answer that.

Regardless of his immediate injuries after his unspoken battle with the former Fuhrer, the dismantling and reconstruction of the Ishibal policy had his fingerprints all over it. It was infuriating; why then was his department being shut out of these developments? Why did Major. Hawkeye and Lt. Havoc receive notice of the developments from a second hand source? Why did no one in a higher authority contact him?

Stopped at a red light, within sight of Central head quarters, Mustang's fist slammed into the rim of the steering wheel; inadvertently causing the horn to sound. It would be the only display of frustration he planned to give.

Given a few minutes, Mustang lurched his car to a halt within the parking lot. He used the wretched cane once again; though the inflammation in his knee was not quite as annoying as the situations he found himself wishing he could deal with.

The bitter man hobbled his way into the building through the closest entrance he could find, which was the entrance he'd wanted. As best he could, Mustang tore a strip down the hallway; giving little regard to the people he passed along the way. There was an office he was going to crash first, and with a firm palm of his hand, he forced the door open.

It was Lt. Ross and Sergeant Broche who looked up from their work in surprise at the Brig. General's intrusion.

"Lt. Colonel Armstrong is…?" Mustang's voice ripped through everything within the room.

Exchanging a nervous glance, it was only Lt. Ross who returned her eyes to the intimidating look carried on Mustang's face, "Lt. Havoc invited him to your office. I think they—HEY!" she stood up abruptly from her chair, following the man out of the office after he slammed the door behind himself.

"Sir!" her voice called out down the hall, moving much faster than the hindered Brig. General could.

"Why wasn't I contacted immediately," Roy barked in response to her call, "if it had just been myself left out, this would not be an issue. But my entire office?" his voice shot out, never once turning back to look at her, "there is no reason for that."

Maria shook her fallen hair from her face as she slowed to match the man's pace, "Sir, of all people, you should know how it works; it wasn't by our choice. Information was disclosed to divisions based on decisions made by higher authorities."

"Who's authority?" Mustang's bitterness echoed in the stairwell as he began the assent to his office's floor.

Lt. Ross followed his lead, her eyes closely watching the man as he fought to keep the discomfort of his leg from blatantly showing, "General Hakuro… Sir."

Mustang stopped in his tracks, his gaze turning harshly down to the Lieutenant; her jaw tightened in response to the angered look. He did not need to say anything, the displeasure in his eyes for the General had grown enough that no one needed to hear a word from the Brigadier General's mouth about him any longer.

Roy swung forward and returned to focusing on the climb he faced.

Gripping the handrail of the stairwell, Maria finally returned to tailing the man, "Sir, he may have received those orders from someone within the government."

"Lieutenant," Mustang did not wait for Ms. Ross to join him on the top step before addressing her once more, "I do know how the system works."

Frowning as the man tried to escape her company once again, Maria ran a stiff hand through her hair before continuing her chase down the hallway, "I had someone advise me to put more faith in the system," she lowered her voice to remain below the hum of vocal chatter within the hall.

"That was an ill-advised move. Faith is like respect and trust; it is something that should be developed and earned," Roy drew his words from a wise and buried soul that that had been punished a thousand times for a crime of blind faith, "your gut feeling… your instinct should be placed in higher regard. That is why Brigadier General Hughes touted you, is it not?"

"Sir," instinct told Lieutenant Maria Ross to stop.

The blunt voice and sudden absence of a matching set of footsteps grabbed Roy's attention, stopping him. The only good eye remaining glanced back to her; he carried a look of speculation as the Lieutenant moved slowly to join the man at his side.

"Instinct leads to faith and trust, they can work in tandem. You need a little bit of both in order to move forward with much success, don't you think?" her voice still held below the volume within the chatter.

"In a better society…" Roy's abrupt demeanour began to subside the longer Maria Ross went without responding to him; he eyed her waiting for a retort, yet she simply held her focus forwards. Finally the Brigadier General turned his attention ahead, only to be struck in the face by what it was capturing the lower officer's attention. His brow rose slowly with surprise and satisfaction.

"I will give you this, Lieutenant, it is easier to put faith into individuals than a collection of men."

With a smirk, the Brigadier General stepped forward down the hall, followed a step behind by the Lieutenant. Though the halls bustled with people, the most distinct noise was the echo of their feet as the pair marched.

As the footsteps of the military boots ground to a halt next to where he stood, Alphonse looked up to the two officers standing over him; towering a full head's height taller than himself. The three stood without a word to each one and other, Al's examining eyes drifting between the officers as he continued to stand outside the closed door of Roy Mustang's office.

"Sorry," Al finally took a step to square himself under the watchful eye of Mustang, "I asked one of the workers in the cafeteria to tell me where to find the office. I was going to knock, but I could hear voices coming from inside and I didn't know if I should interrupt or not."

"I don't think anyone in there would mind," Maria's firm military posture loosened as she spoke.

"Since…" Roy cast his fabricated melancholy expression to his sealed door, "since we are out here, and not interrupting what's going on within my office; rather than becoming an intrusion, I'd be interested in finding out what brought you up here."

Lt. Ross tossed a mused look Mustang's way.

The nervous downturn of Al's eyes caught both officers' immediate attention. Roy chose to remain silent, allowing the myriad of emotions within his steadfast gaze to be his response if Alphonse ever chose to look back up at him again.

Al granted the man his wish. Stiffening his posture, he turned the strong and inherited Elric gaze back to the imposing man's presence, "I wanted to know if you knew anything about what happened to Winry last night?"

The abstract question broke Mustang's composure, "Huh?"

"… 'Happened to Winry'?" Lt. Ross's surprised reaction did not quite match the curve ball that had caught her superior off guard; the words were not what either of them had been expecting.

Al clenched his fists; he knew instantly by their reactions they knew nothing. Though he had never entertained suspicion of them, life could have been made simpler if they had some involvement. His eyes fell away, "Winry was supposed to stay with Ms. Hughes last night but she disappeared. Someone saw her tool case and shoes get thrown from a military vehicle…"

"… What…?" Roy's composure returned as quickly as he could have set the hall ablaze.

"A shop owner gave the items to Ms. Hughes. She called me this morning and told me about," Al gave a discouraged shrug of his shoulders, "I'd sort of hoped that… maybe you knew something, since Mr. Mitchell said that you knew where she'd been staying."

Releasing his balance from the reassurance of the cane he unwillingly relied upon, Mustang took the object firmly in his hand and handed it sharply over to a startled Lieutenant Ross, "Hold this."

Firmly grabbing Alphonse's wrist in his left hand, Mustang hauled the surprised and speechless boy into his office; barging into the room without so much as an introductory knock.

Pulling his startled self away from Mustang's grasp, Al discovered he stood at centre stage in the office, only two steps behind the Brigadier General. His line of sight slowly canvassed the room; of all the men and women on their feet, Al recognized only half of the widened eyes looking back at him, recognizing them from weeks before in the hospital. Nothing else within the room registered for Al as he tried to organize the voids that existed for each individual; trying to absorb faces, expressions, heights...

Today, Al found himself an underlying confidence within this room of unfamiliarity. He knew he was going to change the way things were.

"Gentlemen," Roy's voice barked out, offering up his familiar commander's tone to his most trusted officers, "I need officers for a missing person's detail," Mustang's direction trailed from his officers down to young Alphonse, "Miss. Winry Rockbell has gone missing."

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes

X3;; poor Hohenheim… Ed's a basket case. Though Ed flipped out over London with a bit more under his skin than you know right now.

No, Aisa is not a Japanese name. It just looks Japanese, but it's been taken from another language source.

I've realized I put both Roy's and Hoho's office on the third floor. I have no reason for this, other than subliminal messaging from my Japanese sensei, where anything of ANY importance always seems to be on that damned third floor -.-; (san-kai!)

This chapter should be named "Telephone" or something…

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