Independency.

The lives on either side of the Gate are independent of each other.

The Edward on this side of the Gate is dead.
The body that matches my father's current body is also dead.

But we're from the other side of the Gate, and still alive.

The time lines of existence for those two identical people have nothing to do with each other.
Your birth date and death date have no influence on one and other.

The determinants of existence for those two identical people have nothing to do with each other.
Your parents, friends, and relatives are not the same at all.

Yet the world on this side of the Gate has something of everything from back home.
But lacks every moment that shaped our lives.

Chapter 71 - Eyes on the World's Other Side

The click of the car door didn't overpower the natural afternoon sounds drifting beneath the trees that stretched high enough to scratch the crystal ceiling. Looking for suspicion among the serenity of the long, dusty back road, Mustang left his shoe print in the street as he stepped out of the car. With his hand to his forehead for protection from the blazing sun, Mustang slowly took in a panoramic impression of a small, aging, and forgotten community, untouched by modern delights. Beyond the wind's tease of the trees and the birds within their leaves, no sounds beyond the quartet's own could be heard.

"This is it?"

Roy glanced over the roof of the dirty-white, rusting car they had picked up in the town they'd placed the phone call to Havoc at.

"These were the directions Havoc gave you," Mustang replied to his supporting officer as she stepped out into the countryside air.

The last two passengers, Alphonse and Izumi, joined the congregation on the side of the gravel road, taking in the bright, mid-day wilderness with the same perplexed reactions that the two Amestris officers carried.

"It's nice," Al shut his door, stepping around the car, deliberately scraping his feet through the soft, top layer of dust on the dirt road, feeling the heat of the midday air wrap around his body like a blanket and soak into his skin.

Mustang moved away from the swell of confusion that stood around the car, curiously continuing on foot along the path they'd traveled.

Rusted and ajar from their upright perch, old tin mailboxes sat precariously upon wooden pegs planted into the soil; meters upon meters of distance between each one as they faded off into the distance. With the graces of Mother Nature shielding and separating each spacious plot of land, grown over tire and footpaths served as walkways to the front of each house they had passed and each one to come.

The incursion of Izumi's voice interrupted Mustang's train of thought, and he looked back at the adults trailing lengths behind him. His brow rose, noting the absence of Alphonse; Roy turned, following the direction of the women's gazes towards a footpath that lead beyond the greenery encompassing the house it protected.

"Major."

Both women turned their attention over to Mustang as he motioned for Riza to follow Alphonse on his curiosity trek.

Stepping free of the surrounding hedge, curiously defying Izumi's caution about wandering away, Alphonse waded through the knee deep grass. This little world, and the worlds next to it, hadn't been cared for in years. Stepping up to the side of a house that was once white, the rain had eroded away much of the colour, bled a dirty brown into much of the siding and provided a place for mold, mildew and weed vines to grow uncontested.

"Alphonse?"

The young Elric looked over to Major Hawkeye as she slipped into the growth surrounding the house.

"Don't wander too far; we don't know what we're looking for out here."

"Alright," Alphonse spoke as he swept away the layers of dust on a wooden window ledge away, rising high on his toes to peer into the sunlit room of the house. Devoid of curtains, property and life, his eyes traced through the room, wondering what sort of existence had been there before.

"No one's been here in a long time," his voice was wistful, lost in the daydream of a peaceful, rural world he could liken to Resembool's.

"A very long time," Riza pushed aside the fallen limbs of trees, long since collapsed beneath rain, wind and snow.

Stepping away from the side of the house, Al slowly made his way around it. Perched at the building's side, he looked out into the weed and wild flower filled clearing that had once been the backyard of the family that had called this place home. Wading into the tall reaches of greenery, Alphonse came to a stop; squinting beyond the growth of tree's and shrubs at the yard's end.

"… Major…"

Her voice lifted, "Riza is fine Alphonse, I've told you that."

"… There's a lake out back."

"Pardon?" Riza's tone dropped, caught unprepared by the statement.

"No really, come see!"

Pushing past the obstacles on the opposite side of the house, her concerns heightened as she realized that Alphonse had vanished from the yard and into the trees beyond it. Sweeping her way through the overgrowth, Riza made her way into the obstacle course she had to manage within the trees. Fighting her way through the shrubs and fallen growth, she made a frustrating exit into the clearing beyond the trees. Stopping in mid stride her eyes shot about carefully as she scoured the stretch of lakeside before her. Finally her attention fell over Alphonse's stout figure dancing about on one foot in the thin strip of lakeside sand while he tried to pull off a shoe.

The wilderness shrouded and protected a lake as clear as the sky above it in a spot best described as 'the middle of nowhere'. Riza's hand slipped to her side as she moved further away from the wilderness' edge, the clay ground beneath her feet felt like cement as she stepped closer to the point where the hard bed dipped beneath the white, sandy lakeside. The clear glass of the lake's surface reflected a clear mirror image of the horizon at the opposite end. Accompanying the grime and mold covered boats beached on dry land, a few rickety piers jetted out into the image drawn atop the water.

Sliding the beige jacket from her shoulders, Riza turned to see Alphonse, who had managed to take off his shoes and was now holding them by the laces, wander a solitary path along the water's edge. In unison, the attention of the two lakeside explorers was suddenly grabbed; the displacement of the image upon the water's surface was hard not to miss. A distortion, much larger than any bird or fish could have caused, smeared the natural picture that had caught their eye moments earlier. That was all that was needed for Alphonse to burst forward and sprint towards the closest dock.

"Alphonse, stop!" Riza followed swiftly, her voice ringing with subtle frustration towards the boy's constant lack of caution.

Alphonse's bare feet dug the first deep crevices to be placed in the sand bed in years as he ran. The alarm present in Riza was never a fleeting thought in Al's thoughts. As the young Elric saw it, what sort of danger did someone floundering about in the water pose to him? His feet created a dull, hollow echo off the wooden pier boards, the bottoms of his feet leaving behind the sand that stuck to him. He ran until he could go no farther, stopping on the final plank, his toes hooking around the edge of the final board.

The disruption of the water's shine stopped as Alphonse looked down.

"Alphonse!" Riza's voice hollered, standing annoyed at the ground-based boards of the pier. The boy's head shot around finally to her call.

"Al!" the voice squealed from the water's surface, a soaking hand slapping onto the pier.

Riza's brow rose at the voice and Al turned back around. Kneeling down, Alphonse helped a familiar face pull herself out of the water, curiously noting the red tinge of a sunburn that had manifested itself in her face and over her shoulders.

Rising to her feet at the tip of the pier, a soggy, white and pink dress left a hefty puddle upon the wooden boards as the water disturbance, known to Alphonse as Brigitte, shook her hair out and burst into unintelligible monologue.

Alphonse's confusion swirled around; the foreign tongue was more alien than it had ever sounded before, his blank expression could not be overcome by the delight in his companions voice. Brigitte's voice finally faded, matching his lost gaze with her own sudden perplexed look. Sweeping his hand up through his light, golden brown hair, Alphonse turned his attention to Major Hawkeye, who was standing only steps away.

The uncertainty the young Elric projected only tightened the lines developing on Riza's forehead. Her right hand came down upon her hip; a hair's length away from the handle of her pistol. With her hand precariously perched, Riza stiffened her expression as Alphonse's gaze widened in obvious surprise. The Major cautiously flickered her eyes over her shoulder towards the shore.

"Major…?"

The tightness vanished at not only the recognition of a voice, but a face, "Lieutenant… Ross?"

Adjusting her white shirt beneath the burning sun, Maria Ross stood barefoot in the sand at the beginning of her pier; her jeans rolled to her knees, looking back at Hawkeye and Alphonse with much less confusion than what surrounded the three standing over the water's surface.

"I was expecting you to be coming in the front door."

Slowly squaring up, lagging in her movements as her thoughts tried to put a puzzle together, Riza's hand slid back to her hip, "...Is that so?"

Her mitten-covered hands gave a firm yank on the wool hat until it covered the top of her ears. Sinking down into the confines of her coat, Winry folded her arms tight across her chest and dawned a sour, disapproving look, "Why's it so cold out here!"

"The wind is blowing in off the river," Hohenheim snapped the jacket collar up around his own neck, his attention focusing on the landscape slowly drawing closer to the boat's uneasy approach.

"October's not supposed to be this cold," Winry whined, her voice as bitter as the chill that bit her. Glancing over the ship's side, she searched for what held the man's attention, "the train took us through snow already. Snow! In October!"

"The snowfall comes a little ahead of schedule sometimes," the old father mused, "and it's the end of October, this isn't uncommon in some places."

Her scowl disapproving of all the things she could not control, Winry turned her attention back to the people mulling about on the deck of the boat challenging a harsh sea, "Half these people are sea sick… where's Ed?"

Turning from the vantage point, Hohenheim took a quick scan of the crowd, "I haven't seen him in a while; he might have gone below deck."

Winry slapped her glove-covered hands on her cheeks, burnt red with chill, and promptly stood up, "I'll go find him."

"That's fine, stay back from the edge of the boat, if the boat beings rocking without warning you don't want to go overboard," Hohenheim smirked, hoping that the warning would convince her to seek warmer shelter, rather than bitterly engage the chill.

Without a response to the suggestion Hohenheim gave, Winry snatched up the black case at her feet and stomped away. Her arms still folded to seal her warmth, Winry slipped her way around the two dozen or so people who'd also ventured out into the cold. It wasn't as though you could see much; the thick, grey cloud hung low above the boat, obscuring the land they'd left and disallowing a view of the place they approached. The people taking in the damp, foggy view seemed unaffected by the elements;, she couldn't understand how that could be. People were allowing their ears and fingers to be exposed, if they didn't cover them up soon they'd surely freeze and fall off!

On a bench several feet back from the boat's side guard railing, a solitary figure sat, attention thrown overboard into the bitter scenery with nothing more than a jacket and scarf for protection.

"Ed?" Winry called for his attention and did not receive it.

His back was to her and the blond ponytail whipped around his head carelessly in the harsh wind. He didn't face forwards to the approaching British landscape, nor did he cast his gaze back to see if anything remained of the mainland; Ed merely cast his eyes out into the dark, grey waters, covered by the smoky ends of the cloud they sailed through.

Winry's expression twisted the longer Ed didn't reply, watching him slouch forwards and give no care for how his crutch lay dumped on the ship's deck next to him. He better not treat her leg the same way, since she was almost finished with it. With a fist clenched in one mitten, and the other clenched around the handle of her long, black case housing the appendage she'd sworn at dozens of times out of frustration, Winry stomped over to the unresponsive figure.

"Wake up, Ed!" her hand slapped down on his shoulder.

Winry withdrew her grip on his shoulder nearly as quickly as the startled gasp came from Ed's mouth.

"Sorry," her apology came as Edward's melancholy gaze turned over his shoulder to her. He shook his head and returned to his silent vigil into the disrupted waters.

Rubbing her chilled hands together, Winry stepped around the bench and interrupted his solitude. Defying the scowl on his face, she redid the white scarf wrapped around his neck, "Your ears are red, where's your hat?"

"In my pocket."

Practically uncontested, Winry fished it out of his jacket and swiftly pulled the wool toque down over his head. She felt like a mother fighting with her stubborn child, "What was it doing in your pocket?"

Another lifeless response emerged, sounding just as desolate as the first, "I couldn't get it back on."

The response put a pause in Winry's actions, momentarily hesitant before resuming her banter to preserve as much normalcy in her world as possible, "Why'd you take it off?"

"It was itchy."

Sighing, Winry bit down on the tips of her mittens and pulled her hands free. Kneeling down at his feet, she sat up high and stuck her warm fingertips on his cheeks, her thumbs pushing into the darkened skin beneath his eyes. Now she had his attention.

"What are you doing?" Ed tone was far too harsh, wrinkling his face as he tried to lean away.

Winry again challenged his aggression with a sharp hiss to her much quieter voice, "You look like you haven't slept in days. Your dad keeps talking about all these people we're going to meet and places we can go, but you look like you crawled out of a graveyard. What do you suppose they're going to think when they see you?"

Scowling, Ed jerked his head away from her touch, "I don't care what they think."

"You should," with a frown, Winry moved from her crouch and sat down next to him on the bench, "maybe we could go down below and get out of the weather before your face turns any redder, it looks like you're going to sun burn in the cold."

"It's fine," Ed sighed, tugging on the fuzzy hat covering his hair, "I got used to this a while back. This'll be my sixth winter in this place; it's not so bad anymore."

Winry took his hand away from playing with the hat; her stomach twisted when she felt it, since the hand felt as cold as his automail hand. If she hadn't looked down to reassure herself that Ed's hand was flesh and blood, she wondered if she would have been able to tell the difference, "Where's your mitt?"

"Who knows," it was the first time Ed registered the rising tone Winry had begun to use, picking up the frustration thrown towards him like the waves crashing against the boat, "I put it down somewhere for a few minutes and when I came back it was gone. I have no idea where it went."

Ed wondered if it was a good thing that she didn't respond; he didn't feel like sparing with her over a mitten, hell, he didn't even feel like holding the conversation she was forcing him into. There was something about permitting his mind to drift away in the sea that allowed him to free himself from the confines of the world. The air's moist chill didn't bother him, since it felt like a cold patch touching each of his sore muscles; he could tolerate the frigidness in exchange for the freedom from the empty daydream this world was. It was a blissful, numbing sensation.

"You should be more careful."

Lifting himself from the drifting state of mind he'd fallen into, Ed cast his gaze down to the bleach-white left hand resting limp in Winry's lap. Her bare left hand cradled it while the right hand, sheltered by her fuzzy, brown mitten, moved swiftly to try and return warmth to his palm as it bled a raging chill into her finger tips.

The curtain of Ed's hair shielded the distraught reaction that came into his eyes. Silent for far too long, he turned away, gazing towards the land he knew they were approaching but could not see through the mist, "Maybe we should go inside…"

Because he still couldn't feel the warm touch trying to restore feeling in his hand.

"Dammit, why didn't anyone tell me that the residential side of Central is so…" resting upon a wooden, street-side bench, Russell's elbow came down on his knees and his head was quick to follow into his hand, "confusing."

"Mrs. Curtis gave you the address, didn't she?" sitting up, Fletcher reached across his brother's lap, trying to get a hold of the shoulder bag of supplies the pair had taken with them, "maybe we can ask for directions?"

Shoo'ing his brother away, Russell's free hand gripped the bag firmly, pulling the shoulder strap across his chest, "Yeah she did, but let's leave it in there so we don't lose it. The envelope and the address are in the same spot."

"Alright," slouching back in the bench, Fletcher's hand flopped into his lap, eyeing the mid-day street without any life on it, "maybe we're in the wrong end of town?"

Russell's first thought echoed in his mind and blew out of his mouth, "We better not be, I don't want to walk across this city any more," yet his second thought came across with far more care, dulling the frustration in his voice, "We just need to pick up a map of the city and we'll be fine. Don't worry."

The boys rose to their feet, and with a hint of eager delight, Fletcher quickly followed his brother's signal to follow in his steps. There was a corner store at the end of the block; surely they could find directions there.

Central City's residential district seemed different than the rest of the city. In a place bustling with activity, business, politics, economics, military functions, there was the protected world within the world where everyone retired to from their hectic days. Whereas the rural towns and smaller cities had their residential districts, the atmosphere made Central's housing district feel more like a sanctuary. The blazing summer's heat radiated off the black roadway and pulled a vibrant green from the lush front lawns. Protection from the elements existed at the side of the road; thick, aging tree's lined the sidewalk, shielding those who wandering through the peace. Occasionally, a scalding breath of sunlight escaped through the canopy of leaves.

"Brother…?"

Russell's eyebrow rose at the tentative call of his name.

"Where do you think they ended up going to? Alphonse and Mrs. Curtis didn't seem to know too many details when they said they were going with the officers."

The elder Tringham's hands slipped into his pockets while the hard soles of his shoes scraped along a cement sidewalk scarcely coated with pebbles, "I have no idea where they're headed, and I think that Mustang took too much pleasure in telling me that it was none of my business. But, we should worry about getting home," taking a hand out from his pockets, Russell patted the bag on his hip, "this is just a favour for Mrs. Curtis."

Russell leaned into the glass window of the shop door with his shoulder and found himself instantly overwhelmed by the smell of fresh baked bread as the door chimes rang overhead.

"Good afternoon boys," the voice of an elder shopkeeper called out as the door accidentally slammed shut behind them, causing the boys to jump.

Quickly gathering himself, Fletcher perked at the delightful call, "Good afternoon, Sir!"

"G'afternoon, Sir," Russell gave a slight wave of his hand and a cocky turn of his smile in response to the greeting.

"Sorry about the door, it's a bit out of sorts. But, if you need help finding anything, just let me know."

Spinning on his heels, Fletcher flashed his big grin for the clerk, "Actually, would you—"

"It's alright, Fletcher," Russell grabbed his younger brother by the overall strap and pulled him along the racks lined up beneath the window, finally calling out, "thank you, Sir!"

"Brother…" the younger sibling whined in protest, straightening his clothes, "why don't we just ask him if this street is around here?"

The smirk ever-present, Russell waved his hand in dismissal, "You weren't listening, I said all I need…" beside the newspaper and magazine racks, the two boys stopped and the elder brother's finger skimmed over a section of folded maps, "is a residential map."

"But if the man knows, then don't waste the money!"

Russell's hand came down upon his younger sibling's scruffy hair and messed it up even more, "We won't trouble the man, don't worry," he quickly snatched up what he'd been searching for from the rack, "I have everything under control, have faith in your big brother."

Fletcher's face twisted with doubt, looking disapprovingly at him as he sauntered back to the counter, "Your head is getting bigger again…"

"What?" Russell blinked back over his shoulder.

"Nothing," the younger sibling finally trotted after the other, standing silent by his elder brother's side as the young man carried on some variety of small talk that did not peak his interest. Finally paying for their new map, Russell tugged on his brother's overalls once more and the little boy meandered after his brother, holding onto the door handle of the shop long enough that it didn't slam behind them.

By the time Fletcher looked up at his brother again, the young man had the map unfolded in front of his face and all the younger sibling could do was frown.

"Brother…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what street we're on?"

Scowling, Russell lowered the map from his line of sight and looked up at the intersection signs, "Yep."

"Do you know where that is on the map?"

"Of course I do!"

The younger brother's hands came down on his sides, "Can you show me?"

Narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his nose, Russell stared back down at his little brother, "You think I don't know where we are…"

All Russell received for a response this time was the innocent gaze of a suddenly sweet looking sibling.

"Fine. I'll show you where we are!" snapping the map wide in front of his face, Russell found himself quickly scouring the mess of streets and avenues scattered over the map. His interrogation of the lines ceased when he heard the snap on his shoulder bag release and Russell quickly looked down to see his conniving little brother take the envelope from his pouch.

"Fletcher!"

"Be right back!" and the boy moved through the store's door before his brother could grab hold of him. Quickly following, Russell tried to catch Fletcher before he vanished behind the door, only to recall the broken hydraulics on the shop entrance as he walked into a closed door that had slammed in his face.

Taking a sharp, deep breath, Russell threw the door open again to see his little brother standing upon his tip toes at the shop counter. The shopkeeper looked up from Fletcher for a moment to the annoyed expression the elder brother wore before the other sibling's voice asked for his attention once more.

"We're looking for that address and we don't know how to get there."

Pushing the bridge of his glasses against his nose, the elder clerk eyed it, "… Isn't this Mrs. Hughes and little Elysia's place? That's not too far from here at all."

Russell's sigh of surrender to his little brother prevented Fletcher from ever considering any sort of 'I told you so' response.

Taking the pen out from behind his ear, the clerk gave Russell a curious look as he placed it down upon the counter, "You know, Mrs. Hughes and her daughter came in here to pick up milk this morning and I don't recall her mentioning that she was expecting visitors."

"Yeah…" Russell strummed his fingers on the counter, "she doesn't know we're coming."

"It's a surprise," Fletcher piped as he tucked the address Izumi had given them into the same sacred spot in his overalls that another important document had once been hidden.

"Hohenheim!"

Standing amidst the activity at the landing docks, the generally straight posture Ed had maintained broke down at the echo of the voice, "You've got to be kidding…"

"My Lord, Hohenheim, do you look fit as ever!"

"Charles! You shouldn't have stuck around," Hohenheim's voice scolded playfully.

"We're four hours late…" Ed's expression fell flat as he rolled his eyes away, "and he's still here?"

Amidst the chaos of reunions and disorganized redistribution of luggage, the Elric and Rockbell contingent was lucky enough to be among the first to have their baggage returned to them. Such a prize meant they were also among the first to claim the warmest location along the riverside, sheltered from the tiring wind at the side of a building. There was no point going inside, it was far too crowded and their baggage would be far too cumbersome to deal with in a cramped, densely populated area.

However, they had only been on dry land no more than 20 minutes before the all too familiar voice had rang out.

Shifting her eyes between the laughing reunion and Edward's disgusted expression, Winry found herself poking Ed's shoulder, "Who's that?"

"The guy we're staying with," he snorted out, "friend of my dad's."

Put off by the lack of care in his voice, Winry adjusted her jacket as she looked back to a far more pleasant pair of acquaintances, "Everyone is a friend of your dad's and no one's a friend of you."

The comment didn't seem to faze Ed who continued looking off into the crowds of people mulling around them.

"Edward!"

That call, however, did faze him and Edward's hand twitched around the bar of his crutch. Letting the annoyance slide from his expression, Ed turned towards the man with the blankest expression he could conjure up.

"My goodness, you are a ray of sunshine in our lives, aren't you?" the man deliberately toyed with Ed, two strong hands landing on what remained of Ed's shoulders, "Hohenheim, your son has lost so much of that childish look he use to have about him. He's growing up with a strong and angry jaw line."

"I know," Hohenheim gave a crooked smirk.

Patting his hands firmly over Ed's stiff shoulders, Charles Wilson took a step back from him, "Have you forgotten your manners or has English become too much of a foreign language for you?"

"You want me to say hello?" Ed muttered flatly, rolling his eyes, "'long time no see'… or something?"

"Something like that would be quite fitting, actually."

"Hello Doctor Wilson," he spoke even stiffer than how he'd composed his previous statement, "long time, no see."

Hohenheim's scolding tone lashed out, "Edward Elric…"

"What?" His eyes narrowed fiercely, his voice snapping the reaction onto his father for the use of his name in such a way.

"Ed!" Winry's hand ended the escapade before it developed further; slapping him across the back of his head and defiantly challenging his ferocity, "grow up!"

Defying the rising frustration swelling around Ed as he shot a glare back at Winry, Charles gave a few strong taps of his finger beneath Ed's chin before stepping back with a grin, "I hope you didn't sound so pained when you were re-acquainted with the lovely young lady next to you."

Ed scoffed, wiggling his jaw, "Hardly."

Winry giggled at the man's provocation of Edward as Mr. Wilson placed himself in front of her, "I believe Hohenheim told me your name was Wendy Rockbell."

She blinked, the grin falling away as he addressed her, "No, it's Winry."

"Winry?" Dr. Wilson raised an eyebrow, a mused grin crossing his face, "That's a very unique name."

Pausing, Winry looked up at him through narrowed, curious eyes; 'Wendy' was a far weirder name than hers, "It's Norwegian."

Ed's hand slapped over his face and Hohenheim's stroked his beard as Winry glared over to the two as they seemed to twitch in place. Both men wished the time between Winry's sarcastic quip and Mr. Wilson's eventual reply hadn't lasted so long.

"Well," his response was choked out through a grin, "it's a fine name none the less."

"It's mid-afternoon Charles, and I don't think anyone's had lunch yet," deciding formalities were finished and the topic needed a change, Hohenheim lead the conversation in a new direction, "shall we head out before clogging up your flat?"

Dr. Wilson was more than eager to accept the idea, "Sounds splendid. With that kind of a delay you must be hungry."

Bending down to pick up the luggage at her feet, Winry blinked as the doctor snatched her bags from her finger tips. The only bag he could not take from her grasp was the case that proudly housed Edward's replacement leg, giving a silent refusal by holding the case behind her back as the men continued their conversation. She took a glance over to Ed before following the men street side in search of a ride; again, the look in his eyes clearly said that Edward had drifted years away from where he stood. With a tug on his sleeve, he returned to the world he existed in and slowly followed alongside Winry.

"We should only have something light though," Hohenheim nodded in thought as his feet brushed over the street beneath his feet, suddenly reminded of a conversation he'd carried on days ago "I spoke with Thomas before leaving Brussels-"

Charles lit up at the mention of the Hyland family, "Oh that's right, he mentioned that!"

"…I told them I expected to be in on Thursday and suggested we meet before dinner at five. It's almost three now."

Glancing back, Dr. Wilson cast a cautious eye upon Edward, watching for a reaction in his deadened expression, "I spoke with Thomas earlier today; he suggested that everyone rendezvous near the bridge in the park near their old house. You can see the palace in the distance from a few spots, Winry might be interested in seeing it."

"She might be interested," Hohenheim cast his attention over his shoulder. The demeanor he kept up with his companion fell away as he watched the stragglers make their way behind them. The father finally stopped to allow the trailers a chance to catch up.

"Apparently, Margaret has been going on and on about Edward, and it's all Thomas' fault too," Dr. Wilson made sure that he had Hohenheim's full attention before continuing, "The pretty thing can't wait to meet him," Charles' grin grew delightfully crooked at the thought, hoping to return to the far more pleasant feeling that had been around his friend moments ago, "your boy will grin from ear to ear, she's a beautiful charm."

"I bet she's growing up to look like her mother" Hohenheim pushed a grin into his cheeks.

A laugh accompanied Charles' nod, "She has her father's personality and her mother's eyes."

Almost an hour had passed since four new bodies had stepped into the Ross cabin.

Nearly half an hour had passed since their first meal all day had finished.

Fifteen minutes had passed since the contents of Brigitte's wallet had been handed to Mustang.

Ten ticks of the minute hand had passed since Maria had taken them into her father's study.

An old, aging study was part of the back corner of the Ross cabin and the sunlight burned into it through the shield of closed drapes. Pushed against the wall, a writing desk showed deteriorating signs of its age as the wood rotted away. The dip calligraphy pen sat in a silver holder at the side of the desk, precariously challenging gravity, supported by the strength of dried black ink that glued it in place.

But that table wasn't to be touched; unfolded in the center of the room was an old card table, decorated with irremovable crayon and finger paint. By Maria's hand, fifteen years worth of dust-sealant on the table's surface had finally been swept aside.

Seven minutes had passed since Maria distributed three pictures of the Thule hall that Havoc had been able to develop from the nearly ruined roll of film in Brigitte's camera.

Once, children had hovered over this table, enthralled by the mystery of a story etched into the pages of a bound novel. The decorative colours upon the table may have dulled over time, but the scratched surface once again held a riveting mystery.

A minute, give or take a boisterous tick from the unstoppable seconds hand, had passed since Alphonse stood amongst four other adults and a mystery child looking into eyes from another side of the world.

Frozen in another time.

An existence portrayed in monotone; a life without colour.

It left silence so thick you could grasp it.

The stern, steadfast expression the two most senior officers had carried themselves with had cracked. Now they stood looking down upon an image which threw reasonable thought around the room in a tantrum. Maria took in a startled breath as Alphonse stirred the unease. She, as did the others, watched as the young Elric dashed out of the room without a word. Turning out the doorway, the boy's bare feet slipped on the wooden floor planks, and though he floundered, he refused to drop a knee to the ground.

There was an explosion to suppress and his hands clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles had turned white. Yet, delicately slipped between those fingers, the white back of a photograph flashed back at those watching his departure.

The sound of his feet pounding through the cabin echoed for all to hear. The sudden frustrated scream Alphonse let out when he couldn't find what he'd rushed to find resonated even louder.

Izumi stepped away from the group, taking a burden of knowledge with her.

Al's hands shook. He couldn't pick which emotion was causing it; perhaps it was the combination of them all. He fought with the lock on the patio door until it clicked and the latch released. Not wasting a moment, the door was thrown open and Alphonse tore out the door, ignoring the sting of boiling ground beneath his feet.

"Brigitte!"

He'd moved so fast he suddenly found himself in the sand; Alphonse spun his feet deep into the fine white grains, squinting tightly as he tried to see through the sun's hot white noise. Looking back into the towering green life that surrounded the houses, his eyes widened as a pair of white legs dropped from one of the lower branches. No attention was given to Brigitte's annoyed reaction for disturbing her from the coolest place in the area. Her voice was background noise in Al's ears, as was the sound of his breathing and racing of his heart.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the girl nearly jumped back in surprise at the force Alphonse approached her with, stiffening in concern as he grabbed her arm. Wide eyed, without a word in her vocabulary she could use to question him, Brigitte watched as Alphonse hunched over, his head bowed as he tried to slow the race in his head and gather his breath.

"You…"

The displaced girl's brow rose; waiting for a question. Her attention momentarily flickered over to the patio door as Izumi's sandals touched the ground.

Again Alphonse startled her, grabbing and opening her hand. Into her palm Alphonse placed the image he'd take away from the sights of the others.

"You need to tell me if you know who that is."

A blank expression was all Brigitte could respond with, looking back in confusion at an image she'd taken months ago. Carefully taking the image in both hands at its corners, Brigitte's attention slid back and forth between the desperation in Alphonse's eyes and the quiet approach of Izumi.

"Ms. Ross said that these are yours. The officers in Central think that your camera took this picture…"

Brigitte pulled away from Alphonse, slipping the white border of the picture carefully into her fingertips as to not touch the image surface. Al's behaviour was startling and she could not understand where his panic came from. She wondered if he was pale from the reflection of the sun, or if he was honestly that out of sorts. Again she looked over to Izumi who'd stopped before getting to them; the alchemy teacher's left hand cupped the elbow of the right hand covering her mouth. The look in her eyes made the young adolescent want to run into the sanctuary of the surrounding bush. Izumi's eyes dissected her; the look was invasive, intrusive and frightened her without an understood cause. Standing back at the door, the officers now looked on; searching with their own eyes and ears for the same things that Izumi wanted to know.

"Brigitte…"

Again she looked back at Alphonse; she gave preference to his rising tone over the crushing look placed upon her by the others.

"Please," Al's hands brushed over his face and swept through his hair as he straightened his posture, "you need to find some way to tell me if you know who that is."

"Alphonse," Izumi's quiet voice interrupted, "she doesn't understand what—"

The sudden wide, grey eyes Alphonse dawned pushed his sensei back into silence. At his chest, Alphonse gripped at his shirt. Jaw tightening, he stripped the panic from his voice and addressed Brigitte once again, "I told you my name was Alphonse. Alphonse Elric."

"Oh?" Brigitte's concern dropped as quickly as Al's had. The light of realization that fuelled Alphonse was not the same one that suddenly made the lost child's heart race. With the flick of her wrist she slipped the picture between her index and middle fingers and held it between them.

"Your last name is Elric? This is Edward Elric."

There had never been a hint of doubt in his mind that the foolish look of surprise in that black and white image belonged to his brother. The enunciation of his brother's name by a wayward girl's voice was nearly deafening. The sudden release of tension nearly overwhelmed Alphonse; it was refreshing, relieving and utterly weightless. All the air he gasped for earlier flooded into his chest with ease. The dizzying feeling was astoundingly delightful.

"Are you related to him?"

Brigitte blinked as Izumi delicately took the image from the girl's grasp, "Edward Elric…"

"Do you know him? Can you call him?" she tilted her head up to try and catch the distant gaze in Izumi's eyes. Every syllable she spoke brought more unease to the sound of her voice, "Does he know I'm here? Can you tell him to call my Mother?"

Lurking back at the sidelines, watching the scene unfold, the three officers gave a subtle exchange of glances. Mustang was the first to move from their initial stances, adjusting his eye patch before releasing a slow exhale. Finally, his arms folded firmly across his chest and a striking look of discontentment crossed over his face.

Slowly shifting away from the wall, Hawkeye's fingertips rested gently on her chin as she looked on in thought, "He looks so much older in that picture…"

Mustang didn't glance over to his right hand officer, opting for the continual grind of his jaw as he weighed the information in his head, "That picture can't be more than 6 months old…"

Maria leaned against the doorframe, her gaze soft as she looked to her superiors, "But he looked like..."

"I know what it looks like, Lieutenant," Roy's focus fell over Brigitte as the girl waded through an unanswerable mess of confusion, "and I have no doubt that's why that child is here with us and not in Central."

Interrupting the train of thought was a voice, though it was not so much what was said, but the manner in which it was spoken. The exuberance, excitement, relief, and delight poured out through the restraints that tried to maintain the maturity of those surrounding him.

"Sensei, my brother's alive somewhere!"

Wherever that somewhere was seemed irrelevant. Firmly in his hand, Alphonse held the picture; the visual representation of everything he wanted to have back.

There had never been any mention of that doubt before; the question of the elder Elric's existence was nonnegotiable in Alphonse's mind: somehow, somewhere, existing within the Gate was Edward Elric. If Alphonse's body had existed that way for five years, no doubt his brother's could find a spot within the Gate. But this was different; this showed not only existence, but hints of life. Parts of the 'some'-such questions no longer lingered with a multitude of possibilities.

'Why' suddenly became an ugly foe.

Izumi watched as the young Elric held his prize proudly, beaming with the radiance of the sun he now challenged. The flood sweeping around him couldn't help but make the teacher laugh. She stood along side the most foolish of pupils.

'Why' would be a demon they could face another day.

It was an odd expression that crossed Ed's face and, for the life of her, Winry couldn't figure out what he was giving such an inquisitive inspection of. They'd been early, because Hohenheim didn't want them to be late, and found themselves wandering the park for twenty minutes. Finally, Ed gave up on what he called 'pointless wandering' and sat down upon a wooden bench at the side of a path. Thankfully, the wind had died down, though it swirled into their faces every so often to remind them that shades of winter had blown in with the morning's storm. Despite the much calmer afternoon, the pair had barely found a soul in the vicinity and Winry soon proclaimed the elements had scared away all the 'sane people'.

And now, she found herself shifting on the park bench, watching as Ed's hand hovered over the handle of his crutch. There were only trees for him to see; trees engulfed at their bases by the entire brown fullness that had once hung dead on the branches. Both agreed it must have been a lovely fall scenery days before the wind had charged in and pushed autumn closer to winter.

"Ed?"

"Oh…" he sat back, slapping his hand down onto his thigh.

Winry's eyes darted around to see if she'd missed something, "Um, Ed?"

"Hm?" a childish look of curiosity greeted Winry as he turned to face her, leaving her far too perplexed to ask too much.

"… What are you looking at?"

"Oh," he turned away, pointing a bare finger out towards the barren skeletons of the trees that continued to be accosted by an intermittent wind, "the groundskeepers cut off the lower branches on those trees. I wasn't sure if we were in the right spot, but I guess they were trimmed."

There was a strange sound to his voice; it was so lost in thought that he sounded aloof. Winry definitely approved of this detached sense of nostalgia, even if exhaustion continually radiated off of him. She'd picked up his gaze dancing through the city as they made their way around in the afternoon; where ever his mind wandered that afternoon managed to drown out the aggression that Dr. Wilson had been toying with when they arrived in England.

"Really?" Winry rubbed her mittens together hoping for some extra warmth to her fingertips, "Say, we're supposed to meet that family for dinner but the sun's setting and it's cold. Shouldn't we go find your dad and find out what's going on?"

Without an initial answer, Ed cast his gaze over his shoulder, looking back down the path from which they'd walked before. Winry's attention rested upon Ed as he came to face forward once more, "Nope, here's fine."

Winry ruffled up beneath her jacket, "Ed, quit being such a s-"

"Uncle Edderd!"

"Eh?" Winry's face blanked, only catching the flash of an impish, dusty, light blue coat flop over the bench on the other side of Ed. Two stubby legs dangled out from the jacket, decorated with tiny black boots and white stockings.

"Edderd?" attempting to peer around Ed to catch a glimpse of something more, Winry couldn't help but giggle at the squeaking voice.

Hunching over, Ed dipped and turned his head to catch a better glimpse of the companion that was suddenly at his side. With the same alienated tone he'd been using with Winry, Ed gave an awkward smirk for her, "And I bet you're Margaret?"

"Yes!" a bundled child glowed back up at him; stringy, brown hair leaked out from beneath her hat and framed a pudgy, rosy face. A childish lisp came from her lips as the chirpy two-year-old plunked herself squarely on the bench, "Daddy says you are Uncle Edderd."

Winry lifted her head higher, watching Edward sweep his left hand beneath the child's knee length jacket and pull her onto the bench.

"You're not a monkey Margaret, sit properly like a young lady."

"Mummy says so too!"

It was most likely the most un-Edward like thing he could have said and the most outrageous sign of the type of corruption society had spent 5 years pounding him with. Winry found it unsettling and somehow amusing to hear him lecture a child; the unease created by his voice was pushed aside as Winry mused over the child's term.

"You're her 'Uncle Edderd'?" she teased, giving his jacket sleeve a tug.

The pads of the soft mittens slapped down over her legs, "Uncle Edderd!"

"I guess," Ed wrapped his arm around the bundle of child and swept her onto his lap, "Margaret, my name is Edward."

"Uh-huh, I said Edderd."

Winry tightened her cheeks to prevent her giggles from escaping as Ed let the comment sit with a lengthy pause.

"…And this is my friend, Winry."

Scrambling up from Ed's lap, little Margaret came to her feet upon the bench and came to stand at Winry's shoulder. The child's hair fell into her face without care and a set of silver eyes looked into Winry's.

"Hi!"

The sudden tremble that shot into Winry's hand quivered as she slowly brought the hand over her mouth. It was a horrid, ghastly sight to look at. She gazed into a set of eyes she was so certain she knew perfectly well, revitalized with an infusion of youth and innocence.

"Ed…" all Winry's voice could do was tremble in response, "she's…"

His left hand came down to wiggle the toque upon the child's head, "She's Margaret."

"Yes!" the child chirped.

Slowly straightening her posture, Winry's gaze never left the child. A sinking, disgusting feeling turned her stomach as she pulled a glove off and cupped her warm hand around the frame of the child's jaw, "Ed… she has Al's eyes… I'm staring back into Al's eyes…"

"That's why I figured she was Margaret…" Ed's attention turned over his shoulder again. A crowd stood down the path to watch the scene unfold. From within the group of four observers, two arms rose with a wave for the child and two young adults upon the bench.

"Mummy! Daddy! This is Uncle Edderd and Winny! They're here!"

Slowly Winry swallowed and turned to see the formation of individuals that had gathered down the path. The crowd spun her stomach; the sight behind her turned it so hard that she was certain she'd be sick if she moved too fast. And then there was Edward's voice again, echoing with the remnants of an old, painful memory. It was a perfect couple, the parents of the child standing at each other's side. The mother's arm was wrapped around the father's arm, grinning with a delight that existed around them, and them only.

"You know, when I left England, I didn't tell them I wasn't planning on coming back. I didn't really tell anyone except my dad where I was going. I brought up alchemy to Thomas a few times and he thought I was crazy. Patti said that people were wary of that kind of 'witchcraft'. But if I wanted to get home, I didn't think staying in England was going to get me anywhere, so I left."

In the back of her mind, lingering behind the disturbing confusion rested the thought that Edward had done similar things before. He'd tried to leave his past behind, start anew and create a new life to live. Backtracking was not something he was very adept at doing.

"How is this even…" Winry's eyes returned to Margaret as the little child waved to the crowd. Her fingers stiffly interlaced, elbows locked, and shoulders stiffened as she pushed her hands into her lap. So many questions had to be asked and there was so much she wanted to know. Winry quietly wondered which was the harder of the two tasks: gathering the courage to ask Ed the questions, or being in his shoes and having to answer them.

"How old is…?"

"Twenty six, I think."

Winry let the bizarre information settle in her head. Someone was driving a skewer into her skull and the perk Ed forced into his voice was the metal rod, "That's five years older than you. How's that possible?"

Margaret caught the pair's attention once again as she began bouncing on the bench. Ed's arm reached up and took her by the waist once more, pulling her off her feet until she settled down.

"On the train out here, Dad and I told you we theorized there were all types of people from home mirrored on this side of the Gate. Even so, time and lifelines between this side of the Gate and home are not in sync. There was another me on this side of the Gate, but not only did he have different parents, he had a different birth date as well; he was a year younger. When I came through the Gate originally, I was 16. I was matched up in the time frame where that Edward was also 16, it just happened to be a year later than it was back home. When I came back over a second time, the Gate dumped me within the last known timeframe the other 'me' had existed. A similar thing happened with my dad."

"What about me…?"

"I'm certain that the baby you talked about and Dante did something to throw things out of order," Ed's nose curled a bit at the thought.

Once again, Winry looked back at the group of adults, allowing the scene to do nothing but crush down on her soul. The story she'd been given on the train was a headache worthy explanation, and Winry's hands came to her mouth again as Ed spoke up once more.

"Everyone's existence on this side of the Gate is independent of the restraints found on the other side. The Winry on this side of the Gate might actually live in Norway, but right now she maybe ten, twenty or even thirty years old."

Slowly she nodded as the information digested once again, "Because the lives of the people on this side aren't affected by the events in the lives of their other selves…"

"And vice versa," Ed pulled Margaret's hands away from her mouth as the child chewed on them, "people would be dying left, right and center back home if their lives were dependent. On this side of the Gate, people sit on death's doorstep and make frequent visits."

The little child lifted her free arms into Edward's face; he leaned his head away as she padded her hands over his nose. The child giggled as she pointed to his forehead, "Uncle Edderd's hair goes up."

"Margaret! Come here for a minute!" It was a gentle voice that called out, full of unmistakable warmth.

The voice brought Winry's hands clawing up to her ears as Edward placed the child down onto her feet, "I'm so sorry I wanted you to bring me here…"

"This is my dad's idea, not yours," with the child out of earshot, the resentment flooded into his low voice, "I don't know what the hell he's been thinking lately."

The footsteps of a lovely voice in a perfect body approached. The steps ended long before reaching the bench as the little girl jumped into her mother's arms.

"Margaret-love, why don't you ask Edward and his friend," the voice swept by their ears, a softness that infiltrated the harsh fall breeze, "if they'd turn around…"

"I'm so sorry…" Winry's hands cupped over her mouth. Her eyes flickered to Ed as he shook his head, rocking his jaw before finally straightening his back. How it must have hurt.

"… so I can have a picture of you three?"

"You know Winry, Al inherited Mom's eyes…" Edward turned the heavy gaze over his shoulder, looking into the delighted expressions of a woman and her daughter.

"The colour is a lot like Al's, but I think Margaret's eyes look more like my mom's."

Long and slender arms wrapped around the child trying to escape her mother's care. The woman kneeled; the oval eyes looking back at Edward were not a gentle green, but a brown to match the shades in her hair. She tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. There were no lengths of flowing hair, rather soft waves of brown hair, just a shade or two off dancing around her shoulder. The nippy breeze was trying to brush enough pink into her cheeks so that they'd come to match today's chosen shade of lipstick. Those lips quickly pursed, concealing that voice and subduing any more of her smile.

The differences were not enough, the moment he'd met this woman Edward was slapped in the face by how she carried his mother's poise. The way she moved, her gentle posturing, style of speech and tone of voice was something he had desperately struggled to differentiate.

How dare you.

Her expression softened, as did Ed's. The corners of his mouth came to curl, and he turned forwards again upon hearing the scampering of feet patter towards him.

Vigorously, nervously, Winry's hands rubbed over her knees; holding Edward in the corner of her eye, "What's her name?"

"Patricia."

"Ed no…"

"We call her Patti. She's Thomas's wife."

"Uncle Edderd!"

Ed straightened his back, not immediately responding to the hail, "She's really nice, actually," spoken as though he carried the hope she would, "she makes a great roast, one of the few things around here that doesn't taste like cardboard."

"Uncle Edderd?" the mitt-covered hand came to tug on his sleeve.

Edward Elric spun around on the old, wooden bench. Tilting his head with feigned amusement, he took the only hand at his disposal, reached out and placed it down upon the top of the child's winter hat, "what is it?"

"Smile for Mummy!" was the chirp he received.

Ed's eyes moved over to Winry, the drained gaze watching as she slowly turned herself around as well. He did not aid the child as she crawled up onto the bench and placed herself proudly between the two people who were never meant to be a part of this picture.

"Winry…"

Her feet swept aside the crusty brown leaves scattered at her feet; scattered everywhere. The leaves covered the ground as far as the eye could see, ripped from their place in the sky, drained of their lives, and left for dead in a withering state.

Winry had yet to look over.

"Smile for her."

How fate had the audacity to play such a cruel joke on everyone was something Winry could only wonder.

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes:

This chapter was originally posted at http / www . livejournal users / yuuki / 97342 . html

Unexpectedly I was hit by the art bug one random Friday night and so the original livejournal post contains the accompanying art (since I can't put it here). I will ride this art thing as long as it wants to happen, my mind's willingness to draw likes to take extended vacations without me.

On the idea of AU!Trisha... I promised someone (I'm at a loss for whom) that I wouldn't do that because it was cruel. Yes, well... I changed my mind!

I hope what Ed was talking about regarding the life lines on either side of the Gate makes sense if any clarification is needed, please let me know.

Hug a plot bunny, leave a review :D