He Who Searches for Himself

Chapter foreword: I have a few dual-language sections with both English and German. For those sections, German dialogue will be done in italics and English will remain regular font. Enjoy!

Chapter 81 – The Dual Tandem

"Pretty, isn't she?" Tilly beamed and presented Winry to the room. Circling around her living and breathing dress-up doll, the German woman gushed, "You must have fed her well in England, I think she's blooming nicely like a girl her age ought to, I even needed to adjust her corset. No one's stitching anything proper for girls now-a-days, makes it hard to find something that fits her nicely. For some reason, clothiers are under the impression that we're actually straight and flat as bean stalks."

Winry shifted awkwardly in place, adjusting the green, sleeveless, hip-frilled, calf-frillier dress at it's belt. She shot an uncomfortable look to Edward on the floor; his eye twitched as he put his chin and disapproving gaze down on the coffee table.

"God forbid you ever have any daughters," Hermann tipped his water glass in approval of Winry, "she's lovely."

Readjusting what Winry had just tampered with, and giving the girl's wound up hair a pat for good measure, Tilly ushered her prized creation over to the sofa and sat her down. The German woman continued to glow as she picked at the little flowered decorations she'd woven into Winry's hair and sat on the cushion next to her, "Christmas parties are always fun, everyone's dressed up so nicely! Who's she going with again?"

"Albrecht Haushofer," Ed replied flatly.

Hermann laughed at the dead response, "Ah! The little troll you don't like," jovially, he poked the taciturn Elric next to him, "And how come you aren't taking Winry? Are you still getting over something?"

"Huh? 'Still'?" Ed's brow rose at the question, losing the monotone disapproval he'd been using all day, "When Hoff asked me, I'd said I wasn't interested."

Shrugging, the elder of the two men took another drink from his glass, "You've sounded a little off since getting back, so I thought you'd been ill." Hermann paused a moment before calling on Mathilde for clarification, "Wife, does Edward sound off to you?"

The woman's reply was bitterly sweet, "He sounds off all the time, Husband."

"Oh, shut up, you," Ed snarled as the woman whipped a grin into her face.

Snapping her fingers, Tilly wiggled her way back to her feet and gave a sensual grin to the two men on the floor, "I think it's high time we taste tested some of that absolutely lovely French wine Edward came back with! I will be right back."

"I'm beginning to suspect that wine is all she came here for," Hermann clunked his head down into his hand.

Watching her fly away, Ed's chin returned to the table top, bitter and despondent.

"Stop doing that!" Winry snapped suddenly, emerging from her silence, "You're such an ass. Get over it!"

"He's a troll, Winry,"each syllable of the descriptive term precisely emphasized through Ed's sour face, "I'll put a week's pay down that Albrecht's hand'll go on an adventure the moment he sees an opening, and then I'm going to hear about it for the rest of my life!"

Winry's response was abrupt, "I'll punch him in the face if he does."

Ed paused for a moment to consider that, figuring it might actually be a true statement, before taking a more challenging tone with her, "You know, I didn't realize machine freaks mingled with the upper class."

"Oh shut up, you're a science nerd… an alchemy geek! At least I can functionally interact with society," Winry began to fray around the edges for the third time that day.

The wrinkle across Ed's nose worsened, "He kissed your hand. Normal, 'functioning' people don't say yes to a date just because their hand gets kissed."

With a deep and embarrassed sigh, having more or less accidentally agreed to go to the party with him when he'd done that, Winry ran her gaze up and traced it along the ridge of her eyebrows, "He and his family were really nice to me when they had to take care of me for that night where you had that… arm… thing…" her voice inadvertently trailed off, trying not to remember how Ed's mechanical arm had been unceremoniously taken off of him. She mentally shuddered at the thought. "I owe him tonight as a thank you, I guess. You keep telling me to be more lady-like, so this is me being proper and effeminate."

"Yeah, until he grabs your ass and sees you're crazy, because you put a hole in his skull with that wrench you stashed in your purse."

"YOU threatened to skin him alive when he asked me!"

"No, I said I'd feed his rotting corpse to the birds in the desert. That's different."

The argument was silenced when Hohenheim emerged from his adjacent study, sharply dressed in a black tuxedo, freshly polished shoes, and white bow-tie.

"WHAT?" Edward blurted, gawking at his father, "where the hell are you going?"

The father grinned before responding to his son, "I'm Winry's chaperone to the party tonight."

Choking out a laugh he hadn't expected to make, Ed's hand slapped down over his thigh, "HAH! That's priceless!" a sly grin crawled across his face as he looked to Winry and teased, "You and Albrecht are being chaperoned by my dad!"

"Yes," Winry glared back at him, unimpressed by the giddy response, "It's not like I have a dad to fuss over me. It's kind of… novel."

Ed rolled his eyes deviously. He put his elbow on the table and dropped his chin into the palm of his hand as he teased, "Uh-huh. Did he give you a curfew, too?"

There was a line Winry had drawn and Ed was walking it like a wobbly toddler. Since she kind of liked the lamp, and there wasn't anything else around in the room that she could clock him with, and the wrench was already in her purse, Winry opted for a different approach. Folding her arms, Winry used her tongue, "Ed, when was the last time you went out on a date?"

Ed's portion of the conversation came to an abrupt end. With his chin still in his hand, the grin Ed had worn shrivelled up and his eyes shot to the other side of the room as he remained unresponsive to the question.

Grinning hotly, Winry crossed one leg over the other and carefully enunciated her words as she recaptured Ed's attention, "Uh-huh, and the score is: Winry – 1; Ed – 0."

Hermann's fascinated eyes shifted between the two parties that were now glaring bullets at each other, "… I really should have paid more attention in English class."

"Oh God, this house…" shaking his head and giving a heavy clap of his hands, Hohenheim broke up the raging staring contest as he stepped into the path of the now silent war of words. He gave a serious look to his son, "Edward, you and I need to have a talk tomorrow, so don't make yourself dysfunctional with the wine."

"Whatever," Ed turned his attention to the corner of the room as his father offered a hand to help Winry to her feet.

With Winry focusing her disgusted gaze on one half of the room and Edward holding his miserable look to the other, Hohenheim escorted her from the room, passing Mathilde as she re-emerged with a bottle under her arm and an array of wine glasses woven through her fingers.

"Have fun, you two!" she called to the exiting pair.

Hermann's face twisted a bit as his wife placed her collection of wares down, "Good Lord, woman."

"It's all for a good evening," she grinned, sitting down. She redirected her attention to Edward as she sorted the arrangement, "Well, aren't you a never-ending bundle of joy, Mister Sunshine. What did I miss?"

"Nothing," grunting, Ed shifted around and graced the room with his full attention again as the woman began to distribute the glassware, "start pouring, Tilly."

Izumi wasn't used to hearing her name spoken in that voice, or with that odd accent. She would have considered it a figment of her imagination, if there weren't two hands holding tight over her arm, shaking the bed, trying to wake her.

Oh, if only she could mentally strangle people who woke her from her sleep.

Izumi turned over in bed, opening a tired eye in the direction of the intrusion. Brigitte looked back at her. It was always startling to see this girl and the look on her face. She had a foreign face that always looked lost in thought, confused and estranged, frightened and uncertain. Strangely enough, the girl had an undertone in her that was strong enough that she never seemed entirely devoured by those hauntings. But, this time the look the girl gave her in the middle of this Amestris night was different than all the others – she looked into Izumi's face with poignant determination and a tight strain of concern. Without hesitation, the teacher sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"Alphonse," was her answer. It would have been her answer no matter what the question had been.

There was a sinking feeling Izumi tried to keep afloat: the language barrier. They had practice working through it, but it was like a frustrating brainteaser without an answer key, especially when the information was something they really wanted from her. Izumi took a deep breath to calm her thoughts. Alphonse's name was the message, that much the woman could determine, but whether or not it was the answer to Izumi's question remained unknown.

"What's wrong with Alphonse?" asking the girl futile questions in a language she barely understood was becoming a bad habit, "show me."

In the dead of night, Izumi slipped from her bed. Brigitte backed up as the woman stood, and Izumi watched as she moved towards the door. The teacher followed cautiously, an air of concern floating around the child.

"Show me."

'Show me' was a word established in the charades they played. The party was never entirely sure if Brigitte actually understood the translation of the words, but girl from beyond the Gate had demonstrated that she understood that when the words 'show me' were spoken, that an example, a picture, an item, an explanation of some sort had to be presented. So, with the recognized prompt, the girl lead, taking Izumi's hand in hers, and pulling her down the dimmed hallway.

There were more than enough rooms on the floor for every person to have their own suite, but Alphonse had asked Izumi if he could room with Brigitte that night. He'd been all smiles and grins about the concept, but his motive was never entirely clear. He'd made some offhand statement about a game they were playing. Izumi dismissed the entire thing as inconsequential, since Al seemed rather aloof to his own request.

It was innocent enough. It was childish enough. It was Alphonse.

Standing in the doorway of the room the boy had requested, Izumi looked into a suite that was vacant. She looked around, not certain if she was even supposed to make anything out of the state of things she witnessed. Neither bed was made, so the room looked slept in, but no breathing body occupied the room. If Brigitte was with her, then where was Al? The bathroom? The teacher had considered doing a mental canvas of places within the building, but then why would Brigitte have brought the young Elric to her attention. Something wasn't right.

Brigitte suddenly ran deep into the room. Her hands came crashing down on the metallic window frame and she threw open the curtains, freeing a path for the moonlight to enter.

"Alphonse!" she pointed to the window.

Izumi's eyes looked at the girl a moment before she canvassed the room again. A sick concern hit her as she took in more of the scene. A kidnapping? Alphonse's hoody was gone. His bag was gone. At the point she realized his shoes were gone, her concern shifted. A hurried kidnapper wouldn't make someone put on their shoes and coat, something like that would have given an alchemist like Alphonse too much time to fight back… and then there was Brigitte, who was a witness to the scene.

"That stupid little…" Izumi's teeth clenched, her words addressing Brigitte without the expectation of reply, "did he leave through the window!"

Brigitte's shoulders sagged with uncertainty, "Ma'am, I sure hope you're mad at him for sneaking outside in the middle of the night, because he startled me something fierce when I caught him," she sighed, somewhat defeated by the language barrier, "I told him 'no, no, no' and he just told me to 'shhh' and pushed me back to the bed," She prattled on, making motions in her story like a character actor, explaining her story in the only way she could. Then at least Izumi would know there was a story, and a reason, even if she couldn't understand what it was, "There was this boy earlier. He was the nakedest boy I've ever seen, I don't think I'd be allowed to look at my own husband that naked if I ever have one. His arms and legs were machines. His hair was like an uncombed lion's mane. He jumped in and out of the window like a cat, it made Al so upset, and he's been acting funny ever since."

Izumi boiled on high. What the hell would possess Al to go out on his own in the middle of the night? Did he plan this? Was this why he asked to room with Brigitte? Her thoughts bled into her words, speaking as if to curse, "This isn't just a 'game', Alphonse Elric. What the hell do you think you are doing?" her voice raged up like low thunder tumbling in from a distance, "where the hell do you think you are GOING!" The raging teacher swung to Brigitte. The girl looked back, seemingly unfazed by the aura that flared around Izumi, "Why?"

That was another keyword. Who, what, when, where, why: they were all keywords. 'Why' was sometimes too difficult, and 'How' was too hard – too many details and too many words, but the five-Ws? Those had been simplified for Brigitte to understand.

But this request was tough, because although Brigitte understood what she was being asked, she didn't actually know why Alphonse had left. She couldn't answer the request.

Izumi sighed, reading the loss in the girl's face. Crouching down, Izumi invited Brigitte back over to the door. Taking the girls hands, Izumi calmed her own head and looked to the girl's clear blue eyes, "Tell me something. Anything. A word or something you remember. Al wouldn't run off without a reason," the teacher was more than certain about that, "he knows you can't tell me the reason, that's why he chose you tonight, because you're the best secret keeper we have. He's being very careful and when I find him I'm going to break his legs so he doesn't run off alone again, so I need your help," the woman's words were calm, calculated, oddly soothing, but deathly serious, "there's something he was afraid to tell me, or tell anyone. Something I think you might know. A where? A what? A who?"

"Wrath," Brigitte answered suddenly – she knew 'a who'; a strange, nearly-naked 'who' that hadn't been present before; that had obviously upset Alphonse's world. She wasn't certain if the name was of any use, but he'd caused the change in Al's behaviour. When Izumi's touch turned to ice and her body froze up like the Siberian tundra Brigitte had learnt about in school, the girl became very aware that the name meant something.

"Thank you," Izumi's posture, caught in a war between the flame of her rage and chill of her fears, rose up from the ground and stood firm on two legs. The woman whipped out a string of unintelligible curses, and the rage of frustration in her body threatened to melt even the toughest steel. She marched to the wall with the window Al had escaped through and, with the slap of her palms together, Izumi's hands crashed down on the wall. With a spark of the alchemy current, the teacher carved open a gaping hole into the streets below, "I know where he's going."

Brigitte's jaw fell open, her complexion draining to sheet white at the alchemy act she'd witnessed.

"Stay in the hotel, Brigitte. Don't follow me," that wasn't something Izumi realized she didn't need to concern herself with, the girl from beyond the Gate was too spellbound and frightened by what she'd seen to even think of leaving, "Go to Ms. Ross' room and sleep with her again, understand? Maria Ross."

Drenched in white panic, Brigitte backed away, watching as Izumi left through the hole in the wall. The girl's hands hastily grabbed at the bedroom door handle and pulled the room shut as she fled down the hall.

"This is Winry Rockbell," Albrecht beamed, introducing the blonde girl courtly draped over his right arm.

"Hello," Winry's pathetic German trembled even at the simplest of words. She could barely grasp salutations let alone full sentences; Ed had become her walking translator. The sound of the language scared her in the first place.

"Albrecht, where did you find such a beautiful thing?" the unknown woman gave a smile to Winry.

"She literally appeared one day, pretty like an angel," the boy, barely old enough to be called a man, tried not to grin as loudly as he would have liked, "she's a friend of a friend, I suppose. She does look lovely, doesn't she?"

Winry began to suspect that every conversation was going to go like this, since they all seemed to sound the same. The first ten, the next ten – did this guy, with his broken record introduction, know everybody? So many people packed this room full of woven greenery, candle lights, staged displays, strange ornaments, and bland food. Christmas made no sense. Music played from a few instrument players, the odd child singer would step up to make the audience swoon. The men and women all greeted her, kissed her hand, kissed her cheek, smiled at her, and asked to dance with her. Winry voluntarily gave up her right to say yes or no to dancing with anyone, delegating the responsibility to Albrecht who seemed to savour the role of allowing Winry permission to dance with anyone other than him.

She was a blonde-haired arm ornament – just as tacky as all the seasonal decorations.

Winry nursed one of the many 'somethings' that had been given to her to drink as she stood with her backside against the drink table

"Enjoying yourself?" Hohenheim asked, saddling up next to her in the sudden absence of Albrecht.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, "not like any date I ever imagined," she looked around, wondering what caught Albrecht's attention so abruptly that he actually stepped away from her, "it's like some aristocratic party in Central that you hear about on the last page of the newspaper."

"You know, you don't have to eat or drink everything handed to you," the elder man grinned, watching as she swished her drink around absently, clashing the ice cubes in the glass.

Winry tightened her lips, "I know, but I'm trying to be polite and courteous and proper and lady-like and delicate like a goddamn freakin' flower," she let go a disgusted sigh over herself, twisting her face as Albrecht came back into view, "I feel ridiculous, I think I'm wilting."

Hohenheim laughed at the assessment.

"Winry," Albrecht exclaimed, guiding her hands quickly back to his right arm, "this song is very good. Please dance to it."

His English was so heavily enunciated that Winry's right eye wanted to twitch every time he spoke, "Sure."

Winry passed a fleeting glance back at Hohenheim as she was led into the crowded dance floor. In a gallant motion, Albrecht swung her arm high, spinning Winry around to the music once, then twice, and then a third time for good measure. His fingers released her raised arm and, as Winry came around, her hands landed in the possession of someone else entirely.

"Hi," Winry blinked absently at the unknown figure.

"Good evening," this man's English was passable.

"Winry, please to introduce yourself to Adolf Hitler," Albrecht's voice was bouncy, like a child worshipping an older sibling, "he is a very good friend."

"A pleasure," he swept up Winry's right hand and kissed it, "may we dance, Miss Rockbell?" asked the man with stiff, dark hair and strong, unrelenting eyes.

"Okay," she gave in, figuring that Albrecht had actually arranged this particular dance, unlike the others where the requestor had to coax Winry away. With her right hand softly placed in this man's left palm, and her other hand resting on his shoulder, Winry moved to step in time with the body carrying an intriguing aura. Eyes seemed to change with each passing step and the gravity of the room shifted. How fascinating, Winry observed; the world was rotating around her.

No, that was wrong. She had to correct herself – it was rotating around him.

"You do not have proper hands for a woman, Miss Rockbell," were the words that came from the man she danced with, "they're too strong, not delicate enough, lack fingernails and polish. You have the hands of a working man."

Winry wasn't certain if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult, "I like to work with my hands. I'm the best mechanic you'll ever meet."

"A woman?" he laughed and shook his head, "You are too kind on the eyes for hands like this," the language from this man flowed better, but carried a far heavier accent than Albrecht's – Winry somewhat preferred that. It felt far less difficult to communicate with. "And you're nineteen? Twenty years old?"

She gave an un-lady-like snort to the suggestion, "No, I'm seventeen."

"Fascinating, usually Albrecht brings upperclassmen to engagements," his thoughts drifted through topics, "and you're the one who's been taking care of Edward Elric?"

"No, he takes care of me, actually. I'm just his, uh, prosthetics repairman… woman."

"Since he found you in the Hall, isn't that so?" the man's words continued to run without ever having felt like there'd been a beginning to the conversation – they'd hopped right into the middle of some kind of correspondence. Winry nodded to answer the question as the man took her through a few sharp steps to the music, "And what does Edward think of the array on the floor there?" he mused, spinning Miss Rockbell at the centre of the universe, "he is an alchemist in study, like his father, I understand."

Her hand came back to his shoulder, his hand to her side, and Winry lost the sound of the music in the room. It was still playing, right?

"He's impressed by it," she answered as a tantalizing string fell free in her thoughts, "do you know where it came from?"

"I made it," was the casual answer. Again, Winry spun; her lips curiously spoke 'did you?' as her dress flared out at her knees. The man she danced with qualified his statement as he took her back into a proper hold, "with help of course, I had to do my research after all. It was a combined effort between myself and colleagues; a rather hush-hush project. I've let others take credit for it. Would you like to know how I came up with such a thing?"

"I would, yes," Winry smiled, intrigued by the sudden offer, "If it's in a book or a diagram somewhere, I'd love to get a copy – to give to Ed for a birthday gift. It would make his year."

"Is his birthday soon?" he asked curiously.

Winry's smile continued to hold, stagnant and unchanging, holding as firm as the stoic smile that covered this man's face like a black veil, "Yes, in a few weeks."

The earth shook as the man with skin a tough as leather, hair as dark as night, and eyes as strong as steel opened his mouth to speak again. But words did not escape his lips. The world shuddered so hard that the earth may have cracked. No one other than Winry and he could feel the earth tremble like it did beneath two heavy feet at the moment Hohenheim's hand came down onto Winry's shoulder.

"May I cut in?" Hohenheim's words were chosen to be German.

"Of course," Adolf stepped back, his melancholy smile never waning as he began to move away.

Hohenheim offered a proper hand to Winry, "May I finish this dance, young lady?"

"Uh…" it was the dullest, most confused sound she'd made in weeks, "okay."

Taken up by Edward's father, Winry watched the force pulling at the centre of the universe walk away from them without any further acknowledgement, salutation, or show of interest.

"Winry…" Hohenheim's words trailed off, refusing to cast a glance over his shoulder in Adolf's wake, "would you do me one kind favour for the remainder of the evening? Try your best to be delicate like a flower and become a corsage on Albrecht's arm, please?"

Winry winced at the strange request, drawing up an odd mental picture in her head, but felt oddly intimidated into obliging him.

She hadn't meant to wake Maria up, but Brigitte kind of hoped it would happen. She wanted the company. The barely teenaged girl didn't know why it was more reassuring to see the worried expression on Ms. Ross' face than her sleeping one. Regardless of the why's, her conscious presence was welcomed.

With her knees drawn up, Brigitte sat on the unoccupied side of the double bed, with the pillow wrapped in her arms.

Maria, for the last half-hour, could not figure out what had the girl so bent out of shape. The worst part for the officer was that Brigitte just kept talking. The girl wouldn't eat the food she'd dug out, or drink the boxed beverages and bottled water offered, but she was more than content to keep running on in foreign tongue. Ross had considered waking someone to help her, but if it was just a nightmare that was worrying the girl, it seemed a little excessive to have a crowd up in the middle of the night. Brigitte didn't appear to be hiding from anything, she hadn't appeared to try and warn Maria of anything, or try and show her anything, her words didn't sound like she was disturbed in any way; Brigitte just seemed to be sulking on the bed.

For her part, the girl from beyond the Gate knew that Maria didn't understand her words, and Brigitte didn't particularly care that there was this huge barrier in their way. She was going to be heard whether it was understood or not.

"Can I just go home?" Brigitte asked the rhetorical question again.

Maria frowned at the hurt in the girl's voice, "Honey, I've tried, I really have, but I don't understand what you want from me. I'm sorry."

"Is there some reason you're keeping me away from my parents?" the German words continued.

Maria looked around, tired from the few hours of sleep and lack of progress on this problem, "Maybe, if you drew a picture for me…" she looked around for the pad of paper and colouring pencils.

Brigitte shook her head, "I don't understand why I'm here. I don't think I'm a prisoner, because you buy me things and feed me really good food. I thought I was going to be a slave, but I don't do anything; I just follow everybody around. Everyone tries to find out about what home is like, and about Edward Elric," her head continued to shake, bobbing around atop the pillow, "and then there's people here who do magic and sorcery with their hands when they clap them; that little girl did it once and Izumi did it just now. Are you all sorcerers? Are the British training sorcerers now for the next time you try to conquer someone?"

The lieutenant began emptying a backpack onto a small work table, "Where are they?"

"I thought making science through written circles was weird enough to think about, but to see hand magic! I want to go home," she absently pulled her knees tighter into her chest as he words ran.

Her sigh cut through the middle of the night, and Maria gave up trying to find where the coloured pencils and paper had gone. She looked across the room to the bed again, eyeing the girl balling herself up tighter, "… Brigitte…?"

"I'd run away if I knew where to go," she sniffed to clear her head, "I really would. But that's scarier than staying here."

"Honey, don't start crying," Maria pleaded helplessly, walking back to the bed, "I don't understand what's wrong, and I wouldn't know where to begin to make it better."

"Why can't you just send me home?" unintentional anger began to rise into the lost German girl. She didn't want to be angry; she wanted to be rational, alert, negotiable, and mature – so far in her life that strategy had gotten her out of a few predicaments. But, she also wanted to cry. It was the conflict that made her angry and frustrated. Brigitte wished she could turn her mind off, "It's so hot here when the sun is up, I keep thinking I'm going to melt. And everything's so bright and blinding and colourful... it hurts my eyes to look at things outdoors! I'd imagine this is what the equator might look like with its burning sunshine all the time."

Finding herself somewhat desperate, Maria walked around the bed to the side Brigitte occupied. She had intended to slide herself onto the mattress, but stopped when her foot kicked something. The officer looked down, "There're the pencils!"

Brigitte watched as the colourful array of pencil crayons were tossed up from the floor, along with a pad of paper. When Maria stood up again with mildly triumphant smile, Brigitte could only frown back at her, "If you can just send me home, I'll never go anyplace without permission again, I promise. I'll close my eyes and sleep the whole time you take me. I won't tell anyone about this place and you can keep your sorcery secrets. No one would believe me anyways."

Sitting down next to Brigitte on the bed, Maria handed her the case of coloured pencils and placed the pad of lined paper in her lap, "Alright hon, I need you to draw something to show me what's wrong."

With wrinkles creasing her face, the girl pushed her collection of writing tools away, "I don't want to play charades anymore. Take me home."

"Oh, that's not good," Maria's expression fell, watching as Brigitte folded her arms stubbornly. Collecting the pencils and paper, Maria opened the pencil case and pulled out a regular lead pencil. "Maybe, I'll draw something for you and you can add to it."

Peeking from the corners of her eyes, Brigitte watched as the officer drew the shapes of a man and a woman holding hands; the girl likened them to the images on bathroom signs. Rather than have the paper and pencil forced into her lap, Maria offered them to Brigitte instead. Stiffening her arms defiantly, she looked at the offering with annoyance before snatching them away from Maria, "Fine."

Two smaller girls, like bathroom signs with curly hair, were added to the picture, and names were printed above. A simple house frame was drawn around them all.

Maria had seen this picture before, "This is your family, isn't it?" Her fingers traced over the people, "you, your sister, mom and dad."

Brigitte nodded.

Pausing with a thought, the officer took the pencil and paper back from the girl and placed them down on the bed sheets as her voice softened, "I'm sure you miss them. I doubt you have any idea what's happened, and I could tell you about it, but you wouldn't understand me if I tried," she gave a laugh at her own statement, "I don't think I even understand it."

Sinking back into the pillows and headboard of the hotel bed, Brigitte watched quietly as Maria continued to talk.

"But, I don't think they're why you came in here. You were suddenly upset by something," the officer could clearly recall the initial look of shock on the girl's face. She reached a hand out and swept the girl's short hair behind her ear, "you're thinking of your family now, and that's what people do when something's wrong – they want their family. But how come you were upset? How do I ask you to tell me what frightened you before you came to see me?"

Continuing to be unresponsive, Brigitte held her focus in the bedding she sat on.

"Come on hon, work with me," Maria coaxed, her words still soft, "a word or something you can pass along. I know you know 'Whats' and 'Wheres' and 'Whos'…"

Brigitte's attention perked at the words given to her again; those prompts. She did know an answer to at least one of the prompts, but the word had made a strong woman's blood run cold and a boy's behaviour change. She didn't understand why. But, she did know that the mention of 'who' had caused sorcery. Was this woman a sorceress too? She'd been with Maria little longer than she'd known Izumi, and Ms. Ross didn't seem anything like the person Ms. Curtis was. Still, she hesitated.

"Come on…" Maria read Brigitte's recognition of something in her words, and repeated herself, "work with the prompts we used at the cabin."

Brigitte continued to mull the word that upset a world she didn't understand. So far, everyone's reaction to the nearly-naked boy, his presence, and his name, had been different. What would Maria's be? She seemed to be the softest of all the adults…

"Wrath."

Brigitte voluntarily gave up the frightening word again, her eyes suddenly fixated on Maria to see her reaction to the name of the half-mechanical boy with wiry black hair.

Unlike the chilling fire in Izumi, Maria's eyes began to flicker with a deep, serious concern that flashed around the room. Her mouth wrenched open as her upper body began to stiffen. Again, it was in no way a positive response. Who the heck was that boy? He'd seemed pretty nice, all things considered.

"Oh shit…" Maria pulled to her feet.

"Don't you dare make things happen with magic, I'll run away if you do!" Brigitte's words were threatening, but she wasn't sure how much substance the statement truly held.

Reaching back to the bed, Maria claimed the hands of the girl from beyond the Gate, "Stay on the bed. I have to go get some people. Okay? Stay."

Like an obedient puppy, Brigitte sat and watched as the woman walked away and reached into her bag. From within, a hand gun was produced that lifted the girl's attention. Brigitte wasn't entirely certain if a gun was a safer reaction than magically making walls vanish, but at least it wasn't something unreal. Fascinated by the reaction, she watched as the officer slipped out of the room without creating a single sound. A wink was given back to Brigitte with a silencing finger to the officer's lips as the door shut behind her.

There was a chair in the corner of the house. It was a fat chair that rocked, and had a footrest that popped out when the wooden handle on the side was pulled. This chair was tucked away in a nook of the house by the back door. No one ever sat in it. It had a frailly thin, fairly tall table situated over the right shoulder. A very dusty and rarely used candle lamp sat on the meagre table, unusually lit with a tiny, flickering flame.

Tonight, Ed sat in the chair, the heels of his feet dug into the inner-edge of the footrest that he'd extended from the front of the plush rocker. The Elric sat snug in a woollen sweater and washed out black pants that he'd worn lazily in the house all day long. His long hair showing no sign of a crimp; he hadn't tied it back all day. He was not seated properly in any way, the underarm of his left side pushed into the arm of the chair, while the entire weight of his head rested in the palm of that left hand.

Winry walked into the room and she stood at the furthest point from his view. She didn't see him there. Without a word, his eyes followed her as she walked. She was looking for something, and not finding it.

"Winry," Ed called.

"Oh! There you are," her face scrunched up, "what are you doing over there?"

"We're talking," this was Hohenheim's voice, his figure masked by the low lighting.

Ed watched her startle at the unexpected sound of his father's voice; the man sat on a stool he'd brought over to this ignored corner of the house.

"What's up?" Winry asked, curiously looking at the two men who seemed colder than ice.

"We were talking about Adolf," Hohenheim spoke slowly, waiting for Winry to recognize the name.

After a moment to think, a light went on in her eyes, "That guy I danced with last night?"

The fingertips of Ed's left hand dug into his face, his voice deep and harsh, "Are you kidding me?"

"Edward…" his father's voice was warning.

"You didn't say she DANCED with him!" the son's rage snapped back.

"I hadn't gotten there yet…"

Winry looked between the two men, kneeling down to the floor and resting her shoulder up against the footrest of Ed's chair, "I'm missing something, aren't I?"

Ed smacked his lips in disgust, drawing in a tight breath through his teeth, "Envy."

"Envy is in that man's head," Hohenheim qualified for his son.

From the corner of his eye, Ed watched as Winry mulled around the answer. Adolf Hitler meant as little to her as any passing man on the street. His significance, his ties, his connections, his place in society did not connect for her. But Envy? Ed knew that name meant something to her.

"… Is that why you came with me?" she asked the elder Elric hesitantly.

"Yes."

"And he knows who you are, Hohenheim," the son's words were rancid and bitter, "he knows who you are, who I am, and who Winry is. You put Winry in danger."

The angry son did not have the ability to easily get a rise out of his father, and Hohenheim's words remained unwavering, "She was not in any danger. He was simply toying with us, to see what we'd do. If I withdrew Winry after she'd agreed to attend, what explanation would I have given to the Haushofers on such short notice?"

Ed's eyes narrowed, "That she was sick."

Hohenheim shook his head, "He was looking to get a rise out of me by doing that, and nothing else. I won't give him any more fuel than is absolutely necessary. Now, he's getting a rise out of you. That's exactly what he wants."

Edward burned in his chair, hot under his collar and wanting so badly to lash out and do something. He wasn't entirely sure what just yet, but strangling his father seemed like a good starting point, "I don't give a rat's ass about what he wants or what the hell you were thinking. Don't you dare let him near her again."

Winry peeked an eye over her shoulder to Ed's unknown German.

Hohenheim's eyes lowered in thought, taking a glance to his fuming child balled up in a chair that served no purpose in the house other than cradling his anger, "I'll be leaving the Thule Society in the new year."

A wave washed through the room and Edward's brow rose.

"Everyone there is too close to him, and we need to keep a distance," Hohenheim's gaze slipped between the figure on the floor and the one in the chair, "After Christmas, when we have our next meeting, I want you two to come by the hall afterwards," with his hands to his knees, the old father slowly stood up, "we'll take measurements, diagram the layout, take down everything that there is to know about that structure and find out if there's not something we can take from it to get you two home."

It wasn't until then that Winry realized something, something that had never occurred to her before, and it came out in her voice before she'd had time to think it through, "You're not coming home with us?"

The old man laughed lightly, shaking his head, "No, Winry, I'm not. I accepted a long time ago that this would be where I finish off my days."

Ed snorted, watching his old man leave the room as the weak candlelight flickered through his golden eyes.

"That's not right…" Winry's voice filled the void Hohenheim had left behind, "I'd always thought he was coming with us. Al would like that." She peeked over her shoulder as Ed cleared his throat. He gave a heavy sigh as his hand gripped over his face. The time that elapsed between her final words and when Winry chose to speak again had felt like a walk along a path littered with shattered glass.

"I'm fine, Ed. Nothing happened to me."

His fingers scratched over his skin as his hand fought around the frame of his face, "Not the point," Ed pushed his bangs back into the rest of his hair, "Dad knew… he knew, Winry, and he still let you go to that party," a horrid taste procured in the flowing information, "Envy found his way into one of the most influential rising powers, even I can see that. And this man is just… he's a boar. We have to back away from him," his hand returned to his face again, only over his mouth, allowing frustration to rage in his eyes, "Fuck, I hate this…"

Winry shifted, sliding her knees under herself, and folding her arms across the footrest. She put her chin down into the wrap of her arms, "We're still going to be able to get home, right? I mean, just because your dad's not a member, that doesn't mean that we'll never be able to use the hall again if we need it?"

"If we find anything useful once we go over the hall's layout information, we can always sneak in," a bitter snap echoed in Ed's voice as he laughed at a thought, "I sure hope that hall has some useful information, cause recreating any of it would be an absolute bitch. I don't want to stay here that long."

"Me neither…"

A formidable aura rose up in the room that wrapped around Ed's frustrations and Winry's concern – it polluted the air. It was a little thick and a bit too dirty.

With a warm puff of air from her lips, Winry tried to blow it away, "The party sucked, by the way."

A far less abrasive Edward appeared for this conversation, "I told you: machine freaks and upper class are not a good mix."

"I need a mechanic or repairman to go out on a date with me," Winry pouted, plunking her chin back down on the footrest, "much better boyfriend material."

Ed's face twisted at the choice, "Oh god, that'd be awful."

"No, it wouldn't," she perked with protested, "We'd obviously have very similar tastes."

"Yeah right," Ed rolled his eyes, his voice picking up, "you'd destroy him. His work would never be up to your standards, you'd nag him to death over every nit picky thing, because I guarantee you you're not going to find a guy as anal about workmanship detail as you… and if you DID, your ego would be so hurt that you wouldn't be going out with him in the first place."

Edward very quickly found the bottom side of Winry's house slipper slapped in his face.

"WHERE THE HELL DID THEY GO?" Mustang's volume snapped like a cannon shot, and he flung his words around to every officer in earshot as he kept his one eye fixated on the gaping hole in the wall of the room where early morning sunlight showered in through, "Why would they leave in the middle of the night!"

Stepping past her superior into the room, Riza gave an inquisitive glance to the coloured sketches Lt. Ross had gotten Brigitte to draw up earlier, "… Intriguing…"

"What is?" the most senior officer snarled.

Riza glanced over the drawing before looking beyond her fiery superior officer to Brigitte, who hid behind Lt. Ross and Lt. Havoc. "Brigitte?" she asked for the girl's attention, waiting until she was certain she had it before proceeding, "Is this Wrath?"

"What the hell is Wrath doing here?" Mustang barked.

"Please be quiet, Sir, you're frightening the child," Hawkeye chomped down on her commanding officer before readdressing the girl with the drawing in hand, "Wrath?"

Slowly, as Brigitte had done with Maria, she gave a nod to the name.

"Why would Wrath show up!?" Mustang again snapped his question to all the listening ears, "and why the hell would they both take off and not tell anyone?"

The two lieutenants standing at the doorway exchanged glances before Maria offered a suggestion, "Maybe they didn't have time?"

Again, Mustang ripped out a string of curses, spinning towards the gaping hole and slamming his hands down on the sides of makeshift exit, "Why are these goddamn Elrics so impossible to keep track of."

The three additional officers in the room exchanged a collection of uncomfortable and concerned glances before Hawkeye addressed Mustang again, "Sir, we did make an arrangement that made our intentions separate from Izumi and Alphonse's. If they've chosen to go off for some reason, I'm assuming they are free to do so."

"Yes, they are," the officer's shoulders stiffened as his hands gripped tighter on the displaced concrete wall.

"So, what's the problem?" Havoc asked.

Mustang pushed away from the wall abruptly, a definite drop in his tone becoming prevalent, "Delegating the responsibility of finding FullMetal to those two was difficult enough, but it was the right thing to do. I'm not delusional enough to think that I stood a chance against knowledge I barely understood. But, the Elric Brothers are still something I take as a responsibility, so having the only Elric here vanish with mention of a homunculus, with a woman who doesn't want him to be my responsibility – that rubs me the wrong way," his only eye twitched a moment, watching as Brigitte's attention become distracted and she wandered off down the hall, "because I don't know what the motive is or where they're going."

Riza gave a curious suggestion, "I'd think that if they were intentionally running off without informing any of us, there wouldn't be this huge, gaping hole in the wall."

Mustang slipped another glance to the disfigured wall before turning back to look at the two lieutenants, "If any word comes around in regards to their whereabouts, inform me immediately."

"Of course, Sir," was the collective response.

Looking over his shoulder, Havoc did a double take realizing that Brigitte was no longer there, "Hey, where'd the kid go?"

"Down the hall," Mustang waved his hand dismissively.

Sticking his head out the door, Havoc peered into the hall. Upon spying Brigitte, the body language of the officer's voice was not one of discovery or realization, it was surprise and confusion, "Huh?"

Everyone's attention drew to Havoc as he stepped out of the room, taking a surprised step backwards when a very proper young woman shook his hand, "Good morning, Lieutenant. I thought we were the only early risers on this side of town."

All eyes trained in on the unfamiliar face with an unknown voice. The group stiffened with caution – this floor was secure, no one but people authorized by Mustang made their way up the stairs this far.

"Who are you?" Mustang demand abruptly.

"We haven't been introduced. My name is Roze Thomas," the young woman with smooth, darkened skin introduced herself, looking into the room, "Russell and Fletcher Tringham brought me to see you at my request."

Mustang and Hawkeye's expressions eased as Russell poked his head into the room, "Mornin' folks! We hear the ankle biter has been causing you problems, so we looked you up. Roze won't do as she's told and go west until she's had her two cens worth."

Calmly, Roze stepped into the room, eyeballing the gaping hole Izumi had left before turning her words to the lead officer in the room, "You're Brigadier General Roy Mustang, right? I need to talk to you about Dante…"

The woman's careful and collected words ensnared Mustang's attention, "Roze Thomas, you said?" he watched her confirm the statement with a nod, "I've heard your name before. You're from Lior."

"Yes," Roze responded, still grossly displeased by her oncoming statement, "Ed is responsible for exposing Cornello to us, and saving me from Dante."

"Saving you from Dante?" Havoc's words were sudden and unbound like everyone else's thoughts.

Roze nodded.

At the very pit of his stomach, Mustang really, really wished Izumi would just happen to come back, "Very interesting." His single eye narrowed at the woman standing strong on two legs before him, "I won't humour you by pretending to understand I know what kind of monster Dante is, or what kind of knowledge she possesses."

"You don't have to know. No one does. I certainly don't," the woman from Lior laughed at that idea before stiffening her words, "but Dante seems to think that if she frightens us where we're most vulnerable, we become too concerned about ourselves, our lives, and all those important things around us to stand up, step forward, and make things change," the woman's hands swept over her dress, looking back at the two Tringham brothers in the doorway, "after I met with Gracia, I went to see if I could find out with my own eyes what was going on. Thanks to Dante, I can navigate the Empty City like the back of my hand, and I think I've seen enough."

"… What on earth is 'The Empty City'?" Mustang asked, all tone lost in his words.

The woman shook her head to Mustang's question, "Not something we should talk about now." Roze sighed, again looking around at the people whose attention she'd garnered, "but, what we should talk about is Dante, because she is walking around in the body of Nina Tucker, and from what the boys have told me, you don't know that yet."

The moment the young woman's words escaped her tongue, the morning fog lifted from the air, and everyone took their next breath. Eyes of the military exchanged glances before returning to focus intently on the woman from the decimated city of Lior.

To Be Continued…

Author's Note:

- Wow, my 30th chapter!

- No external art for the chapter :( I tried, but nothing came of it. C'est la vie.

- Izumi could have gone through the window, but she's too cool to climb through windows. She'll rage on the wall and make a hole with alchemy to relieve stress *nod*

- Post-Edit - Italics got bruitalized when I uploaded *fixes*

Reviews:

- I shall no longer resist the review reply feature. Acceptance of change is good. Thank you to everyone who reviews.