Chapter 88 – Pages in the Journeyman's Voyage

The white space of the Gate was a lot different than Izumi had remembered. Maybe her imagination warped it over time, or maybe her perception of it had changed, or maybe it really was this way: it was calm. There were no eyes, no creaking door sounds, and no flashes of horror even though the Gate had momentarily shown her everything. The only truly overwhelming sensation had been the impact of everything and even that had no one standout emotional response she could give to it. Despite how this realm seemed to be quite harmless, the gaping black monstrosity was pried wide open and it still terrified the woman to death.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Al squealed, clinging to his bewildered teacher, his chin on her shoulder and his words echoing behind her ears.

"What?" Izumi still felt inexplicably lost; what the hell just happened?

Al continued to cling to her and babble on, "There was a bang and Diana wailed and then you and Aisa appeared! It was crazy. I'm so glad you're okay, I didn't know what was wrong."

Izumi allowed Alphonse to hang off of her while she looked over to Aisa on the ground, still caught up in the overwhelming journey that only lasted mere seconds, "Alphonse…" it was baffling to have these words in her mouth, "why are you at the Gate?"

"Dante brought me," the young Elric sat back, sitting down on his knees in front of Izumi as the woman's hands rubbed through her face, "she wants me to find out how to get my brother back."

Izumi's hands slowly slipped from her eyes, but never actually landed in her lap. Finally able to see the young man clearly, Izumi stared back to Al with a widening awe, her eyes feverishly investigating the youngest Elric who quickly grew uncomfortable with the examination. Izumi reached out with both her hands and grabbed Al at his ears, turning his head, eyeballing him, and examining him, before her focus drilled deep into Alphonse's eyes, "What the hell happened to you? How'd this happen?" Izumi's heart suddenly raced, one hand frantically dug through his hair while another sharply pulled up his shirt, "What did it take?"

"Take?" Al floundered backwards from his teacher, trying to crawl away on his backside, "what do you mean, what happened? Nothing happened to me!"

On hands and knees Izumi began to pursue the scrambling boy, but stopped; Al did seem perfectly fine. Then again, so did she, "I told you the cost of going to the Gate. What did it take from you?"

"Nothing," Al answered frantically, turning his eyes to the Gate, "Diana brought me. I think Diana absorbs the sacrifice to get here and then she quells the Gate. It doesn't attack, or converse, or anything; it's just there."

After everything Izumi had read, understood, thought she understood, and completely could not understand, Alphonse's explanation made sense. Her focus turned inwards and Izumi began to search herself for what she had sacrificed for this trip. No matter how hard she looked or felt within herself, physically or mentally, she found nothing to suggest that any part of her was sacrificed. If anything, she felt a touch better than she had before the trip. The woman's hands again extended and she took hold of the soft, round cheeks on Al's face, the back of one hand brushing his hair off of his forehead. The fear in her heart that something had again been taken from one of these two Elric boys eased, but her concerns remained. Her hands moved and pulled the boy's eyes open wide, peering in with trepidation and curiosity.

A distracting sound came from beyond Al's shoulder and the boy and his teacher looked to what lay at the foot of the Gate. Izumi's ire rose as she came to her feet and she lent a hand down to bring Al standing as well; both watched as Aisa stirred and pulled to her knees.

"Damn," the woman spoke clear as day, "Dante will be incensed with you."

Izumi's hand patted down on top of Al's bed of messy hair and she waited for Aisa to rise to her feet before calling out, "Why am I here?" of all the places in the world, or not in the world, she did not want to be, "How did I get here?"

"I told you," the woman responded firmly, "not to clap your hands!"

"I'm a better alchemist than you seem to give me credit for," Izumi barked hotly, considering who her teacher had been, "I compensated for your flesh and Red Stones; what the hell happened?"

Aisa began to approach. Her footsteps made no sound and caused no drift in the air at the mouth of the gate, but her advance caused Alphonse to back away. Both Izumi and Aisa poured their focus over the cautiously retreating Elric.

"Al?" Izumi's brow rose.

Al responded hesitantly, looking intently at Aisa, "There's something not right with you…"

Aisa stopped her approach, "There's something not right with you as well."

Izumi stepped back to take Al's hand, keeping her focus on Aisa.

Al's grip tightened around his teacher's hand, frowning a little as he tried to figure out what exactly it was that wasn't right. It was strange that he'd get this feeling from her at the Gate of all places, when he'd never felt anything from her before, "What's so different now that you're at the Gate?"

"Does Al's perception of you here have anything to do with all those Red Stones in your body, Aisa?" Izumi's hand added a squeeze to the young Elric's grip, looking down to catch his fascinated eyes fly wide.

"Is that what's wrong with you?" Al chirped, calling for an explanation.

Aisa did not answer.

Izumi frowned a little; she had no more of a vibe off of Aisa than she had when they'd been in Central – what was Al seeing? Maybe she wasn't seeing it because they'd travelled to the Gate together? "She's technically dead Al; it's the stones keeping her alive."

Why would someone do that? What would be the purpose of doing that to human being? Al couldn't wrap his head around what Izumi had told him, not that Izumi had been able to either. Red Stones gave the homunculus their strengths, but homunculi were also incomplete people. "Are you a person?" Al asked, "you're not a homunculus or something?"

The nurse almost looked like the question had made her laugh, "No."

"Are you some kind of super-human this way?" the young boy's eyes shot around in thought.

Aisa only shrugged, "I honestly don't know, since that's not my purpose."

Izumi's dark eyes narrowed over Aisa, "So how the hell did you manage to transport me here? By the time I'd clapped my hands, I'd worked out any possible link I could have made to your Red Stones."

"Your compensation was too weak; I told you not to clap your hands," Aisa drew a frown through her face.

"I didn't have to compensate, I redirected the power of the Red Stones away from my base transmutation," Izumi's eye twitched at the woman.

The riled alchemist didn't change Aisa's response, "Your compensation factors were too weak."

"Answer my question," Izumi snarled, "what did I do to get us here and what do I do to get us all home?"

Aisa sighed at the stubborn woman, "The only people who you can control at the Gate are yourself and I. Alphonse is tied to Diana; he is responsible for figuring out how to get himself home."

"I'm not leaving without him," Izumi's grip on Al strengthened.

"Then we're stuck here," Aisa informed the group. The woman's brow then lifted like she'd had something more to say, but her motions ended, her posture unlocked, and she gave a curious look to the young Elric, "So, Alphonse Elric, can we now discuss what happened to your eyes?"

"Huh?" Al blinked, "My eyes?"

Izumi's exhale was loud enough to catch Al's full attention and the young man looked to her as she knelt down. Izumi's hand swept through his hair and, like she'd done when she'd first seen him at the Gate, the teacher's fingers tried to hold the boy's eyes wide as she looked deep into them, "That's why I thought it had taken something from you," her hands slipped away, patting down onto his shoulders, "your eyes are gold, like your brother's."

"What?" Al looked at his hands as though there was some way they could show him his reflection, "but my eyes are grey."

"I would think something like this would have been noteworthy enough for Dante to have mentioned," Aisa looked at Al curiously, "but she hasn't made any note of this change. What happened between the time you last saw Dante and now?"

The young man could only shake his head – how could his eyes have changed colour? How could he believe this without seeing it? "I've just been at the Gate. The only thing that happened was the surge that sent Dante away. And it wasn't even that strong." Al looked up to Izumi, "it just kinda blew by me… and really, Dante just vanished. When it was done it hadn't felt like anything special had happened."

Aisa's eyes slipped away from the figures and to the Gate.

"Did something happen to Dante when the surge sent her away?" Alphonse called out.

The nurse's gaze narrowed, "No."

Hermann and Edward stood verbally handcuffed to the corner of the ladies section in a wide department store and Hermann was quite certain he was less bothered by this than Edward was. Though Ed hadn't said anything, the younger man occasionally huffed and sighed and hummed and grumbled and shuffled and rolled his eyes, all to the older man's amusement. By this point however, both of them had some form of 'disgruntled male twitching' going on. This was their third store and both of them were bordering on astoundingly bored.

"The girls seem to be having a difficult time picking out Winry's new coat…" Hermann aired out the beginnings of a conversation.

Ed sunk his chin into his collar a little further, the creases on the bridge of his nose became a little darker, and the downturn in the corners of his mouth sunk into the collar. "It seems that way…" his words were emphatically enunciated.

Hermann nodded slowly, trying not to laugh at Ed's reply; he was quite certain a response along the lines of 'how hard is it to pick out a coat?' with a number of expletives inserted along the way was being restrained. The scientist decided that a topic not involving their unmoving presence in the ladies department was in order, "How've the headaches been?"

Ed's brow rose, "I haven't had any since Sunday, actually."

"Just the lethargy?" Hermann asked.

"Just that," Ed mumbled.

Hermann mulled over the response a little. He had half a mind to take Edward home and let Mathilde escort Winry around for the remainder of the day. "That should clear up over the next few days, just rest with the Haushofers until you're feeling better. They treated you well over night, didn't they?"

"Yeah…" Ed gave a sigh, "they did. And then I didn't haul my ass out of bed until mid-morning, so now I'm being told I have to stay there again tonight."

This was something befuddling for Hermann: how he could watch Ed accept people's offerings, even the ones he and Tilly gave, and be so difficult, reluctant, and stubborn about it all. Edward did not have to stay with the Haushofer's, yet he still accepted their hospitality with his fuss. Something Hermann had come to understand was that Ed tended to cave or relent more often than not – his contrary protests were sometimes easily overcome. It was as though Edward wished to not be welcomed or invited, or not be a concern to anyone, but he still had a desire to be acknowledged in some manner. There had to be something about the younger man that Hermann wasn't quite figuring out that would explain this behaviour. He honestly doubted Ed was ever going to tell him and Hermann was fine with that, but it still made Edward Elric a fascinating puzzle to mull over.

Today's puzzle piece was the frown Edward began to wear after mentioning the Haushofers; it gradually soured, looking more miserable over time.

"What?" Hermann prodded curiously.

Ed withered further, the folds in his scowl darkening.

Hermann's expression widened silently.

Edward finally sputtered like a clogged engine and grumbled his concerns, "Albrecht's been following Winry around the house like he wants her to think he's some kind of puppy dog; it's pathetic to see a guy behave that way. She pats him on the head and he wags his tail – who does that?" Ed snorted, "Considering his tactics, it's a wonder he's got himself a reputation at all."

Hermann caught himself laughing at Ed's concerns, much to the Elric's dismay… but honestly? Did he really see Albrecht as any kind of danger to Winry? "I thought you'd already apprised Albrecht of your plans for his elaborate execution should he try anything with Winry." A malicious twinkle appeared in his eye and Hermann was more than delighted to continue this conversation with a suggestive thought, "And what would you do, Edward Elric, if Winry decided she actually wanted to snuggle the puppy?"

It took all of the companion's willpower not to absolutely split with laughter at the utterly mortified look Ed gave him at the suggestion.

As though the stars had aligned for Hermann's amusement today, Ed flustered when Winry suddenly appeared. Hermann watched Winry pay no mind to Ed's quickly stifled reaction; she smiled sweetly at Hermann, put herself toe to toe with Edward, and began whispering.

Whispering was pointless; Hermann's audible recognition of English was non-existent, so if Winry was trying to hide the sounds of displeasure in her voice over the selection of winter coats, he figured she should give up the charade. Both Winry and Edward had an uncanny ability to project themselves, which was either a godsend or a detriment to everyone around them. Hermann watched from the corner of his eye, noting Ed's dwindling patience and Winry's mounting frustration in tone and body language. It was fascinating to see anyone within Edward's sphere, since he still kept a 'beware of man, do not approach' sign around his neck. Hermann wondered if Ed was actually easily accessible to everyone and he just wore the angry warning sign to deter people from trying; like the big angry dog was nothing more than a small noisy mutt.

As Hermann refocused on the scene, the scientist got to watch the stubborn scowl on Ed's face attempt to stare Winry down. Winry responded with a matching stubborn scowl. Ed's look soured and Winry's followed suit. Golden eyes pinched followed shortly by narrowed blue ones. Ed transformed his reaction into a wrinkled glare and Winry stiffened her shoulders and glared right back. Hermann had to bite his lip and look away to keep from laughing. He was too busy trying to contain himself to notice who won, only knowing it had ended when Hermann saw Winry sulking away.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Ed's upper lip creased, "Winry wants me to ask you, nicely, if we can go to one more store. I told her to go look around for another five minutes and fetch your wife if she really can't find anything."

Speaking of his wife, Hermann suddenly switched the tracks his thoughts ran along, "Say Edward, Mathilde received a fascinating telegram for me the other day."

"Yeah?" Ed glanced over.

Hermann nodded, "I've been invited to an informal conference in Prague on a number of scientific endeavours. Tsiolkovsky will be going, so I'm planning on attending… would you care to join me?"

The anomaly that was Edward Elric resurfaced. On any other occasion, the chance to travel and meet some of the most profound scientists in their fields should have been something Ed would have jumped on, but for this invite, the Elric seemed hesitant.

"When is it?" Ed raised a single brow.

"Early in March, I don't remember the exact date," Hermann continued the conversation, despite Ed's lack of enthusiasm, "I even heard that Einstein is mulling over the invite he's been given."

Ed gave a sarcastic laugh, "What a hack."

Although Hermann was aware that Edward was not one of Einstein's fans, he couldn't help but wonder about the reaction, "Einstein? What's wrong with him?"

The excitement that always seemed to appear when Edward was allowed to exist in a scientific element flew out in his words and gestures, wrapping around the Elric like a flowing cape, "He's dangerous; he understands what he's doing on a formulaic basis, but he doesn't understand the inherent power of that matter," Ed snorted and shook his head, "a scientist needs to understand their science and he just wants to plot its formula, arrange its coordinates… dissect, control, hand hold, and manipulate it. That kind of scientist scares the hell out of me," Hermann watched the little flame the was dancing in behind Edward's eyes, "you can't dissect or assemble matter, elements, or laws of the universe first, then figure out what can be done with them, and then understand what the heck you've just done. You have to take the time and let yourself understand why your science behaves the way it does, and then you can take it apart safely. All three sciences function the same that way and they all bite you in the ass if you don't respect them, especially if 'understanding' comes last."

Edward Elric spoke of science like a preacher – it was one of the few things he talked definitively and absolutely about, like there was no way he could be wrong. His approach to science was completely backwards to anyone else's he'd ever encountered, in fact he spoke a fair bit like an alchemist, yet the Elric had an astounding ability to grasp and understand scientific concepts without a lick of teaching, or in the most minimal amounts of study time. For the life of him, the rocket scientist couldn't figure out why Edward didn't just step up and make a name for himself in the scientific communities; he would be pure genius. It was like he was content being an unknown, doing his own thing. Surely, he had to have a reason for that.

Reasons would have to wait for the next department store; Hermann's train of thought came to a stop at the red light put up by his wife and Winry's appearance. The nearly-comical annoyance Ed didn't voice and the frustration Winry wouldn't speak of flared up again. Both husband and wife gave a shrug and a sigh to it. Tilly led the way out of the store, followed closely by Winry. Hermann was next and Edward lagged behind, his shoulders raised to his ears and his hand shoved into his pocket like a sulking child. Hermann paused to let Ed catch up, slapping a hand down on the Elric's back when he passed. Although the trip was growing tiresome, Hermann's greedy little desire to figure out more about Edward Elric would not oppose Winry spending another hour in a store.

One of the few times that Mustang would remove the eye patch and expose the wound on his face was to look through a set of binoculars. The sensation of having the binoculars touching his face and squinting the dysfunctional left eye made things significantly more comfortable. The image he got in his right eye was crystal clear – the day was nice and warm, the sun was out and unobstructed by clouds, the grass and trees were full of green, and the picture in his eye of Central City should have been quite pleasant; the birds were even chirping in the trees. Yet the binoculars were soon lowered after Mustang had gotten his fill of the scene at Central headquarters.

"What the hell causes that kind of damage?" to double check what he'd seen, Mustang brought the binoculars up again to be certain he wasn't imagining things.

Something had erupted in bizarre fashion; the grass below had been burnt to a crisp, the white walls of the headquarters buildings had been singed black, and every third floor window had been blown out – third floor windows were blown out for blocks.

Havoc could only shrug, "Central's not talking, but buzz says Aisa was involved," the officer rolled his cigarette through his teeth, "and someone fitting Izumi's description was identified by a security guard in the building."

From their rooftop perch, Mustang looked over to Havoc as the man changed the rounds in his rifle, "And no one clearly saw who was involved?"

"No one official," Havoc shook his head, "just protesters who looked over with enough time to see two people 'falling' out of the top floor window and then witness the 'bang'."

"That's definitely an alchemical burn on the building, but…" Mustang placed the binoculars aside once more, "assuming that it's Izumi and Aisa involved, what the hell was going on? Why were they falling out a window?"

Havoc gave a snort, snapping his lighter and lighting his cigarette, "That's why they pay you the big bucks."

Mustang nearly laughed at that, "Nobody's paying me at the moment, that's for sure."

Unable to grasp the oddity of the situation, Roy picked up the binoculars once again and returned to surveying the damage. He'd never seen an alchemical reaction behave linearly before – assuming that's what this was, since there was no other explanation for it. Windows on the second and fourth floors closest to the impact zone should show signs of damage, but they did not. The only sign of evidence that this reaction was not entirely linear was the burn marks on the building and on the ground. For the life of him, the flame alchemist could not figure out what the heck had happened and what would have caused not only this kind of damage, but caused two people to disappear. Where did they go?

One thing that Mustang was hoping for was that if Izumi was nearby then so was Alphonse.

"At least the mystery explosion served a purpose," Havoc tucked away his lighter and began to wipe down his weapon, "it distracted Central long enough that seizing the southwest was a cakewalk."

This was true; Mustang, his troops, allies, associates, and supporters now claimed the entire southern third of Central City. Mustang's next target was the eastern ward and Old Central, which – depending on who you asked – was either part of the eastern ward or something 'more eastern' than the eastern ward and stood as a completely independent district. For a historical site, it was grossly under maintained and over run with the poor and homeless. It was a dirty fingerprint on the eastern fringe of the Central City map; Old Central would be easy to take, but the whole of the eastern ward might be more of a challenge, even if that's where Mustang was currently perching himself for this view.

"Sirs."

Both Havoc and Mustang turned at the request of Sergeant Fuery, whose head had poked up from the roof hatch atop the building.

"Um…" the young officer adjusted his glasses, "there's a situation downstairs – we need you."

Mustang and Havoc exchanged a concerned glance. "Situation?" Mustang began refitting his eye patch.

"Yeah…" Fuery aired out slowly, hesitant to give out much more, "you really should come down to the lobby – both of you."

This was neither the time nor the place for any kind of 'situation'; they were thin for this surveillance exercise and the last thing Mustang needed was for someone to take advantage of that. Both officers slid down the ladder into the loft of the building, following Fuery as he led them out of the upper reaches of this office building and down into the heart of the structure. The building's stairwell cut straight up the centre of the complex and let out into the security lobby – a lobby that was occupied by a handful of officers in Mustang's security regiment. As the pairs of boots echoed off the final few steps and the stairwell let everyone out into the room, the movement around him stopped and Mustang's advancement into the lobby slowed.

Hawkeye stood in the centre of the room, weapon in her right hand, left arm holding a 'prisoner', even though Mustang had told his officers not to take prisoners. Her prisoner of choice stiffened Mustang's shoulders, tightened his jaw a little firmer, and left him feeling distinctly uncomfortable. With a deep breath and slow exhale to follow, Mustang's footsteps echoed into the silent room as he walked forward.

"General Hakuro, what brings you my way?"

The older officer, with his hands clasped freely behind his back, chest pumped proudly, stared sternly towards Mustang, "I came to negotiate with you."

"Negotiate?" it was a very short sentence that had a tidal wave of meaning for Mustang. What the hell could he negotiate with Hakuro over? Even as one of the highest ranking generals in the military, serving the prime minister directly, General Hakuro had very little negotiating power.

But the General quickly qualified his remark, "The terms of my squadron's surrender."

Mustang's footsteps came to a stop in the middle of the deathly silent lobby. The good eye Mustang looked forward with narrowed, "I'm not taking prisoners."

"Then take their allegiance," Hakuro's words were heavy, bitter, and crass; like the action of offering up his men was not something he was doing willingly.

"Why?" Mustang had to know.

Hakuro's jaw rolled and his eyes slipped away for a moment as he thought, before returning to address the rebellious officer, "Orders are being given that I'm not willing to follow, and I won't ask my officers to follow them either. I gave them the choice of going under the command of another officer, or deserting, or if this city and country meant anything to them, they could align their support with you."

It was an astounding compliment to be given in a very backwards and subtle way, yet the narrowed eye Mustang held Hakuro in darkened and he glanced around the lobby where his own silent men stood, "What orders?"

Again Hakuro paused and took a look around the room before the steadfast, solid glare he wore returned to Mustang, "The safety of the population in Central City is not on the list of priorities that was handed to us. Somebody in this democratic aristocracy wants a bloodbath."

"If your men are giving their support and allegiance to me, I'll accept it," Mustang replied to the reluctant General's offering, "and what about you?"

"I have more important things to take care of," Hakuro answered abruptly and heavily.

"I can use a man like you, General Hakuro," Mustang's offer came out quicker than he would have liked, but still rang firm and clear - if the general was giving up his men, why not offer to take in the leader of the pack as well.

Hakuro laughed and the solid rock the man projected softened a little with the sound, sounding nearly sarcastic, "I don't want to be used by you, Brigadier General Mustang."

It took all of Mustang's strength not to roll his eye or scoff at the tone Hakuro used to address him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, as much of an asset as it would be to have Hakuro around, and how much of a giddy child he might have felt like for being able to put the general under his thumb, Mustang was mostly thankful that he wasn't going to have to deal with the dynamics of having Hakuro around.

The hands Hakuro had kept locked behind his back came free and the older man walked forwards, coming to a stop in front of Mustang. The two men shared a cold, silent stare for several long moments before the general pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket.

"Here."

Mustang slowly took the offering and opened the sheet, his eye widening as he began to read the original print of the communiqué issued from Drachma to Central over annexation in the north and Armstrong's actions. "You gave this to the Central Times?" Mustang's eye drilled through the sheet.

"The government had it for days," Hakuro snapped his military jacket straight, taking a step back from Mustang, "no one had done a thing about it, like they hadn't noticed or they didn't care. Our land to the north, our men in battle, and our own people upset at our walls… none of it seems to matter. For some reason, we don't matter anymore."

Slowly Mustang re-folded the sheet, watching the frustration boil through Hakuro.

"You know what does matter? Mitchell's little girl," the general scoffed, finally turning away from Mustang and walking past Hawkeye as he let himself out of the building, "but I have my own that matters more. Good day."

The silent room filled with fascinated eyes watched as Hakuro exited the building, taking his heavy, angry, and frustrated aura with him. Havoc nearly startled Mustang as he let a long, drawn out whistle blow the situation off of everyone's shoulders. With a sigh, Mustang let go of the tension he'd locked himself up with and looked to Hawkeye who still stood in the centre of the room. Her brow rose.

"How many do we get?" the senior officer asked.

"Thirty five," the major responded.

Mustang was almost tempted to give off the same whistle Havoc had – thirty five military officers once assigned directly under Hakuro had to be decent acquisitions, "I suppose…" it was a greedy little thought that suddenly became highly plausible, "we could take the east tonight."

Ed figured the only reason he went back to work on Friday was because he was so absolutely sick and tired of sitting around at home feeling like a lump on the sofa that he was actually hoping work would invigorate him in some way. Get out! Talk with people! Perform menial tasks. Absorb some kind of energy from people around him. The outing just made him more tired and the urge to put his head down on the desk and zone out was a little overwhelming.

To make matters worse, this new professor – at about one hundred years old – had completely set up shop in his father's old office. Ed had forgotten the new teacher had arrived on Monday and it had probably been a bad time for Ed to abandon the old coot. Great first impression; he certainly hoped the old man understood the circumstances, since Ed still wore the remnants of a lovely shiner around his left eye.

And as Edward walked into his father's old office that Friday morning, what turned out to be the most draining encounter of all was not the ancient teacher he had to work with, or the mountain of work waiting to be completed…

Ed walked into this office at quarter after seven that morning and saw that his father was gone. Every sense that the room had once said 'this was Hohenheim's office' had been removed, replaced, or changed in some way – it even smelt different. The whole moment had taken Ed by surprise. Ed had emptied the room of his father's personal effects, but left everything else pertinent to the job alone. He'd left it just as his father always kept it and none of that existed anymore. The people Ed knew were still the same, the associates his father kept were still the same, the house was still the same, Hohenheim's bedroom was still exactly the same, but his father's footprint in this one particular part of the world had been erased. Ed was ready to write the day off and head home before he'd convinced himself to step through the doorframe.

It had become a little hard to fight through the day ever since.

"Generally, osmosis is something students attempt," a voice mused, "I didn't think it worked for organizing paperwork."

Ed fell out of his chair with a yelp. Holy shit, he had put his head down – how long had he been out? The Elric spun around wildly and ended up face to face with a grinning Rudolf Hess; thank god it wasn't the instructor.

"What do you want?" Ed asked abruptly, still feeling a little hazy from the sudden jolt.

The man shook his head, "Just came by to see how you were. Karl told me in class that he'd driven you in for work today. You sure you're up for it?"

Ed's reply was fronted by a yawn he tried viciously hard to restrain, "I'm fine."

"Well it's good to see you out at least," Hess mused as he brought up his briefcase stuffed with notes and sat it down on Ed's desk, "I only have a few minutes before my next class, but I've been meaning to get something to you since Tuesday. I'd completely forgotten about this when I'd gone to bring in the doctor to Karl's place."

Ed stared blankly as Hess rummaged in the briefcase.

"Here we are," the man produced a thin white envelope and snapped the crisp flap up. Ed's golden eyes curiously watched as Hess produced two thick slips of paper from the sleeve and hand them over, "for your birthday."

Wrinkling his nose, Ed took hold of the slips. Each time he read them, and then re-read them to make sure he was reading them right, the Elric's face fell a little further, "… Orchestra tickets?" Ed didn't even know if he liked the German orchestra. He didn't exactly have any opinion on classical or instrumental music one way or another. What the hell was he supposed to do at a concert?

"Yes, for tomorrow night. It's a little short notice, so I hope you're not doing anything," Hess gave a nod.

Ed flipped the tickets over, read them again, and continued to look blankly at the gesture. Finally, after puzzling over any possible relationship Edward Elric might have with classical music, Ed re-read the full description on the face of the ticket, choked on his gasp, and abruptly handed them back.

"I can't accept this."

Hess looked back at Ed with a good deal of confusion, "Why not?"

Ed's jaw could have fallen off, "Christ! Were you not paying attention when you paid for them? I can't accept that."

The financial concern was not shared by the man handing him the tickets, "I got them from the event organizer; he's one of our party supporters. We have a mutual promotional arrangement and they cost me next to nothing," Hess slipped the tickets back into the crisp envelope, "treat yourself and introduce Winry to the finer side of German culture instead of the doldrums she always has to be a part of with you."

Choosing to ignore the implication that his company was something less than satisfactory, Ed paled as the tickets were re-offered to him. Beyond the fact that Ed figured he would have had to starve for a week to afforded the tickets on his own, Ed didn't know if he owned something nice enough to attend, let alone Winry. He hadn't really ever mingled with high society… classical music was high society, wasn't it? That price was absolutely high society at the very least – that upper class still existed despite the growing depression. Ed's eyes shifted through the room hesitantly.

"They're a gift, Edward," Hess's shoulders fell, "accept them like that. Get out of the house for a night and have a treat."

Giving the envelope a wary eye, Ed's single hand came up and took hold on the end of the gift, "Alright."

Now Edward Elric had a whole host of problems – most of them requiring him to find something to wear on short notice and figuring out how he was supposed to interact with the concert crowd. You could judge people's worth by these kinds of events, where they sat, and who they sat with. Maybe he just wouldn't mingle and keep the interactions to smiling and nodding.

"They're in a section of private balcony seats that we normally have reserved…"

The outing got worse.

"… and there'll be about ten other people with you. They're political associates of mine, big players in the Nationalsozialist…"

And worse yet.

"… so you'll have good company." Hess gave a shrug and a smile.

The envelope of tickets hung in Ed's left hand and he allowed a disapproving frown to slowly overtake him, "I don't need your propaganda assault like this, Rudolf. I know what you guys do already. I don't do politics, so trying to coerce me into your fold isn't going to work."

Hess laughed, snapping his briefcase shut, "This isn't propaganda or coercion; it is a nice night out with proper German society. If you learn something from it, or if you don't, it's no mind to me, I just hope you have a good time."

What a slimy son-of-a-bitch… Ed searched for a reason to stand up and clock him. That was the biggest load of bullshit he'd heard in ages.

"I have to get to my next class, so if I don't catch you before the day is out, have a good weekend," Hess announced as he made his way out of the office, leaving no room for any further protest from Edward.

And none was forthcoming, Ed was too busy fuming over being suckered into these two tickets that meant rich people, fancy clothes, politics, classical music, and god knows what else. He couldn't excuse himself from it at this point; Hess could easily follow up and see if he went or not. The envelope of tickets looked back at Ed like some kind of giggling monster, like someone was having a good laugh at his uncomfortable expense. Ed sighed and tossed the envelope into his briefcase.

"This just doesn't make any sense," Russell's forehead hit the table emphatically, sending a few of his papers flying and sending Fletcher scurrying after them, "there is no way this is right."

"Maybe we're over thinking things," the younger brother returned the sheets to the table.

The older brother barked out a laugh, sitting himself up again, "No, it's all a forgery. Someone went to a lot of trouble to clean this up; they even had the remains 'cremated'."

At home in their study room in Xenotime, Fletcher pulled himself back into a chair around this oversized table covered in medical documents his older brother had 'borrowed' from the hospital's records the night before. Any and every document concerning Gillian Atropos, aka Aisa, was on this table.

"It makes sense that she was listed as an organ donor. If she was expecting to be harvested in any way, why not make it official," Russell's hands fished through the mess of documents to pull out the donor information sheets, "and lo and behold several of her internal organs were donated to people, schools, organizations, labs – organs that won't work since they're poisoned with red water, yet here's the surgery record for the procedure." Russell's fingers drummed atop the papers covering a wooden table, "but there's no record she was castrated."

"Can you find the recipients of the organ donations?" Fletcher asked.

Russell shook his head, "Protected documents in other people's files; I couldn't get'em."

"How about the doctor who did the surgery?" the younger brother suggested.

The older brother's head continued to shake, "Can't find the man anywhere. It's like he vanished," a sarcastic laugh made its way out of Russell's mouth, "hey, it's like he never existed. What a surprise."

Fletcher's face twisted at his brother's attitude, "I think you've been working on this for too long."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Russell conceded, rubbing a hand through one eye and sweeping the papers into the centre of the table, "I think the fact that I can't find anything on the donation procedure just means it didn't happen. I wish I knew where to look for the truth about this woman and what happened to her, so I can find the string to unwind all the lies."

"Need a break?" a chirpy voice called from behind the door of the room as it pushed open.

Fletcher folded his arms and put his chin down on the table, smiling sweetly at their visitor, "Hi Roze."

"We have guests," the woman from Lior clasped her hands in front of herself.

Russell turned in his chair, throwing an arm over the back as he looked at the door, "Yeah?"

"Hi boys," Maria Ross stepped into the room with the wave of her hand, instantly dispensing of the tension Russell had been creating with his frustrations, "how's it going?"

"Hey lieutenant," Russell grinned, stretching his back and pulling to his feet, "it's not going at all... but when did you get in?"

"About an hour ago," Maria looked out into the hall, holding her arm out and stepping fully into the room once Brigitte had taken her hand – the officer pulled the lost little German through the door while she looked around at her new scenery.

Brigitte's arrival pulled Fletcher out of his seat and brought Russell over to the door.

"Hey Miss B, welcome to Xenotime; city of lies, atrocity, and other incredible screw ups," was Russell's greeting.

Fletcher kicked his brother in the shin for the remark and smiled sweetly at the women who'd joined them, "Don't mind him, he's frustrated and overtired. Someone should put him down for his afternoon nap."

Brigitte gave the two brothers she'd barely seen while they'd been in Central City a wary eye for their antics.

In actuality, Xenotime was one of the safer locations Mustang could have sent Lieutenant Ross with young Brigitte; anything that had happened with Aisa and Dante in the city had happened months ago. On its own, Xenotime was still in recovery from all its problems with Red Water, so security was extra diligent. It was also one of the last places Mustang figured he could send the child and have her be found. At one point, he'd considered sending her west to be with the Hughes' or south to Rizembool or Dublith, but all of those options were foreseeable – sending Brigitte and Lt Ross to Xenotime simply made no sense, so it made sense to Mustang to send them there. He could also have Lieutenant Ross keep tabs on the Tringhams and their investigation of Aisa and Diana's origins.

Fletcher and Roze were given the honour of showing Brigitte around the Tringham's property, leaving Maria with a load of luggage and the unhappy elder brother. Honestly, after the trip they'd had to get into the city, Maria wasn't sure she'd be able to give the miserable boy any empathy. The officer was sore and tired and she gave a long, strong stretch to work out the muscles in her back.

"You've really got nothing at all with all this information?" Maria's arms fell to her sides, watching Russell take himself back to his chair at the table.

"I've got nothing useful, how about that?" Russell qualified, slouching in his seat.

"Alright," Maria sighed, sitting down in one of the empty chairs around the table, "what kind of useless nothingness do you have?"

Russell twisted his face, sweeping the blonde hair off of his forehead before snagging a few sheets off the tabletop, "Gillian Atropos died overnight, her child was stillborn, most of her organs were donated and her remains were cremated. All of the doctors involved with her child's birth, their deaths, her surgery, her autopsy… even the person who runs the crematorium don't exist. Or if they do, I can't find them."

Maria had to concur, that was a whole lot of nothing, "Organ donor recipients?"

"Protected," Russell folded his arms, "I got that she was divvied up between people needing a donor and a couple organizations, because each destination had its own limited out-record, but I honestly don't think that actually happened."

"If she was full of Red Water, those organs couldn't have done any good for a recipient, could they?" the officer asked; Maria was still far behind on the alchemy learning curve.

Russell shook his head, "Naw, they would have been rejected or died out without a Red Water source. The organs would hold up against injury and handle surgery really well, but they would wither without a continued Red Water source to supply them."

So much for the medical investigation, Maria thought, "So they left records that she was gutted for useless organs? I guess that makes sense if you're trying to hide someone performing a lengthy surgery for other purposes."

A response wasn't given to qualify Maria's thoughts. A pencil was taken up into Russell's left hand and he began tapping it off the table, his eyes piercing the walls as the young alchemist thought over the officer's statements, "She wasn't exactly gutted." Russell flew up straight in his seat, shuffling his papers around, "Aisa was cleaned out... but… but but but," papers flew and the travel weary officer watched the young man rip through his papers, "her reproductive system, lungs, and heart aren't documented anywhere as being taken out."

Lieutenant Ross sat silently, waiting for the young man to explain the importance – she'd learnt that it's best to never preempt a scientist's theory; they'd just cut you off anyways.

Russell snapped a sheet of paper up, "Her reproductive system is where the Red Stones would have crystallized... you need your heart to pump your blood and lungs to give air to your voice," the eldest Tringham brother let his arm fall, the sheet of paper snapping through the air as it moved. His face twisted a little with confusion and disgust, his shoulders falling in dismay, and Russell realized his research epiphany had only made things more confusing, "She was left with enough to make her appear human... but she's more or less hollow, and if she had full Red Water treatment, she's going to have a chunk of a Red Stone sitting in her lower core."

"I realize she shouldn't be alive in that state," Maria figured she was too worn out to respond with an appropriate amount of horror, "which is disturbing… but why in the world...?"

"Hell if I know," Russell tossed his sheet lazily onto the table as he blinked wide. He gave a wary look to the discarded sheet on the table before looking at Maria and then looking to the exiting door to the room, "I think I've been staring at this for too long, I need a nap. Damn."

Ed's pocket watch told him they'd been at this high-class masquerade for an hour of concert play and a half an hour of 'arrival', 'coat check', 'find your seat', plus 'my word, is that Hohenheim's son?' time. Edward blinked over to the miniscule table his cocktail glass sat on, watching the nearly unnoticeable balcony server swap it for a full one again. Honestly, Ed had never thought he'd find himself in a tuxedo, but there he sat in one – completely pressed and packaged. The getup even had a handkerchief in his jacket pocket and a white bowtie. He did not like the bowtie; at least with a neck tie you could loosen it easily. Whomever had polished his shoes had enjoyed themselves far too much, because they had more glare than the waxed floor. He felt horribly out of place.

Ed was also extremely aware that Winry felt out of place. Winry ended up in some sleeveless, olive green silk dress. The fabric hung off her shoulders, scooped down modestly in front but left her back wide open. It stretched nearly to her ankles on one side, had a hemline that made no sense, and a waist line that snuggled her hips. Her hair was wound up like some sort of ball and once again pinned to her head. At least Winry found a white shawl she liked to go with things.

When the orchestra conductor raised his arms to the audience, and then his voice, Ed glanced to Winry as she leaned in.

"Is he signalling intermission?" she whispered.

"Sounds like it," Ed responded, watching the crowd start to murmur into life.

Winry gave a sharp sigh and rolled her eyes – the girl's proper posture in the chair deteriorated rapidly, "Thank god, I have to pee."

Ed snorted, covering his mouth to hide the laugh, "You didn't have to wait."

"It would have been rude to get up in the middle," Winry hissed, dumping her shawl in the seat and hastily making her way to a curtain door for the suite, "where the hell is the washroom?"

Ed followed Winry's abrupt exit, snapping his suit jacket straight as he ducked out, "I haven't a clue where it is… um," he pointed down the core of the hall, "down that way, probably."

Winry scowled as people began to file into the halls, "I'll find it… I'll be back."

Ed didn't get a chance to respond, he could only sigh and watch Winry walk away awkwardly.

A heavy hand fell onto Ed's left shoulder unannounced, startling him. Ed glanced back sharply to a man whose cocktail glass came to his mouth for an emphatic swallow. "So that's Winry now, huh?" the man asked.

Ed was a little hesitant to respond; the man's face was familiar, but Ed couldn't place him.

"Very nice," his hand patted down on Ed's shoulder again and he cleared his throat, "My condolences about your father, Edward, he was a good man. I wasn't in town when his funeral was held, so I'm sorry I couldn't attend."

Ed gave a nod to the statement, "Thank you. And don't worry about it." Obviously it was someone who his dad had known well enough to discuss Winry as well. Ed bit his tongue on the blunt 'and you are?' and went with something a little easier on the ears, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Alfred," the man offered a handshake and quickly switched to his left when Ed only had that to offer, "Alfred Rosenberg. I've known your father since he joined the Thule Society."

Oh, now he made more sense.

"When are you stepping in for your father?" the man mused over another taste of his drink.

"I'm not," Ed gave the irrefutable response, "not my thing," was the safest qualification he could give.

The man made some kind of unintelligible noise to dismiss Edward's brush-off, "Perhaps not the society, but the party, now it used to not be most people's thing… and look at how things have blossomed under Adolf! It's fantastic. Efforts all over the map are paying off. We're expanding throughout the country." Alfred flicked his wrist and sharply swirled his drink, "You'd fill in quite well I think."

Really, Ed should have seen this conversation coming a mile away – of course they would try and recruit him, he'd been foolish to think he could escape it. At no point did Ed ever like making his physical scars an issue for himself, but this would be one of the few times he would pull the disability card, "I thought you people didn't care too much for this sort of thing," Ed gave a pat to his hollow right shoulder.

"Well…" Alfred rolled his eyes lazily and took another sip of his drink, "you're not Jewish, at least. Fucking Jews control Britain, France and the Soviet Empire – we don't want them to have any say in our system. We're surrounded by this bullshit Edward, so we'll keep civilized young men like yourself around."

In one blurb not only had Alfred Rosenberg managed to completely dispose of Edward's interest in holding a conversation with him, but he also fermented how badly – and how quickly – Ed wanted to get the measurements of the Thule Hall together and leave. That would be a task for early in the week, when everyone had school and work to be obligated to.

Ed begrudgingly relented to the fact he was in the wrong company to disagree with this asinine way of thinking and offered something to escape the conversation, "I'll consider it."

"Good idea," the man's heavy hand patted down on Ed's shoulder once more and Alfred sauntered away as he called back, "enjoy your evening and we'll talk more later."

That was enough of that. Ed tucked himself away against a wall and out of people's way as they mulled around the courtesy bar. Edward stood back and watched while the upper class occupying the balcony area laughed hotly among themselves, indulged in their smug prattle, and slowly filtered back into their seats as the intermission wound down. By the time the lights dimmed again, Ed still stood alone in the back hall, a cocktail glass having appeared in his hand at some point during the break, and he'd already finished half of it by the time he'd realized it was there. The orchestra struck up again with a low murmur, then a brash thunder, and the sound ran through the auditorium, into ears, through the back halls, and into every channel the sound could travel. Ed glanced around in the sound, looking for Winry, but she was nowhere to be seen. Shuffling a little deeper into the hall, Ed took a swallow from his drinking glass and looked curiously up and down the hall. Movement in the far end of the hall caught Ed's attention, but as his focus narrowed in on the figure it disappeared into another suite. Ed sighed and looked down the core hall again.

Winry made her way down the centre of the hallway looking painfully annoyed, resettling the dress straps on her shoulders and adjusting the way the green frock wrapped tightly around her hips. The lower skirt was lively enough that it hid how hard she fought through each step on the pointed heels of her shoes. Ed took a generous sip of his drink as Winry cursed the fabric monstrosity into submission while she walked. The rim of the cocktail glass woven through Edward's fingers sat lightly on his lower lip as he watched Winry approach, the ends of her skirt flying around below her knees, her arms swinging with the rhythm of each step, and the core of the silk dress lightly bouncing with every stride she made.

The long walk took Winry right up to the tip of Edward's polished shoes. She narrowed an eye at the blank stare she was getting from him, "What?"

Ed breathed and choked on the drink he hadn't swallowed – holy christ did this alcohol ever burn. Ow. "…What-what?" he managed to sputter through a fit of coughs and watering eyes.

Winry snatched the glass out of Ed's hand and helped herself to the rest of it, promptly plunking the empty glass down on a nearby counter.

Ed gave his head a sharp shake and he roughly cleared his throat, "What the hell took you so long?"

Winry gave a nasty glare for the question, "You try figuring out how to do up garters in a bathroom stall when you're wearing a long dress."

The coat with tails had stopped being so bad a long time ago and Winry just continued to reinforce that.

"Let's sit down. I want to spend as little time as possible standing in these shoes," Winry grumbled, waving her hands and turning away from Ed, walking towards the balcony curtain, "I can't wait to get out of this… thing and hide it in the closet."

"Winry…" Ed sounded a little more exasperated than he'd intended, but his tolerance for people's intolerance was running thin.

Winry raised her hands as Ed followed to catch up, "Ed, I'm sorry, but this is uncomfortable. If I move the wrong way and the shoulders slip off, I'll be giving everyone a show. I don't know how fancy women wear things like this."

"Winry."

"I grew up in jeans and overalls and I haven't worn a pair of those in months! I sure haven't ever worn anything silk before. Those stories you read as a kid, where girls dress up as princess and become royalty for a night…"

"Winry."

The girl in the olive green silk dress bristled and spun on him, "Stop calling my name. What?"

Edward Elric was poorly adept at acting his age in a number of situations. He was ill equipped to function socially in a few others. He also was aware of aspects of his disposition where he had the emotional maturity of a pubescent teenager. Ed had a number of times where he wished he had the social wherewithal to not let his mouth run away on him. There was a novel of indexes for moments in his life where he would have liked to have been able to act his age, fit his good clothes, and manage to convince his voice that it could function when he wanted it to.

Ed stood in front of Winry for a moment, the slit of his mouth opening, tongue holding onto something to be said. In the middle of a great charade Ed used his own hesitation to draw a fresh breath of air into his lungs, let his shoulders fall, and surprise himself by putting his act together in one calm breath.

"You look really nice tonight, Win."

The annoyance in Winry's face flushed away and her reaction went blank. Her eyes glanced around quickly in the darkened hall as the orchestra's music echoed from beyond the curtains hiding everyone else away. Winry looked down at the dress she wore and gave a few tugs to it, fixing how it hung over her, "… Yeah?"

Ed nodded, "Yeah, you do."

This whole world liked to tell Winry she was pretty and Ed wasn't sure that she accepted the complements – her standards and everyone else's were so different. Whatever picture Winry had of herself in that dress, whatever she was seeing in the mirror on a day-to-day basis, however she thought she was coming off, it wasn't what everyone else saw and it wasn't who Ed saw walk down the hall and steal his drink. Maybe it was something she should know. Maybe she should hear it from someone she'd believe.

"Oh…" Winry brushed her hands over the skirt of her dress, "thank you, you look nice like that too."

Wrapped in the dimmed building lights, with a subtle smile warmed by the low notes of the clarinet's solo, Ed found a few free fingers, took Winry by the hand, and walked her silently back to the curtain of the auditorium balcony.

In some ass-backwards way Hess was right, Ed supposed; he wasn't always the best company and keeping Winry so close exposed her to all sorts of problems. She had a host of things that she could complain about, and so did Ed for that matter, but Winry never complained about the journey itself. For nearly every moment Winry had been here, Ed shared the walk with her through the unending feeling of being very far from home. Tonight – this blip in their life amongst the endless worry – maybe it was a little bit nice. Monday through Sunday was always part of the journey, so a little break to do something and be somewhere that completely expelled them from the doldrums of the norm was… a little bit nice.

To Be Continued...

A/N:

Sometimes I forget that the Ed in my story has had 5 additional years of life/maturity under his belt compared to all the other characters. Given the right alignment of factors (and possibly alcoholic help) he is capable of showing it once in a while.

Some of the folks who read this and also poke around on my DA account saw the sketches in my scrapbook that I doodled up while I was writing this. The final version of the section didn't quite turn out like the art… edits and thought process changes and whatnot. And I really wanted to do actual art for the chapter, but I've been caught up with doing BigBang art. Oh well :x

There were three important people in the beginnings of rocket science: Oberth, Goddard, and Tsiolkovsky (whom Hermann referred to).

I was 'raised' on FMA1, because of that when someone says 'human Al' my first image is always Al with grey eyes. When you qualify it as Manga or Brotherhood Al, then his eye colour changes to gold. I've given Dante Hohenheim's rotting body and Al his father's golden eyes, not because I've ever seen Al with grey eyes as being something that's 'wrong', but because I think 'what an incredible gift to get from the father he's always wanted and never had'. I wanted Al to get something from his dad from that event.