109 - The Trail of Breadcrumbs

Easing herself back into bed, Izumi was thankful that her slow walks up and down the hall were finally starting to feel like less of an excruciating chore. Catching the edge of her curtains with a finger, she moved the fabric aside and peered out into another clear, bright morning. Some rain would do the ground a world of good.

How was Sig? Trapped in a foreign bed, Izumi's mind wandered home to a cozier mattress with better company. She hadn't spoken to her husband in what felt like ages. He rarely expressed his concerns outwardly, but she always knew he was worried whenever she left his side for any length of time. After several days of nothing but doctor and military company, her husband's presence was dearly desired. Izumi wondered if anyone would let her make a phone call. Did the phones even work?

The knock on her door that afternoon was clearly not Sig – the hand didn't have enough weight to it.

"Come in."

Mustang let himself into the room, "Good afternoon."

Izumi's brow harshly flattened out, as did her tone, "Take that stupid thing off, everyone in the building knows and you look ridiculous."

The harsh order she had the audacity to command left Mustang shaking his head. Untying the strings of his eyepatch, he slipped the cover off his face.

Izumi rolled her eyes.

Lifting his brows high to stretch his face, Mustang used both eyes to study the cranky woman, "You don't approve?"

"I have no idea what I approve of right now," Izumi grumbled, honestly not sure what her opinion was for the circumstance, "but you're damn lucky Al turned that thing over to you. I don't know how you survived that car ride."

"Unfortunately for many people, I still managed to make it all the way here and got refurbished," with the dip of his head, Mustang promptly countered, "you weren't exactly well for the journey either. You still aren't. Why are you still refusing to let the doctors properly conduct their exams?"

For reasons that were beyond what he understood, and far beyond what she was willing to tell him, Izumi had no intention of letting a doctor from East City treat her for anything, "I have my own private doctor in Dublith who sees me."

"Yes, I'm told that's your argument," Mustang's expression narrowed suspiciously, "but we're in no position to bring in a physician from Dublith. A few basic exams by our staff would confirm you have no internal injuries and would most likely be able to offer you better care than what they're currently able to give you. They are trying to help."

She understood that. Izumi tried to make it clear she understood they had her best interests at heart even with her refusal. She tried, desperately tried, to remain cordial in the face of innocent ignorance she forced on them. Biting anyone's head off for their persistence did nothing but poorly reflect on her.

What was truly wrong with her couldn't be fixed. It could hardly be treated.

"I appreciate that. But, I am improving, and as long as they continue with what they've been giving me, I'll be fine," and then she made sure that he didn't consider bringing something else up, "and the Philosopher's Stone is better used on others. Don't ask me again."

While he could control the shake of his head, Mustang could not control the look of frustration in his eyes. But, he'd spent enough time around her in the last few months to know pressing the matter would go nowhere. If anything, he'd wind up with a larger headache, "You'll be happy to know the stone has been used up. The last of it was used overnight. It seems when it isn't being used for grand ventures, as a medicinal product it can be stretched out quite generously."

Izumi momentarily entertained the idea of the Philosopher's Stone being downgraded into nothing more than a magical black market cure, "That makes sense; it's not a substance that's ever been created or meant for pedestrian use."

"I suppose the Philosopher's Stone might actually qualify as an illicit drug," Mustang mused.

"Anything with substantial power is a drug," Izumi qualified as she shifted the conversation to something more concerning, "speaking of, I've heard whispers that your political endeavours have lost a significant amount of traction. Everyone has stopped talking about returning to Central City."

Her words chilled the temperature of her room. Izumi didn't consider her statement all that harsh, but Mustang's visual displeasure with the topic left her wondering if there wasn't a smoother way she could have addressed the situation. While his health ultimately stood to gain the most out of their Xenotime debacle, everything else around the man was falling apart.

"Myself and my associates are not going to be welcomed into Central City in the immediate future," the officer announced bluntly, like he'd punched it through his lungs. He fought off an urge that would have curled his lips with a snarl or sarcastic sneer, "it bodes well that I was at least given the courtesy of forewarning on the matter, but as much as I'm here to ask you to let the doctors to do their jobs, I'm also here to tell you that no one will be leaving this East City security net any time soon."

Grinding her jaw in frustration of words she'd hoped not to hear, Izumi's expression hardened, "So, Al's on his own looking for Ed?"

"He has Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and Lieutenant Havoc to rely on."

Mustang may as well have said 'Yes'. Izumi wasn't so far out of the loop that she couldn't put together the conditions in Central City and there would be only so far Armstrong could extend himself. Havoc was also bound by the chain of command. Allowing Al to venture on his own was a double edged sword that Izumi had wanted to avoid. Without knowing what had become of Dante, she desperately did not want him flying solo. But, at the same time, at least she knew that Al was looking for Ed.

"Dammit," she cursed the situation anyways.

"Armstrong has chosen to remain in Central to keep his eyes and ears on Hakuro's joyous romp, to coordinate with whatever Hakuro thinks he's doing, to use what little resources he has available while he keeps an eye open for Dante, and to keep us advised," the anger and frustration in his voice let Mustang's displeasure with the situation ring loud and clear. Then he forcefully pushed it aside and clawed out a lighter tone, "That aside, once you're feeling up to it, I can have you moved to stay with Lieutenant Ross and help mind Brigitte and the remainder of the crowd you're more familiar with, rather than remain here."

Izumi would be the first to admit she was in dire need of a scenery change, "I'm ready to go whenever someone's available for it."

"Very good."

Without another word to events, Mustang turned and took a firm grip on the door knob. When the latch wasn't turned, Izumi returned her attention to him and watched the officer debate what he wanted his next action to be.

Mustang let the door go and he turned back into the room, "Can Ed actually summon the Gate?"

Izumi had been avoiding thinking about it, "I have no idea what's going on with that."

She had a feeling. She'd have a very poignant feeling that if she tried to dissect the actions of their returned Elric she'd find answers, but she didn't want to. Izumi didn't want to be that mad Ed. This was, by her own admission, willful ignorance, and at some point she was going to have to address it. But, for the moment, she was too disappointed with enough things already to willingly make herself that upset while she was still trapped in bed.

"If Ed has been withholding information, he's put everyone's safety in jeopardy," Mustang voiced a frustration that existed outside of everything else grinding at him.

"I know," even if she wasn't looking, "and he knows. The only one who'll be able to answer anything at this point is Ed, so we're going to have to cross our fingers that Al can hog-tie him and drag his ass back here before Dante finds him."

"He better have a damned good explanation for himself," Mustang growled.

"Explanation or not, I'll deal with him."

Both his brows shimmying up high, Mustang had a suggestion, "You should get medical clearance from the doctors before you do anything."

"Get out," Izumi barked, throwing her hands wide, "or I'll toss you out."

Mustang fought to hold down a laugh at the expected verbal lashing. He grinned, reached back for the door, and pulled it open to let himself out of the room.

"Mr. Mustang."

Izumi drew him back into the room instead.

The teacher held him in her narrowed gaze, forcing him to stand waiting while she debated if she wanted to put her voice to something, or simply move away from it all. It was a harmless sentiment though. An honest one. She was happy for him. Maybe even a little jealous in some way, even if she'd never admit that to herself.

"I hope you thanked her."

Curiously, Mustang's left brow arched a little higher.

Izumi tapped the corner of her left eye.

The officer steeled his expression for a scripted reply, "She's been spoken to about that decision."

"And I hope you thanked her," Izumi tempered a smile.

Standing at the door, looking back into the room, the steel guards came down for just a moment and the most humanized look Izumi could say she'd seen him wear warmed his expression, "Major Hawkeye is aware of my gratitude."

She nodded at the satisfactory response, "Good."

In the corner where Sheska's suite met the stairwell wall, Alphonse sat on the floor. The telephone receiver pressed to his ear for far too long, he continued to relay everything he'd learnt the prior day back to Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong.

"So, I think he's still here in Central City somewhere. Once Sheska comes back with the car, we'll start tracking down these leads."

The officer's rumbling voice crackled through the phone line, "I do appreciate being kept apprised, Alphonse. Thank you."

"Of course," he shrugged his shoulders for no one to see. Dante's ever-present weapon was ignorance and the best way to combat that was to keep everyone informed. Al still couldn't find a reason why his brother was turning a blind eye to the importance of that…

"You have my sincerest apologies that I'm not in a position to offer aid at the moment."

"It's okay, I understand."

"I would request that you remain cautious throughout the day today and check in again prior to sundown," though he may have preferred to direct it as an order, Armstrong kept his tone light, "the government's return last night may have brought more trouble than what we see in the streets."

There was that dread again. That threat of a much larger problem than just his brother scheming in Central City. Al wasn't going to let himself sit around and ignore what Armstrong implied, "You're worried Dante was on board?"

"I am."

Alphonse wanted to not be worried about her.

He wanted Dante to be stuck in Xenotime licking her wounds. But, that didn't fit her profile and it certainly didn't explain who fueled the headlines splashed across the morning paper. There was no reason for the government to even suspect Brigadier General Mustang was in Xenotime, let alone involved. No one had identified him or Major Hawkeye, yet the rumours had begun springing up in the cities the government rail convoy had passed through. The phone lines to Xenotime were still a disaster and no one could actually contact the source to get accurate information. So, the only plausible explanation rested solely with Dante, the one person who knew enough to draw the educated conclusion that he'd been involved and attempt to bury him with it. Even if she'd thrown her darts blindly, with Hakuro asserting dominance in Central City she would have hit some kind of target one way or another.

"I'll be careful," Al reassured him.

"Take care today, Alphonse Elric."

"I will. Same to you."

When Armstrong's voice gave way to the crass noise of the dial tone, Al got back to his feet and returned the receiver to its cradle. He wandered back into the kitchen where Winry sat with a pencil in hand and her nose in her writing.

"All caught up?" she asked like she couldn't clearly hear Al's end of the conversation.

"Yup," sliding into the seat across from her at the table, he eyed the tiny notepad she was filling, "what's that?"

With a triumphant grin, she held it up, "For you. All the important bits Sheska told us yesterday and then some."

Al smiled at the attempt she was making, "I don't think the information is going to fall out of my head, Winry."

The eraser end of the pencil was firmly pointed at him, "There's a lot going on in your head. Better safe than sorry."

The young Elric locked her in a suspicious eye.

Winry's lips pursed, "And it doubles as the list of your brother's crimes that we're going to talk to him about later."

Al's brows quickly peaked, "Talk?"

Winry's face tightened sternly, "Talk."

Al laughed and let her have her way. Despite all the concerns he still carried into the morning, he was relieved that she'd woken up in much better spirits than she'd fallen asleep in, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"I'm fine," her reply came out a little too sharply. Winry quickly followed up with a bright smile, "Don't worry about me. You need to focus on tracking down your dumbass brother so I can wring his ne—talk."

Al rolled his eyes playfully, "Oh see I knew—"

"TALK," Winry barked above Al's giggles, "so we can talk to him."

First, Al had to find him.

If he were being perfectly honest, Al wanted to stay at Sheska's all day. After what was discussed through yesterday and into the night, today was probably supposed to be the day he should stay home and keep Winry company. That option just wasn't available to him. At least with the things he'd learnt some of his brother's words, motivation, and behaviour after coming home made more sense. If he'd known any of it though, Ed wouldn't have had any part in discussing a rescue plan for Brigitte or done any alchemy work – Al would have been the one to tie and gag his brother and punt him into the first transport heading north. His older brother's heart may have been in the right place wanting to help, but Al was just a little more worried about his head than usual, considering the situation they were in now.

Now, Al had to chase the thinly laid trail of breadcrumbs his brother couldn't burn out of Sheska's mind before they could even get to talking.

He had to admit, sometimes the 'conversations' in his head looked more like inquisitions. Everything his brother had done after Al plucked them off the Thule Hall floor was in question. What had he done to get home? How dangerous was he as an alchemist? How much of what he said was the truth? Why didn't he go back to Armstrong after Dante failed to capture him? What was he doing now? How was he able to show Wrath the G—

"Are you sure Ed showed Wrath the Gate?"

Al glanced up to Winry, hearing her words ring in his head in place of his own thoughts. He watched her fold the notepad shut and tuck the stout pencil into its coils, then leave it all in the centre of the table for him. Nearly letting himself laugh at how Winry had found his own train of thought, Al reached out and collected the notepad.

"It lines up. I just don't know how it works or why. And I don't know why it had to be a secret."

Even the dialogue surrounding the situation felt hushed in secrecy – wrapped in lengthy moments of silence whenever it was addressed. Winry would occasionally try to chase away the uncomfortable silence; a sigh here or there, the click of her tongue, the light pat of her hands, or the slowly strumming her fingers atop the morning breakfast table, like she was doing now.

She cast her gaze to the ceiling, "Ed let Izumi send Wrath out the door to Dante with that secret."

That was a decision his brother was going to have to answer to their teacher for and Al could only imagine how well that would go for him, "I know."

Winry's sigh stretched long through morning air, "As if there wasn't a big enough target on him in the first place."

"Did he do that to you over there?" Al wondered his thoughts aloud for Winry, "just keep you away, or leave you out, and do everything on his own?"

Sinking in her chair, Winry left her eyes to wander through the overhead beams, "Yeah and I yelled at him for it. He's still pretty bad about that sometimes. He always insisted that he was trying to protect me. Or he didn't want the world to 'get to me'. Or just let him worry about it. Blah blah blah. But, I thought I'd gotten through to him a bit lately…" her disappointed words trailed off, allowing a simple desire to come up behind it, "I wish I could just stick him back in his office job and make him stay there."

Folding his arms atop the table, Al put his head down and tucked his chin away, "How come?"

"Your brother was the least frustrating when he had structure in his life," Winry answered like she'd spent a good amount of time thinking over the answer, "he had a routine and he stuck to it and everything seemed a bit less scary when I knew what to expect from him."

Al had to admit that he didn't know if they'd ever been required to adhere to a strict daily routine. It wasn't like their mom making sure they ate their meals and went to bed on time and got up in the morning exactly qualified. He had no idea how he would handle a structured lifestyle, "That's not exactly something we've ever had a lot of here."

"No, it's not," Winry brought her gaze down to the other golden-eyed Elric sitting across from her, "you boys grew up as free-range Elrics."

Alphonse laughed at the mental image of him and his brother out in a Resembool field roaming like cattle, "Well, when I get him back here, you should talk to him about getting some stability back in his life."

Winry frowned at the suggestion, "I'm not sure he's going to want to hear that from me."

"I think he'll listen," tightening his arms, snuggling his shoulders up to his ears, Al nestled his chin deep in his folded arms atop the table, "he cares about what you think."

"I suppose I could try and convince Ed to get a job. He's going to need one eventually," the bridge of her nose creased as she tried to imagine just how that conversation would go, "I think it'll go better if we tag team him, though."

"He'll listen to you better than you think," tightening the seam of his lips, Alphonse's smile slowly grew a mousy, playful curl, "Win."

Winry's brow crashed down, eyes narrowed to slits, and her lips pinched as her entire expression shrivelled up at the strange sound of her very short nickname, "Ew."

Sitting up sharply, Al chomped down on his lower lip, trying to keep from laughing, "That sounded weird."

"Why did you say that so weirdly!?" she squawked.

"It sounds weird in my head when I think about it!" flailing his arms, Al tried in vain to excuse his awkward delivery, "I don't know how my brother says it just fine."

A half-hearted attempt to reach across the table and swat Al for his antics was made, "Ed doesn't make stupid faces when he does, for starters."

"I noticed that!" Al beamed, "when did he start calling you that?"

"I don't know," Winry huffed, "but you aren't allowed to use it."

Al's grin tipped sideways, "I'm sorry."

"Are you, really?" rising in her seat, Winry leaned across the table.

Digging his toes into the floor, Al pushed his chair back, "I am, I swear!"

The horn from Sheska's car pulling up outside the building saved Al from his own foolishness. Rocking out of the chair, he scampered away from the table, "I guess I gotta go!"

"Al!"

Dancing himself back around near the kitchen entry, Al fumbled with the notepad Winry tossed to him. Settling it in his hands, he tucked it away in his backside pocket, "I'll be back in the evening."

Winry pointed a finger at him, "Don't get mixed up in all the city mess."

"I won't!"

"And don't get into anything over your head!"

"I won't!"

"And get Armstrong's help if you need it!"

"I will!"

"And—"

Alphonse ran back into the kitchen to hug Winry, "I will."

"Find your brother," she squeezed him tightly, "and please come back."

"I will."

Being small and feeling small were two different things.

Alphonse had to wonder if this was what it was like to feel small. Granny Pinako had told him long before he'd left Resembool with his teacher that he was already taller than his teenage-sized brother had ever been, but he was pretty sure this wasn't how Ed normally felt.

Standing in the middle of a clothing store that Al didn't think he'd ever have enough money to buy something from, his eyes bounced between the three extremely well-to-do men towering over him.

"He's about this tall. His hair's a bit blonder than mine and it's tied back in a long ponytail. His bangs are kinda long and hang in his face and there's this one strand that just stands up in the middle. He has the same colour eyes as me and he would have come by maybe 3 or 4 days ago asking for this person. I think he's the store owner?" Al held up his notepad with a man's name on it.

None of the store clerks took the notepad from the plain-clothed urchin in their pristine space, but they did give a rousing chorus of Ohhh's when they saw the name.

"Yes, that is our owner," one clean-cut gentlemen confirmed.

"And he's a very busy man, he rarely comes out to entertain a walk-in client however," his companion added.

Al frowned at the cold shoulder he was getting, "I don't know if he wanted to talk to him, but did a man fitting that description come in for anything in the last few days?"

Like polished choreography, the trio of men shook their heads in tandem.

Al's frown grew deeper. Even if they did know, Al needed some time to plan a way to get that information out of them, "Okay, thank you for your time."

"Terribly sorry about that."

"I hope you find him."

"Have a lovely afternoon, young man."

Smiling an uncomfortable, toothy grin, Al awkwardly stumbled out the door.

With door chimes dancing behind him, the soles of Al's shoes clapped off the three cement steps leading up to the store's entryway and he took another four strides before he stopped on the sidewalk. He looked up at the carved and polished sign for the fancy men's shop, leaving his increasingly frantic thoughts to simmer in a bewildering stew.

This didn't make any sense. Not that a whole lot of things were making sense at all.

Al shook his head to clear the mental mess.

Sending his gaze up and down the afternoon street, Al examined a posh, pristine niche of Central City he'd never come close to entering before. Unscathed by the furor that disrupted the rest of the city, the pocket of shops operated like wealth had built an invisible barrier for the rich to exist blissfully ignorant of everyone else's plight.

Why in the world had his brother's trail led them here?

Al got his legs going and made his way back to Sheska waiting on a decorative white bench.

"So?" she lifted her eyes from her book.

"They said my brother was never in the store," Al shrugged and sat down.

Sheska's brow tangled and she closed the book, "I don't mean to be a pessimist, but considering how Ed has been acting, do you believe that?"

"I don't know," Al frowned, "but I also really don't know what my brother would be doing going into a store like that or where he'd get the money to afford anything," there was nothing in the growing puzzle that explained what the owner of this high-end store in an upscale district of Central City was doing on his brother's list of names. "Are you sure it was this place?"

"Yup. He'd written it down last and even noted him separately," Sheska's response bubbled with confidence, "I told your brother I'd seen this guy's name on a record of lump-sum payments when I was trying to figure out what happened with Mr. Hughes. Ed asked how much the payment was and if the payee address had been recorded, and I told him, and here we are."

Digging the notepad out from his back pocket, Al flipped open the coiled book and stared at the page he'd written out with all the names of people his brother had wanted information on, "The professor and this store's owner were the only two people from this list who were available in Central, right?"

"Yup," Sheska answered again, watching the stumped young Elric try to tear apart the page with his eyes, "Ed was specific. He only wanted the details of people alive in Central City."

It was a few little white lies Al had strung together successfully to track down the elder professor in the school. His visual age certainly helped with his plight - everyone was very helpful for a cute, innocent young man with grand alchemy aspirations. The professor was extremely chatty when he gave the older man his full name and Al was absolutely delighted to hear stories about their dad's escapades before he'd met and married their mom. It was a shame that he had to cut the conversation short, but Al couldn't shake how it felt like there was a bomb waiting at the end of his brother's trail and he needed to keep up.

Flipping through the notepad, Al settled on the page of information he'd gathered from the professor. Ed had told the man he was working on a transmutation hypothesis!? That was a full load of bullshit coming from his brother.

"What the heck…" Al breathed his words, "…is he going to transmute that needs powdered aluminum, carbon, sulphur, potassium nitrate, and potassium perchlorate. And in what quantities? And why!?"

"There's plenty of gas in the car," Sheska offered, "we can go back and see if the dealer is open?"

"The windows were boarded up," Al looked up at her disparagingly, "I think they're only going to show up to make sure no one broke in."

Sheska wiggled her eyebrows playfully, "We could break in?"

Al's chest bounced with his short laugh.

A few cars in the street began honking and the unlikely duo seated on the fancy painted bench looked out to see what the rich people of Central might be in a tizzy over. From a vehicle stopped in the road, a man emerged from the passenger's side door, gave a casual wave to the disruption being caused, and walked out of traffic as his ride sped away.

Straightening up in her seat, Sheska adjusted her glasses, "Lieutenant Havoc?"

Al was quickly up on his feet on the bench, "Lieutenant!"

"Lieutenant Havoc!"

Stepping onto the sidewalk, the casually dressed officer caught the formal call of his name and scanned the sidewalk, "Well, shit," he flicked his cigarette to the corner of his mouth, watching Alphonse and Sheska make their way towards him, "that's one less trip to make."

"How come you're here?" Al asked trotting up.

Havoc thumbed over his shoulder, "Picking up a few things for the boss before I get the hell out of Central."

"You're leaving!?" Al squawked, "we just got here. You had all that stuff to do that you talked about on the ride."

"Yeah, well, that was before that assclown Hakuro decided to let the boss cook in the heat coming out of all the shit that happened in Xenotime," Havoc scoffed like he wanted to spit his cigarette to the sidewalk, "Everyone's telling me to head back to East City before someone asks for my hide. You two should keep a low profile too."

Sheska's shoulders sagged, "The newspapers didn't do anyone any favours this morning."

"That's an understatement," Havoc quipped bitterly, like he had a lot more to say on the matter, but he decided to refocus instead, "I got things to do before I vamoose. Mind telling me how you two ended up in this swanky end of town?"

Al piped up with a question of his own first, "Did Lt. Colonel Armstrong tell you we were following some leads my brother had left with Sheska?"

"Yeah… yeah, he filled me in," Havoc took his cigarettes into his hand and rolled it through his fingers while he mulled over his next words, "kiddo, I'm going to have to tattle on your brother and the guy I answer to is probably going to kill him."

Al groaned, "He'll have to negotiate that with Sensei and Winry first."

Havoc laughed, playfully ruffling his head of hair, "Okay shortstuff, what are you doing here with those leads?"

Al pointed to the clothing store a few strides up the sidewalk, "My brother had a couple of people he was tracking down and the owner of that store was one of them."

Havoc did a double take to confirm where Al was pointing, "That store?"

"Yeah, the fancy clothing store."

The officer gawked at the destination choice, "What the hell's he want from there?"

"The place is actually pretty suspicious," Sheska's brow furrowed and she folded her arms, adding her two-cens worth, "the owner got a lump-sum payment from the military once, Ed seemed interested in what that was."

"Yeah, he still gets that," Havoc turned back around and flipped on a light for his desperate company, "it's his commission for making the boss' gloves."

A bulb in the dim mystery gained life and lit the gold in Alphonse's eyes.

"C'mon," snapping his fingers, Havoc led the two sleuths back towards the building, "let's go talk to'em."

A half-dozen blocks outside the city's wealthiest pocket, a restaurant swelled at dinner hour. The majority of customers had spent their day vocalizing their discontent over one thing or another, and sometimes everything in between. From infants to grandmothers, people had been out in droves, and on their way home to entertain another dreary evening many had stopped at what businesses remained open along the way to feed their exhaustion.

The constant rumble of discontent was the perfect atmosphere to hide the burdens of an entirely different matter.

"Ed's going to get himself thrown in jail," Sheska bemoaned below the restaurant's noise.

Popping the top off a beer that had arrived ahead of their meals, Havoc took the bottle by its stem and rocked it around, "It's been a while since I've looked into it, so I'll take the staff's word for it that the going payout on a military uniform is more than enough to cover what he paid them."

"I swear I never saw him in a military uniform," her elbows digging into the table top, Sheska's face swam through her hands, "He was just dressed normally when I met him. Kinda nice, actually. I didn't have a reason to ask where he got money for groceries."

Havoc couldn't hold back his light laugh, "Don't stress over your groceries, Shez."

"Am I an accessory to a crime, though? A felon!? Did I harbour a criminal?" Sheska began melting out of her chair, "are my cupboards full of contraband? Evidence? Can they be seized?"

Reaching across the table, Havoc put the beer bottle down in front of Sheska, "Just eat them."

Sheska stared longingly at the very tempting beverage offered to her.

Quietly in his own world, Al turned Mustang's right hand ignition glove over in his hand. He ran his bare fingers over the fabric, clearly feeling the static cling in the fibres. His eyes traced the brilliant red embroidered lines of the brigadier general's transmutation circle. Al could envision Mustang's flair with just the thought of the gloves. He showboated often with it, but that style he displayed was a luxury he'd earned, because he'd already mastered control over his trade. Al had enough recollections, new and old, that he knew what it looked like when Mustang was in serious control of the snap of his fingers.

It was a little hard to transplant that charismatic poise onto his brother. Calling the two of them 'different' didn't feel like it did either of them justice. It was almost comical trying to imagine his brother, who tended to loathe most of Mustang's pretentious antics, attempt to mimic him. Though, Al had to wonder if his brother was even aware how much showmanship he put into his own transmutations sometimes.

The younger Elric's brow grew heavy and weighed down over his eyes, darkening his gaze. The brigadier general's glove was neatly folded and Al tucked it back in the wooden case the tailor had provided. He put it down on the table.

Somewhere out there Ed had an unmarked set of these; an unidentifiable pair of plain, white ignition gloves.

Al dug out the coiled notepad from the back pocket of his trousers and flipped to the page of names. He revised his deductions: it wasn't the people from his brother's list who were important, but rather what they could provide him access to…

"Sheska, what kind of details can you remember about what my brother was working on?" Al flipped to the next page with the list of raw materials his brother had gone looking for, "even something small?"

Her upper lip nearly shoved to her nose, still longingly debating the beer, Sheska sat back from the liquid temptation, "He didn't discuss what he was working on with me, even when I pestered him."

"I know you've said that, but maybe there's a clue from something he didn't outright say. Was there anything you noticed about what he was doing that stood out? Something he did?"

Bouncing the tips of her fingers off the table, Sheska shoved her eyes skyward, trying to dig out any memory that might help while a trio of pasta dinners arrived at their table. Havoc reclaimed his beer as plates were laid out, but Al ignored the food put in front of him in favour of Sheska's pondering.

"Well," her eyes lit brightly as their waitress wandered away, "it was confident work."

Not exactly sure what to do with that, Al sat higher on the edge of his chair, hoping for an elaboration.

Sheska folded her arms, firming her words, "It was visually confident work."

"What do you mean?" Havoc asked the question before Al could.

"I peeked at the contents sometimes and, even though I couldn't read it, what was written down never looked like a rough copy of something. Plus, Ed got it all done pretty fast and never tossed any pages away," she tapped her head knowingly, "that's how I work when I'm familiar with what I'm writing."

The tension in Al's face loosened – his brother was familiar with what he was working on? But, "Didn't you say he was trying to figure out an alchemy puzzle?"

"He said he was finishing a puzzle, and that implies he already knew some of it," Sheska wiggled her brows as she dug out Ed's words.

"But he never elaborated on any of it?"

"No, the puzzle was always just 'alchemy stuff'," pausing while she investigated something in her memory, Sheska added, "but one time he told me I could call it a formula for inequivalent exchange."

Like gravity had latched claws into his cheeks, Al's face sagged, "He called it what?"

"A formula for inequivalent exchange," she repeated and dangled her fingers through the air to quote him, deepening her voice, "'its stuff you're better off not knowing about'."

Havoc gave a short laugh and took a sip of his beer, "That's not fair, he clogged your house up with it."

Sheska's hands slapped the table, "Right!?"

The claws hanging onto Al sank deeper. 'Inequivalent exchange' was a cryptic way for an alchemist to label their work, regardless of how inequivalent alchemy truly was. But Sheska was right, the fact he was 'finishing' it implied that Ed knew some of the contents already, possibly a significant amount given the volume of paperwork he compiled so quickly. Al's heartbeat picked up its pace and his eyes trailed back to the page of raw materials written on the notepad.

Sheska picked up her fork and waggled around in her hand as she spoke, "When you guys told me yesterday what he did at the university I was like, why the heck didn't he put some of that office knowhow to use in my living room. If I'd realized he was supposed to have organizational skills, I would have bugged him about it."

"He must have been bored out of his mind in that job," Havoc snickered. Taking in a helping of dinner, he asked, "What department did he work in?"

"He worked in sciences with Dad," Al answered, his eyes still lingering on his written words.

Sheska's fork spun through her food, "At least he wouldn't be too bored there. I mean, they did have the other three sciences, right?"

"They did," not able to convince himself that he was hungry, Al pushed his untouched plate to the centre of the table and put the notepad down in its place, "my brother studied chemistry pretty extensively and then got into physics later on. He was studying methods of propulsion to find a way to get as high into the sky as possible and he said the job at the school gave him the best access to academic resources in the country."

"That sly bugger," swallowing, Havoc cocked an eyebrow, "What the heck did he want from the sky?"

"When my brother, our dad, and Winry each arrived beyond the Gate, they all had the same memory: that they'd fallen from the sky before waking up," Al explained, "my brother theorized that, if you went up high enough into the stratosphere, it might be possible to reach the Gate. So, when he wasn't working, he was studying methods of propulsion trying to—"

The next thoughtful tick of his golden eyes confiscated his voice.

Wait a minute.

"Al?"

"Hold on a second."

Like a cat snaring a mouse, the younger Elric quickly trapped a precious domino named 'propulsion' and he leaned into the written list of raw materials his older brother had left behind. His mind's eye highlighted three items.

Alchemy was the science of understanding the composition of matter, knowing how to break it down, and knowing how to reconstruct it again. Chemistry was an adjacent science; it studied how the elements of matter acted and reacted with each other. A chemist didn't need to understand alchemy for their science, but an alchemist needed a basic understanding of chemistry for their transmutations.

Was Al looking at his brother's list of things in the right context?

From the history books of both chemistry and alchemy, the ingredients for one of the most influential chemical discoveries ever made were included in his brother's list: carbon, sulfur, and potassium nitrate. Gunpowder. The first chemical propellant discovered.

The carbon would have to be in the form of charcoal, but that was just as easy to find as elemental carbon. What about the other two that were left: aluminum powder and potassium perchlorate? Off the top of his head, the combination didn't ring a bell, but Al knew enough to be cautious of perchlorates. They were oxidizing salts that caused combustion.

Golden eyes locked onto the rich veneer of the wooden case of Mustang's ignition gloves. The tiny hairs on the back of Alphonse's neck stood on end, his shoulders tensing as they rose. Each subsequent breath he took grew heavier. Al couldn't look at this list and figure out what his brother might create with alchemy, but the list definitely had materials that would destroy something with chemistry.

"Sheska!" his head snapped up to her, "we need to go back to that materials dealer."

She quickly swallowed her mouthful, "The boarded up one?"

"Yes," Al answered firmly, then turned to Havoc, "can I ask a favour?"

The officer put his fork down, "Yeah."

"Lt. Colonel Armstrong wanted me to check in by sundown, I might miss that. Can you relay some information for me before you head out?"

Cautiously nodding in acceptance, Havoc asked, "What's going on?"

His thoughts drawn back to the table, Al anxiously eyed the list of raw materials, clenching his teeth. Swiftly shutting the notepad, he shoved it back into his pocket, "I think my brother might be trying to blow something up."

Rich, black shadows were the gifts the brilliant orange sun gave Alphonse in the evening. Sneaking through them with Sheska, like a pair of stealthy cat burglars, they finally dipped into the darkness shrouding the back of the building and Al clapped his hands to gain entry.

Weaving through boxes, delivery crates, and inventory of the storage room they'd invaded, the duo quietly made their way to the heart of the store with the guidance of Sheska's flashlight. The evening light burned in through the seams of hastily mounted boards shielding the storefront window, creating brilliant slices of sunset glowing in the dusty air. Al walked into the sales floor drenched in the orange hues and silently scanned the room until he found his target.

"Sheska," he called in a hoarse whisper, scampering behind a long sales counter, "bring the light over here."

Rushing in behind him, Sheska knelt down and swept the row of cabinets beneath the counter with her light, "One of these probably has it."

Al's palms met and he popped the locked cabinet doors. Transforming into burrowing badgers, he and Sheska began digging out cabinet contents hand over fist, clearing shelf after shelf out into heaps on the floor. Inside the fourth cabinet he clawed through, Al found what he'd come looking for: the hefty sales log.

Hauling the weighted book out, Al opened it in his lap. Sheska held the flashlight above the ledger while Al flipped through page after page of records, scouring for the last entries. Three quarters of the way through, he found it. In the middle of the final day's log the sale for his brother's list of materials was recorded, including the charcoal substitution. Al fished the notepad out from his pocket and popped the stout pencil out from the coils. He copied the purchase record into his notes.

The sales ledger was left to the floor with everything else and Al slid away, leaning against the wall to study the list.

"Is he making gunpowder?" Sheska hesitantly asked as she settled beside him.

"It looks like it."

The comparative weights logged in the purchase indicated as much, but what Al couldn't wrap his head around was that Ed hadn't actually purchased all that much of it – at least, not to an amount that justified Al's initial fears. The other two powders were recorded at practically inconsequential weights. Something more thoughtful than outright destruction had been purchased. Everything still remained volatile, explosive, and dangerous regardless of volume, but answers Al thought he'd found only led to more question once again.

Al reassured his confidence with one thing: whatever this was for probably had no direct relation to the 'alchemy stuff'. The materials purchased didn't justify the volume of work his brother had amassed.

The stacks of 'alchemy stuff' had another motive. Something his brother needed to be certain on before calling it complete. What would give his brother the confidence he needed to clap his hands and touch a living, breathing human being – use the life of a friend – just to confirm she couldn't see the Gate like Wrath could? Alphonse looked at his own hands. Despite his insistence that clapping his hands around anyone was incredibly dangerous, so dangerous he was refusing to do it until they were far out of the city, the evidence showed it wasn't. Even Wrath seeing the Gate created no immediate danger for anyone around him.

"Sheska," Al stepped out of his mental stew, "when my brother was testing his alchemy around you, how did he phrase his response when you asked about the side effects?"

She paused to recall, "He said he wouldn't have done it if he thought something would have happened and that the side effects were theoretical."

Al scrunched his face, "He was confident in his conclusions that he expected nothing would happen when he went ahead with his trial."

"Yeah, he said he was just doing it to make 100% sure."

If the circumstances around Sheska met his expectations, then that implied Wrath's experience was an exception.

Al tapped his pencil on his chin.

If Wrath seeing the Gate was an exception, was it safe to assume the exception related all the way back to the creature's weird behaviour? It only began after his brother had gotten back and it was safe to eliminate Ed's life beyond the Gate as a cause, because Wrath had met Brigitte without any adverse reaction. Al had puzzled over this once before, but knowing now that his brother had the ability to show Wrath the Gate, it wasn't a stretch to think that it all related back to what his brother had done to get home.

Wrath was the homunculus who'd been raised by the Gate. There was no other creature in existence that could say it related the Gate quite like Wrath did. But, from the onset, the behaviour frustrated his brother, like he honestly didn't know what was causing it. It wasn't until right before Ed was in danger of losing Wrath's mystery that he acted.

Alphonse flipped his notebook to a fresh page.

Peering in at his shoulder Sheska held the flashlight high while her eyes followed Al's pencil, "'Ed can show Wrath the Gate when he claps his hands'," her enunciation was slow, following the pace of his written words, "'Wrath is drawn to Ed because he's sensing the Gate somehow'," she paused when Alphonse stalled to debate what he would put on the next line, "'No one else can sense or see it'."

Al turned to the woman cataloguing his printed words, "I'm confident in those three."

"Does it tell you why Wrath could see that Gate, but I couldn't?" she asked.

Al's bangs swept over her brow while he shook his head, "No, these are just the end results."

"What's supposed to happen normally when you clap your hands?"

Alphonse lay the notepad down on the floor and held out his hands. Tracing his eyes through the lines in his palms, he tried to think: how did his own relationship with the Gate work?

Pressing his hands together, Al took a deep breath and he let himself relax on the exhale.

Now that he knew what to look for Al could sense it – that draw of power. A hum so faint he couldn't say he felt it, but he could sense it well enough that he almost could. It was a comfortable sensation that flowed through him naturally. It was the feeling of 'alchemy' that every alchemist felt while they conducted a transmutation, even if they didn't realize what it was. But, once he'd instigated the transmutation, Al couldn't stop the power from entering his body. The power draw from the Gate was a natural, harmless occurrence in their world, so long as the person had an aptitude for alchemy and did it properly. It would happen regardless if the transmutation were internally generated by the handclap or an externally written transmutation circle. He could only direct it and harness it. If the transmutation was flawed, the energy became fuel for the rebound instead.

"When my hands come together, I complete the transmutation circle within my body and the strength of the connection between my mind, body, and soul draws power from the Gate. From there, I can transmute any item into another item of equal mass."

Sheska cautiously interjected, "Ed wasn't doing a transmutation though."

Al tripped over her words and snapped his pupils to the corners of his eyes, "But he clapped his hands to test you for symptoms."

"He did!" she emphatically confirmed, "but, I asked him if it was human transmutation if he touched me and he said no. Ed specifically said he wasn't executing a transmutation. He was only clapping his hands to test for symptoms, but not transmuting me in the process. Ergo, not human transmutation, right?"

"Right…"

Except, that wasn't how the process worked.

Al peeled his eyes off Sheska as his mental train spiralled off track. His brother wasn't controlling any transmutation in order to test for the Gate? How was that possible? How could his brother clap his hands to initiate the internalized alchemy process, in order to test for Sheska's inability to see the Gate, and not do what was needed to actually access the Gate?

Alphonse's eyes dashed around with his thoughts, his mind running a mile a minute.

That changed the context of the experiment.

Regardless if Al understood how it worked, if Ed had already eliminated potential or accidental transmutation, then that was why he was confident enough to use Sheska. A controlled variable in his experiment was the lack of transmutation all together. The fact it was a controlled variable meant it had to be shared between both Sheska and Wrath for the experiments to be equal.

With Sheska's light held high, Al flipped to a new page in his notepad. Leaning over the page on the ground, he wrote out his next line.

'Ed is able to eliminate the transmutation process when he claps his hands,' Al's hand raced through his written words, 'but he is still able to access the Gate, which only Wrath can see,' he rattled his pencil off the floor as he tried to think. Hastily tying together the teasing tendrils of his half formed thoughts, Alphonse flipped back to the prior page detailing his summation of Wrath's reactions, and gave himself a thought to chew on: 'Wrath can sense the deal Ed made with the Gate to get home.'

"That's not something that's easy to do?" without knowing alchemy herself, Sheska had no frame of reference, "to clap your hands like you boys do and not transmute something?"

It was an innocent question that put a bit of a smile back on Al's face, "The first time my brother did it, none of us even knew what had happened – it just happened naturally. When my armour was the Philosopher's Stone, he couldn't even touch me. But it's not limited to just us clapping our hands and instigating a transmutation, the process is the same if it's drawn, the circle has just moved within our body. Regardless if I clap my hands, or if my brother does, of if we draw circles instead, we tap into the Gate for the power. As long as the bonds are strong enough, we'll get some kind of power. The stronger the bond, the better the flow, but asking it not to happen is like asking the sun not to rise. It's part of the fabric of the world and we don't have control over it."

For a moment, a solution seemed obvious to Sheska, "If he can't stop the power, why not turn off the connection? Just disconnect the bonds and not get power."

"Doesn't work like that," Al corrected her, "if his bonds are 'disconnected', then he goes beyond the Gate. And if his bonds are weak or poorly formed, then he can't access the Gate at all."

Sheska sagged a little, not savvy enough with the science to know where else to take her questions, "So, it's something else."

"Yeah, something else, but…" tension knotting up through his body, Al flexed his hands, trying to think, "I don't know how my brother would go about eliminating the transmutation process and still be able to connect with the Gate," frustration welling in his voice, his thoughts picked up their pace, "it makes more sense if I just say he can't do it at all, but that doesn't explain Wrath, unless my brother has another way to access the Gate."

Alphonse lost himself in the echo of his own voice. Dipping into silence, he stared up at the stretches of evening light shining in between the window boards, his wide eyes overrun with the reflection, capturing the rays glisten brilliantly with every fleck of elemental dust floating in the air. He listened to his words one more time, feeling his empty stomach turn uncomfortably.

Sheska gently nudged him back, "We still need to find him."

Al's shoulders sagged and his posture waned. Clenching his eyes shut, he had no choice but to acknowledge something and sighed in resignation, "I know where he is."

Sheska bounced, "You do!?"

Al knew. Ed was his brother, after all. Even if he didn't want to entertain the thought once he'd realized his brother was freely wandering Central City, the moment explosive materials were involved, Al was confident he knew where his brother had gone. Regardless if it wasn't as much as he'd feared, his brother had still had a pair of ignition gloves and potentially two different types of explosive materials in his possession. Al just didn't want to accept he'd have to go down there and stop his older brother from doing something that had all the earmarking of being ridiculously ill conceived.

"I need to at least try to do something, Al, but the less you or I do, the more Dante will."

For Al, it wasn't that long ago he'd sat in the back of a truck with two Ishballan boys and listened to his brother's morals whittle away under the weight of a cruel, grey world. What had five years alone in a place he didn't want to be done to further mold that frame of mind? Despite whatever his predicament was, Ed had stubbornly tried to involve himself in solutions. He didn't share everyone's concern for his safety. And then, the moment he had a window for it, he took off, started scheming, clearly intent on doing 'something'.

"The underground city."

Sheska's glasses slid down her nose, "The what?"

Al needed to find him before he found Dante.

Flipping to a clean page in the notebook, Al's pencil dug in and he quickly carved out the last of his conclusions. The notepad was swiftly folded, the pencil tucked away in the coils, and then the bundle was handed off to Sheska, "After you drop me off, can you pass on some information to Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong for me? I might need his help. And give this back to Winry, I don't want to take it down there."

"No no no nonono, back up," Sheska swung her fingers around in the air, "The underground city? You mean like the sewers systems refugees camp in sometimes?"

"No, I mean the city under the ground," the shining particles in the orange beams of setting sun swirled excitedly when Al stood up. They swept around his shoulders and danced through his hair as he took a few steps along the length of the counter, "The city where Dante lives deep in the earth."

The lenses of Sheska's glasses flashed the evening reflection back at him when she joined him on her feet, "…The what?"

"I'll explain more in the car."

Al clapped his hands and slapped his left palm down on the counter firmly. Engulfed in a magnificent flash of transmutation light, he swept the mess they'd created back into the cabinets, more-or-less the way they'd found it, and relocked the doors.

"Let's go."

To Be Continued...

Author's Note:

I realized that I may not have noted this anywhere on FFN, but we're probably going to land somewhere around 65 chapters instead of the 60 I once stated. Obviously not quite done yet. We'll get there :) enjoy.

Once upon a 2000s I promised myself to get rid of Roy's eyepatch if I ever had the opportunity and here we are :) Riza had a lot of regrets about what happened to him, but she has no regrets about this.

Izumi: Use your head, not your fists.
Ed: Fine.
Al: NO, NOT LIKE THAT.

I'll schedule the next chapter for March 6 :) EDIT - :( I lost a bunch of work a couple weeks back and I thought I'd be able to claw it back for March 6, but it doesn't look like I can. So, I grant myself a 2 week extension :''') March 20.