Al jolted up, the haze of sleep disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Ed came to life beside him, Al's sudden movement alerting him. His breathing sharpened, and Al felt a strong arm sweep in front of him. Ed was putting himself between Al and the spearmen.

"You're surrounded, Fullmetal," one of the soldiers declared through the cigarette in his teeth.

Al's breath caught. Aside from the eight soldiers forming a circle around them, at least ten more waited in the background on horseback, weapons at the ready.

This was hopeless.

"Be gentle, please," cautioned a calm, female voice. "There's a civilian."

A woman in full military garb shouldered her way through the line of spearmen. Al didn't know anything about military rank, or the glittering decorations on her shoulders, but he guessed, with no small amount of surprise, that she was in charge.

In fact, didn't he recognize her voice?

Ed stiffened. "Lieutenant Hawkeye." There was a grudging note of respect in his voice. "Where's your bastard of a boss?"

"He'll be along shortly," she replied, terse. "He'll be extremely pleased to see you."

Ed's muscles tightened. "Not going anywhere with him." He glanced back at Al, the glare falling from his face momentarily.

The woman officer studied Al, veiled curiosity in her dark eyes.

Al had no intention of revealing his talents to these military officers, the same way he hadn't even considered using them at the Devil's Nest.

This woman had been there—the deep voiced one in command had given her orders. If Al remembered correctly—he'd been more than a little panicked, and more than a little shaken up at curling close to Edward to hide.

Without his alchemy, how could he fight off more than a dozen trained soldiers at once?

He couldn't.

So he resorted to the strategy he'd used last time—to great effect.

"Please. Don't take him away. I need him." His fingers closed around the red sleeve of Ed's coat, which he'd slung haphazardly around himself upon waking up. It had been surprisingly warm to sleep under.

The woman—lieutenant, Ed had called her—blinked once. "He's not under arrest, sweetheart."

Wait.

"W-what?"

Ed growled. "I'm not going with him. I told him just yesterday I wasn't interested."

This was news to Al. "Not interested? In what?" What could the soldiers possibly want from Ed, except his capture? "You're a wanted thief."

Ed closed his eyes and sighed, resigned. "Not…to them."

"Then what?"

"I hoped this wouldn't come up," he mumbled, and Al's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. More secrets? What else could Ed be hiding?

The lieutenant supplied the answer. "Colonel Mustang believes that Edward here is the lost heir to the throne."

Al's mouth dropped open. "Wh…" It was all he could get out.

"It's stupid," Ed grumbled. "Dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"You…" Al managed to splutter. "You're a prince?"

"No!"

"Most people lead with that, not their wanted poster."

"I'm not!" Ed's hands shot out, palms toward Al, as if to shield himself. His eyes were wide, the plea in them fervent.

"We don't know for sure," the Lieutenant admitted. "There's no way to confirm. But the Colonel has always believed at least one of the princes survived that night. He says the king wouldn't have stepped down unless he knew an heir would come forward eventually."

Al thought back to Ed's story the night before. He hadn't known where he came from. Didn't know how he lost his limbs.

But surely it was true of countless orphans—especially after the disaster Al had caused.

"He's based everything on some dumbass theory about my alchemy," Ed explained grudgingly. "He thinks I got that skill from the accident that caused the earthquake. You know the one." He gave Al a meaningful look. "According to Professor Bastard, I had to be closest to the portal when it opened."

"That's…" Al didn't know what word to use. Surprising? Interesting?

If it were true, and Ed had been close to the portal, wouldn't that put him near Al and Father on that night?

Al had no concrete memories of that night, but he had conjured up images based on what Father had told him: A small version of himself toddling too close to the circle, Father calling him back with increasing alarm in his voice.

What a coincidence, if Ed had also been close on that night. Maybe the next house over, or on the street outside.

"Stupid," Ed finished for him. "It's stupid."

"You're a skilled alchemist," countered the Lieutenant calmly. "It's a valid theory."

Ed crossed his arms. "Yeah, but he also wants me to head up the revolution he's brewing. I'm not doing that."

"Revolution?" Al nearly squeaked. They hadn't been captured by loyal soldiers, but by revolutionaries? He couldn't decide which was worse.

"He wants to overthrow the top ranking military officers and replace them with ones who are less corrupt," explained the lieutenant. "If he had the power of the royal bloodline at his side, he could even restore the monarchy."

"How many times do I have to tell him no?" Ed growled. "I'm not starting a revolution, and I'm not playing at being a damn prince."

Al considered this. Ed wasn't just on the run from people who would throw him in jail. He viewed being a prince as an equal sentence to prison—or death.

That did sound like Edward.

He tried to imagine: Ed, with a crown on his golden braided hair, greeting subjects with a benevolent sweep of his arm…

A giggle escaped Al's lips.

"See?" Ed whirled to face his laugh. "Al thinks it's ridiculous, too."

"Ridiculous or not, we're still going." The lieutenant—Hawkeye, Ed had called her—gestured behind her, and an empty horse was brought forward.

Ed's fists were clenched so hard he began to shake with frustration.

No. No, Al wasn't going to let this happen. He couldn't let them take Ed somewhere he didn't want to go.

He couldn't let them take Ed away from him.

"Wait!" Al shouldered his way in front of Ed, elbowing him defiantly when Ed tried to hold him back. "Please, please wait."

The lieutenant gave him a soft look—not exactly a smile, but less stern than when she'd given the soldiers commands. "I told you, sweetheart, we're not throwing him in prison. He's safer with us than he is anywhere else in the kingdom."

"I know. But…" Al gave Ed a soft look of his own. Trying to convey—don't worry. I'll help you. "I need him."

"Why do you need him?"

"He's taking me to the city today, to see the lights. We have an agreement."

His heartbeat stuttered over the agreement part since, unbeknownst to Ed, his ticket to freedom was now squarely in Al's pocket.

"Wait," said the soldier who'd spoken before. "The lights at the festival? The lanterns?"

"Yes."

"It's a really big deal to him," Ed offered. He elbowed Al affectionately. "You all're gonna make me ruin the biggest day of this kid's life?"

Several of the soldiers' spear points dipped toward the ground.

"I…just…" Al looked around pleadingly at the men, meeting their eyes one by one. "Just one day. Let him go with me for one day. Then you can debate to your heart's content about princes and revolutions and…whatever."

One day—one day for Al to figure out a new escape plan for Ed.

"One day," Lieutenant Hawkeye repeated doubtfully.

Al turned to her, eyes wide and beseeching. "Please. It's my birthday."

The thought hadn't even occurred to him yet.

Hawkeye blinked. "Oh. And how old are you today?"

"Fifteen," he said proudly.

"Hey," Ed said. "I'm fifteen too. I'll be sixteen in a few months."

"He's never been to the festival before?" asked one of the soldiers in the outer ring. He was shorter than the others and wore rimmed glasses. "It's the only time this place feels alive again."

"I've wanted to go my whole life," Al added, laying the longing on thick. This never would have worked with Father. "Please. I'm so close."

Something softened in the lieutenant's brown eyes.

"Hey, we could escort 'em," offered another soldier, stocky with reddish brown hair. "Nobody'd give him a second glance if he was with us."

Anything to get them out of this circle of spears. "I'd love that," Al gushed. He looked at Ed with stars in his eyes. "Would you?" Please trust me. I'll get you out of this. Just go along with it.

Ed scowled, though Al thought he detected understanding in those golden eyes. "I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing."

"Just one day," Hawkeye said again firmly. "I can accept this. Though I'll need to inform the—"

"Lieutenant," broke in a new voice. Deep. Authoritative.

A single horse emerged from the shadow of the trees, and Al realized quickly he was getting his first real look at the infamous Colonel Mustang.

He rode with impeccable posture, though his hair was ruffled and wild from riding. His blue military garb, despite his riding on horseback, was still pressed and starched to perfection. A dark coat was draped over his shoulders like a royal robe. He held the reins almost lazily with one gloved hand.

"Sir." The lieutenant snapped to attention instantly. "I've—"

"And Fullmetal. At last. Lieutenant Hawkeye, please restrain him. We'll head to the palace immediately."

"Like hell," Ed hissed. He clapped his hands, quickly forming his automail into a blade.

The colonel seemed unbothered by the aggression. "Don't make a scene, Fullmetal. It won't end well for you."

"Oh, I'll make a scene." Ed stepped forward, ignoring the circle of spearmen, who had all let their weapons relax and were looking between Hawkeye and Mustang confusedly. "Stay back, Al."

"Oh." Mustang noticed Al for the first time. He stared down at him with a bored expression. "Is this a hostage you've dragged into this mess?"

"Actually, sir," Hawkeye began calmly. "There's been a change of plans."

"The only plans I have are to topple the Fuhrer from his corrupt pedestal."

"Not with my help, you're not," Ed snorted.

"Sir," the lieutenant tried again. "Stop—"

"You're surrounded, Fullmetal. You finally made the mistake of being caught."

Ed practically vibrated with rage.

"Don't bother fighting. Against me, you'd just embarrass yourself."

Al narrowed his eyes. Despite his words of warning, the colonel adjusted his gloves with a gleam of anticipation in his eye.

He was hoping for a fight. Why else would he goad the person he hoped to recruit? He wanted Ed to explode and start something—if not a huge, explosive fight, then at least a small tiff to put Ed in his place.

Not if Al could help it.

"Edward," Al said softly but firmly. "Stop it. He's baiting you."

Ed froze. He turned to Al, barely contained anger radiating from his expression.

A day ago, Al would have broken out in sweats from that face. Now he took Ed's automail wrist—gently, avoiding the blade—and guided it down.

"We have a deal, remember?" Al smiled hopefully. "Don't let him ruin it."

Ed sighed. "I know what he's doing. Just…I wanna fight him. He's a—"

"Bastard," Al supplied, and Ed coughed in surprised amusement. "I know. Someday. Just not today?"

Ed huffed a sigh.

Al looked back at Mustang, who was observing the exchange with visible astonishment. "Sir, your lieutenant gave us one day. You escort us to the royal city, and we'll see the lantern festival. Then you can get back to…being stubborn at each other."

Mustang seemed taken aback. Al was, too, if he were honest with himself. Where was his confidence coming from?

The answer was simple—the boy next to him.

The colonel shook his head, as if to clear it. "Who are you? Not his hostage, I'm assuming."

"I…" Al hesitated briefly before deciding on the truth. "My name is Alphonse. Ed is my friend."

"I wasn't aware Fullmetal had friends. Just accomplices, whom he stabs in the back."

"I assure you," Ed supplied through gritted teeth. "He's a friend."

Mustang looked at Hawkeye. "Lieutenant?"

"I did agree to such a deal. And to be fair, sir, upsetting today's festivities might result in civilian casualties."

"Ed?" Al bit his lip. "Please. For me?"

Trust me.

Ed groaned theatrically. "Fine." He clapped his hands once more and returned his automail to normal.

Mustang was still eyeing Al with a shrewd, calculating look in his eyes. "Not many people are able to talk Fullmetal down from a fight. Tell me, Alphonse, have you ever considered a career in the military?"

"Leave him alone," Ed snarled, glaring up at the colonel, who smirked at Ed's reaction.

"Ed." Al rubbed Ed's left arm soothingly. "It's okay. I'm not mad."

Ed's breathing stuttered. He looked down at his arm, where Al held it. "Sorry," he said. "He makes me mad."

Al lowered his voice. "I won't let him take you away. Promise."

Ed peeked up through golden lashes, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

"That one," Mustang muttered to his lieutenant, "could be useful."

"Alphonse," said the lieutenant, dismissing the ring of spearmen with a wave of her hand. "Your hair—would you mind if I braided it?"

Her brown eyes were warm.

"Oh. I—I guess not." Al had played with his hair a lot, but his braiding technique was rather messy. He'd never dared to ask Father to practice on his long hair.

The soldiers disintegrated into small groups now that the tension had disappeared. They seemed much less threatening now—just like the group of ex-soldiers in the Devil's Nest.

Gentle fingers ran through Al's hair, working out snarls with painless ease. Soft tugs at his scalp followed as Hawkeye threaded the sections of his hair into a long braid.

How surreal it felt to have his hair braided by a soldier. She was much kinder than Al would've imagined.

What would Ed's hands feel like in his hair? Braiding, unbraiding…

He viciously kicked at the thought.

"Finished."

"Thank you," he said, only a little breathlessly. "Uh—Lieutenant."

"Not a problem. And Alphonse? You can call me Riza. Not Lieutenant."

"Oh. Okay."

She smiled at him and tucked his long bangs behind his ear.

Al's knees briefly transformed into jelly at the simple sign of affection.

"First time going to the festival," she mused, almost to herself. Then, to Al: "Why have you never been?"

Not wanting to get into everything with this woman, who was kind but still a soldier, Al simply said: "I've never had anyone to show me the way."

They both glanced over at Edward, who had his hands on his hips speaking to one of the other soldiers.

"You must trust him quite a bit," said Hawkeye—no, Riza.

"I didn't," Al said, thoughtful. "But now I do."

.

Ed couldn't believe his luck. And by luck, he was pretty sure the universe, or God, or whatever, was out to get him.

Mustang had caught up with him three times in the span of one day.

Now they had the audacity to act like they were doing him a favor by escorting him to the royal city.

"Hey, chief," called one of the soldiers. It was the one with the cigarette who'd spoken up a few times before. "That coat—it's pretty badass, but kind of a giveaway. Why not go undercover today and take it off?"

Ed bristled at the thought of leaving his coat behind, but a small, reasonable voice in his brain agreed that it could be a good idea. After all, it had helped the crew in the Devil's Nest identify him.

He shrugged off his coat reluctantly. The soldier offered him a canvas bag to carry it in, so he wouldn't have to truly leave it behind.

Now, feeling rather naked without a coat, he'd have to find and borrow another. Perhaps they'd pass a house on their way, with laundry drying outside…

"You need a coat?" another voice called. The bespectacled soldier hurried over, rifling in his bag. "It isn't winter exactly, but you might need more than that shirt." He produced a long brown coat. "Wear this one."

Ed took it hesitantly. It was a little threadbare, but the correct size for him. He wouldn't stand out in a crowd wearing it.

"Thanks." He shrugged it on, stretching his arms to test its fit. A little too long, but he could roll the sleeves up easily.

"Looks good on you." The first soldier ruffled Ed's hair, making it as messy as his own rumpled mop. "By the way—" he leaned in and lowered his voice, "your friend's not wanted, too, is he?"

"Oh—no."

"Couldn't remember seeing him on a Wanted poster. He looks a little like you, actually." The soldier laughed through the cigarette between his teeth. "He could be your stunt double."

Ed glanced over at Al, whose attention was occupied by Lieutenant Hawkeye. Though her posture was stiff, her face was soft. As Ed watched, she placed her hands on Al's arms and said something to him. He nodded, looking encouraged.

Somehow Ed wasn't bothered by this. If Al had to latch onto one of Mustang's officers, he'd prefer it to be Hawkeye. He'd always liked her better than Mustang, anyway.

She'd probably take better care of him than Ed could.

Wait—where had that thought come from? Ed's thoughts of Al were suddenly tinged with melancholy.

Their deal lasted until today. Ed's job to get Al to the festival had been co-opted by the soldiers. Al would likely go on his merry way and forget about the stupid thief who'd gotten him this far. Never mind Ed's growing fascination with the boy from the tower.

"Hey." Al nudged him so suddenly Ed jumped. He'd been wrapped up in his own thoughts—he hadn't noticed Al coming back toward him.

"Hey yourself."

"Your hair looks…nice."

Ed was sure it looked anything but, as he'd slept on it and nearly fought Mustang upon waking up, but warmth pulsed inside him at the compliment anyway. "Thanks." He pulled it into a hasty ponytail. "So does yours."

"The lieutenant did it. She's really nice." Al fingered his golden plait tentatively. "I don't get why she's so loyal to someone as arrogant as Mustang."

"Me neither."

Ed studied the braid that Mustang's second had given Al. A wistful air breathed into his chest, pinging a tiny bell of disappointment that he hadn't gotten to braid Al's hair himself. It would've been a nice exercise of trust, and Ed would've liked to have the softness of Al's golden hair in between his fingers…

Al pressed in close to Ed, so close the whole length of their torsos touched. "Stay close to me? I don't trust these soldiers as much as I trust you."

Oh.

"Sure," Ed barely managed.

He still had one day with Al. He intended to make the most of it.