Thank you to Kailun, Lunatic Pandora1, and RVD for your reviews! They're what feed the fic ^.~

As per RVD's request, I've spaced out the paragraphs a bit in this chapter, as well as modified the previous chapter to be easier to read. Hope it helps!

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He strolled right into the office as if he owned the place and then flopped down on the couch unceremoniously. Roy never lifted his eyes from the folder in his hands, but by the slight quirk in his eyebrow, he projected just how much Edward's entrance irritated him. Edward simply frowned at this and looked at his hand, his actual hand, before putting it comfortably behind his head with the other one. There was a long table between two more couches which stood between him and Roy's desk; he put his feet up on it.

"Well, I'm glad I rushed as soon as I could," he muttered.

Roy still didn't look up. "I do have a mission for you."

"I mean, everybody downstairs is in such a rush," he pressed, ignoring what Roy had just said.

"You may not see it," he said quietly, "but there are reasons."

"It was just chaotic."

He was clearly becoming irritated. "You're being childish," he snapped, flipping the file shut.

"Cats and dogs, living together. Utter madness."

"Edward!"

Grinning cheekily, he finally made eye contact with a fuming Roy; to anybody who hadn't seen that face fairly consistently, Roy probably would have looked fairly well contained. To Edward, however, that face showed someone who was bristling with rage.

'Good.'

Wordlessly, Roy flung the file onto the table; it landed neatly, sliding down the short stretch until it hit Edward's foot with a soft tap. "Get your feet off my table."

He did as the colonel requested, but only to pick up the file. As he leaned forward, he finally noticed a bouquet of flowers resting on his desk. "Got yourself a girlfriend?" Edward asked.

"No."

"Ah," he said with a sage nod. "Boyfriend."

Roy's eyes became dangerous.

Not wanting to be hit with one of the few large blunt objects on Roy's desk, Edward chose to bury his head in the file. However, it wasn't long before he thought a good sound hit to the head was what he needed. "You want me to do what exactly?"

The colonel looked irritated, but he covered it with a sly grin. "Now I understand why you spend so much time in the library," he said coolly. "You spend a few days away from books and suddenly your reading comprehension drops below that of a stone."

"I can read," he shot back. "I'm just confused. You want me to talk to some woman about a book?"

"Exactly."

"What, do you want her autograph but you're too shy to get it from her?"

"More like too busy." He folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. "Anyway, I'm a bit worried that this book of hers is going to stir up some trouble. I want you to go find out exactly what we could be in for."

He opened the file again and read the description softly. "... a book linking alchemy and religion... Does she think that she can bring the military and the people of Ishbar together?"

"I'm worried that she might try. That's why I'm sending you."

"There has to be someone better suited. And anyway, why are you worried?"

Roy smiled and proceeded to dodge the question deftly, although obviously. "You're a kid," he said, reminding Edward of the obvious truth he so often wanted to forget, "and you've got an innocent face. Well," he added, the chuckle implied in his tone, "most of the time. At any rate, as long as you keep your status as a Nationally Certified Alchemist to yourself, you'll probably be able to get all the information you need from her." He gave Edward a quick once-over. "I'd recommend you change your style to be a little less obvious while you travel."

He looked down at the black outfit he always wore. "What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing, if you're a state alchemist, which you don't want to look like. Just find one normal outfit."

"Black suits me, thank you."

The sentence hung in the air longer than it should have, and Roy stared at the flowers on his desk. "I have to go visit an old friend."

Edward was surprised to hear the slight choke that came with that sentence. " Fine," he said, ignoring whatever he had heard, "I'll report back when I have some findings."

"Why don't you come with me?"

He stared in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Just for an afternoon. Unless you have other things planned."

The shock had him still reeling, so it took him a moment to come up with an answer. "No, I guess I'm not busy," he replied, not exactly certain why he agreed to go.

Roy stood silently, picking the flowers up off his desk. Walking towards the door, it opened before he got there, and Hawkeye stepped in. She noticed Edward, and then the flowers in Roy's hands, and gave him a look.

"We're just -"

"I know," she said. "Be careful."

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "Do you want to go there with us?"

"I don't think it's my place."

"It's not anybody's place."

Edward was looking between the two of them wildly. "Can you two please speak English?"

When Roy looked at Edward, for a brief moment there was a look which was completely and utterly unreadable. If it were on anybody else, it would have been obvious, but for Colonel Roy Mustang, having any expression other than a veiled smugness was a surprise.

Especially when that expression was open pain.

"Let's go."

That was the last thing he said until they reached their destination.

Alphonse was reading some of the books that Armstrong had taken from the library for him. It had always bothered him that he was unable to become a Nationally Certified Alchemist because of...

'That's always a tricky turn of phrase, isn't it?' Some days it was difficult deciding how to best address 'the incident.' He decided to let it die and press on with reading. For the time when the two of them will find a way to give back to humans what they had lost, he wanted to make sure that he knew all there was to know about alchemy, so that they could give back to the world everything it had given to them. Although there were some utterly foul people that they met along the way, and some of them were so foul that they weren't even truly people, there were also a lot of good people, and a lot of good examples.

"Alphonse?"

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Hawkeye calling for him through the door he had left slightly open. Instead of calling for her to come in, he rose from the chair he was sitting in and walked over to the door, opening it for her. "Hello, Lieutenant Hawkeye."

She walked in carrying a few more books. "Armstrong told me that you requested these. And it's First Lieutenant."

"I'm sorry," he said, taking the books from her arms. "First Lieutenant. Are you just passing through?"

Hawkeye hesitated. This had all been so easy in her mind, but now it was a bit trickier. "When your brother comes back, he will need you. I don't know exactly what will happen, but I thought you should be warned."

"Is he all right?" Alphonse did absolutely nothing to hide the panic in his voice, and it was in moments like this that he came across as truly young; or perhaps his brother was truly old.

"He will be fine, but for awhile he may be upset. I just thought you would appreciate advance warning."

Alphonse nodded. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your reading."

"Why are we at the cemetery?"

Roy got out of the car without a word, his hands gripping the flowers far too tightly. "Like I said. I have a friend to visit."

Following him out of the car, Edward hesitated when his feet hit the dirt. "Are you sure I should be here?"

He nodded, not saying anything. Perhaps he was unable to say anything.

Silently, Edward following behind Roy, they walked through the rows upon rows of loyal dead, those who fell in battle in the name of their country and commanding officer. Edward thought of his mother, and how he never put enough flowers on her grave for her. She deserved better sons than that.

There were so many graves. It was just a sea of white headstones in a green field, set against a painfully blue sky. White, green, white, green, so blinding, so sharp. It started to give him a headache and he found himself closing his eyes and relying on the sound of Roy's footsteps in front of him to guide him. How could so many people have died for the same thing? Was this what war gave back to the people?

"We're here."

Edward opened his eyes and looked around, but by the way Roy was standing, he couldn't tell which grave was the one he was visiting. The graves were old, as the stones were already smudged with age and the dirt covered by grass. However, one grave, a few plots down, caught his eye. It was still fresh, with only a few green blades poking out of the dead brown soil. He motioned towards that grave. "Is that your friend?"

"He's your friend too."

"What?"

Roy refused to look him in the eye.

Angry, Edward walked the few steps to the grave and read the name. He read it again, and again, hoping it would change, but every time it remained the same. Shock, numbness, just staring at that name, those letters, why did they have to be in that order? Why did they have to say that? Why did it have to be...

"Hughes."

"I'm sorry, Edward," he said, now standing right behind the young alchemist.

It was as if this was all a cruel joke. He had always teased that Hughes was a drag to be around, always talking about his gorgeous loving wife, Gracia, or bragging about how wonderfully cute and clever his sweet little Alicia was (although, the bragging was not entirely unfounded). However, Hughes was... he didn't understand how Hughes fit into his life. He was always just a fixture, a part of life that was there and you never had to worry about going away. Permanent, solid, unshakable.

Like a parent.

"Was this what was so urgent?" he finally managed. Although he tried to maintain his composure, his voice still came out strangled.

"Among other things."

"Great. Next you're going to tell me that ..." He trailed off.

"Tell you what?"

Edward's eyes narrowed. "Nothing," he muttered distantly. "Never mind." Somehow, he couldn't really think of something that could compare to this.

"I understand."

"How are Gracia and Alicia?"

"Not well," he replied. His voice almost sounded tired. "But I hope Gracia will recover. It's only been a few days, so she hasn't had much time."

They grew quiet again, and Roy stepped forward, setting the flowers gently on the still fresh earth. The wind picked up and managed to rip away the delicate petal of a red poppy, letting it fall on the dirt; the rest of the flowers held firm. He moved away from the grave, standing just a bit behind Fullmetal.

Staring at the headstone, Edward felt something warm move towards his shoulder. He though that it might be Roy's hand, but the moment he identified the feeling, it went away, almost as if he had imagined it. 'Of course I imagined it,' he teased himself. 'Why would that bastard ever try to comfort you?'

"How did it happen?"

Roy paused, surprised that he was already asking that, as if he was so composed. Either Edward actually was maturing, something too surprising to even be conceivable, and yet here he was conceiving it, or he was trying really, really hard. "We're not exactly certain." He quickly debated whether it would be better for him to be tactful or to be direct. "His body was found next to a telephone booth, with a stab wound in his shoulder and a single shot to his chest. Some of his blood was found on the floor of a hotel less than a mile away. Witness reports said that there was military personnel with him, except nobody can identify who it was."

"Probably wasn't military personnel, then." Edward turned slightly and looked up at Roy. "Does anybody know why he went to the hotel?"

He shook his head. "Although, the receptionist at the hotel did identify the Fuhrer's secretary, but she had an alibi for that night."

"Where was she?"

"Working late at night with the Fuhrer, apparently." The smirk on his face told Edward that any work those two might have been doing was not the kind of work one discussed in polite company, which somehow the dead managed to be.

Edward laughed, but it was more like a sharp exhalation. "You don't believe it."

"It's not my place to believe or disbelieve."

"Fair enough."

Roy was surprised at how quickly Edward was able to turn from the Edge Of Tears and back into the Depths Of Reality. He couldn't decide whether it was a show or the real Edward. Both were highly possible; the kid had seen enough death in his life, but he also dealt with a lot of mockery from Roy. Very tricky.

"Perhaps we should go."

A huge gust of wind picked up as Roy said this, as if it was waiting for a cue, and swept across the graves, ripping every last petal from the red poppies and spraying them across the ground.

Edward watched the petals fly. "They say that where many graves are planted, red poppies spring up naturally." He turned and walked back towards the car.

Alphonse looked up when he heard the door open slightly. He recognized the quiet, rhythmic step of his brother, hard then soft, and turned around in his chair, worried about what he might see.

He was surprised to find Edward looking absolutely fine, not a care in the world.

"What happened?"

Edward became irritated. 'Am I so obvious?' He sighed, only now realizing that while someone else had to bear the burden of telling him, they left it up to Edward to tell his brother. "Hughes is dead."

"What?!"

"He was killed in the line of duty," he continued, now staring at the floor, unable to look his brother in the eye. "They promoted him two ranks, posthumously."

The room was enveloped in grave silence, broken only by the gentle creaks of Alphonse moving; it looked like his shoulders were shaking. Edward didn't know how to react; when they were little and their mother had died, he held Alphonse every night for nearly three months, and his little brother sobbed himself to sleep. But now, what would he do?

"Gracia is going to take me shopping this evening," he said. "I have to get some new clothes for our next assignment, and she's going to help me." Painfully, he finally looked up. "Would you like to come?"

As soon as he made eye contact with his brother, Edward felt someone reach into his chest and crush his heart. Although his face was unchanging metal, somehow Alphonse managed to be extremely expressive, and how broken he was inside was completely apparent. Edward's throat swelled shut, burning as if it was raw with screaming.

'No,' Edward scolded himself. 'Now's not the time.' He did his best to offer a comforting smile. "I think Gracia and Alicia might enjoy seeing us, and Roy said it would help to get them out of the house."

Alphonse nodded. "All right, brother." He faltered, asking hesitantly, "Are you all right?"

"Me? What about you?"

He straightened up. "I'm fine."

"Well, if you need to mope," Edward said, finally entering the room and going for his suitcase, "you had better get it out of your system now. It'll be no good if either of us lost our heads in front of them." He opened his suitcase and took out a pair of jeans. Changing quickly, he continued, "We're only going to be here for the one night. I got the feeling from Roy that he wanted us out of here as soon as possible, and I'm eager to oblige."

"You don't even want to rest for a day?"

Edward buttoned the jeans. They were a tiny bit snug now. Probably the great diet that being a dog of the military afforded him. "Rest and do what? We have some stupid mission which will probably take us a day or two to do, with another day or two of traveling. That in itself can be our vacation."

"Where are we going?" Alphonse began putting his books and notes away, stacking everything neatly.

"North," he replied, changing black shirts into something that was less worn with travel. "I have to see a woman about a book, and Roy thinks I'll do better if I don't look like a state alchemist. That's why I need the new outfit."

Pausing, Alphonse looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Won't I stand out?"

He shrugged. "Probably. I don't know what else can be done, though, except to leave you here, and I won't do that."

His brother smiled, the expression visible only in his eyes. "Thank you."

"What an asshole." Edward punched the post of the bunk bed with his fleshy fist. It connected with a soft thud that sounded like it was probably painful.

"What?"

"The colonel," he said, turning around sharply and falling back against the bunk post. "He could have called us in time for the funeral or something, but no."

Alphonse spoke gently. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"The bastard always has his reasons. I know that, and I don't care." His jaw was clenched shut. "All I'm asking is to be let in on what those reasons are once in a while. I've been in this deathtrap they call being a Nationally Certified Alchemist for three years now. You'd think that maybe, just maybe, he could let us in on what's rolling around in that little pea-brain of his."

He thought of suggesting once more that maybe Colonel Mustang had reasons for keeping them in the dark about his reasons, but Alphonse thought better of it.

"I'm going to go take a shower. Wash the train ride off of me. Wouldn't want to smell like a cow, would I?"

Silently, Havoc walked away from the door.

"So he's frustrated, is he?"

Havoc nodded, sitting lazily on one of the chairs in Roy's office. "Are you happy to be back in Central?"

"Under the Fuhrer's watchful eye?" Roy said, not masking his sarcasm. "Where would I rather be?"

"Out in the field, protecting that kid." He spotted the disbelieving look on Roy's face and rolled his eyes. "Look, for all your subtleties, you're completely obvious when it comes to Elric. Especially now."

Roy nodded. He looked out the window and spotted a group of cadets, marching around in the square, keeping their skills sharp. The cadets always needed to look sharp and be of use; the military would use you until you were dead.

"You're going to be off the hook completely," he said distantly.

"That's true."

"I can't understand why."

Jon shrugged. "I'm not a very interesting person, I guess. I don't tend to attract a whole lot of attention. Anyway, what do you think you're going to do?"

"What else can I do? I'm a sitting duck." For a moment, he looked tired, or perhaps just irritated to the point of exhaustion. "I can't believe you, Havoc."

He smiled disarmingly at the colonel. "You know you appreciate it, so don't even try to give me that."

"I do appreciate it," Roy replied. "Very much. But I want you to promise me that once the shit truly hits the fan, that you're going to steer clear and mind the over-spray."

"With all due respect, sir, I have a duty to fulfill, and I'm going to do it. I swore an oath that I would follow my commanding officer to the grave, and I intend to do it."

He snapped his head towards Jon, his face set in steel. What he said, he said so slowly and with such force that each word stabbed Jon, burying themselves in his mind forever. "I've already buried one friend," he said. "Don't make me burry another."

Jon swallowed, hard. "Yes, sir."

"I was thinking that we could go out tonight," Edward said, standing at the door with as charming of a smile as he could muster.

Gracia stood in front of him, looking well-kept; her hair was as neatly brushed as ever, and her clothes were still very nice, but also very plain, just like what he expected a mother to wear. She was perfectly groomed and looked extremely well. All but her eyes.

"That sounds nice," she said softly, her voice broken. "Let me get Alicia. Just one moment." Her movements were slow and robotic, and when she called for her child, her voice was completely joyless, nothing like the Gracia they had known. She returned to the door shortly, holding Alicia's hand in her own. "We are ready."

"Big brothers!" Alicia squealed, wrapping her arms around Edward's right leg.

Edward smiled, patting her on the head gently. 'Well, she seems to be all right.' He looked up at Gracia and saw a small light flicker in her eyes. 'They'll both be all right.'

"Let's get going," Alphonse urged, the childish grin echoing as he spoke.

A car was waiting to take them to the Central Promenade, where they would have their pick of clothing shops and posh restaurants. Edward had decided in advance that they would go out somewhere to eat, and he made certain that none of them were special spots that could have possibly reminded Gracia of her husband. Forgetting was what she needed now.

In fact, it was time to get going on making her forget.

"What do you think we should get?"

She turned her head, looking somewhat distracted. "Hm? Oh. Well, I think that a bit of color would be good to add to your wardrobe. Black and red are very harsh colors."

"That's true. Do you think that blue would suit me?"

For a moment, the fog seemed to lift a little from her face as she studied Edward. "Hm. It may. I think you would look good in any color other than yellow."

"Why not yellow?"

"Your hair, and your eyes," she said. "It would just be too much."

He smiled contently and did his best to continue the conversation until they reached the Central Promenade. Alicia was playing with Alphonse in one of the fountains, the kind where the water spurts out of a myriad of holes in the ground. Edward casually warned his brother to stay away from the water, or else he might rust, before he and Gracia went to the store.

Before he was even in the store, he saw that Gracia had an armful of clothing just waiting for him. She muttered something along the lines of "holdtheseplease" and scurried off to find more things for him. Grunting under the load, he tried to shift it around so that he could see exactly what he was holding. Most of the clothing was fairly unobtrusive, pale blues, greys, and a white shirt here and there, with two pairs of jeans mixed in. He cringed when he saw that the shirts were all size small.

"At least she didn't get extra-small."

"Here," she said with a smile, putting more clothes on the already-overloaded Edward, "go try all of these on. I put some things in there to give you a respectable wardrobe."

He groaned as she nudged him towards the changing rooms. "I'm only buying clothes for a few days. I don't need all of this." But he was completely ignored as she pushed him into the small, closet-like room and shut the door on him.

"Just try those on and show me how you look."

Edward did what he could to hang the clothes on the two impossibly small hooks in the changing room. He hooked them on, a handful at a time, and started putting them on more and more cautiously as he neared the end. Hooking the last one on, he sighed, ready to begin changing.

Then there was a loud thud and a short yelp inside the changing room.

"Are you all right?"

"The clothes attacked me." In a cascade they had all fallen off the hook and knocked him to the ground. "I don't think we're going to get along too well."

He could hear laughter through the door. "I think you will get along fine, if you just try them on instead of tossing them around."

With a frown, he grabbed his shirt and hauled it over his head, fishing for a new one from the pile with his other hand. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the shirts that were selected, so he was confused as to which one he should select first. It should have been an easy enough problem, like drawing a piece of popcorn from a bowl, but he knew that every progressive shirt he wore would mean that he would probably have to get it, thus expanding his clothing options beyond that which would fit in his suitcase.

"Oh, hello. Out shopping?"

Gracia's voice floated into the dressing room, but it was not directed at Edward.

"I accidentally ruined a shirt this morning. Ironing mishap."

Edward's eyes widened slightly. 'It can't be...'

"I should probably have more than a week's supply of shirts, but I don't see a need for more. And I see you're out shopping as well."

"Shopping, and then some dinner. Oh!" she said, and Edward could practically hear the benevolent smile of hers. He winced, knowing that the next thing she was going to ask was, "Would you care to join us?"

'Please say no, please say no...'

"That's all right, Gracia, I have a meal for one waiting for me at my apartment."

Edward slumped against the dressing room wall and sighed.

"Oh no, please, I insist."

His face drew in pain. "Why did she have to insist?" he muttered to himself.

"Are you certain?"

"Oh, Colonel Mustang, I couldn't let you eat alone tonight. You just have to join us."

"Well," he said, and Edward cringed, knowing the exact expression on Roy's face right now, "if you insist, then I suppose I can't turn it down."

He punched the wall.

"Edward? Are you all right in there?"

"Fine, fine," he muttered, grabbing a shirt at random and putting it on quickly.

"Is he with you? Oh, that's right, he needed to look less conspicuous for his next mission." He chuckled and knocked on the door. "Why don't you show us your new look, Fullmetal?"

Carefully stepping over the mountain of clothes, he left the small, suddenly welcoming room to face Colonel Mustang and do his best not to let the mockery get to him. As he walked out, he checked the color of the shirt he was wearing. 'Blue,' he thought. 'Blue is all right. Oh, and I didn't put it on inside out. Bonus.'

"Well, I think you look very handsome."

Edward blushed and looked away. "Okay. Then let's get it and go."

"Eh," Roy interrupted, "I don't think it's subtle enough."

"All right," he said as calmly as possible, "which one do you recommend then?"

A few of the store patrons were beginning to stare.

"Try that green one sitting on top of the pile."

Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, he merely took the shirt off, threw it at the pile, picked up the other one, and put it on. "Better?"

The eyes of all the store patrons watching suddenly widened.

Edward noticed this and he shot all of them a look. "What?" he challenged.

They looked away hurriedly and went about their business.

"I think the green suits you better."

He sighed, visibly slumping. "Only for this one mission," Edward murmured quietly. "One mission, and then you can return to a world dominated by one color, in which everything makes sense."

"I suppose that's why you joined the military."

Edward looked at Roy, his eyebrow raised slightly. "I'm sorry. Maybe I didn't hear you. Did you just make a joke?"

"Not really," he replied smoothly. "More of a passing comment which could have been taken humorously. If I was going to make a joke, I probably would have said something suggesting that you're very hard to size due to your height, or lack thereof, and that it would make sense for you to want to wear the same clothing you've been wearing for the past few years."

"That's a bit of a long joke. Not too good for a snappy reply."

Roy shrugged. "I'm a bit out of practice."

"Go try a few more on, Edward," Gracia urged, nudging him back to the mountain of clothing with a smile. "And remember to shut the door this time!"

He allowed himself to be pushed back into the changing room and shut the door behind him. It was only then that he fully realized what had just happened.

"I just had a conversation with Colonel Mustang. A friendly conversation."

"Did you need something?" Gracia's song-like voice carried into the room.

Edward realized that he had spoken aloud. "Oh! No, I'm fine. Thank you." He frowned as he changed into a new outfit. 'This is going to be an interesting evening.'

Alphonse stared at the ceiling. He knew that the blanket was covering him, but it wasn't as if he could feel it. However, it was on him, neatly laying there, nestled slightly under the arms of the suit of armor. The senseless mass of the acoustic ceiling, the kind with the consistency of cottage cheese, began to take shapes in the darkness, and he saw little figures frozen in motion, like a small bunny rabbit or a vaguely frightening clown.

"Ed?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"Don't you think it was strange, bumping in to Colonel Mustang like that?"

His brother rolled over in bed and faced the wall. "A little bit. We should get some sleep. I was hoping to leave early tomorrow."

"You mean early today."

Edward looked over his shoulder at the clock. "Yeah, you're right. I can't believe it's already that late."

"We did stay a very long time. I hope that we didn't upset the restaurant owners."

"I'm sure it was no problem," he said, dismissing Alphonse's worries. "If it was, they probably would have said something."

"With the way you and the colonel were talking the entire time, I think they would be scared to."

His brother huffed. "Fighting is more like it. I can't stand how he constantly tries to bait me like that."

"You were being just as bad."

"Let's just forget about it, okay? We get to leave tomorrow, and then I don't have to see that stupid, smug face of his for at least a week."

'You would be sad if his smug face was no longer around, brother.' But Alphonse kept his tongue on this one, knowing it would be a bad idea to aggravate his brother, especially now, when he could sense that Edward was ready to pounce on anything. "Where are we going? I don't think you ever told me."

"North."

He sighed. "I know north, but what city?"

Edward rolled back over in bed to face his brother, propping himself up on one elbow. "We're going to be heading for Menros, which is north and slightly to the east of here. It's going to take two days to get there, so I was thinking we would stop in Engelwood for the night."

"Is there anything special about Engelwood?"

"Other than that it's midway between here and Menros?" He shrugged. "Not really."

Alphonse nodded. "Sorry for interrupting you."

"It's okay. Well, Menros might be a bit dangerous; they suspect that some of the refugees from Ishbar might be there. So you and I are going to have to try to be inconspicuous. I want to get this stupid mission done and over with, so that maybe we can get back to more important matters."

"The Philosopher's Stone," he said, filling in the blank that his brother never offered. "You still haven't given up on it."

Edward's face changed, but in a way that was almost as good as a nod. "There is another way, I know it. And I'm going to find it."

"I haven't forgotten either. I'm going to get your arm back for you."

"Before my arm is your body, Al. Don't forget that."

"Ed..." Alphonse sighed. "But the stone. Can there really be another way? The stone is just... it's..."

His eyes narrowed in determination. Alphonse remembered the look clearly. "I don't know if it's going to be the stone. Maybe it's going to be something else. Regardless, I'm going to make things right again."

"Brother?"

He fell back in bed and once more faced the wall, curling up in a ball. "Good night, Al."

Alphonse hummed in worry. "Good night."

"Good evening, Captain Obvious."

Roy hadn't even flicked on the light in his office. "Hello, Farman. And that's Colonel Obvious."

The salt-and-pepper haired officer didn't bother getting up. "Had a nice evening?"

"I thought I would enjoy what time I had left," he replied, flicking the light on and closing the door quietly behind him.

"If you're looking to enjoy your time, I know of a little house down in the less-reputable part of town where they sell some of that. Of course," he added with a smirk, "by reputation only."

"Of course."

Vato Farman watched as his senior officer walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, apparently looking for something. "I suppose you just want to leave him with a good impression."

"I think I'd rather leave him with any impression other than the one he already has. Somehow, leaving behind a memory of a hard-assed prick with a superiority complex and a slight penchant for what might be considered megalomaniacal tendencies is not exactly what I had in mind." He slammed the drawer shut in frustration and fell into his seat, completely giving up on composure. "I hate this feeling."

"You don't have to worry about what he thinks of you, colonel."

Roy looked up at him, slightly confused.

He smiled. "The boy's been following you like a stray pup since day one. Don't you think that if he was really upset, he'd figure out some way to get a transfer, or weasel himself into someone else's domain?"

"I knew Foenhime," he offered weakly.

"A lot of us knew Foenhime," Vato replied quickly. "And if he really cared about his father that much, don't you think he'd be asking for him more? Or at all?" He shook his head. "No, he's given up on that, and you know it as well as I do."

Roy lowered his gaze.

"Don't play dumb with me, colonel. I may not have known you as long as some other people have -"

"You mean Maes."

He coughed. "But I can still read some of your actions. It's nice of you, to want to leave Edward with an image of his commanding officer as something other than a complete and utter sociopath - although I don't know for whom it would be nicer - but you could have gone about it in a more subtle manner. And either way, I don't see why it matters."

"If I had known, I might have done things differently."

"No, you wouldn't have."

Roy finally looked up and met Vato's gaze.

"You would have done everything the exact same way, and I'll tell you why: that boy, he can handle almost anything that the world can throw at him. And since he's Foenhime's son, that's going to be a lot. The worst thing you could have done was coddle him and make everything easier on him. He stepped into the adult world, and you gave it to him, holding back only the things you knew would break him."

He smiled, a sort of sad, distant smile, and his eyes drifted towards the window. "You're trying to make me sound like some sort of hero. I'm not. I'm just a man who saw a useful tool and used it to its fullest potential." His smile grew sadder. "Little did I know that it would all come crashing down on my head."

"Sir, not all is lost."

"All is lost, Farman, and the best thing you can do right now is get out."

Vato understood perfectly. He stood up and bowed slightly. "All of the people under you have followed your every order to the letter, not because of duty to the military, but because of duty to you. Remember that." As quietly as he had entered, he strode out of the room.

The colonel sat quietly in the brightly lit room, his desk absolutely pristine. In fact, everything in the room was pristine. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Yet if any of the drawers were opened, all that anybody would see would be an utter mess of papers, a chaotic arrangement which only Roy himself understood. Files and reports were strewn everywhere behind cabinet drawers and within covered shelves, yet he knew the place of everything in his office.

Anyway, what did it matter? To the common observer, it was absolutely perfect.

He leaned back in his chair and felt, for a moment, utterly despondent, something he hadn't felt since that day in Ishbar, but something which had been brewing within him since Maes had fallen, since Jon had spoken with him.

"And what of me?" he asked the air. "Will there be flowers on my grave?"