Mirage

Chapter Four – Separation

Edward, 16; Alphonse, 10

Central, 1915

Alphonse opened his eyes. It was eerily quiet, and eerily bright. He sat up and looked around. Eerily bright for a room that had no windows. How did he get here?

He rubbed his head. Had he been sleeping? Slowly, he stood on shaky legs, taking in his surroundings. He was in a ballroom, he thought first, with a gold tiled floor and a huge chandelier. No, he realized, it was a theatre, because ahead of him there was a stage.

Then he saw it. The array for Human Transmutation. He was standing in the middle of it. Horrified, he jumped out of it in three quick steps, then just stared at it. It was still humming.

The memory hit him. They had tried to bring back their mother with an array exactly like this one. But what had happened? The pain in his head began so suddenly that Alphonse fell to his knees, clutching his temples. The transmutation had gone horribly wrong. He remembered his body decomposing, Edward trying in vain to catch hold of him, his own body beginning to dissolve as well.

So they had miscalculated, and the transmutation had destroyed them both. But where was he? Was this what happened to alchemists who had dared, in desperation, to tread on God's territory? Was he awaiting some final judgment? He looked around. Then where was Edward? Where was anyone?

"Edward?" he called, his voice sounding strangely dry, and oddly unused.

There were puddles of blood on the floor, and chairs and tables were strewn about, as if there had been a struggle. A trail, also of blood, lead away from one of the puddles. Lost as to what else to do, Alphonse followed it.

He followed it out of the theatre, into a deserted street of a deserted city, weirdly illuminated by something indeterminable. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that there was no sky. Maybe he was in Hell. "Edward?" he called again, his voice echoing off the empty buildings.

He followed it up a flight of stone steps, onto a stone walkway that rimmed the city. It was an ancient city, he realized, this style of building was used somewhere around four hundred years ago. Thoughts of time travel played at the edges of his mind, but he shook his head. Even if, he reasoned, where were all the people? Afraid to call out once more, finding the echo of his own voice the most chilling, Alphonse found that the blood lead to a doorway, and another flight of stairs. Eager to get out of the deserted city, he followed them.

London, 1915

The glaring white light was blinding him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was in pain, and he was in a hospital. He was alive, and that meant he had failed. "Alphonse!" he tried to cry out, but his voice would not respond. Oh, God, what had happened to Alphonse? If he was alive-

the hideous jumble of flesh and bones, nothing properly assembled, shuddering as it struggled to take a breath-

"He's waking up," a voice echoed somewhere.

"Edward, why couldn't you make me right?"

someone was screaming, and hands were pushing him back down on the bed. He was screaming, he realized. Slowly, he let his eyes open. Unknown faces surrounded him.

"Do you know your name?" one of them said.

"Edward," he whispered, voice hoarse from more screaming than he could recall. "Edward Elric."

"Do you remember what happened?"

I performed an illegal human transmutation. And failed. Didn't I? He shook his head. "I don't know," he said, slipping into unconsciousness again.

Central

Alphonse could hear voices at the top of the stairs. Slowly, he pushed open the door.

Two blonds stood up, coming towards him. "Edward-" the taller one started.

"Where is Edward?" Alphonse asked him.

Both boys' eyes widened identically. "Alphonse!" they exclaimed, incredulous.

A woman with long brown hair and a fringe of pink bangs looked up from where she was sitting. "Alphonse? Is that you?"

"Yes…" he said hesitantly, looking from face to face. A child with long black hair lay in the corner, bleeding. His arm and leg had been ripped off. Alphonse stared at him in horror. This could only be a dream, he told himself. This must be a dream.

"But if you're here," said the woman slowly, "Where is Edward?"

There was a crash outside the window, and he eyes darted around the room he stood in. It was a religious building of some sort. There was a crowd outside in the streets, and there was lots of shouting.

"What's happening?" said the younger blond, looking through the window.

The older one shook his head. "I don't know."

Alphonse was beginning to form a new conclusion in his mind. The odd information was beginning to fall into place, and as much as he wanted to deny it, this was not a dream. They had not both died trying to bring back their mother. Only Alphonse had. And Edward had died bringing him back. That was why he had woken up in a transmutation circle, alone.

He realized all eyes were on him. "Alphonse, what happened to Edward?" the older blond asked him.

"Edward's gone."

London

Edward, the thing called, with his brother's voice, looking at him through his brother's eyes. The mass of malformed flesh shivered. Edward, why couldn't you make me right?

There was a hand on his forehead, cool and comforting, stroking his temples and whispering soothing things. He cracked an eye open. Mom, he gasped, but his mother did not have violet eyes. I'm not your mother, the thing with his mother's voice said. I don't love you.

He was screaming as thousands of writhing black hands tore into his flesh-

There was no face that could shake his resolve but the creature's true face, a face that looked like that of his father's, and of his own, and his chest exploded in pain, and he tried to take a breath, but could not, and the world became red, and then black, and the cold settled in…

He was screaming as his little brother's body dissolved before him, he reached out for him but it was too late, Alphonse was gone, and his own body began to dissolve-

The huge flying machine had fallen out of the sky, and he was going to die unless he did something, it was his last hope, he clapped his hands together and there was nothing…

Edward, said his brother's voice

Edward, said his mother's voice

What have you done, Edward?

What have you done?

He screamed.

"Edward," said his father's voice, but he did not hear. A strong hand stroked his fevered head, cupped his cheek. "Edward, you need to calm down, or you will start bleeding again," the man pleaded. Hohenheim looked up at the doctor. "Give him more morphine," he directed quietly.

The doctor coughed. "Mr. Elric, we've already given him a fairly strong amount, given his body weight. He shouldn't be in any pain."

"Give him enough that he won't even dream."

Central

The five of them made their way through the crowded city streets, Alphonse walking between the two brothers and the woman called Roze carrying the injured child. The younger brother, Fletcher, carried Roze's baby.

"Excuse me," said the older brother, Russell, to a passerby. "What's going on?"

"Haven't you heard?" said the woman. "The Furher's been assassinated, and his mansion is burning down! The country has no leader, people are rioting. You children should get inside before things get worse!" She hurried away and there was a crashing sound somewhere in the distance.

"Here," said Fletcher, indicating a doorway. "This is where we've been staying." He led them inside to a sparsely furnished room. Noticing Alphonse's wide, vacant eyes, he motioned for the boy to sit down. "I can't believe you're really real, Alphonse!"

Slowly, Alphonse looked down at himself. "I'm real," he said softly, but inside, he wasn't convinced he was. He felt like he was floating, drifting, without an anchor. He had woken up in a city he had never seen before, and was surrounded by people he didn't know. They must be friends of Edward's.

Edward. What had his brother done? Was it really possible that Edward brought him back to life? What was he doing down in that city below Central? And, he wondered again as he looked from face to face, what did these people have to do with what had happened?

Russell was staring at Alphonse, certain that something wasn't right. There was no way that this boy could be fourteen, he simply looked way too young. After several minutes, Alphonse caught him staring, and said, "What's wrong?"

The older boy pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure," he said finally. The other three looked at him intently. "Are you all right, Alphonse?"

"Ah, I guess I am…" The questions spun through his head. What was the place he had woken up in? Who had performed the transmutation? If it was really Edward, how did he do it? And if it was really Edward, why did he do it? How had Edward survived trying to transmute their mother? Alphonse paled visibly as he again recalled his body being torn to ribbons. How much time had passed? Weeks? Months? Human Transmutation was impossible, that had been proved to him already, it must have been proved to Edward as well, what was his brother thinking? Had Edward's body dissolved into nothing just as he remembered his own?

"Alphonse!" came a faraway voice.

His eyes were darting from side to side, seeming to respond to things not in the room. Roze knelt in front of him, calling his name, but he didn't react. She turned to the brothers. "I think he is in shock," she said, alarmed.

"No," he said faintly. "No, I'm not. But, I feel like… something's wrong… where's my brother?"

Roze and Russell exchanged sharp glances. "You told us he was gone," she said gently.

"Did I?"

She nodded. "Yes, in the church. He and I, and Wrath, were the only ones left down there. You were already gone. He told me to take Wrath and get away, that he was going to destroy the city so no one else could seek the Philosopher's Stone, and I thought he meant that he was going to follow me in a few minutes. I waited, but he never came. Then you showed up, with your real body. And you told us Edward was gone."

His real body, as opposed to what? He glanced at the door, wanting to run away, but realized that he had no where to run to in this city. The child on the floor caught his eye, staring up at him, saying nothing. Why wasn't anyone concerned about his injuries?

"What happened to him?" Alphonse demanded. "Why isn't someone helping him? What if he bleeds to death?"

"I can't die!" the child cried suddenly, then was silent.

Roze looked down at him. "He isn't bleeding," she told him. "He won't die. He- I don't know what happened, exactly. I didn't understand what was happening. Dante was- controlling me, somehow-"

"Who's Dante?" Alphonse asked.

"This isn't him!" said the child, from his curled up position on the floor. "This isn't really him. He doesn't know what you're talking about, can't you tell? He doesn't know anything!"

Alphonse crouched down in front of him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"No!" the child wailed.

"What happened to you?"

Roze, Russell, and Fletcher watched the exchange with growing concern.

"The Gate!" came the cry.

"Alphonse!" Russell said sharply, and Al looked up at him. "Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?"

Alphonse shook his head slowly.

He nodded towards Roze. "How about her? Do you know her?"

Again, he shook his head. "Am I supposed to?"

This time it was the younger brother who spoke. "You followed us back here and you didn't know who we were?"

Something was definitely wrong. Alphonse was positive. "I thought you knew Edward…" he said, his voice trailing off.

"Alphonse," Russell asked, the question that had been bothering him ever since Alphonse had come out of that doorway in the church, "How old are you?"

London

"Alphonse!" mumbled the unconscious boy. "Al, wait! Don't, Al!"

The doctor looked at Hohenheim. "Who's Alphonse? He's been calling for him ever since he's been here."

"My other son," the blond man said quietly. "He isn't here."

"Mr. Elric, he's going to be okay. He lost a lot of blood, but he's going to pull through. You should go home and get some rest," the doctor suggested.

Hohenheim shook his head, gazing at his son. "No," he said. "He can't wake up alone. I don't want to leave him alone."

The doctor nodded, leaving the room. Hohenheim returned to his place by the bed, resting a hand on his son's forehead as the boy tossed in the bed. "Be still, Edward," he whispered. "Everything is okay now."

After what seemed like an eternity, Hohenheim looked down to find Edward's eyes open and on him. "Why are you here?" the boy demanded weakly.

Hohenheim frowned. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

Edward closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he said, and opened them again. "What happened to Alphonse?"

"I don't know, Edward. Do you know how you got here?"

Ed shook his head on the pillow. "I'm in London again, aren't I?"

His father nodded.

"What happened to him? The other Edward, I mean. Did he die?"

Hohenheim nodded again. "Your body crossed the Gate this time, because there was no where else for your soul to go. You cannot return."

Edward brought his left hand to his forehead, eyebrows drawn down. "I thought I was in Central, that I was still alive, that I failed…"

"You are alive," Hohenheim said quietly.

"I didn't mean to be…" He pushed himself up to a sitting position in the bed, ignoring his father's protests. "I used myself as payment for Al," he said seriously, confirming what Hohenheim had suspected. "Dad, was that enough? Is Alphonse alive?"

"I don't know."

Edward turned his head away. "Of course you don't," he said bitterly.

Hohenheim reached for his son's hand, but Edward jerked it away.

"Don't touch me, old man," his son snapped, refusing to look at his father's wounded expression.

"Everything is going to be all right," Hohenheim repeated, as if saying it enough times would make his son believe him. "As soon as you're well enough, I'll take you out of here and home with me. We'll be just fine."

"Home," Edward muttered under his breath, "is not with you."

Central

Alphonse's insistence that he wanted to go home both frightened and disturbed the Tringham brothers and Roze. First, there was the fact that Alphonse didn't know who they were. When questioned about the last thing that he did remember, he wouldn't say, but he did state several times that he was ten years old. Roze told him gently that when she first met him, he had been fourteen, and the brothers nodded in agreement. As far as they recalled, they knew Alphonse as being fourteen as well. But more alarming than his memory loss was the additional fact that Alphonse did not remember anything that had taken place in the past few days. He told them a very confusing version of what had happened when he woke up underneath the city, and now didn't seem to know where he was or where he had been.

There was also the problem that the Elric brothers had stated, on several occasions, that they had no home to return to. This recollection alarmed them more than anything else.

Every time Alphonse asked about his brother, which was several times a day, they had to watch his heartbreaking expression when one of them had to tell them they did not know what happened to Edward. There was a wordless agreement that perhaps it was best not to remind Alphonse that he had himself told them that his brother was gone.

He also often asked the homunculus, Wrath, if he was alright, did he need anything, and what had happened to him. The concern was plain in his young face. The creature had stopped bleeding on its own, and after its outburst of insisting that Alphonse couldn't actually be Alphonse, he had been fairly quiet. Russell did not hear the conversations between Wrath and the boy, but Wrath couldn't have been telling him anything disturbing because Al's expression remained concerned and sympathetic. At one point he even saw Wrath allow Al to wrap an arm around his shoulders and stroke his hair.

One thing that Alphonse did seem to remember was that he could not get to Rizembool until the upheaval in Central had calmed down. The parliament and the military had been vying for control of the city, and in fact the entire country, since the fuhrer's assassination. There were rumors that the country had been attacked at its northern border, and there were conflicting rumors that the military itself had led a rebellion there. Neither report could be confirmed, and the government felt that the attack on the fuhrer could be related to the possible rebellion in the north, and had put a stop to all transportation in and out of Central.

The rioting after the assassination had been stopped by the efforts of military troops that had acted without government permission, and the city lay in a strained hush, waiting to see if the military would retaliate further for the rioting, if the angry citizens of Central would retaliate against the military, if the country was really at a civil war or if it was being attacked by a neighboring country, and who exactly was in charge.

Alphonse had been turned away at the train station by a military officer, who told him he was very sorry he couldn't find his brother, but no trains were leaving Central that day, no exceptions. No one had been able to obtain more information than that. Al remembered that it was not possible to get to Rizembool, and Russell was fairly certain that Al remembered his and Fletcher and Roze's names, but that, he determined, was all.

On the fourth day, after hearing on the radio that military only were being allowed in and out of the city, Alphonse insisted that they go to the train station just to see if he would be allowed on a train heading towards Rizembool. Russell shook his head, explaining that he and Fletcher had been arrested by the military before the assassination, and thought it was best that they stay out of sight. Roze offered to go with Alphonse, although she also was of the mind that of course the military would not let Al on a train.

"Your brother was in the military," she told him on their cautious walk to the station, knowing he would soon forget any information she gave him. "Maybe if you use his name, they will allow you on board. Because you heard the radio, no civilian travel is allowed yet."

Alphonse shook his head. How did his brother get to join the military, he wanted to ask, but told himself not to bother. For all he knew, he had already asked and been answered several times. How many days had it been since the transmutation? He wasn't sure, they all ran together. How did these people who were taking care of him know Ed? He wasn't sure of that either. He felt so lost, without direction, without anything to catch a hold of to right his balance, and so alone without his brother. He's just gone off somewhere, he told himself, but some part of him knew that wasn't true. Edward was gone. He didn't know how he knew it, but he was certain his brother had left, in a very permanent sense of the word.

That was why he was so insistent to return to Rizembool. If he could just find one familiar thing, see one familiar face, maybe his world would stop spiraling away from him, and he could begin, in earnest, to get some answers.

He looked up when he heard voices nearby; Roze was talking to a woman outside the station. He knew that voice. Willing himself back to reality, he looked up into the woman's face, and cracked the first smile anyone had seen from him since he appeared. "Sensei!" he cried, and she looked down in surprise.

The little boy next to the woman who had been irritating her with questions she couldn't possibly answer, that was Alphonse! It was Alphonse in the body of a human child, the way he was meant to be, not in a hulking suit of armor. "Oh, Al!" she cried, scooping him up in her strong arms and crushing him to her chest. "Oh, Alphonse, where have you been? What happened? Are you alright?"

Alphonse had begun to cry, tears streaming down his face and his throat choked with sobs, and Izumi just held him close, rocking him back and forth, thousands of questions bombarding her mind.

London

Edward woke up in a small bedroom, not sure where he was at first. Then he remembered his father carrying him out of the hospital and into his car. This must be his father's house. He sat up awkwardly, pushing his hand through his bangs and over his face, feeling more alert than he had ever since arriving in London. As he moved, he felt pain ringing through his shoulder, and understood. It was either be in pain and remain fully conscious, or have both the pain and his awareness dulled. He glanced over at the bottle of painkillers on the night stand.

The smell of frying eggs wafted through the room, and Edward realized he could hear the sounds of his father preparing breakfast over in the kitchen. Turning in the bed, he stepped his foot down on the floor and pushed the blanket aside. There was a crutch leaning against the bed frame, and he used it to bring himself to a standing position. Slowly, he made his way around the room, opening drawers in the dresser until he located a clean pair of pants and a shirt, tossing them onto the bed where he sat back down to change with only a minimum of difficulty.

There was a light knock on his door followed by a slight push, and Hohenheim stood in his doorway, surprised to find his son awake and dressed.

Edward glared at his father. Why knock if you're just going to open the door anyway? he thought bitterly. Trying to smooth his expression, he said without much sarcasm, "Morning."

"I made some breakfast," his father said hesitantly. "I'll bring it to you if you like."

Ed was concentrating on rolling up his left pant leg. "No. I'll get up," he said, not meeting his father's gaze. "I'm sick of staying in bed. Do you have a pin I can use for this?"

Hohenheim nodded. "Just a moment," he said, leaving and returning to sit on the bed next to his son. Edward held his hand out for the pin, but his father poked it neatly through his pant leg, fastening it efficiently. "There," he said, satisfied.

"I could have done that," Ed said darkly, grabbing the crutch and standing up again.

"I'm just trying to help," his father said calmly.

I don't want your help, he thought furiously, but said nothing, using his energy instead to hobble from the bedroom to the kitchen, dropping down into one of the hard kitchen chairs and staring at the plate of eggs.

"Do you drink coffee, Edward?" his father asked from the stove. "Or would you like some orange juice?"

When his son did not respond, he continued, "You can have both if you like."

Edward swallowed his mouthful of eggs. "Whatever," he said under his breath, and Hohenheim set the steaming mug in front of him, followed by a tall glass of chilled juice. He moved the sugar bowl from the counter to the table so Edward would not have to get up if he took sugar in his coffee.

Edward sipped the juice. "Thanks," he forced himself to say, shoving his hair behind his ear so it would stay out of his face while he ate. He could feel his father's eyes on his back. After a few tense minutes, he spoke up again. "Do you have something for my hair?" he asked finally. "I hate having it down."

Hohenheim reached into the pocket of his vest and brought out a hair tie that his son snatched out of his hand. He watched Edward gathering his blond hair behind his head and twisting the elastic tie around in his fingers, trying to loop it around his hair one handed. Not able to quite get the trick of it, the tie dropped to the floor and Hohenheim stooped to pick it up. After the third attempt, he said quietly, "Edward, let me do that for you."

"I can do it!" he insisted, screwing his face up and fumbling once again with his hair, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

After another failed attempt, Hohenheim placed a heavy hand over his son's. "Edward," he said again.

Frustrated, Edward blew the hair out of his eyes in a huff, and said, "Fine! Do it for me then!" He stared at the table, absolutely mortified as his father gathered his hair behind his head for him, securing it firmly with the tie and giving it a gentle tug.

"I have to go out for a while today," his father was saying. "I left the morning paper on the coffee table, and feel free to read any of the books above my desk. Dr. Siegel is coming by later today to check on you and change the bandages. He should be pleased you felt well enough to get up today."

"I don't need to be checked on, I'm fine," Ed mumbled. "I can take care of the bandages."

Hohenheim sighed. "Be that as it may. I feel better about leaving you alone if I have someone to look in on you."

"To bad you didn't think of that when you left us alone the first time," his son snapped.

Unable to respond, Hohenheim simply walked out of the room.

Rizembool

Izumi sat on the hard train seat, one sleeping child on her right and one very awake one on her left. It had been several more days before they were able to leave Central and when the civilian trains were finally running, the stations were packed. Roze, who sat across from her holding her sleeping baby, had briefly told her everything she knew. Alphonse was alive and in the flesh, but couldn't seem to remember anything and had no idea where Edward was.

Izumi had her own theories on what happened to Edward and what was wrong with Al's memory. She felt like the products of her entire life were sitting on either side of her as the train clattered on: one, an inhuman imitation of her dead child, the other a child who she had taken under her wing, taught everything she knew about alchemy, and who had used her knowledge to ultimately end up losing four years of his life and his older brother. She frowned as she stared down at the black haired child on her right. Her sins would never leave her, would they? But then, she never expected they would.

Wrath stirred. "Mommy," he mumbled in his sleep. Izumi swallowed. How much was this creature really her child?

"Auntie Pinako can give him automail, right Sensei?" Alphonse said, glancing over at him.

"If he lets them," she said quietly. She had resolved that she would answer any of Alphonse's questions as directly and honestly as possible, but Alphonse had only asked trivial things so far: had she heard the latest news about the war at the border and how long did she think the train to Rizembool would take.

In truth, Alphonse was beginning to feel a cold fear overtake his confusion. He had attempted a Human Transmutation. Human Transmutation was not only illegal, but went against every one of Sensei's teachings. And here was Sensei, and he was sure she knew what he had done. So why wasn't she angry with him? Or, was she angry and waiting to show it?

He clutched her hand after getting off the train in Rizembool. She carried Wrath on her hip, wrapping her other arm around him. His memory of the few days since he had encountered Izumi was perfectly clear, and in the crowds of the station at Central he had become afraid that if he somehow became separated from her, he would return to that floating, detached world he had been existing in ever since he had been revived.

Alphonse was squeezing her hand tightly, and she looked down at him reassuringly. "Don't worry, you're almost home," she said, the three of them leading Roze and her baby down the road to the Rockbell residence.

Pinako could see them before they saw her, four specks moving slowly up the road. She squinted her already crinkled eyes at the horizon; who had made it back? As the figures drew nearer, she pulled the pipe from her mouth and turn back to the house, calling for her granddaughter. "Winry!"

"In a minute, Granny!" came the answer. She could make out a dark haired woman carrying a dark haired child walking next to a blond haired boy. Behind them was a slender woman carrying a baby.

"Winry, I think you want to come out here now," Pinako insisted. Hearing an elaborate sigh and a few crashing sounds from the workroom, her granddaughter thundered across the house and out onto the porch.

"What is it?" she asked, out of breath, before she focused her eyes on the figures coming up the road.

Before she could process what she saw, the boy was running towards her. "Winry!" his small voice shouted, and she dashed down the steps to meet him in the road. She knelt down to hug him, it was Alphonse, oh, it was Alphonse in flesh and blood, exactly how she had remembered him four years ago! She squeezed him tightly in her arms but kept her eyes open, searching the other people who had arrived with him. She drew back, holding Alphonse at arms length.

His grey eyes widened, and his expression went from joyous to panicked. "Winry?" he asked slowly. "Why are you so big?"

"What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly, looking down at herself for a moment, then back to her friend. He looked exactly as she had remembered him… he looked like he was ten years old. Something wasn't right, this wasn't the happy ending she had been praying for.

Alphonse watched Winry, Winry who looked like Winry yet didn't, Winry who looked like a girl, or a woman, really, but still had those same brilliant blue eyes she always did. Her eyes were darting back and forth, and her expression took on a pained cast to it. "What's the matter?" he asked, feeling lost again, the floating sensation had returned.

"Where's Edward?" she asked, her question clinging to the silent air that settled around them.

He looked up at the faces that surrounded them. "I don't know where Edward is," he whispered.

London

Edward sat in the corner of the couch, his right leg drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knee. His left hand reached down to turn the page of the paper he had spread out in front of him. He nearly jumped when the knock on the door broke the silence that had settled in the small apartment.

Edward was debating whether or not to pretend he was asleep when the knock came again, more insistent this time. "Hohenheim!" came the muffled voice. "Anyone home?"

Ed picked his crutch up off the floor and yelled, "I'm coming, give me a minute!" as he made his way slowly to the front of the room.

He turned the latch on the door and flung it open, staring suddenly at a familiar face. "Roze?" he said, startled.

The woman looked back at him, surprised maybe that he knew her name, or maybe just staring at his missing limbs. "You must be Edward, Hohenheim's son," she said finally. "How are you feeling?" she asked politely.

"Ah, all right, I guess, considering," he said, trying to be equally polite as his father's voice echoed in his head. Everyone from our world has a double on this side. I wouldn't be surprised if somewhere out there you could find a child who looks exactly like Alphonse. "Sorry, you look like someone else I know. But I couldn't have met you before."

"Maybe in another life," she said with a gentle smile, sending shivers up Ed's spine. She held out a book with a title in a foreign language. "I wanted to give this to your father," she explained.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "You borrowed a book from my dad?"

Roze laughed lightly. "Actually he's borrowing it from me," she said, holding it out again.

Ed took a step backward into the room, unable to take the book from her and support himself at the same time. "Uh, you can put it on his desk over there, I guess," he said, nodding towards the back corner of the room.

"Are you going to be staying with your father for a while?" she asked as she set the book down on the desk.

"I don't really have a choice," Edward said honestly.

"London is a nice city," Roze said optimistically. "Perhaps you'll come to enjoy it."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Sure, its great, with things falling out of the sky and crashing and burning everywhere." He shuddered.

Roze's dark eyes deepened seriously. "There isn't anywhere in Europe where you can get away from the war." She sighed. "Hopefully it will all be over soon." Ed noticed she was twisting a ring around on her left fourth finger. She saw him looking at it, but said nothing. "It was nice meeting you Edward," she said finally. "I live just upstairs, if you ever need anything. Your neighbors across the hall, the Wallaces, are very nice people too. I'm sure you'll get to meet them soon."

"Maybe," he said, noncommittally. "I'll tell my dad you were here."

"Thank you," she said politely, closing the door behind her.

The second time there was a knock on the door, Edward really was asleep, having dozed off on the couch several hours before. The sound jerked him awake, and anything he may have dreamed was forgotten. "Just a minute," he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hello, Edward," Dr. Siegel greeted him when he answered the door. "You're looking much better, perhaps your father was right when he said you'd recover better the sooner he got you home."

"This isn't home," he muttered under his breath. "You can come in," he added in a normal voice, moving out of the doorway. "Dad said you were coming to check on me."

The doctor nodded. "I need to see how well you're healing, and make sure there's no infection."

Edward sat down on the couch, flicking open the buttons of his shirt so the man could look at his shoulder. He hated doctors, he hated being looked at and prodded at, and he hated that his father had told this doctor to look in on him because he couldn't take care of himself, but he was too tired to make a fuss over it. The man was in the kitchen, filling a small basin with hot water so he could clean the wound after removing the bandages. "Are you in any pain?" he asked Edward.

"Of course I'm in pain," Ed said sarcastically, flinching as the doctor dabbed at his shoulder with a clean cloth and replaced the bandages.

"Your father gave you those pills I sent home with you?" he queried, and Ed nodded.

"I took some yesterday. I didn't take any today."

"Good," the doctor confirmed, "everything looks good. Slide your pants down."

Sighing, knowing it was unavoidable, Edward complied, and gritted his teeth while the doctor unbandaged and cleaned what was left of his left leg. The sight of his bloody stump, paired with the insistent pain he had felt all day, made his stomach turn. He looked away. "And does that look good?" he asked, still with an edge of sarcasm.

The doctor nodded affirmatively. "Fine, you're healing just fine, Edward." He took a seat opposite him as Edward pulled his clothing back on. "Your father has been very worried about you, but you're doing just fine. You look much better than even a few days ago."

"I hate the way he worries," Ed grumbled.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Of course he worries about you, he's your father. That's what fathers do. My son is away in the war, and I worry about him every minute of the day."

Ed pulled his leg up to his chest again and rested his chin on his knee. "Is your son a soldier?"

Dr. Siegel shook his head. "No, he's a military doctor. He's not even a soldier, and I can't even know where he's stationed, its all top secret."

He thought of Winry's parents, who had been killed in the Ishbal war when he was just a kid. They had been military doctors as well. "I hope he comes back to you," Ed said sincerely.

"I do too," he said, with a faraway gaze. Then he seemed to snap back to reality, and said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, but things are going to get much better. As soon as your leg heals, there's no reason you wont be able to use a prosthetic, and you wont have any trouble getting around at all."

Ed frowned. He knew the doctor meant an ordinary wooden leg, nothing near as advanced as automail. Hohenheim had warned him that automail technology, along with alchemy, didn't exist in this world. "I can't wait," he said in a monotone.

Trying to be encouraging, the doctor continued, "You'll find you'll be able to do most things you did before, once you get used to it."

Ed shook his head, thinking of how his automail had been even stronger than his real limbs, and in some cases even more useful. "I don't think so," he said, in the same tone. "But I guess I'll find out," he added, trying, for the doctor's benefit, to sound more optimistic than he felt

When the man left, he let his head fall back onto the couch and closed his eyes. Alphonse, his mind echoed, unable to progress past that one thought. Please let it have been enough.

Rizembool.

Alphonse was so sure he had everything figured out now. He wasn't prepared for any surprises. He had accepted, after seeing Winry, that almost five years had passed, and worked that into his mental reconstruction of what must have happened. He had heard his own story of waking up in the Transmutation Circle repeated back to him, and knew that he was the product of a Human Transmutation.

He and Edward had tried to resurrect their mother. He had died during the transmutation, and Edward had lost his arm and leg, which was why he had automail. But Edward couldn't accept his brother's death any more than he could his mother's, and had given Human Transmutation another try. And going against every law in the universe, every law that they had tried to convince themselves they could get around, he had actually done it. Alphonse had returned to the world of the living, after nearly five years. So Edward had spent five years of his life trying to find a way to bring Alphonse back.

And he must have used himself as Equivalent Trade. He must have, what else can be traded for a life? He didn't need to ask what had happened after they tried to transmute their mother. He knew she wasn't alive, had never truly expected her to be. He had gone through all the preparations carried by his brother's certainties, making himself believe the impossible was possible.

But if it was impossible, what had his brother done? But no one knew exactly what Edward had done. Even Roze didn't really know, and she was the last to see Edward alive.

Alphonse wasn't expecting any surprises when he finally sat down with Winry, Izumi, Pinako, and Roze. He thought that at the end of it all, when they filled him in on the five years since his death, they would talk about what might have happened to Edward and if he was really gone. He wasn't expecting not to even make it to that part of the discussion.

"Brother did what?" he asked, incredulous.

"He bound your soul to a suit of armor, using his arm as equivalent trade," Izumi said seriously.

"And you came to our door then, Al, carrying Ed, covered in blood," Winry told him. "We didn't know who you were until you spoke, it was your voice in this huge metal armor."

"But how did he know how to do something like that?" Alphonse asked, still puzzled. He and Edward had studied all the same books, had all the same training, and Al didn't know anything about transferring a soul.

"He saw the gate," Izumi said.

Alphonse felt a chill creeping up his spine at the mention of it. What was the gate, and why did it make him feel that way?

"When an alchemist attempts a human transmutation, he is brought to the gate, and the gate takes its toll, in your case your body and Edward's leg. Edward managed to stop the transmutation before it progressed any further, which is amazing in its own right. But if an alchemist sees the gate, he is shown what we call The Truth. He gains a perfect understanding of alchemy, he is shown in a few brief moments more than what can be learned in a lifetime of study." Izumi paused. "That's how he knew." She was quiet for a moment, then continued. "Alchemists, like Edward, who have seen the gate, can do alchemy without a transmutation circle."

Izumi could do alchemy without a circle. He stared at her. "You…" he managed.

His teacher nodded sorrowfully. "And now you, my students, have repeated my mistakes," she said grimly.

Alphonse's brain continued to spin. He turned to Roze. "I'm sorry, you probably explained this to me already," he began, knowing that his memory had been spotty the first few days after the transmutation, and that he had spent those days with Roze. "You know me?" he asked her finally, and she nodded. "And those brothers, the Tringhams, they know me too?" Roze nodded again.

"When I met you," Roze said slowly, "You and Edward were looking for the Philosopher's Stone, to try to regain your original bodies."

That had to have been how he did it. They had found the stone, after five years, and Ed had used it to return Al to his body. The Philosopher's Stone allowed an alchemist to bypass the laws of Equivalent trade. Al raised his hopeful eyes. "But if he used the Philosopher's Stone," he said eagerly, "Then he's still alive!"

But Roze was shaking her head. "I don't think that's what happened," she said softly.

Winry, who had been quiet for some time, snorted in disgust. "What do you mean, you don't think that's what happened? You were there, weren't you?"

"I was," Roze admitted miserably, "But I didn't know what was happening… I was in a trance of some kind…"

Pinako stood up abruptly. She had been watching Alphonse carefully. "That is enough for today," she declared.

"But wait!" Al protested.

The old woman shook her head. "Another day, Alphonse. We have plenty of time. A lot happened in those years."

London

Hohenheim came as soon as he heard the crashing sounds coming from the living room. It started with one loud crash, and was followed by a sharp moan and the sound of several more objects falling. Not knowing what he might find, he rushed to his son's side.

Edward was sprawled on the floor at the foot of his father's desk, the desk chair toppled over behind him, his crutch several feet away, and heavy books scattered over the desk and the floor. One more slid off a shelf as he watched, colliding with the desk with a solid thunk.

His son jerked his body away as soon as he felt his father's hand on his back, pushing himself upright with his only arm. "Go away," he said defiantly.

Hohenheim pointedly ignored the request, gathering books off the floor and righting the chair. "What," he inquired, "did you do?"

"I fell," he said flatly, "Now leave me alone, old man." He winced and rubbed the base of his skull. There was already a lump forming.

"You're bleeding," his father told him, and he touched his fingers to his lip where he felt something warm.

He stared for a moment at the red on his fingers before wiping them on his dark pants. "I guess I bit my lip," he said finally. Reluctantly he accepted his father's handkerchief and pressed it to where his lip was stinging.

His father's eyes wandered over the mess on his desk and up to the missing top shelf of the bookcase. His eyes came to rest on his son, who was still sitting up at the foot of the desk. "How did you fall?" he said, his voice thick with concern.

"I lost my balance," Ed said snidely, with narrowed eyes. He looked around for his crutch, saw that it was a good distance away, and used the edge of the desk to pull himself to his one good leg, only to let himself fall back down into the chair his father had righted.

Hohenheim frowned, a disturbing scene forming in his mind. "And what were you balancing on?" he inquired, staring up at the top shelf again.

"The desk."

And how on earth did you get up on the desk, he wanted to ask, but kept silent, the anger at his son's carelessness for his own well being seething behind his eyes. "Edward!" he exploded finally. "What were you thinking? You could have seriously hurt yourself!"

Edward slumped back in the chair. "What do you care?" he snapped.

"I care because I'm your father!" Hohenheim retorted. He eyed the mess once more. "What did you do, climb up on the desk and then knock the whole shelf off the wall?"

Edward glared at him. "Its not like that's what I was trying to do."

His father's golden eyes flashed angrily behind his glasses. "Well what did you think would happen?" he demanded

"I thought," he snapped back, "that I could find myself something to read without bothering you again!" He looked off towards the wall. "How many things have I already asked you for today? Put my hair up, tie my shoe, button my shirtsleeve, put butter on my toast-" he took a deep breath and continued with his list "-light the candle in my room because I can't strike a match, cut up my dinner because I can't handle a knife, carry my notebook, carry my teacup, put my dish in the sink, put up with my insults, aren't you sick of me by now?" he finished, swiping angrily at the stubborn tear that managed to squeeze out of the corner of his eye. His head was beginning to throb from the crack on the edge of the desk.

Hohenheim let his tired shoulders sag, all the anger draining out of him. "Edward," he said quietly. "You aren't bothering me." He pulled another chair over and sat down to face his son, sighing heavily. "I know you're angry with me for leaving you when you were a child, I know you blame me for your mother's death, and for… everything-"

"That's for damn sure," Edward said darkly, still not looking at his father.

He pressed on. "I know this world is difficult to adjust to, and I know you're frustrated, but just slow down, give it some time. You can't do everything at once, you have to start small." Hohenheim shook his head, he wasn't saying what he wanted to say. "After the accident, before you got your automail, while your body was healing, who helped you then?"

"Alphonse," Edward answered under his breath.

"Did you think you were bothering him?"

Edward looked up, and something flickered in his eyes, not quite anger. "No."

"How did you know?"

"Because he's my brother!" Ed snapped, his expression wary.

Hohenheim nodded. "And I'm your father."

"I said I want to be alone," came the response.

He got up, retrieving his son's crutch from where it had landed, and propped it up against the desk. He looked at the pile he had made of the books that had fallen. "Is the book you wanted in this pile?" he asked.

Edward nodded. "Yeah."

He stiffened when he felt his father's heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't stay up all night reading." He waited for a response of some kind, but Edward continued to stare at the floor. Not until he was almost out of the room did he hear his son's voice.

"Dad?"

Hohenheim turned back to face the room.

"I'm sorry I knocked your stuff down."

dream

They hadn't been in the house in almost a year, since they had gone to train with Izumi, and it was empty, and dusty, and devoid of the warm life they had once lived there. Quietly, with hushed excitement, the brothers unlocked the door to the room that had been their father's study, before he disappeared. Surrounded by the books and alchemy equipment they had been in awe of when they were younger, they carefully measured out their ingredients, checking and double checking every measurement. Carefully, inch by inch, checking and re checking every symbol and every angle, they drew the transmutation circle, feeling the excitement in the air begin to build. They were about to do what no alchemists had ever done before, because they were not afraid. They would bring her back. They had studied long and hard, and measured everything exactly, and drawn everything perfectly, and after tonight, they were going to be together again, the three of them, a family.

To be continued…

Next week: Chapter Five – To Learn